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.

 

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.

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.

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.

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.

knock, knock....Who's there? EVERYONE

This morning I received a visit from my local Jehovahs Witness lady. I have spoken with her on quite a few occasions. If it wasn't for the giant gap in our spiritual beliefs, we would be fairly similar people. Mums of primary school age children, living in the same area etc. 

I have no interest in converting, but I do enjoy chatting with her, mainly because we are fairly similar and yet she very seriously holds these interesting and vastly different beliefs.

Today, when we spoke, I told her that my Mum had passed away. Now, an interesting part of this particular religion is the belief that one day all the dead loved ones will be resurrected here on Earth.

...(Blink)...

I know what you're thinking "But, How? How on earth would all the ressurected loved ones of every person fit on this planet??". 

I am not criticising, honestly, I am very curious as how this could possibly be? Where is the cut off? Is it everyone who has ever died? Is it only loved relations? Is it only for believers? or is it the homeless guy that passed away and no one knew??? What age will they be??
Then what happens??? 
Well apparently we all live forever, in perfect health, no sickness and no death. Again... HOW? A never ending, hugely expanding population, here, on Earth?

This information was offered in kindness and I thank her for it. The lady was hoping it would give me solace and hope, that I would certainly see my Mum again, in perfect health, here in this life.

But would I really want that? I have dreamed about it. That all of a sudden Mum comes walking back through the door. 
Honestly, If we are talking impossible and fantastical, then I would rather visit her, where ever and however that may be. I would savour that extra time and be over joyed to see her again, but, this would be because It would end. It has to end. I would love some extra time, I am sure millions of people would.
I am desperately sad that the end of Mums life was now, but I understand that at some point it has to. I couldn't imagine living forever, nothing would be special, life is special because it is fleeting and finite, it ends, at least as we understand it.

I am No Less Of A Woman and Neither are my Daughters, stop telling us how to be a Woman

I am a  tall, fairly low maintenance, average looking, over weight, funny, smart, empathetic, worried, happy, loving woman.

The fact that I sometimes love to dress up and look elegant but also love to not get out of PJ's.
The fact that sometimes I wear make up but mostly don't.
The fact I miss my Mum
The fact I pass by windows and see my reflection and audibly sigh
The fact that sometimes I want to cook, but mostly I find it a chore.
The fact that I do alot of the cleaning up in my house.
The fact that I like to write personal things, in a public space.
The fact that I use this blog to feel better about myself.
The fact that I feel I am smart but can be really dumb on occasion
The fact that the first word my kids use to describe me is "Weird...really weird"
The fact I like to eat good food and I don't really like to exercise.
The fact I love my children, but also love to have my own time.
The fact I like to shop, but only own one designer anything
The fact that I rely on my husband for a lot of things and miss him when he is not around.
The fact that we aren't married and probably never will
The fact that I am talented in drawing and painting and actually do those things about twice a year.
The fact I like to keep a lot of things to myself, but feel better when I don't.
The fact that one of my daughters is unapologetically loud and proud and the other worries she is getting fat at age 7.
The fact that sometimes I get really frustrated over nothing
The fact that I forget to shave my legs sometimes, and the other fact that most of the time I couldn't care less.
The fact that I don't care as much if people know the "real" me
The fact that I have never found a cause or know what I want to be when I grow up
The fact, that while I believe in equal opportunity and woman's rights, It's not my cause. I need men and I believe men need woman.
The fact that tomorrow I'll read this and have changed my mind on about 60% of it




The fact that the world is full of passive aggressive messages of how you aren't good enough, even to be the gender that you already are. I am no less of a woman for doing things my way and neither are you.