Got my teeny bag packed and I’m ready to go.

What? You’ve got a sleeping bag, clown pants, Elmo t-shirt and your butterfly hat is making a comeback? And they’re all in that bag?

It’s time for random and ridiculous to make a comeback!

I’m off to NSW on a road trip with four strangers, volunteering with Dr Froth at the Incredi-Bubble Festival in Corowa.

Today, my feeds were filled with condolences, reflections and great sadness on the death of Jim Stynes.

If you haven’t heard of him, google will fill you in. The press releases, websites, and obituaries will be filled with a journey from talented Irish Gaelic footballer to Australian AFL champion, Victorian of the Year, Medal of the Order of Australia recipient, community campaigner, change maker, friend, much loved family man, cancer battler and inspiration who believed there was greatness in everyone.

Breath… yes, it was a big life condensed into a short timeframe.

The death of Jim Styne’s will make the news for quite some time. As will his incredible life. His AFL prowess will be recognised in lifetime honours, his children will grow up knowing he was a remarkable father and his dedication to changing the lives of young people will continue with the wonderful work of REACH. There is no question Jim deserves every accolade heralded as a result of his leadership, courage and inspiration.

Jim got me thinking….

We weren’t all born with the genetics of a great sports hero, artist, world leader, philanthropist or recipient of medals, honours and commendations. Our deaths may not make international news with a national outpouring of rest in peace and thanks.

Does that mean we should not want our lives remembered by the people whose lives we touched? For the small differences we make?

We certainly need to create a better planet for our children, but I think Jim’s death got me thinking about the need to shift the focus. The planet has been around for millions of years and has proven it can look after itself. We on the other hand, won’t be. What if we were to shift our focus to our children, inspiring them to become great leaders (from world to family), develop courage, foster initiative, thrive in community and commit to a cause and purpose. What if we stopped simply liking everything and used that force to create some real change – for ourselves and the future.

Jim had 45 years on this planet and certainly helped mould better children.

What if we could mould a generation of leaders, change-makers and individuals who lived with purpose, passion and commitment to the planet, its people and inter-generational equity.

Jim, you were right. We are all filled with greatness.

We don’t need a better planet for our children. We need better children for our planet.

you bloody ripper!

I love children – they give me an excuse to let my inner child loose.

Not that I need an excuse. I just wanted to create an octopus playing with a snail and the play-doh had my name all over it. Hanging out with a wonderfully creative four year old got me all inspired to mush all the colours together and top him off with blue hair.

There’s something quite cathartic about not wanting or expecting something to be perfect in design or functionality, let alone real. And there is something quite extraordinary in observing a child make something completely from the imagination.

Here’s some instructions to make your own gooey clump of non-toxic dough for you to experiment and create.

It’s guaranteed fun for kids of all ages. What do you dare create from the depths of your imagination?

you bloody ripper!

Purple and green should never be seen. That is unless you’re five, receive a full makeup kit for your birthday, and decide to hide away in your bedroom for half an hour before your impending date with party pies, cake, balloons and pass the parcel.

The pure innocence of childhood replaces grown-up rules and fashion etiquette. A half hour of reckless abandonment replaces the need for detailed perfection.

Living for the moment and being just who you want to be, one bright colour at a time.

you bloody ripper!

The main highlight of the tour was sneaking away from the group to watch from afar Tina’s interaction with the local children. It is very evident that she is very soft hearted and truly loves the countries she is travelling.

Damn right! I often reflect on some incredible memories and experiences I had with the children whose paths I crossed during my time working in Cambodia.

If you haven’t been to Cambodia, the children are everywhere. Selling books. Selling drinks. Selling sweets, bracelets, food, tuktuk rides, postcards and even themselves. These shrewd businessmen and women confront you at every corner, every temple, every restaurant and every hidden corner of the country.

I still tell the story of a young boy, who, at one of my many visits to Angkor Wat, asked me if I wanted a bottle of coke for $2.The conversation then went something like this:

No thankyou, I don’t need it.

What about some postcards – only $2.

No thanks, I already have too many.

What about these bracelets – 10 for $2.

No, I don’t need any.

You need some water miss. It’s very hot in there. $2.

I already have some.

Miss, what can I get you? All for $2.

Nothing, thanks.

Ok miss. I give you nothing. For $2.

The innocence of childhood is lost amongst the need to collect as many $2 as one can in the name of survival.

And it is for this reason, that I cherised my time at the Angkor temples when I allowed myself the opportunity to show the kids how to let loose their inner child.

Having left my own well worn trampled paths over the bones of those tortured by the Khmer Rouge at the Phnom Penh Killing Fields and the temples of Angkor Wat, it didn’t take me long to decide that my time would be better spent hanging out with the kids.

Armed with footballs, paper, coloured pens, crayons, balloons and on the odd occasion, a bicycle, I always came prepared for the ensuing battle. Arriving at these obvious well known tourist sites, one cannot help but get a little hot and bothered with the constant ’smile’, ‘take a picture’, ‘give me money’, ‘want to go to school’, ‘need food’ cries from the mouths of babes.

I felt what they did need over photographs, money, cookies and attitude (theirs, not mine) was a little bit of fun. A little bit of childhood.

I’d encourage them to draw pictures of their homes (ok… hut), family (it always included the obligatory cow and tree), themselves (always cleaner and well dressed) and me (always taller, more beautiful and better dressed).

Blowing balloons, fly away peter stories, what’s the time games, quad push bike rides, reams and reams of paper, white girl vs beggar team football matches, tackles, stories, piggy backs, questions, artwork. And then there were the smiles. And the laughter, that if I close my eyes and recall, can hear echo deep within, it is so permanently etched on my memory.

Give them $2, they’ll be back tomorrow still flogging their postcards and cans of coke. Give them a childhood, even for an hour, and you give them the world – well, at least one with a guaranteed happy ending, albeit for ten minutes.

We all know that when travelling we should leave nothing but footprints. I say baloney to that. When you travel, leave nothing but imprints.

If I had $2 for every imprint those small encounters have made on my life, they would all want for nothing.

you bloody ripper!

Going to children’s birthday parties is guaranteed to take one back to childhood.

Fresh white bread slathered with way too much butter.

Scattered hundreds and thousands.

Seated at a brown laminate kitchen table on grey vinyl chairs.

Surrounded by lime green kitchen benches.

Washing them down with orange cordial sipped out of hand painted vegemite glasses.

Tongue out – welcome to kaleidoscope land!

you bloody ripper!

Perhaps as adults we could learn from the simplicity of a child’s fridge note.

Admittance of fault.

Apology.

Request for forgiveness.

Accolades.

And lots of love.

you bloody ripper!

My sister is an actress. While working on her latest short film, the crew mentioned they were searching for the star of the film. After putting her ego back in check, she mentioned her daughter may be the one they were looking for. The crew agreed.

For the next week, Lennox rehearsed her lines and was ready to be Melbourne’s next child star. The two and a half hour drive to the set location was spent rehearsing – perfect delivery.

Action.

Silence.

My sister in a foetal position.

It was a long and quiet two and a half hour drive home.

The next day, the call came. They couldn’t get Lennox out of their head and wanted her to take two.

See Mum. It’s not because I remembered my lines I got the part. It’s because I’m beautiful.

Cut to two days later, arms filled with chocolate and sticker book bribes.

Hello Mr Snail.

Oh I wish I was a snail.

Filming in the can. Can’t wait until Cannes.

you bloody ripper!