raw comedy stand-up for a laugh

I’m not one to make New Year resolutions but honestly, the last few years have been pretty average both professionally and socially. I wanted, no that’s crap, I NEEDED 2013 to be a great year. I knew I had to make changes to my lifestyle if I didn’t want to remain partnerless for the rest of my life and end up at 80 drinking sherry out of a jug while watching Oprah re-runs with my 57 cats. But most importantly, this year I wanted to enjoy and celebrate all the good fortune that has come my way over the last 10 years rather than focus on how hard I work (complain) or rue the numerous commitments I juggle on a very small plate every single hour of every single day (whinge).

I knew I wanted to have more quality time with Isabella now that she is three and I absolutely, definitely needed to have more fun in my life. That’s a lot of knowing isn’t it? So this year, in an effort to kickstart all of the above, I embarked on a new pastime. I have wanted to take up this particular pastime for many years and finally found the courage (and made the time) to make it a reality. I called my brother Andy in London and told him about my new pastime and the shock of hearing what it entailed rendered him temporarily speechless. I thought we had a dodgy phone line until he found his voice and began to yell something along the lines of…’My god Lisa why would you DO that to yourself…are you crazy!’ But I knew for sure that my new pastime was a real winner when my incredibly supportive Dad, after hearing what I had embarked upon, sat down, shook his head sadly and inquired what had happened to me in my childhood so that I would WANT to pursue such a humiliating venture.

Lazy Susan's Comedy Den at the Brisbane Hotel. My first stand-up gig. For sick kids.

Lazy Susan’s Comedy Den at the Brisbane Hotel. My first stand-up gig. For sick kids.

I decided that 2013 is the year I will finally attempt IT. And that IT is stand-up comedy. Yes. I know. It’s completely insane. I’ve already got a full-time job. On top of that I’m a single mother with a super active three year old and more functions to host than I’ve eaten hot dinners. I’m too busy to have a social life and I haven’t been on a date for four years yet I have this need to spend the precious hours I do have spare writing jokes that are probably mildly funny at best, harborers of shame at worst and I actually WANT to stand in front of a live audience and tell those jokes. I’m a bit crazy right? But that’s the point. I am a bit crazy. And I’ve found comedy to be an outlet for that craziness. As well as my secret morbidity. When writing I find I can express parts of my personality that would normally be kept hidden and I can share my frequently offbeat opinions and thoughts through humour. Mentally it’s a win-win for me as comedy enables me to clear my overly cluttered mind and allows me to vent.

As I write this piece for Offspring I can see an email telling me I made it to the WA semi-final’s of RAW Comedy being held on the 7th March 2013 at the Charles Hotel. The RAW Comedy competition is part of the Melbourne International Comedy Festival. And yea, I’m not ashamed to say I’m really chuffed. There were 8 heats over 8 weeks with 15 comedians per heat fighting for a spot so I’m pretty bloody thrilled! I’m also realistic enough to know I probably won’t make in any further in the competition but I’m proud of myself for having the courage to enter. I’m not sure what performing regularly in front of a live audience will mean for my future career but I’m willing to get on the bus and see where it takes me.

Thanks for reading!

Lise
xxx

i don’t like kids birthdays

I’m going to share a fact with you right now that might result in you spitting out whatever hot beverage you’re consuming or cause you to want to throw a heavy object at a picture of my head so my advice would be to stop drinking immediately and move away from all objects not connected to the floor or plugged into an electrical socket. This fact is humiliating to admit and it’s a game changer in terms of parenting. Good, loving, decent mother’s shouldn’t feel this way. But I do. And I want to get it off my chest because I’ve kept it inside for too long. The fact is, I hate children’s birthday parties. Yes. You read correctly. I hate them. Including the birthday parties of my own child. I don’t want to have them and I get absolutely no joy out of attending them. Let me go as far as to say that I cringe at the thought of year, after year, after bloody year, having to come up with a plethora of brilliant, new, innovative ideas so that my child can have a better party than Sally up the road because hers was a circus theme with proper clown machines where you can stick balls into their mouths and all the kids ate fairy floss and toffee apples and would you believe that her mother hired ponies for the kids to ride on the front lawn and it gets better because Tinkerbell herself flew all the way from Pixie Hollow just to say hello as she is great friends with Sally’s mum. Oh please. Give me a break. Without a party planner I can’t afford and a thousand helpers I can’t pay on the day, I’m not going to be able to top Sally’s party EVER.

Bella with her Grandpa Rog on her first birthday...at the park.

Bella with her Grandpa Rog on her first birthday…at the park.

But I’m not ignorant to the pressures on kids these days to fit in with their peer groups and to be able to talk about awesome experiences their parent or parents have bestowed upon them.

So I’ve worked out my modus operandi to explain to my precious child for years to come why this is the case and why she is never, ever going to have a fantastic birthday party like Sally. I’m going to lie. Well ok. If that sounds too harsh let’s say I’ll stretch the truth. I’m going to tell Bell’s (my three year old) that mummy’s only have a certain amount of money for one special thing every year and Sally’s mummy uses her money to hire ponies that hate being ridden by annoying children who grab them by the hair and kick them in the ribs so they go home and cry. Hopefully she will see the error of Sally’s mother’s ways and therefore ask what special thing we will do for the year. Which will be my cue to explain that we do a much more special thing than Sally’s diabetes enabling, pony abusing mother because I take us both to Bali where we swim for hours in the pool and mummy drinks daiquiri’s which make her relaxed and fun and really Bells, if you had to choose would you prefer a happy mummy or diabetes in later life? Yep. I reckon I’m on a winner with that one. Sally’s mum is probably having a nervous breakdown from the stresses of organising a small child’s birthday party of epic proportions while I am sitting on my couch googling Bali Villa’s and thinking about how many Christmas presents I can buy in one Balinese DVD store. What can I say? I’m super practical.

I’m sharing all of this with you because my daughter turned 3 in October.

I can recall like it was yesterday being asked to feature on the cover of the inaugural, ‘Offspring Magazine’ when she was only a few months old. But I can honestly say that back then, I wasn’t sure I should do it.

I was just easing into my breakfast show on 92.9 and by easing I mean struggling. Being up from 3.30am whilst breastfeeding and thinking of strategies to get inside Lady Gaga’s hotel room are a lot to deal with and I felt quite alone as I’m not the type of person to let on that I was finding circumstances tough or that I wasn’t getting enough sleep. Unfortunately both were the case but I kept those emotions locked away and I pushed on because I had no other option. I had to work to earn money, I’d made a commitment to my co-hosts and I’d said I was ready to come back. Also, I was not a typical role model parent (I was a single mum working full-time and living with my Dad) and these facts only served to lower my self-esteem and I absolutely doubted my capabilities as a parent. So to be approached by a parenting magazine to talk about parenting was completely out of my realm. But I hesitantly said yes.

I was met at my house a few days later by a young girl who looked about 18 years old. It turns out she was Offspring’s founder and editor Kate and after chatting with her for a few hours I realised there were others out there juggling being mother’s and wives while taking on jobs and careers that are, to be brutally honest, really bloody challenging. That day was, as they say, a game changer. My meeting with Kate opened my eyes to the fact that there are lots of women doing more challenging jobs than me and doing them well.

Since then I have became a less hard on myself about the parenting decisions I have made and will continue to make. I am a busy working mum who still loathes the thought of organising a child’s birthday party. So when my workplace offered to do just that for Isabella, I jumped at the opportunity and it was an absolute blast. The very first ‘Baby Rave’ in Perth on the rooftop of my station.mThere were 30 kids dressed up as little ravers, 30 parents who were thrilled they didn’t have to do anything at all, a kiddy dance floor, Wiggles music blasting through a loudspeaker, kids dancing while shoving handfuls of lollies into their mouths, bubble machines, balloon animals and a Miss Maud’s Dora Backpack cake. Brilliant. Because I organised nothing. I wonder what Sally’s mum would’ve thought? But then again, should I really care if my kid had fun on her Birthday?

Thanks for reading!

Lise
xxx

being a little diva is ok with me

I’m ashamed to admit this now, but before I had my daughter Isabella, I was judgemental and smug towards other parents. I was one of those carefree, childless people who would watch, horrified as a toddler threw a massive tantrum in a shopping centre whilst in my head I would be saying, ‘That’ll never be MY kid’. If ignorance is bliss then I was right off the Richter scale of stupidity in thinking that an out of control toddler is the result of bad parenting. At the time though, it’s what I honestly believed. I was also very anti young-children-participating-in-singing-and-dancing-competitions. Ballet classes I deemed to be conforming and overly regimented. And as for the parents who dressed their kids up to perform like circus animals in front of audiences or talent scouts? Disgusting was the word I used. My opinion was that children should be free to express themselves and not be forced to live out the sad-sop fantasies of their pushy parents. Having endured years of hated ballet classes I wanted my child enjoy his or her childhood and not be forced into sweaty Saturday afternoons of torturous singing lessons. And end up thinking they could win the X-Factor. Wow. What a judgemental bitch I was. My opinions then were all the more arrogant because I had NO IDEA about kids…none. I hadn’t even babysat a small person in my entire life.

But don’t fear. The universe, in her infinite wisdom, realised I needed the karmic equivalent of a good slap around the head…so I fell pregnant, gave birth and was presented with an absolute firecracker of a kid. Which could be a nice way of saying she is 100% hard work. Or just a massive pain in the rear. Ironically, she throws spectacular supermarket tantrums, on her stomach smashing the floor with both fists undeterred when I walk away, right out the automatic doors. She knows how to humiliate me in public and does it often. I’m telling you people, Karma really does exist. Want more proof? Ok. How about this. If Bette Midler, the ultimate showgirl were dead I would swear that she had been reincarnated into my child’s body. Isabella is like Beaches on crack. She is a one child minstrel show who loves performing on any raised platform while simultaneously critiquing her facial expressions on any reflective surface. I’ve yelled at her to ‘Get away from the mirror!’ so many times I’m scared she’ll have a lifelong complex about her own image. On the other hand…maybe not. I saw toddlers like her on performing on TV and I remember thinking….I hate that little kid. And now I’ve given birth to that little kid. Oh Karma, revenge must taste sweet! My lounge room is centre stage for this singing, dancing, acrobatic diva…and she’s only just gone two.

What can I say? The kid is a natural. Natural show off.

What can I say? The kid is a natural. Natural show off.

But here’s the kicker. Having a real life child of my own has completely changed my opinion about showbiz kids. I now believe it would be a parenting crime of the highest order if I didn’t encourage her love of performing. Because Isabella honestly loves it. And just to be clear, there is not, nor has there EVER been any excessive push from me to show her off or get her to sing and dance on-cue. And my Dad [her grandpa] is an accountant. Enough said about that. So if she’s happy singing and dancing then I say sod what anyone else thinks. I’ll enrol her in every class she enjoys and not because I want to become rich off her future earnings as the next Lady Gaga. [Although let’s be honest…that’d be awesome!] If Isabella has a natural talent then as her mother I have an obligation to explore the depth of that talent and nurture it as best I can. I have become the unofficial champion of child entertainers.

Just this week in fact, I was asked by Channel 7’s Today Tonight to be on their judging panel for a segment asking, “Do WA Kids have the X-Factor?”. I sat alongside fellow judges The Lord Major Lisa Scaffidi and renowned Perth entertainer Jamie Mercanti debating the calibre of talent we would see in such youthful performers. They started with 11 year old Hamish who sang, danced and tapped his way through a flawless performance of “The Boy from Oz” followed by 9 year old Savannah performing a gymnastic/acrobatic routine so energetic we were left breathless just watching her. Next was 13 year old Harry from Bunbury who performed with all the class of Hugh Jackman but with a better smile and then young Chloe tapped her way through the same number as Hamish, with the added confidence of someone who had previously made it to our screens on Australia’s Got Talent…and she was only 9 years old! The last act of the day was Sophia the beautiful 5 year old ballerina. She was so adorable I instantly reconsidered enrolling Isabella into ballet. They were all amazing, talented kids but most importantly, each one of them loved every minute of being onstage. And passion like that you just can’t fake

You can check out the link to the Today Tonight story here Today Tonight X-Factor Kids

The entertainment industry is tough and it’s ruthless and kids who want to be part of that industry need all the love and support they can get. I speak from experience when I say that the applause and adulation do wonders for your ego, but there’s honestly no greater feeling in the world than hearing your mum or dad tell you they’re proud of you.

Thanks for reading!

Lise
xxx

why parenting stereotypes suck

I was recently asked a personal question that had me completely stumped. And being stumped is unusual for me because I have an answer for most things as I’m quite a know-it-all. I was asked about my parenting style. What ‘type’ of parent was I to Isabella? Ummm…a bloody average one? Oh c’mon. I’m kidding. But seriously, I had NO IDEA how to answer. I hadn’t yet delved into the dark work of internet parenting. So my response was wide eyed surprise, not saying anything at all and appearing stupid. I did not know there were actual ‘types’ of parents. Aren’t there just good parents and bad parents? The good parents who feed their children leafy green vegetables while simultaneously teaching them how many of each food group they should consume with each meal while bad parents are the ones that leave their kids unattended in casino car parks while they use the shopping money to gamble.

I guess I'm the 'type' of parent who will dress my kid up like a bumble bee?

I guess I’m the ‘type’ of parent who will dress my kid up like a bumble bee?

I had no idea what parenting category I might fall into but after checking the net I thought thank christ I’m not the worst category. And anyway, I haven’t ever analysed the way I am with my two year old. My parenting is just getting through the day without needing a drink before 4.30pm or yelling too much. And I’m not convinced that we, as parents, should be creating categories for each other’s parenting styles in order to compare and critique. I don’t believe any parent is going to fit exactly into one particular parenting category and in addition the categories themselves can create negative stereotypes that could lead to a lack of confidence on behalf of the parent. I say this because after doing more unnecessary web investigation on parenting styles, I found a site that says I definitely fall into the “Push-over Parent” category [obviously their term for the “Permissive Parenting” Style]. Another site called my parenting “too soft” and yet another, “Over-indulgent and weak”. Well that’s great. Thanks very much. Just those terms made me wince and feel embarrassed. I suffer enough guilt on a daily basis knowing my nanny is settling Isabella down with her dolly for an afternoon nap without having a website highlight my insecurities by labeling me a ‘weak parent’. I had to stop reading because I felt like a failure. And feeling like a failure always makes me want to drink. Copious amounts of red wine. What would be FAR more helpful to me as a single parent would be for experienced child-rearers to offer advice on particular problems parents might be experiencing. And then give lots and lots of alternative solutions to those problems. Without judgment.

Here’s an example. Isabella is two years and one month old. I work full-time so I often feel guilty about being away from Bells for many hours during the day. I started to buy her little ‘presents’ worth only a few dollars to give to her when I got home or, if I was really tired, I’d save the present for later in the evening. If she was bored or starting to get irritable I would say something like, “Isabella I have a surprise for you! Would you like it now?” And she would run over with her little hands covering her eyes and say, “’Prise mummy! ‘Prise’ Prise!” Then I would give her the Wiggles stickers or the coloured pen I had bought and she would be thrilled for 30 mins. I was the BEST mummy in the WORLD!

Until one dark day when I had no surprise. I’m guessing it may have been a Saturday because I wouldn’t have gone to work and if I’m not at work then I don’t feel guilty so I don’t buy a present to assuage my guilt. Anyway, on this particular morning Isabella approached me full of smiles with covered eyes saying, “’Prise mummy ‘prise?” I laughed and replied, ‘Oh honey, mummy doesn’t have a surprise today!” Well. You would’ve thought I’d taken her beloved doll and hacked it to pieces with my scissors then set it on fire. “NO MUMMY ‘PRISE ‘PRISE!!!” was ringing in my eardrums as I tried to console a kid who had flung herself onto the wooden floorboards and was slamming her feet down onto the floor. I tried my stern-ye- calm-voice and said quietly, “Isabella. Honey. Mummy can’t bring you a surprise everyday ok? It’s only for special days. Do you understand?” Well the short answer is that she didn’t. She didn’t understand for hours because she kept asking for her’ “’prise!”

So what happened is that we got in the car and went to the shops and I bought her some stickers. Am I a push-over parent? Probably. But knowing I’m that ‘type’ doesn’t help me deal with a devastated two year old stuck face down the kitchen floor. Every single day Isabella puts her hands over her eyes and asks for her ‘Prise.

I have no idea how to stop her asking. So I just buy her a bloody surprise everyday.

Thanks for reading!

Lise
xxx

france with a toddler (on a plane)

I went to hell recently and I’d love to tell you how that particular adventure came about. I think it was September when I had a sudden epiphany. I’ve got holidays coming up. And I’m bloody exhausted. How relaxing and adventurous would it be if I went on holiday to Nice (YES the one in France) with my adorable child and spent my mid-year break relaxing on the beaches of Southern France instead of hanging around my house wearing tracksuit pants and watching crappy Wiggles DVD’s? Genius Fernandez. I’ve been to Nice before, it’s awesome so why bloody not was my attitude in a moment of insanity. I gave my credit card details to the lovely lady at Qantas and remember thinking, I have a beautiful little girl who is about to share the adventure of a lifetime with me. The best mother in the world. We just had to survive a 27+ hour plane trip without me becoming homicidal and all would be sweet.

Oh yea. And just some unsolicited advice for those contemplating taking their child or children on a long haul flight. I would avoid reading websites with the heading, “How to Fly Hassle-Free with Small Children” because quite frankly, it’s not going to happen. IT”S A BLOODY LIE YOU LIARS!!!

Rather than giving tips that may or may not be appropriate for your family’s situation I felt it might be more useful to relive MY trip, hour by hour, so you can see what’s it’s REALLY like to travel with a toddler.

PERTH TO SINGAPORE 5 HOURS

Hour 1 – Isabella had a good morning sleep so she is alert and interested in her surroundings. Flight crew are fantastic and refer to her as a little sweetie. She smiles back and says hello to passengers in surrounding seats. The crew have provided colouring in pencils, pencil case, paper and a small deck of cards for the kids onboard. I am relaxed.

Hour 2 – Food is served and Isabella indicates she doesn’t like it by pushing her plate off the tray-table as she reaches for my meal. I give her my food and she is happy. Her food is scattered on the floor and across the pillow I’d hoped to use. I am still relaxed. Our adventure is underway!

Hour 3 – First nappy change. It’s all over the inside of her pants and smells bad. I have spare clothes so no problem. The toilets are tiny she won’t lie down on the pull down change-table so we struggle vertically for ages while I clean her up. She continually opens and slams shut the syringe disposal box so I get cross and she starts to cry. Loudly. I did the first change and it went ok. I am pleased.

Hour 4 & 5 – Isabella is getting restless so I let her walk up and down the aisle talking to passengers. Some are kind enough to engage her for a few minutes and I use the opportunity to pick up her food from the floor and scrape it off my pillow. As we fly into Singapore I silently high five myself.

TRANSIT – 2 HOURS IN SINGAPORE

Our connecting terminal is 20 minutes away. Isabella runs like a maniac to every departure gate and is stopped by officials carrying guns. When cautioned for the fourth time by the military I become frazzled.

 

6 hours down and about 18 more to go. On the plane in Singapore. Heading to France.

6 hours down and about 18 more to go. On the plane in Singapore. Heading to France.

SINGAPORE TO LONDON 13 HOURS

Hour 8 – The crew provide colour pencils for the children and again, Isabella warmly greets all passengers and crew with a wave and a smiling hello. People from the Perth flight stop and tell me how angelic she is. I agree wholeheartedly and try not to look too smug. The man sitting next to us seems pleasant. I tell him I may need to get past him if Isabella requires the toilet and he is fine with that.

Hour 9 – Isabella needs the toilet and is very tired. She keeps throwing her colour pencils on the floor and screams when I don’t pick them up. Dinner service has commenced but Isabella smells so bad that I apologetically ask the man next to us if we may get past and I spend the next 30 mins near the toilet as we can’t get back to our seats. I am starving.

Hour 10 – Isabella wants more milk and begins crying hysterically but she won’t let me touch her and when I try she throws herself into the window and cries louder. The hysteria goes on for 40 mins before she falls into an exhausted asleep. I shovel down my dinner even though all I can smell is baby poo.

Hours 11 & 12 – Isabella sleeps and I try to do the same. Unfortunately this is not successful as I’m scared she’ll roll off the seat onto the floor thereby waking up. I’m exhausted.

Hour 13 – Isabella wakes up crying and soaked from all the milk she’s consumed so I am forced to wake up the man next to us so we can go to the toilet. Isabella won’t stop crying. I hate my life and my kid.

Hour 14 & 15 – Isabella is still crying. I am close to tears and want to get off the plane. I can’t take anymore.

Hour 16 – Isabella has stopped crying but wants to sit with the lady directly in front of us so she keeps insisting the man with her move. They are honeymooners who I sense are contemplating remaining childless. They try to ignore her but it’s hard as she’s standing on their feet.

Hour 17 & 18 – I am sleep-deprived, stressed and claustrophobic. Isabella fluctuates between clingy, teary, irritable and uncontrollable. I want to jump out of the plane.

Hour 19 – I keep my seatbelt tight so I don’t do anything that might harm myself or the passengers around me. I try to convince Isabella to walk up an down the aisle in the hope a childless couple may find her appealing and offer to take her off my hands. Forever.

Hour 20 – We arrive in Heathrow. I bend down to kiss the airport carpet and like an old person I have problems getting up. I still have to navigate from Terminal 3 to 5 before our 2 hour flight to Nice. I haven’t slept for 24 hours and am close to a breakdown. Isabella wants to be carried and as I have no pram this seems to only option but she weights a ton.

TRANSIT – 3 HOURS IN HEATHROW AIRPORT, LONDON

I am now almost catatonic. I want to crawl into bed and sleep for weeks. I am also constipated from eating random crap on the plane and I smell of sweat and baby poo. I’m thinking this holiday is the worst idea I’ve ever had. The only worse idea is the decision to have a kid. In fact, where is my kid? I almost lose Bella in Heathrow.

Hour 24 – We finally board the last leg of our trip. We are traveling with a multitude of rich looking people headed to Nice. They are relaxed and tanned and beautiful. We are haggard and teary and smell of shit. No-one wants to sit next to us on the plane.

Hour 25 – The British Airways hostess is extra pleasant when she finds out I’m in hell. “All the way from Perth with a little one BY YOURSELF!” she exclaims. When I ask her if she wants to stop and play with the little one for 10 mins she suddenly thinks the Captain is calling her. I didn’t hear him.

Hour 26 – If my nerves were guitar strings they would’ve made a high pitched twang sound and snapped by now. My eyelids can barely stay open and Isabella’s voice is like chalk down a blackboard to me. I need a holiday from my flight. Which means I need two holidays. But there’s only one. And right now it’s HELL.

27 HOURS – NICE FRANCE

We arrived. I survived. So did Bella. But honest to god those 27 hours felt like a lifetime. Would I do it again? Probably. And only if I could fly business class.

With Bells in Nice, France. We had a lot of fun together. She's a great kid.

With Bells in Nice, France. We had a lot of fun together. She’s a great kid.

Thanks for reading!

Lise
xxx