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Doing it for the kids

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Sourced from google images

Like millions of my fellow Australians, I am addicted to The Voice.

Yes, it is partly because of Keith Urban – how sexy is this man? According to one survey I heard reported last week, around 56% of us think he is far and away the sexiest person on The Voice.

Which is pretty impressive given his competition includes Seal. For if  Seal was to use his ‘come hither’ arms and smooth as silk voice on me, I fear I would do pretty much anything he asked me too.

Then there is cheeky Joel Madden from Good Charlotte who is good fun to watch, especially when you can see the drool dripping from his mouth as he watches the hot chicks battle it out. Although whatever he is chewing on (is it really a toothpick?) is starting to annoy me.

As this is not meant to be an in-depth analysis of either the judges or the contestants (plenty of other people have already done that this week, you can check out a few here) I will refrain from commenting on Delta.

The judges on The Voice (sourced from

Or, as tempted as I am, on the ‘Mahalia’ vs ‘Prini‘ debate. Oh what the heck.

For mine, while Mahalia is clearly the better singer (and yes, I realise the irony – the show is after called The Voice), she seemed more than a little intimidated by her Aussie-Beyonce-Bestie on the night, and I thought her performance suffered as a result.

And as for she-who-does-not-want-to-be-known-as-the-blind-singer Rachael Leachcar. I actually cried during her performance on Monday night. Not a little tear of appreciation but real, need tissues crying.

Hang on, where was I? Oh yes, the actual purpose of this blog.

Which is to ask – have you noticed how so many of the older contestants are

“doing this for my kids – to prove to them that dreams can come true”.

Please don’t get me wrong. I’m all for the more mature of us following our dreams – in most battles I am the one rooting for the older person. The person who recognises The Voice is their “last chance”.

There is more than a little part of me that believes – if they can do it, so can I.

But what I am struggling with is the implication that once you have children, it is not good enough to want to do something for yourself, or to chase your own dreams.

Oh no, you have to do this to prove something to your children.

Speaking of doing it for the kids, here is a little something special to warm your cold Autumn days. You’re welcome.

I love my kids. I really do. And I spend a great deal of  my life either working hard so there is enough money to pay for their extra-curricular activities, or transporting them to and from said activities.

I do this in part because I adhere to the modern-day cliché where children are expected to partake in at least two extra curricular activities.

A stronger reason I do this is because I want Chloe and Zach to have the opportunities I never did. I’ve whinged about it before and here I go again.

Being adopted by older parents who had already brought up six children before me, meant that when I came along they were well and truly over running kids around for sports, dancing or drama. So it just did not happen.

I am determined to be the opposite kind of parent to my kids.

I want them to have every opportunity to find something they are passionate about, to practise whatever their passion may be, to possibly one day have a career doing what they love.

Zach in costume as “Afro Joe, Misfortune Teller”.

By the same token, I long to be able to say my job is as a writer or journalist.

Not because I would be doing it for my children. But as this will mean I am living my dreams.

Although maybe the last word should go to the children.

As we saw yet another “Rock God….father of…” contestant prepare to battle it out “for their children” on Tuesday, I asked the kids if they actually care whether Mum or Dad are pursuing their dreams.

Zach replied “I do Mum, I want you to be a journalist. You were happiest when you were doing journalism”.

Maybe those contestants are onto something after all.

As long as we can believe their performance.

Cheers till next time,



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