Welcome to this very special 60th birthday issue of Woman's Day, where we're celebrating our diamond anniversary in style with a bumper 32-page special (not to mention our massive 60th anniversary online special!).

When we first started talking about this milestone in Woman's Day's history, I asked six of the senior editors to research a decade each — reading each issue published — and report back to us all on what made them laugh, cry and fall over in amazement.

What resulted was one of the most fantastic afternoons of my life. Lifestyle Editor Fran Sheen told us about the '50s — her favourite coverline being "Free pattern offer! Get the Queen's boiler suit".

News Editor Kerry McCarthy reported on the '60s — "What impressed me was how forward thinking Woman's Day was even back in the '60s, encouraging women to get out there into the workplace, we were ahead of our time!"

Entertainment Editor Alex Needs took us through the '70s — highlights were "How to get your boss to stop sexually harassing you and still keep your job", as well as Graham Kennedy's piece on his ideal woman.

Then it was over to Foreign Editor Matthew Denby for the '80s — a bumper of a decade. "My picks were Nicole Kidman's hair dye ads, Matron Sloane's beehive tips, and the iconic cover of Lindy Chamberlain holding Azaria at Ayers Rock, as well as the many Diana covers, including her wedding."

Managing Editor Fiona Tomarchio told us about the '90s — the Fergie toe-sucking scandal, Bob and Blanche's love affair, and the tragic deaths of Princess Diana and Michael Hutchence.

Deputy Editor Zoë Meunier — who is responsible for all our fabulous birthday content — took care of the '00s. She loved being reminded of some of the wackier star couples that we'd all completely forgotten about — from Barbra Streisand and Andre Agassi, to Liz Hayes and John Mangos, to Lisa Marie Presley and Nicolas Cage.

At the end of the day, throughout all the decades of Woman's Day one thing is clear: we have always been, and continue to be, a magazine that is the bible for Australian women on everything from celebrity, fashion, food, family, charity and issues that really matter.

Our success and longevity is thanks to you, our readers, who've chosen to make Woman's Day part of your lives over the past 60 years. Here's to another 60!

For a long time, my mum and dad have been diehard lottery fans. Every Saturday morning, without fail, they put in their numbers at the local newsagents, and every Saturday afternoon, without fail, my mum rings me to say that this is the week that we'll all become millionaires.

Of course they've never won — but they've never given up hope, which is admirable.

Lately, however, my mum's been saying more and more often that this is the week we'll win millions. Why the sudden confidence? "Well, Amy," my mother told me, "I've developed psychic powers and I keep having visions of winning a lot of money."

Where to start with this statement? How does someone suddenly decide they're psychic? Did she have visions from a distant relative who'd passed away many years ago? Has she started hearing strange voices? No — none of the above. She says her psychic powers came to her in the supermarket:

"I was walking around when all of a sudden I felt something pulling me towards the cleaning aisle. Eventually I found myself standing in front of the mops for no apparent reason. It was about 10 minutes before I thought 'This is ridiculous' and moved on to a different aisle."

Then two days later, she was mopping the kitchen floor and, you guessed it, her mop broke and she had to go to the supermarket to buy another one. "See what I mean, Amy?" My mum told me later. "Some cosmic force was telling me to buy a mop two days earlier and I should've listened!"

Hmmmm. Anyway, I'm happy to go along with the notion that my mum's got psychic abilities. After all, if she's going to come into a lot of money in the near future, I figure it's best to be in her good books!

PS: Don't forget to email me your thoughts about Woman's Day, at asinclair@acpmagazines.com.au. It's your mag — I want to hear from you!

Last week I was reading an online forum debating stay-at-home mums vs working mums. Now, I know forums are there for people to voice their opinion, and I think that's great, but it struck me as I read through all the comments how hard some of us women can be on each other.

I'm talking about stay-at-home mums being critical of working mums, working mums being critical of stay-at-home mums, mums who breastfeed vs those who don't, and then there's the whole caesarean vs natural birth debate. It's all too much!

I think most mums have encountered discussion over such things. I've had women say to me, "Don't you wish your husband earned enough money so you didn't have to work?" My husband has been told that it's "embarrassing" that he took paternity leave. And only last week one of the Woman's Day team was talking about how, at a party recently, she had to defend her position as a working mum from someone who suggested she should feel guilty for not spending more time with her daughters.

On this forum all the comments I read were just plain mean — one describing stay-at-home mums as "bludgers", another telling a working mum, "What a shame you chose your career over spending time with your child."

All those statements are inflammatory, but most of all, unnecessary. After all, there's a whole range of reasons that mums choose to work — to pay the bills, because they love their jobs. And, likewise, there's a whole range of reasons women choose to stay at home with their children.

I have never and will never have anything other than admiration for stay-at-home mums and working mums alike. And at the end of the day, I think we should respect and support the decisions that women have made in their lives ... not criticise them.

PS. Don't forget to sign the Woman's Day Save Our Kids petition. Together, we can make a difference.

Last Sunday my mum, my daughter and I spent the afternoon together. It was one of those lovely afternoons where we didn't really do anything ... just three generations pottering around my mum's house looking after my new nephew Jack, who's just eight weeks old. And I remember a moment where I stopped to think how lucky I was — the perfect mum, the perfect daughter and this gift in little Jack. And it was at this moment that I received a call telling me of Jane McGrath's passing.

When someone dies, I always immediately think of the family they've left behind — especially when children are involved. It's the cruelty of it all. The sadness that children have lost their mother; that a husband has lost his wife; that a mother will not get to see her children grow and experience all that life has to offer.

This was certainly the case with Jane, whose family was her everything.

There have been a lot of tears in the Woman's Day office this past week. Tears when we read the beautiful words Glenn has spoken about his wife over the years; tears when we looked through photos of the loving family; tears when we saw the emotion on Glenn's face at Jane's funeral service.

But there's also been a lot of pride — pride in the way Jane fought her illness; pride in the way she's inspired cancer sufferers around the country with her spirit and tenacity; pride in the hope she's given to so many people.

We remember Jane with a special tribute in this issue. She was a very brave, very inspirational woman. Our thoughts are with Glenn, Holly and James during this sad and difficult time.

In this week's issue we're bringing you gorgeous photos from the 2nd birthday party of Geri Halliwell's daughter Bluebell. And it really was a fantasy party ... white rabbits hopping around, elaborate cakes, amazing fairy costumes.

I must say, though, that I was struck with jealousy when I looked through the photos ... mostly because the more elaborate I've been with my kids' parties, the more disastrous they've turned out to be.

Take my son Max's last birthday. He was turning eight, and like most boys his age he agonised over what to do for his party for most of the year — in the end deciding to take a few friends rock-climbing. No problem, we thought. Until the few friends turned into 10 friends, and then, in a moment of weakness, we agreed that the boys could sleep over, and go to the beach in the afternoon, and that all our extended family could come over and share in the frivolity.

I was doing pretty well until my mum pulled out a platter of red cupcakes with the letter "M" on them that she'd made — which the kids thoroughly enjoyed. And when I say enjoyed, I mean ran through the house rubbing red icing into every couch, wall and piece of carpet. And then came the mission of getting nine boys and one girl to sleep. Arrghhhh! Never again!

Things haven't been much better with my daughter — last birthday party, we organised to have farm animals in the backyard. Which was great until the little piglet took off through the house, with a gaggle of kids behind it. It wasn't pretty. And then there was the time I decided to cut costs and do my own face-painting on the kids. After about 12 disastrous attempts, I just made everyone an Incredible Hulk, so green faces all around.

But I've learnt my lesson. From now on, we're having all parties at the local park. No animals, face-painting, sleepovers and red cupcakes allowed!

I've always loved a good birth story, and I can tell you a million: about my friend Shona whose labour was so fast she gave birth in the ambulance outside her house; or Rosemary, whose baby started coming out foot first, and the midwife had to push the leg back in until they could do a caesarean; and my friend Alex who had a hole in her placenta and spent 22 weeks flat on her back in bed until they did a caesarean.

So I was right in my element watching 60 Minutes last week when they did a big story on the whole caesarean vs natural birth vs homebirth debate. My husband Jimmy left the room as soon as the first labour image popped up on screen — to say he's a little squeamish is an understatement. During my son's birth, he spent most of the time curled up in a ball in the corner, rocking and wailing "When will this end?!"

But I loved the program. And putting the whole caesarean/natural/homebirth debate aside, what impressed me most was watching Queenslander Julie Heath have a water homebirth. As she gave birth, she didn't make one noise. Not one single sound. Not a moan, not a wail — just a bit of a sigh as she brought the baby out and placed it on her chest. I tell you, it was a birth worthy of a round of applause.

I, on the other hand, couldn't have screamed more having my two children. I didn't have drugs — not through choice, there just wasn't enough time! And I yelled and swore the house down. At one point I demanded Jimmy pay the anaesthetist "thousands of dollars" to give me drugs when the midwife wasn't looking. And my mum ran around the whole time apologising to the medical staff for my terrible behaviour.

So Julie Heath, my hat is off to you. Giving birth ... at home ... in a paddle pool ... without a whimper is an amazing feat. Even she admits "I'm born to have babies I think." She's got that right!

Last week a colleague burst into my office and, with a look of true joy on her face, said, "Oh my God! Have you heard the new Leo Sayer and The Wiggles song? How awesome is it? I listen to it in the car, even when the kids aren't there. I love to sing to all the high bits! And then the CD goes into Doctor Knickerbocker Knickerbocker Number Nine, which is another classic! So good!"

Hmmmm. It's hard to know where to begin with that whole statement, really. I mean, yep — it's a catchy tune. I love it, the kids love it. But listening to it in the car by yourself? And then extolling the virtues of track number two — Doctor Knickerbocker Knickerbocker Number Nine? That might be taking it a little too far...

But the truth is that listening to kids' songs without kids in the room/car with you is a crime I have been well and truly guilty of over the years, as I'm sure is the case with many mums out there (at least I hope it is — otherwise I'm going to sound like a real idiot from here on in).

I mean, there was a period of about three months last year when I had Captain Feathersword Fell Asleep On His Pirate Ship by The Wiggles in my head 24/7. And every time I got to the line, "Well, is he a rooster or a pirate? Well, I just don't know! Ahoy there! Ahoy there! Ahoy cock-a-doodley-there!" I would burst out laughing at the sheer ridiculousness of a pirate who thought he was a rooster.

My husband has been known to put on Justine Clarke's I Like To Sing DVD more for his own enjoyment than our daughter's, and I remember once having an hour-long conversation with him where we agreed that Hi-5's Strong And Brave was a really fabulous song and belonged on our iPod. After one particularly long drive, my son Max had to beg us to take the song off repeat in the car.

And don't even get me started on Thomas the Tank Engine ditties or the Pokemon theme song. There are some real classics there, I tell you...

The Newton family have long been good friends of Woman's Day and we were devastated last week to hear of the brazen theft of Patti's handbag containing many of her treasured jewels, including a wedding ring and gifts from Bert.

Eventually the police apprehended two suspects and some of her jewellery has been recovered — but not before a lot of tears and angst for poor Patti. The whole thing has put me in a bad mood all week — partly because it's all too close to home.

Two weeks ago, my mum and dad were at home — Dad was out the front mowing the lawn and Mum was out the back doing some gardening. After a while she went into the house to get something and standing there in her kitchen was a man holding her handbag, chock-full with stuff. It seems he'd walked into the house via the garage while my father was preoccupied and helped himself to a whole range of things — my mum's handbag, wedding ring, watch, some jewellery and Dad's wallet.

Once he saw my mum, he took off out the door and over the back fence, still holding the bag. My dad jumped in his car and went off in hot pursuit — I know, it's all very Starsky and Hutch — but to no avail, and despite the hard work of the local police the thief is still at large.

My house has been burgled three times in the past six years. And what upsets me the most aren't the missing TVs, cameras or computers. It's losing the jewellery that my grandmother gave me, my stolen wedding ring and the bowl I kept next to the front door that my mother gave me. The last time I was robbed, they stole all my mother's antique jewellery; she was staying with us at the time and had brought her jewellery box with her.

In it were 30 years of gifts from my dad and my grandmothers … and it was all gone in one hit.

These things, like Patti's jewellery, are for the most part irreplaceable. To the robber it's just a gold necklace, but to me it's a gold necklace my grandma bought for me when I was born. It's just so devastating. But these are the times we live in I guess ...

Why is it that when your kids stay with other people, they're complete angels? They sleep perfectly, eat perfectly, behave perfectly. So much so, you get a call the next day saying, "I don't know what you always complain about!"

My friend Emma — who's the editor of TV Week — and I were discussing this, and we've decided it's the eighth wonder of the world. Let's take Emma's story, for example. She's been having a terrible trot lately, with her one-year-old daughter insisting on waking up every day at 4am and her three-year-old demanding story after story — made up on the spot — before she heads off to sleep at some ungodly hour. Throw in housework, a long day at the office, baths, dinner ...

Well, while Emma was interstate at the TV Week Logies, her mum moved in to look after the kids. Not only did they sleep 12 hours uninterrupted, go to bed with ease and wake up at a sensible hour, they ate all their food and behaved like absolute angels. Her mum even had time to fill the house with flowers and make a lovely meal for when Emma returned.

It's the same when my kids stay with my mum and dad. There's no 90-minute mission to put my daughter to bed. She's happy to go the day without her dummy — yet with me, it's like I'm trying to cut her arm off every time I try to take it from her. And both my kids — who refuse to eat anything other than five different foods between them — eat anything and everything my mother gives them.

There's no chasing naked children around the house for 45 minutes, trying to get them into the bath. They just happily hop in and, according to my mother, even ask to brush their own teeth. One time, my mother claims — and you may need to lie down for this one — my son cleaned his room without being asked.

I'm putting it all down to "nanny luck" and am seriously thinking of upping the ante next time they go to visit my mum by throwing in a few homework assignments. If Max does them without complaining, then I'll be impressed!

This week, Woman's Day is proud to be throwing its support behind the RSPCA's Million Paws Walk, which happens on May 18. This is the RSPCA's major fundraising event of the year, where people around the country are invited to take part in short walks to raise money for the hardworking charity.

In the mag this week, we're featuring some of your fave Aussie celebs with their four-legged best friends to mark the occasion, and I thought it would be lovely to feature some pooches from the Woman's Day team as well.

We have the beautiful Baci, who belongs to my fabulous assistant Diane Kennedy; gorgeous Mable, who belongs to our National Advertising Manager Mark Driscoll; and little Holly, who belongs to our Associate Editor (News) Kerry McCarthy.

Unfortunately I don't have a pooch of my own. I grew up with Great Danes — but now I just have my ragdoll cat Gus, who's the size of a dog, so I guess that counts for something. What is it with me and enormous pets?!

Anyway, I'll be heading out with my family to the Sydney Million Paws Walk at Sydney Olympic Park and would love to see you there. The RSPCA is very kindly lending a puppy for the kids and me to walk on the day — but somehow I think I'm going to have a tough time giving the little pooch back ... especially if my kids have anything to say about it.