That'll do

Sometimes you get the most perfect message that you haven't done too badly as a mother. Something that makes every pooey nappy, sleepless night, argument, nagging, badgering, worry, standing firm on rules worth it.
This from my 20 year old. Couldn't love her more.

A little prick

Around these parts of late one of the parts hasn't been working.
No, not that part.
For the last few months I've been grappling with frozen shoulder. It's all kinds of painful. Nobody can say for sure how I got it but one thing that gladdens the heart (NOT) is that it's another one of those things that happen when you get older - like hair growing in unwanted places, like menopause, like weight gain for no reason. Thank you universe!

Anyway, the frozen shoulder fun and games started when I woke up one morning and my arm hurt like hell.
I then discovered I couldn't do up my bra - this right arm of mine would not budge past my hip.

Being the stubborn cow I am, I thought I'd let it work itself out and put off getting treatment.

But it was soon obvious that wasn't going to work. At night the pain was intense and a few weeks of little sleep (and still working full time) saw me charge off to get physio.
Part of the issue was not knowing anyone locally where we've moved.

But I discovered the wonderful Eliza at our local osteo clinic. And she introduced me to dry needling - who knew those tiny little slivers of silver/aluminium/whatever could pack such a healing punch!

In they went to my arctic shoulder, giving it a little electric jolt and almost straight away my stubborn arm shifted upwards a few centimetres. Victory!

Eight weeks on and treatment continues. I've got a truckload of rehab exercise to do every day that I struggle with a bit - it hurts and fitting in three repetitions every day is a challenge but I'm trying to do it.

Still can't get my hand behind my back to do up my bra - that's the last hurdle apparently. But can now reach behind to straighten my hair and reach about 135 degrees.

When it comes to frozen (shoulder), I am trying to be like this:

That girl

You know those people that bloom and blossom with pregnancy, looking as ripe and dewy as a soft fuzzy peach?
I am not those people.
My pregnancies (all three of them) saw me spend a sizeable portion of the day with my head in a bucket, toilet or on a pillow.

I was so sick. Forget the morning sickness..it was an all day extravaganza.
When I fell pregnant with my third after a seven year hiatus I hoped for the best. Not to be.
I lost 10 kilos in the first few months of the pregnancy and developed pneumonia when she was 24 weeks.
I waddled away from my career, took early maternity leave and got some well earned rest.
When she was born she was perfect.

I have a special memory of that day that's just mine that I think of from time to time.
After Abbey was born, and I was recovering from the caesarean, Mr Ripe took her out in a crib to meet her overjoyed sister and brother.
I lay warmly wrapped up while a nurse pottered nearby and as I lay there I felt wave after wave of joy and relief wash over me.
It was a moment of pure happiness.
Today that little babe is 20 and is a little parcel of goodness. I'm most proud of her kindness and her ability to empathise with others.
Sure, she loves to leave plates, clothes, cups etc lying around but it's no biggie.
To use one of her favourite words #blessed

Survivor

In the House of Robbo, we are huge fans of the Survivor series.
We love Jeff and his quirky little eyebrow smirks.
We haven't always watched every one of the trimillion Survivor's out of the US.
But we've poked our noses into most.
However, we have been hanging for the Aussie one.
Did you know this is the second Aussie Survivor (the celebrity one doesn't count in our books).
The first one was back in 2002 and was set near Port Lincoln.
We would have hooked into that one regardless but we did have a special reason to watch.
An old friend of ours was on it and ended up winning! It was magnificent. He was magnificent.

Sadly, the lovely Rob lost his life a few years later in a terrible car crash that also took the life of his two sons, leaving his wife behind.
Doesn't bear thinking about even after all these years.


So this season of Survivor is set on Samoa and it's shaping up to be a cracker.
Jonathon LaPaglia (think Hector in The Slap) brother of Anthony is the host.
He has a great presence and a fair body with some extremely veiny veins.

He also has an excellent way of cutting through the spin of the contestants and exposing their manoeuvrings at tribal council which we endorse wholeheartedly.
Our favourites? Spiderman Sam and Lovely Lee (both blokes) and Courageous Kate and Kick-arse Kylie.

Least - Noxious Nick and Full-of-herself Flick.

Oh right...

So, I had a bit of an aha moment this weekend.
I was lucky to head along to the 9toThrive Business Chicks event to hear the amazing Zoe Foster Blake speak.

It was - a term she liked to use which I'm gonna adopt - lots of shiz and giggles.
There was some serious stuff, obviously you don't build a massive writing/makeup/media portfolio for yourself by giggling all day but...it sounded like fun, enjoyment, joy was a huge part of why she does what she does.
Truth be told I've been bypassing the fun.
I've been in a bit of a negative space of late - due to a number of things including an annoying shoulder injury that stops me sleeping properly and other things that have just dragged me down.
And I think I've been sending out this negativity to others, unknowingly and unwillingly. I just got swamped by it.
Being out and about in a room full of inspiring and inspired women, spending time with a couple of young women I love dearly woke me up a little to my good fortune and also my own potential, that delicious feeling in your gut when you feel alive and brimming with possibilities.

Even going to the loo become a moment of possibilities - guess this is what they mean by a captive audience...

It's going to be a gorgeous day beachside today. About to head out the door and embrace all its deliciousness.

Elsie

I love hearing stories about older people who chew life up, no matter their age.
Today a friend told me about her mum Mary who volunteers at a nursing home.
Mary would be in her 70s but she regularly pops in to visit people who don’t have any family nearby.
A few years ago, Mary used to help when some of these lovely old people would go to their fortnightly swimming class.
One of the people in this group was Elsie who at 98 wanted to learn to swim. 98!
Elsie was terrified of the water but was determined to learn. How incredible is that – to still want to learn a new skill at that age. So impressive.
It took a few goes and poor Elsie would cling terrified to Mary when she was in the water but soon she could float along happily hanging off a noodle.
Now 102, Elsie no longer takes to the water as the cold is a bit too much for her but really, she doesn’t need to. She conquered her fear and made her dream of learning to swim happen.
The right people, the right stories can teach us so much about never giving up on your dreams, about being brave, about not letting a number define you.

Little friends

So in today's news, as I try not to read anymore about the horrors in Orlando, I read instead about a story that took me back.
A few years back my trusty dark green Ford would not start.
Called the mechanic who got to work as I went back to the never-ending story of the laundry.
Soon after, there's a knock on the door and Ron poses the question "do you have a cat?"
Most certainly, I replied, I have Oscar the world's most delightful cat (now sadly in cat heaven).
"Do you feed it on your car bonnet?" he questioned.
"Are you crackers?" was my reply.
Ron then explained that he believed my car was being used regularly by RATS who were eating Oscar's food, squirming their disgusting hairy bodies under the bonnet of my car where it was snug and warm, regurgitating said food and eating it again. In the process, also using their ratty rat fangs on my wiring and rendering it stuffed! EEEkkkkk.

Ron beckoned me forward to examine my wiring, showing me the clumps of rotting stinky cat food attached to the wires. I looked for barely a second before taking off faster than Usain Bolt in case a furry face poked out at me.
Turns out the rats were also enjoying hospitality in my roof. You may ask what the most delightful cat was doing during this fun time for the rats. Not much it would seem.
The outcome? Car sold. House sold. Cat given stern talking to. *brushes hands together.
I am now advised that as of today Melbourne is officially undergoing a RAT PLAQUE. Something to do with the lack of rain or the end of civilisation. Rats as big as Fox Terriers (God help us) have been spotted prowling rubbish dumps and no doubt looking for warm cars.
Used to be the worst thing about going to a shopping centre car park was driving round and round stalking people to try and get a car park. Next thing will be the rats stalking too.