Zesty Mumma's Words

A life lived without passion is a life half lived

Archive for the category “Wednesday Wisdom”

Use Your Head or Loose It, Just Ask Anne Boleyn

What was the best time of your life? Most of us remember our teenage years with great fondness. Somehow we can easily dismiss the insecurities and uncertainties we felt at that time, instead remembering it as a golden age. A smorgasbord of choice, one of endless possibilities and unlimited opportunities.


Why do I bring this up, the “70’s Show” that’s why. Set in an era that I have to begrudgingly admit I remember well. I know that it’s highly exaggerated and of course they are much more confident than most normal teenagers ever could be but I just can’t help liking it. As a social commentary on the time it’s probably not the first point of reference. However, I recently watched an old episode that contained a much deeper and age defying truth than expected.


In that particular episode we see Jackie upset because Kelso has ruined her birthday party by turning it into a drunken teenage binge instead of the sophisticated dinner party she had planned. When quizzed about her vision for the future she admits that in her dream she saw Kelso as a witty, successful business man in a dinner suit entertaining their equally successful rich and urbane friends. My first response to that revelation was “has she never met her boyfriend”.


Then I thought about the truth of how the female brain works. When we look at something we don’t see the reality of what it is, we see the image of what we think it could be. This quality can be a blessing and a curse at the same time. It’s this quality that helps you look at the drawing your four year old son has done on the lounge room wall and imagine him to be the next Rembrandt. This is a beautiful fact but if we are honest, it is the same reason that a woman can look at a figure hugging body con dress and think we’d look great in it. You aren’t seeing it on yourself, you are actually seeing it on Eva Mendes body, topped with your head, am I right?


We women don’t always see reality when looking at people we care about, rather, we see what a person could be. The boyfriend that doesn’t turn up for a date because his mates talked him into going to the pub with them, would never leave you sitting at home with two kids on a Friday night while he goes out with the same mates, right? This is admirable but it is a trait that has seriously lead women into trouble for millenniums.  When the smorgasbord of live is being rolled out instead of just looking at the possibilities and opportunities maybe if we are taught to see realities as well it might go some way to help.


Just ask Anne Boleyn, she absolutely thought that Henry VIII would be so enamoured by her that he would be faithful and love her only. She definitely wasn’t using her head, possibly why she lost it.


Home Sweet Home

The early morning peace was shattered, The locals were in an uproar, there were intruders in the neighbourhood and they were determined to defend there home at any cost. A gang of out of town hooligans were causing trouble and the neighbours were determined to run them out of Cotton Tree. A few altercations later, a few bruised ego’s and they left with no harm done……..

And you thought it was only humans that were freaked out about people they don’t know, moving in and taking over their home

It is amazing the ruckus a strange flock of Cockatoos can cause with the local bird population

Uni Night – Fun for all, Especially Your Mother


The car glided over the intersection at the top of the hill, the panoramic view of the Pacific Ocean sparkling in the early morning sunlight was breathtaking. Driving at that hour of the morning could almost be considered a privilege. Streets usually congested with traffic, resemble airport runways, no stress, no road rage, time to think. Time to be thankful for my home on the Sunshine Coast.

You may be thinking that this all sounds lovely but what’s the purpose of all this driving, could it be only for pleasure? Not likely with petrol prices the way they are. The question can be answered in five words – Uni night at the Tavern. If you’ve never had children between the age of 18 and 23 you may never have realised the iconic signifigance of this type of event, it’s a rite of passage thing.

Then you get in the one o’clock in the morning phone call.

Mum can you come and pick us up” said the voice of my beloved son on the other end of the phone.

No I told you I’m not going to pick you up when you go to the Tavern. You choose to go to that place, you get yourself home” said I in my best strong mum voice, all the while picturing my boy standing shivering on a lonely, wind swept Burnett Street.

You’ve got to pick me up, someone head butted me and I’ve got a fat lip and the bouncers kicked us out.”

I was up the hill in seven minutes flat, pulling up in the Woolies driveway. I can hear your voice of judgement right now as I write. The voice of accusation that says “you push over”. How could my son ever be at fault. I have no words of justification other than he’s my son.

The seathing monster that lives deep inside every mother, the one that lurks and waits, ready to spring to the defence of your six foot, broad shouldered, eighteen year old son, because no one can protect him like you, was desperately fighting for release. I sat there eyeballing the bouncers standing outside while two boys walked toward the car. Then I realised that the boys walking toward me weren’t my son and his friend and that I’d driven straight passed them. They had been sitting quietly on the curb on the other side of the street. I’m sure I heard someone say “pshyco mother” as I drove away with my pride and joy safely belted into the passenger seat, with no real evidence of any fowl play. It did enter my mind that possibly the revving of the car I was sub counsciously doing, while directing all this protective energy at the bouncers, could have been badly misconstrued.


At least this weeks call came at a semi reasonable 5.30 am.

Mum can you pick us up I’ve got to go to work.” says my boy.

No, get someone else to take you to work” hissed I, mother of the year.

There’s no one else to take me, come on Mum” pleaded my son. 

Pulling the car over to the side of the road at an uncertain address, I thought about how many ways a mother sacrifices for her children. Sleep, no matter how old they are. Money, no matter how old they are. Time, it is never your own. Sitting there honking the horn and muttering to myself something about this being the last time, even I didn’t believe it.


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