A Year Later

Dave and I having a conversation in the kitchen this evening, fuelled by wine and beer, about this current moment. A year on... whats happened and what hasn't.

I'm writing again... after a 6 month break. It may not last but I found myself writing this blog in the shower and at the dinner table and on the ride home today...so here it is.

I am a different person. I am stronger and more vulnerable at the same time.
For the first time in my life I am an adult. I mean that in the saddest, least teenage fantasy, beige tax accountant kind of way.
At 35, nearly 36, I have for the first time in my life experienced a year of life, when I alone am responsible for my own happiness without the comforting, soft landing of Mum.

I am not sure I am qualified for this. I am different to who I thought I was. Better? maybe. Worse? sure, sometimes.

I am a fitter, healthier, weirder, sadder, more aware, less oblivious, more honest, less childish, more average, darker person. It has been the hardest year, which has, in turn, made me able to do and with stand harder things.

I dont believe she is with us, or watching over us. I am sorry, I just don't feel it. I wish with all my being that she was an ethereal being following my every move and guiding me from afar, but thats not true. The closest thing I can see is that she is in me, my memories and my actions because she taught me. But if the Disney version of Ghost Mum existed, with her harp and her halo and her wings, sitting on her fluffy cloud watching me and the girls and Dave and Dad, I think she would be proud of the fact that even though it is different and it has sucked and we miss her terribly, we have lived. We have moved forward inch by inch and we will continue to.

Is 2017 that balm that we need to sooth the ragged edges left by 2016? Nah, I doubt it, but if I can write another blog in a years time, it means I have at least got my fingers, my brain and my Mac, so we will be ok....

How Much of it Matters?

I sometimes worry about the pieces of our lives that we haven't quite managed to pick up again, since Mum died, since coming back from the trip.

The girls aren't doing any activities outside of school and home.  We are unscheduled.Which is lovely.
Some of the reason is financial, some of the reason is due to the hours we both now work. It means that my Dad has the bulk of all after school and early evening time and I want it to be peaceful and relaxed for all of them.

I worry about the skills they might be missing out on but it is also guilt. Am I a bad parent if my child doesn't participate in a team sport?  Have I doomed them to a life of couch potato or hanging out with the "wrong" crowd.

Then I read this awesome paragraph on the HONY page.

It answered my question.

“The hardest was when she left for college. We dropped her off a couple days early, so the campus was empty, and I have this very clear image of her walking alone across the quad. I stared at my daughter’s back while she literally walked into the next phase of her life. So many questions were running through my mind: ‘Did we prepare her enough? Is she happy? Will she feel comfortable enough to tell us if she’s not?’ Looking back, I wish I hadn’t fretted so much over the small stuff. When she was young, we were worried so much about whether she started on the soccer team, or if she got chosen for the front row at the dance competition, or if she was playing flute at the recital. We worried so much about that stuff because we were looking for any sort of validation that we were doing a good job. And in our desperation to be good parents we became our children. I wish I knew how fast all that stuff would fade away. And how little any of that would matter once she became an adult.”

Thank you random New Yorker. You have helped me more than you know.

 

Can I help you?

Recently, I felt like I had let some people down. I'm not going into the nitty gritty, It's not solely my story to tell, however I can tell you how I felt. Guilty, sad and slightly paralyzed. As in, the more I worried, the less I could do.

When I finally got around to thanking the people, the people who did all the things I couldn't, and apologizing. This is what they said:

"You are doing a glorious job, you are doing exactly what you are supposed to do. Right now it wasn't your turn. One day, there will be someone or something. At that time you will be able to help, you will be in the position to do all the things you wished you could have done now. It will not only help them but it will help you. When that chance comes, take it".

Just like that, I went from feeling like a failure and thinking that others thought the same, to feeling loved and happy. One massive act of kindness changed my mindset completely to the point, now, where I am looking forward to having the opportunity to help in the future, whomever and whenever that may be, instead of being weighed down by all of the crap in my head.

This is something I can do. Write about kindness and hope that it inspires some in the world today.

Sometimes a kind word or gesture is you need.

SHOW ME THE MONEY!!!!

If you won lotto tomorrow... what would you do?

For the sake of the exercise lets say you win $5 million.

Would you become a "Patron" or "Spokesperson" or some other rich person title that no one is sure what the hell you actually do?

Travel? sure... but how? private jet? super launch? into space with Crazy Arsed Mr Branson? Hoverboard?

Here are my top 5...

1) House on the beach...not sure exactly where but Perth has the best beaches
2) A couple of years off to see more the world, 6 months was just not enough. South Africa, Canada, Hawaii, Bora Bora, Japan, New Zealand and then back to France
3) Personal trainer and chef because I would be an absolute lard arse in all this luxury
4) Family and friends. It feels good to give and to help....
5) 2 million to invest wisely and hopefully live off for the remainder of our very enjoyable lives

Sounds boring I know, but $5 mill in my hands would disappear like...well...my money, so I have to be conservative in my dreams or I am likely to end up blogging about the time I accidently spent $5 mill at Typo and Kikki K.

 In the mean time my budget stretches to luxury candles and that kind of smells like wealthy...

Got my shit together??????

So, what does it take to feel like you have your shit together?

Leaving the house with knickers that match your bra or  just leaving the house with knickers.........

Is it having your nails done? clean sheets on your bed? picking up your floordrobe so that all the dust bunnies are set free??

I had a day of forced organisation today. My grandmother has relocated back to Portugal. Today I transported a car full of 27 years worth of kitchen goods, jars, tupperware, cookware etc.

My pantry has never contained a labelled jar, my tupperware has always bred lids for no containers and my pots go where they fit, anytime, anywhere.

Not anymore, I have tupperware up the wazoo, labelled glass jars, I have cooked ahead meals for the week and made layered salads for my lunches, I even have a labelled jar of smoked paprika for christs sake.


I think this classifies as having my shit together... I just have to invite everyone to my kitchen to prove it...

Stop the world...I want to get off

Stop the world... I want to get off.

Not forever, just for a little while. I think a fortnight would do.

All the balls I had up in the air have fallen on my head and now I am flailing around in a ball pit like a drunken seal.

A fortnight, to start at one end of my world and spring clean through the bitch until I come out of the other side like a beautiful "I've got my shit together" butterfly.

I know I am not the only one. Everyone has problems and a lot of you wonderful people handle them with a hell of a lot more finesse than I can muster.

It shouldn't take me 20 minutes to decide to take a shower and I shouldn't wonder around aimless for two hours because its my day off and I would normally have met Mum.

I can't pack up and live here, I know.

I had to visit here in order to get where I am heading....but in the mean time, can someone just handle all the adult stuff for me?

I'll be in the corner, writing my blog and facebooking about cats. Cheers

P.S I just read a news article about a person who was arrested after floating down a river in their wheelie bin, drinking a bottle of wine. I swear it wasn't me....today anyway

How do you know its true love??

I arrived home from work today and found Dad sad.
He had been reading his old letters to Mum. There was a lovely poem in one.
It was true love between my Mum and Dad, but not because of the poetry.

It wasn't perfect, it wasn't sudden. It required a lot, like heaps, of work and compromise.
Mum was a young Portuguese woman, who had been ill, marrying a widowed older man with a son...In a different country. But I know from the stories and I can see in the photos that there was always laughter and friendship. There was also a solid 12 months of serious wooing on my Dads part :)

I am not sure what it felt like from their point of view...but I can give my own perspective, a kids perspective, on why I knew it was love.

Nick names, they had many and varied nick names for each other, a constantly evolving list, some serious and some funny. Like "Nudibranch". It was the nickname Dad used for Mum when she "streaked" to the bathroom. She did this a lot.

Every morning and every evening they greeted each other with a kiss, every morning Dad made mum breakfast or at least coffee.

They laughed at each other. Mum did many funny and crazy things.
Dad also copped his fair share from Mum. When Dad was younger and rocked an awesome moustache, he looked a lot like John Cleese. Mum and Dad went to see "A fish called Wanda" in the cinema. Apparently Mum spent most of the time pointing at Dad and then pointing at the screen and losing it with laughter, so much so that Dad got up and left the cinema. They were real.

They knew each other, faults and all. Dad would never stop Mum, no one could anyway. But right or wrong, Dad would let Mum go and do her own things and was always there to pick up any pieces. Mum, conversely supported Dad and through all the ups and downs they were always, always on the same team.

Compromise. Mum liked to eat chinese take away from the Fremantle markets on the weekend. Dad loved to listen to classical music and read the paper. The result was that every Saturday we would get takeaway and sit in the car at the South Mole in freo, listening to Dads music and watching the ocean, while he read the paper. One of my favourite memories, is sitting in the backseat with the calvin and hobbes comics and a whopper.....

Mum once said that Dad was her "safe". No matter what she had done or how ill she became, she knew that Dad would be there for her and help her. Nobody knew her better.

I didn't realise how lucky I was to have them as my example of marriage.
Now I am sad. This weekend is Mothers Day and also My Mums Birthday. This is for the lady who taught me what love is.

Success Vs Failure and the Average Jane

Success is the accomplishment of an aim or purpose. Failure is the lack of success.

Heston Blumenthal admitted that in his pursuit of a successful cooking empire and world famous restaurant, he lost his marriage and it severely impacted his relationship with his children, he wasn't "much of a dad". Is that success? Has he won at life? His bank balance would say so, I guess.

On paper, my failures well out way any successes. By 25 I was bankrupt, divorced, unemployed and living back at home. I think I hurt a lot of people, mostly I learned that I was hopelessly unequipped to handle all of the above at the time.

My aim or purpose since then, while fleetingly getting distracted by delusions of grandeur like owning multiple holiday houses and a jet while having gold plated lattes, has been happiness. That experience, while traumatic, was really useful to point out to me at a really young age that work, career, business and money are really fleeting and while necessary do not wholly offer fulfilment. I needed to relearn this lesson recently after my 5 years in real estate, I didn't say I was a fast learner.

Don't allow set backs to kill your dreams but conversely don't allow your dreams to define you or your happiness.

I'm not about to renounce my worldly possessions and live in a yurt (they don't get good wi-fi and I like showering), I am not saying don't have a plan or work hard,  I am just glad to have this current perspective.

Success, right this moment, is on a micro level.

Writing this blog (while a little hungover)?...Winning

Lamingtons for afternoon tea?...Boo Yah!

Date night with Dave?.....High five

A good, busy day at work?....Bonus

Being organised enough to bring left overs to work for lunch?...Genius

Laughing so hard that I can't form coherent sentences for 15  minutes?...Priceless

Failure allows you to move the goal posts to where ever the hell you like or for a short time, it allows you to take your bat and ball and go home.


Don't let your business card be your autobiography. The world needs people like Steve Jobs and Heston Blumenthal with stubborn single minded purpose and vision, but it also needs its Average Janes who can rock the shit out of their everyday.

The Scariest Thing

Waiting for the subway in Paris. The train arrives and it is packed. Leah gets on and before anyone else can get on, the doors start to shut. The look of horror on her face is burnt into my memory. With some serious hulk strength and help from other people on the train we managed to pull her back through the doors. Leah was shaking. The thought of her trundling off into the distance on her own had us all freaked.

But that is not the scariest thing.

Other things can happen to children.


Is crime, particularly abuse and assault, against children getting worse? It seems like it. Everyone I talk to about this says the same thing "The world is different now...". Is it though? or is it just that we can't escape it anymore?

Shopping centres, schools, day care centres, movie theatres and public toilets...all places kids are targeted.

But what do we do?  Kids need to learn how to navigate people and public spaces independently, for their own confidence and life skills. We as parents have to trust...a bit.

Yes I allow the girls to fetch things from other aisles when we are shopping, go to the bathroom at restaurants and scooter to school. They are together, but not with me. Should I stop it? Am I playing Russian roulette? I want them to do these things, but...

I am writing this because it seems like uncharted territory. You can't do what your parents did. Apparently that is too dangerous now. How do you walk the line of encouraging your children to be confident and to grow up believing that the world is, at its core, a wonderful place and not only protect them but also teach them to protect themselves from potential harm.

I don't live in fear and I won't limit my kids because of a faceless threat. But that is easy for me to say, it's never happened to us.

The Universe is Laughing...Parents edition

F...U....2...Universe.

Murphy's Law...Parent edition

If there is a chance of showers and you are ready to pick up or drop off your child from school it will rain cats and dogs for exactly 6.8 minutes, the time it takes to get from the car to under cover.

If you, the parent are busting for the loo, all the children will automatically fill their bladders and bowels and NEEEEEEED to go before you.

The more you talk about or "Hype" up an exciting event with the children, the more shit it will be. So, for Disney land, we kidnapped our children in the middle of the night with black hoods over their heads and said we were going to the dentist.

If your husband and you are trying to have an important conversation, that will be the exact moment your little sweetheart will want to explain, in very in depth detail, their leaf collection.

The more important the day ahead, the higher the chances of the children having no clean underwear. No joke, first day of school this week, no clean underwear in the house.... Dave was ironing wet underwear that had just been washed at 7:30am.....they own, like, 50 pairs.....

The longer into the school year it is... the less F*** given. "We have a tin of sardines and a pappadum for your lunch box today....yummmmmmy".

The childs need to vomit and get violently ill correlates directly with the moment you fall most deeply and comfortably asleep. Also the more tired you are the higher the chances of this happening.

Finally, the more love you feel, the more guilt, fear and wine you experience xx

How I ended up Aussie

I wasn't born here. I am an Australian citizen. I can throw on an Aussie accent that would make Steve Irwin, Slim Dusty and Pauline Hanson shed a tear of pride. My kids are the first generation of my family to be born here. So what does it mean to me to be "Australian"?

Firstly, it means to be funny. We walk the line of irreverent shit giving and good natured self depreciation that makes us some of the funniest people in the world, second only to the Scottish...they just sound funny without having to try.

We are honest. Call a spade a spade or a dickhead a dickhead, as the case may be.

After travelling a bit and seeing a lot, I can also say that we are in the enviable position  of being able take all our luck, safety, isolation, beauty and richness for granted. Apart from days like today.

The story of why my parents decided to immigrate from Zimbabwe, is a small example of the things we don't ever need to think about.

My Mum was pregnant with me. At the time there was civil unrest and armed guerrilla militia were becoming a common sight. My mum was walking on the foot path in a shopping precinct. The foot path was blocked by some militia walking with machine guns towards Mum. Rather than allowing Mum to pass, they pushed her over into the road and traffic. That night, bruised and scared my parents decided to get out of Africa.

Apparently we had the choice to move to Australia or Canada. I am really glad this isn't a blog about the virtues of Maple syrup and snow.

Cheers to being Aussie.

Drop bears and Meatballs

Recently, I read about the Swedish national phone number. Basically, anyone in the world can ring this one number and talk to a Swedish person and ask them questions about living in Sweden. I don't know how many meatball and  coffee table related questions there are, but I would like to ask them.

Its an interesting concept, one that wouldn't translate to Australia. It just wouldn't. We can't be trusted. "Don't be so harsh" you say? I got two words for you...Drop bear.

Imagine, every poor trusting person from Kentucky to Iceland would hear all about our Kangaroo stables and emu pulled carriages and most importantly about the Drop bears. I have to admit that I gleefully participate in the upholding



of this Australian Myth. We have the Common Drop bear and the more deadly Mammoth Drop bear which can reach 5m in height and even the special reflective and protective helmets that all Australians wear.

Come to think of it, maybe Ikea is the Drop bear of Sweden???

Are they selling us these awkwardly shaped, boxed pieces of flat pack furniture and laughing and laughing, all the while sitting in their solid, hand crafted wooden armchairs and just shaking their heads in disbelief??? What if they don't even eat meatballs???

Can someone please hurry the f** up and invent a time machine already??

Like sands through the hourglass... lol, just jokes.

I have just realised that Leah, my 9 year old, won't hold my hand anymore. Even when crossing the street. "Mum, I can see the cars...(eye roll, huffiness)".
What if its not for your safety , child, but mine!?? I hardly remember I am an adult half the time....

All the dolls are gone... slowly merging into a knotty mass of plastic limbs in the black hole of our storage room. Playgrounds??? Nah... lets go to a cafe Mum.

Tooth Fairy?.... hmmm the jury is out on that one. Leah asked some questions and gave a raised eye brow in response to how I am not sure why she thinks its me... But I think the tooth fairy has brown hair ....possibly carrying a few extra kilos...dressed in Pjs....ooops.

Santa is still safe ...mainly cos he is kick arse at giving gifts.

Photos? Not unless an out fit has been styled appropriately with "Rock star" hair and correct filter and I have promised not to put them on Facebook (yes, I lie...I'm a Mum)

Boyfriends...soon, all to frigging soon.

Sigh...  So as we hurtle towards Teenagerhood (shiver), I happily grab Brianna (Miss 8) and give her a big smoochy public kiss while skipping up the road.

Today, here in Perth, there has been a terrible story reported of the loss of innocence and childhood at the hands of a yet - to -be - caught monster for a little 5 year old boy and 4 year old girl. It makes me sick  and heartbroken and I don't, at all, want to make light of it. So while I am lamenting the fast pace of childhood, give them all an extra cuddle tonight.

I am not the only one...an insight for the ones left behind.

For those that came before me, I salute you.
For those who are to come after me, this is for you.

Watching a loved one die is very hard. It is, however, easier than watching your loved one suffer or be in a state of being that you know they never ever wanted. By the time we came to the day before and the day of, we were wishing for her to be free and happy and to not have to see her little body fighting anymore.

Mum was in hospital for 5 weeks and twice was on the verge of being well enough to go home and twice was admitted to ICU, she died from complications from Pancreatitis which lead to organ failure. My dad was at the hospital every day of those 5 weeks, me, I got 15 days, for which I am extremely grateful.

You might not be so lucky, you might have a day, an hour or you may not know until after. To those who suffer that fate, I am sorry. I don't have words for that, I am not sure how that works. But I am going to say that somehow we survive, you may not even realise that you are, but you do.

On of the hardest parts for me and I think for Mum too, actually happened a lot earlier. While they were still talking recovery. The Dr visited that morning and explained that Mums donor kidney was shutting down. This kidney was donated by my Uncle, her brother. It was her proudest possession. To hear this news was devastating. Dialysis was a "no go" with Mum. Having endured it for many years she was adamant that she would never have it again. True to her fighting spirit, she said to me "It's ok. stay positive" and went on to have 3-4 days of dialysis because she had to try.

I learnt that while we are going through this, normal life still exists. In my case, there was still humour, like when mum called Dad an "arsehole" and the doctor a "young punk lawyer" because we were all a little slow to recognise that she was in fact dying and had had enough of ICU, dialysis etc, or when she sat in up in bed and said "You can't nibble Dads nuts!", after I had mentioned I had brought a snack of nuts for Dad.

There was also the joke about the pink hammer. Years ago Mum had bought a pink "ladies" tool set. Inside this set was a small pink hammer. As a joke she had made her best friend Liz promise to hit her over the head with the hammer if it looked like she was going loopy or comatose.
Later in the hospital, closer to the last days, we joked that when Liz visited we would have to frisk her and search for the pink hammer. Mum thought it was very funny. Humour is still there, it might be darker, it might lead to tears but it sure is nice to hear them laugh, even for a little while.

There is still boredom, there is tiredness, there is selfishness, there is compassion and love and fear.

Are they really ok when the morphine is making them sleep but they make strange noises? Are you sure that its not hurting? What will happen?  Again I don't have the words, it just happens. I was very worried we hadn't done enough to make her comfortable or that it had taken too long and she had suffered. I don't think this was actually the case, but I felt bad about it for days.

I was very lucky to a have a level headed nurse as a friend. Who, even though I didn't want to know, sat me down and explained that really, this is the end. This was about a day or two before everyone else realised. A little part still flickered with hope, but I was also very grateful for the extra time to steel myself.

At the very least have someone who will let you get quite drunk and cry and ask lots of crazy questions.

Some times the only thing you can do in the face of such crap is to accept just that. This is crap, this is fucked, I am sorry that you are dying, its shit, but I can hold your hand, we can chat, I can get you water, I can paint your nails, I can try to read to you, with a massive lump in my throat. The practical and the normal and the everyday still are there and are a welcome distraction.


DO, help, be and talk. Recount funny stories, allow people to visit if that suits. Even sneak a glass of wine together.. lets face it..it's not going to hurt now.

Every time I said goodbye in the last three days, I said it as if it was the last time. I got about 8 different goodbyes.

I hope this helps anyone who may need it right now.

Things I said that I deserved a punch in the head for.... A tribute to Mothers Day

As Mothers Day fast approaches, the following statements were my pearls of wisdom prior to having kids....


I'm never giving my future child junk food. I could make a much better "Happy meal" at home.

I am going to take my baby with me everywhere. I'll strap them onto my chest and we will travel the world. We will be best friends.

I think I could probably home school my kids... they will be geniuses.

My kids won't be "Like That".

Being at home with the baby will be easy, I can study and start a whole new career.

I will make sure my child has started an instrument at 3. Its very good for their future development.

Treat them like adults, take them to fancy restaurants and cultural events and they will learn to behave correctly in these places.

I don't see how there can be that much difference between a cloth nappy and Huggies?

I dont think time out is necessary, surely you can just calm them down and explain?



BWHHAAAHAHAHAA.... aw I crack myself up.....

Reality was a very different thing. I honestly felt like I needed a standing ovation, trophy and a friggen scratch and sniff sticker every time we all left the house not covered in food /snot, with brushed teeth and pants.

There was a time, shortly after birth, alone in the dark pit of the very very early morning... when I realised just what a twat I had been.

If you haven't had kids yet but think you will... Shut up, just shut up and to all the Parents, Here is a trophy and applause!

I thank my lucky stars

Today I was sad. Its ok, it is what it is. It just felt a little like a headache but in my chest.

I was just looking through photos of our 6 month trip.  I know I don't talk about it much. It seems surreal now.

Actually thats not true, I just have trouble conjuring up the feelings from the trip because of what happened after.

We were so lucky, so so lucky to have been able to do what we did. To just "upticks and go" and 6 months and 1 week of adventure, pure freedom and fun.

I am really grateful for all of what we experienced but I am most grateful for WHEN it happened. Consider this, If we had gone when I had proposed we go, January, we wouldn't have been able to go at all. Mum passed on January 21st, just two weeks after we got back.

As it happens our trip went off without a hitch, we escaped not only unscathed but completely ready to do it all over again. It was like we got given the universal green light.

Dont get me wrong it wasn't all sunshine and roses, there was the time that Leah got onto a crowded peak hour Paris subway train and I got caught in the doors, trying desperately to open them before it whisked away my eldest child...on her own. There was the great Blood nose of Milan, when I had to practically bathe Brianna in a public fountain, which then turned a worrying shade of Pink. There was the stroll through the "red light" district in Montmarte, where my children learned that "Pussy" has two meanings, there was the time I got drunk on Baileys and decided I could ride Leahs scooter... I ate gravel, there was the sprained ankle in the Grand canyon which we told Leah to "shake off" (great parenting moment 2015), there was the gastro outbreak in L.A which resulted in spewing out the window of the rental car...semi successfully, there was poisoned snails in Barcelona which along with the gin is a night I would rather forget, there was the Toga party in Las vegas, we didn't attend but it happened around our motorhome for about 5 hours, it feels weirdly exposing when people party right outside where you are sleeping.... Oh and there was "Dick and Balls" in Louisiana. A state park so grungy and dodgy and swamp like, that I was expecting squirrel and moonshine for dinner... It also was shaped like a dick and balls on the map....

It wasn't sunshine and roses but it was perfect and I thank my lucky stars.

DICK AND BALLS, LOUISIANA