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....

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

What do you want to be when you grow up?

Puppy Trainer, rock star and skateboarding fashion designer are my Kids current career choices and I hope the list is still the same when they are 45. I want them to stay open, stay free, because you sure as hell don't know whats right for your life at 17.

I firmly believe the fact that I have no particular direction when it comes to career has led me into the most interesting roles. Yes I am poorer, no I won't be a secure self funded pensioner, but I have life skills up the wazoo.




I am easily distracted when it comes to work/ job ideas and could easily apply for the role of Segway tour guide, dental receptionist and cake decorator all in one day.

I know without a doubt that I would make a kick-arse lady of leisure. You know, the pearl wearing do - lunch lady who volunteers once a month at some charity for rich dyslexic puppies and who's idea of housework is to write a note for the cleaning lady.

or maybe a tortured writer?, small cabin in the country, polo neck jumper, a goat and 4 dozen half written novels and a borderline addiction of some sort?

In all seriousness though, if my fairy god mother was to grant me the opportunity to win any job I wanted in the world, I would choose to be the "Colour trend forecaster" for Pantone (the world famous experts in all things colour). I am not even sure this role exists, but I dream that it goes something like this. I travel the world with a camera and photograph colours and colour combinations both in natural and urban settings. I find inspirational colours.

or win lotto, you know, I am easy.

Poke... yep still hurts

When you find a bruise on your body, do you poke it? Do you continue to poke it every 10 - 15 minutes throughout the day just to see wether it still hurts?

Yeah, me too. Like some weird sadist and masochist rolled into one.

Carrying the grief over Mums death, like a bruise.

I know its there and every so often it gets poked to see how raw it is.  Poke... yep still hurts.

I found some video of mum dancing on Facebook. My brain wanted to know weather I was strong enough to with stand this punch to the bruise, my heart wanted to hear her laugh. I am strong enough. I will continue to be strong enough.

Poke... yep still hurts.

For all those perhaps going through something similar... its now a bruise... thats progress. Take heart.

The silence is deafening

Since you've been gone, we have had 5 bbq's, 2 birthdays, 3 public holidays and a few dinners.
At each one of these events the absence of you is in every pause, every silence.

I can just about hear you over my shoulder talking. Conversation came so naturally to you that there was almost never a lull. Our times together now as friends and family are comparatively quiet.

As a result, I sometimes find it harder to make conversation because I am conscious of you not being there to say your part.

The silence at these moments screams MUM, MUM, MUM, MUM.

Are We More Extreme?

This is an observation and not a judgment. I am very much a part of this too and a lot of cases it's an improvement. I am not against any of the things I am about to write...

Someone turned the volume up in the universe and it has been cranked up ever since.

We are pushing ourselves into extremes. Little extremes and big extremes.

Not "going to the gym" anymore. Not pregnancy anymore but fit mums and mums to be cross fitting with a six pack and a baby bump and running a marathon as soon as the stroller is delivered.

Not a lunch box for kids anymore but an extravaganza of Mummy creativeness complete with $6 worth of blueberries and a tofu sculpture.

Not food anymore or "on a diet". Now its a Paleo, clean eating or vegan, organic lifestyle changes. Super foods.

Not parenting anymore, but mindfulness, non gender stereo typing, free range, helicopter, unplugged parenting. With 1000 blogs for and against each one.

Not opinions and conversations but documented social media debates with selfie back up proof included.

Not beauty anymore, but sculpted, contoured, scraped and injected perfection.

Not famous anymore but super human, infallible, mythological creatures of dynastic proportions.

Not having a dream, but attending the next seminar while mindfully requesting the universe to fulfil your order of a Maserati.

Its not a house anymore. Its the tiny house, tree house, teepee, tent, camper trailer, off grid, no foot print home movement.

It seems to me sometimes, that the scale of normal has been stretched and snapped,

now normal is the new "New". Are we more extreme? 

I Want To Leave A Pile Of Nothing

We have been back for 2.5 months. I am already searching for the next "thing". The next big adventure or move.
We are in absoloutley no position to do ANYTHING but I look and dream anyway. I am no longer able to just be content with what we had. I am not looking to aquire new things but more new experiences.
I am now an "exciting life" junkie. It is going to be a while down the track, but it will happen again, because so far it has happened anyway, but now I am behind the steering wheel.

Its been 2 months since Mum died, to the day. The "things" she had didn't matter, and amounted to quite a small pile at the end of the day. It didnt bother me though, because what mattered to her was the fact she could see trees and hills from her hospital bed. What mattered to her was the taste of the Orange juice after days of fasting. What mattered to her were her "babies". If Mum could have written a book about her life, it would have been 1000 times more interesting than anything I have written in this blog. I wish now I could have written them for her. Nothing matters more than family and the time we spend together.... at the moment I would like that to be in a range of exotic places. I hope the pile I leave behind one day is tiny.

The weirdest of the weird...

Warning: This is weird and a little black. I apologise if I offend anyone, It's not my intention. It is at the heart of it, really quite funny and one of the many weird things we encounter in life. Its how we cope sometimes with loss of a most cherished love one, like my Mum. I have realised it's only weird and funny because its true xx



Have you ever just stopped and thought to yourself "Never in a million years did I ever think that I would end up doing...This , this is really, really weird".

I have a pretty high tolerance for weird, I do, but when I am sitting at my kitchen table with a spoon, snap lock bags, small boxes and my mums ashes, even I have to stop and wonder a bit.

It all started innocently enough, Mum requested that her ashes be scattered in a rose garden. Right, easy. Well no, firstly, there is heaps, they are really heavy. Secondly, lots of people want to be involved. Its ok. These people are all loved ones and were truly loved by Mum. Its just not what I expected. I had nightmares of a big cloud of dust enveloping picnic goers and romantic couples as they enjoyed a lovely day in the park with the rose garden, while we were saying another goodbye to Mum.

So we came up with the idea of everyone getting a small box to scatter for themselves, in their own time on a rose garden of their choosing. Lovely, in theory. Really weird in reality. Its a big responsibility, what if I spill some? Do I just vacuum it up and say a sorry to Mum? Also would she be pissed off to learn her ashes are in Woolworths brand snap lock bags?? and Reject shop gift boxes? Do I sticky tape them shut? We don't want a random accident involving little dust piles. What do I do with the left overs????

Its just really weird and something I never ever contemplated. Poor dad is with me on this too, we have been putting it off for quite a few weeks now. Mum has had pride of place on the kitchen bench in their home. The cylinder with her ashes even sports a small soup stain on the outside of it, which for Mum, is really, really fitting.

I know with all my heart that Mum wouldn't mind me sharing this story. She is,where ever she is, rolling with laughter. Mum always was the weirdest of us. I guess we are following a grand tradition.

A bit of my history

When I was about One Year old, I suffered burns from a hot cup of coffee. It was one of those unpredictable and unforeseeable accidents in life.

We were visiting friends, The coffee was too hot for the adult to drink, they had carefully placed the cup on the kitchen bench and pushed it back for it to not be in reach. I climbed up the kitchen draws and pulled it down over my head.

In a funny coincidence, my Mum had just read an article in The Readers Digest (As you do) on how to treat burns, so instead of covering me in butter (as was practiced at the time), she rushed me to the shower and peeled off all the clothes and burnt skin. The end result was a skin graft from my thigh to my underarm and my neck. I have no facial scarring and no ill affects thanks to her actions. I don't remember the event or any of the aftermath at all.

As a family, we had recently immigrated from Zimbabwe, and were only just settling into a new life in Perth. I was in Princess Margaret Hospital for months. Everyday, for more than two months, Mum would have to drop my brother to school and then catch two buses from Booragoon (where we rented at the time) to PMH and then back again. Mum didn't speak a lot of English and could't drive and didn't know Perth well at all.

After my Kids were born, I remember asking her about this time. She said it was hard, that she missed me when she couldn't see me, that it made her sad. However she also told me that the hospital offered her counselling to deal with any guilt or depression... "Thank you but no, I'm not depressed and I'm not guilty, I didn't burn my daughter and don't feel like it was my fault. " She told the Nurse at the time. My Mum was so strong and absolutely right. I can imagine, now, as a Mum, dealing with Mothers guilt etc how easy it would have been to fall into the cycle of guilt and depression but Mum didn't even consider it. She did the job that was at hand. Mum didn't often complain about the trials and tribulations that were delt her, she just got on with living.

Being an Adult is Stupid

Late last night I was thinking about the differences between being a Kid and being an Adult.

I came to the conclusion that the main non physical difference is the percentage of shit you don't want to do but have to do increases. The "Have - To's" just keep rolling in once you reach about 25 and grow exponentially until I don't know when.

Who spends their whole days off, their supposed "free time" checking off a list of "Have - Tos"? I know we call them errands and get a sense of accomplishment to have completed a full list, but did that mean spending 10 hours in your bloody car and another two in some sort of queue?

Or even worse than that, did you actually have some free time and spent it worrying about what you weren't doing in order to have this free time?

I watch my kids sometimes, they can spend a whole day doing what ever they please, interrupted only with requests for food. I am so happy they get to do that.
However, even their "Have - tos" list is growing. As school students and as family members, they have chores and homework and jobs to complete. They are learning every day about time limits and working within them. Adults in training. We as parents make them have the "Have - Tos".

Dont get me wrong, I want them to be contributing members of society, I want them to think of others and I want them to lead comfortable lives, so at some point they will need to work.
What I don't want for them is the stress and anxiety that comes from being the type of adult that forgets how to Kid. I want them to be safe in the knowledge that the "Want - Tos" are as equally important as the "Have - Tos".

I dont want this to be some kind of wanky "stop and smell the roses" post. But I think it might be....

Don't steal imaginary Unicorns

What would you say to your childless self to prepare you for parenthood?

What piece of advice do you wish you had received, before the baby bomb hit?

and "Don't do it" doesn't count ok?

I have a couple of stories that best some up my parenting experience.

After giving birth to Leah (number 1 girl). We left the hospital, Dave was driving. Well he was trying. He was going so slowly and being so careful, like 45 kms. I think he may have even yelled out the window a couple times "I have my baby in the car!!!" to annoyed people flying past. The Dad responsibility hit him all at once, while driving. I was heart warmed and amused all at once. He now drives like he's trying to claim pole position, so it didn't last all that long.


Fast foward a couple of years and I stink. That sickly foul smell of baby vomit. It's on me somewhere, but I can't find the source. I've changed clothes, but it didn't help. Crap I need a shower. I put a 2 month old Brianna into the baby jail (playpen) for her own safety and protection from the craziness that is toddler Leah. I barricade Leah in the lounge room so she can't destroy more of the house. I jump in the shower for 5 minutes.
I come out of the shower to find Leah dropping steak knives onto her baby sisters head. Somehow she had escaped the barricade, opened a child proofed draw in the kitchen and decided to "give" them to her baby sister. I still stunk.


Another time, I was ready to go out with Mum, I didn't smell, I was wearing actual clothes and I think I may have even brushed my hair, so winning. Mum notices I have a brown mark on my hand. She points it out a little warily, asking "what is that???". "Im not sure....." I said and I licked it... 
"Oh, its cool, its vegemite".  Mum was looking at me horrified... "But what if it hadn't been???????". 

Mums of toddlers, Just. Don't. Care. 

Now that I've covered the gross part.

I think this next story is the best for explaining the futility and powerlessness that parenting can sometimes be.

The girls are about 6 and 7. They are screaming and crying, a full on fight. "What is it??" "whats the matter?" I enquire. 
Brianna, sobbing, says  "Leah, stole my imaginary unicorn and now I don't have one".   20 minutes, I tried to explain that she can have whatever imaginary things she wants. But No, she wanted that one....
How do you fix that? I was done. So, done. I made Leah give it back and told her off for stealing the imaginary Unicorn.

As they get older, it is easier sometimes. I can sit down and drink a coffee while observing them playing, hell, we travelled around the world with them and only had a couple of hair raising incidents and not too many "Please adopt my children" moments. 
But the problems we do have are bigger. We no longer have tantrums over which dress to wear, we have instead "Mum am I fat?" or "Why are people mean to me" or "Why can't I keep up with the rest of the class? Im so stupid", "Why did Vovo die?". These are less immediate but scarier problems, a kiss and cuddle doesn't fix this.

So what would I say to the clean smelling, bright eyed past me?

"Don't lick your hand woman...It could have been poo!"

That little voice that needs a punch in the head

I don't have just one little voice in my head, I have two.

This morning I forgot my work keys, and there fore was late opening the shop. Luckily for me I work with some very understanding people. But what pisses me off, is that yesterday as I was leaving a little voice in my head said "you better check if you have your keys". Then the other "arsehole" voice said "no, it's ok, of course you have them!".

This is the same arsehole voice that says things like "don't worry about writing that vital piece of information down, you'll remember it!" Or "you look as big as the side of a house this morning, make up isn't going to help you" or "or geez you're a bit crap at (insert thing) how have you managed to get this far?" Or "how dare you laugh and have fun in the world, you're grieving!".

If the arsehole voice was a person I would punch it in the head. Unfortunately it's my head.

The other quiet little voice that warns you of something just out of sight or wants you check something or gives you many opportunities to right something that you know you should, this is the champion. Sometimes it's so quiet that it's not even words.

How many times have I been swayed by the arsehole voice,