Archive for the ‘Phoning It In’ Category

An imaginary conversation between The NDM and An Imaginary Friend about Real Events. 

NDM: God, I had an awful day yesterday. 

FRIEND: Oh, dear. I’m listening…

NDM: I went to [insert name of local monster mall] with the three kids but without a stroller…

FRIEND: Oh, I think I know where this is heading… 

NDM: We went to Sanity Records first because I wanted to exchange those Deadwood disks. Except I couldn’t find the receipt and was expecting a bit of a fight. But the guy there was really helpful, remembered me from the time I’d made my original purchase and swapped them straight over. 

FRIEND: And the kids? (Shifts slightly in seat in anticipation) What did they do?

NDM: They just browsed through the DVD bargain bin.

FRIEND: (disappointed) Oh. 

NDM: And then we all had to walk right to the other side of the centre to go to EB Games to get a Wii disk polished. 

FRIEND: (perking up) And?

NDM: We stopped to look at things along the way. There’s lots of interesting things to look at in shop windows if you take the time to stop and look. Which we did. And when we got to EB Games, the teenage shop assistant was very helpful as well and the children and I enjoyed looking at all the different Wii accessories while we waited. There’s quite a lot, you know. Even a little steering wheel. Although I think it’s probably called a steering Wii-l.

FRIEND: (stifles yawn) Right. 

NDM: It was all going so well that I decided to push my luck even further and pick up some groceries at Safeway on our way out. 

FRIEND: (mutters to self) Here comes the money shot, surely…

NDM: I let everyone carry their own basket…


NDM: It took us no time at all.  And we sang songs together in the car on the way home. (PAUSE) And that’s it. 

FRIEND: That’s it?? That’s your “awful day”??

NDM: Yes, that’s it. That’s my awful day. 

FRIEND: I don’t understand. Where’s the crisis?

NDM: Where’s the crisis? WHERE’S THE CRISIS? The crisis is there is no fucking crisis. How on earth am I going to blog about that???



FRIEND: I’m sure you’ll find a way.

NDM: Not bloody likely.

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Been meaning to post a link to the Shoe of the Week post I did a while back at the fabulous Gabfran’s blog “Caveat Calcei” (which I believe to be Latin for “Sexy Lawyer Lady With Serious Shoe Fetish”).

Which is all just another way of saying “Ooh, look at me! I’m so important now that I’m doing guest posts! La-di-dah!” 

And we all know that guest posts are just the beginning of my meteoric rise to fame. And then my rapid demise, after the tabloids reveal me to be a middle-aged man living in Stoke-on-Trent who’s into kittens wearing leathers. Followed by my humble redemption somewhere in the back pages of The Australian Women’s Weekly. And then before we all know it, I’ll be doing the after-dinner speaker circuit and making everyone wish they’d never invited me with all my casual banter about Type 4 vomit

Anyway, in case you missed that link it was http://lawandshoes.wordpress.com/2009/09/25/celebrity-guest-shoe-of-the-week-the-not-drowning-mother/. Check it out.

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It’s been said that nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition. Especially when it is sprung upon you by small children holding a “Dora The Explorer’s Christmas” DVD in their little hands saying “Pleeeeeassse can we borrow this? Please please please please pleeeeeeaassssse????“. 

Amidst the ensuing surge of outrage that such a DVD could a) exist; b) be on the shelves of my local library; and c) be in the hands of my precious children, I kind of lost control of the situation and found myself saying “Okay”. And once that’s out there, there’s no taking it back…

As I handed our selections over to the librarian, I remarked: “I’m not a friend of Dora’s. Nor am I a fan of watching Christmas-themed episodes in July. But a combination of the two? Well, that could take a grown woman into a very dark place indeed…”

It was at this point that the librarian laughed nervously and took a little step back. So I did the decent thing and finished my little rant in my head. It went something like this:

Stupid Christmas Dora. Who comes up with this shit? It’s enough to push an NDM over the edge. 

But sheesh, if I’m already close that edge, Dora’s even closer. She delivers every line at fever pitch, like she’s about to have a breakdown at any moment. Who can blame her when she’s never able to look at The Map herself, she has to rely on a bunch of three year olds to look at it for her every single time. 

And that Swiper The Fox, boy has he got a problem. Not only is he a kleptomaniac, but he’s a piss-poor kleptomaniac who is sprung-bad by a bunch of three year olds Every Single Time. 

And the Back Pack? He must be pissed off that Dora won’t ever speak to him personally. Instead she gets her three year old minions to do all the negotiations, and yet he still delivers exactly what she needs to complete her mission Every. Single. Time.

And those songs? They slip into my head like tanbark in my goddamn shoes at the park and stick there for days like a cooked rice underfoot. EVERY… SINGLE…TIME…

As you can imagine, this inner rant continued on and on until suddenly I realised that the librarian had laughed nervously because he knows that valuable tax payers’ money has been used to purchase the Dora’s Christmas DVD for his library’s collection. He knows What Evil he unleashes on the community whenever that DVD is loaned out. He knows and yet… he does nothing. 

My prediction is that one day, in the not too distant future, he’ll be set upon by a whole gaggle of NDMs who have said “Back Pack!” one too many times and they’ll stand in front of him and shout “Say ‘Map’! SAY ‘MAP’!!!” again, and again, and again. Until finally, his spirit will break clean in two and he’ll put that Dora Christmas DVD in the bin where it belongs.

Now say ‘Bin’.




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Here’s a quick plug for my husband’s blog “The New Adventures of Box Ted“. It’s only a quick plug, mind you, because our spousal rivalry documented in previous posts such as, er, “Spousal Rivalry” and “Boxed In“, is still as rampant as ever.  

Anyway, it turns out that either my husband has some up and coming rivals on the Talking Cupboard Cartoon Circuit OR he is raising a whole army of amateur cartoonists to one day take over the world. Either way, I sensed trouble ahead when I discovered these little gems amongst the children’s drawings… 


By Mr Justice, aged 6.5 years



1. I was [thinking] I was playing cards.

2. And you know [who] said “[You’re] not playing cards, your playing cards with rats”. Mike!

3. I [said] “[Listen] here, Mike, give back my 700$”

4. I was [quiet] for years with no money. Stupid Mike!




By The Pixie, aged 4.5 years (She dictated the words to me)

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It’s been well over a month since I issued my fashionista friend GT with the challenge to “bring back the coconut bra”. I’d challenged her because I figured she needed something to do between cat walk shows and champagne receptions. And yes, I was just a little bit bored… 

But before you dismiss the humble coconut bra as another of my boredom-fueled pranks, let me tell you a little about how versatile it can be.

You see, Tiddles McGee had found my coconut bra behind the couch and insisted I wear it by saying “Boobies!” enthusiastically. He clapped his little pudgy hands when I slipped it over the outside of my pyjamas.

“Big Boobies!” he exclaimed.

The other kids were utterly delighted when I stood drumming on my own coconut-enhanced breasts over breakfast. And even more so when I took the coconut bra off and trotted around like a horse making clip-clop noises. 

It got me thinking about other uses for a coconut bra. Here’s a list I came up with when I was doing my pelvic floor exercises:

– makeshift sick buckets

– romantic cava set for two

– handy storage place for toothpicks, used serviettes, chicken drummette bones, prawn tails and other things I always end up standing around with in my hand at cocktail parties (at which I am a most frequent attendee, I’ll have you know)

– one bowl for olives, another for pips

– ear muffs and/or wrestling headgear 

– emergency swine-flu masks

– blah blah blah. 

I decided on the strength of this hastily put-together list to immediately buy everyone in my mothers’ group a pair… But when I checked costumecraze.com imagine my great disappointment to discover that the “Sexy Adult Coconut Bra” is not only “out of stock” – which might suggest a recent rush on the product – but has been discontinued completely. 


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A lot of people say to me “Oh, NDM. I’m far too busy too busy having a life to read your blog! Whatever is it all about?”

And other people say to me “Oh, I read it for a while. And then I stopped. Now there is so much to catch up on, it feels far too overwhelming. Can you stop writing for a while so I can catch up?”

And even more people say “Listen, I’m not going to read your blog, okay? No matter how much you harass me about it – it just ain’t going to happen, lady. Now kindly get out of my way before I have to call the police again.”

So for all these people and their questions (including the police) I thought I would summarise my blog just so:

I am very often late but it is never EVER my fault. 

My house is a mess but my blogging has nothing to do with it. 

My husband is a long-suffering individual who is either always having shit hung on him by his wife OR is just hung over.

Pretty much every day in my household, someone hides their shoes and/or vomits. Or even vomits in their shoes and then hides them. 

I think all kinds of weird shit and then lose followers on twitter for thinking that weird shit out loud and then I turn it into a blog post and lose even more readers.

I suffer from frequent menstrual accidents and occasional loss of bladder control – which is a relatively polite way of saying that I often bleed and piss on stuff accidentally.

I once started a short-lived and yet international fashion trend of wearing a pilot’s hat on a jaunty angle. 

I’ve just been diagnosed with oste0-something and am currently searching for evidence of a Champagne Cure. 

Blah blah blah.

Yep, that pretty much sums the NDM experience up, don’t you think?

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The other day we were driving through the countryside with my the kids and my husband and I began singing the theme song from “Deliverance”. As you do.  

After a few rousing choruses, I began wondering about the nature of banjo dueling. 

How exactly do you challenge someone to a banjo duel? Did anyone every die in a banjo duel? Was there a code of generally accepted rules for banjo dueling like the Marquess of Queensbery rules for boxing?

Then I thought of some other unconventional forms of fighting:

When your tummy rumbles, who exactly is fighting?

When you wrestle with your conscience, are you grecian-roman wrestling, sumo-wrestling or (like me) naked jelly wrestling?

Remember 70s punk band “The Clash”? Well, then can you please tell me who won?

Has anybody ever actually charged an admission fee for a “free-for-all”?

When a country wages war against the other, do they do a payroll?

In a caterwaul, who does the catering? 

Do you wear spats in a spat? A quiff in a tiff? Or having a sparring match in a spa? 

When you settle a dispute does it become a “pute”?

Really, I should never sing in the car. It just leads to trouble.

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