The crazy... It's the best part

We have been back almost 3 months. I have had my world turned upside down.

I am currently watering the roses out the front of my house, no bra, no pants and a nice glass of red in hand.
Every 10 minutes or so the 72 bus goes pass, I toast them with my glass :-).

We try to go to the beach once a week. The kids aren't enrolled into any after school activities. It is so nice to just chill at home, with time to cook, time to do homework and relax. We are eating better as a family and are no where near as rushed.

I am trying to retain the magic. As much as possible, the whimsical, the beautiful. I light the nice smelly candles all the time. I put the fairy lights on in our bedroom, I am writing and creating. I haven't done this for years. The spark inside me for beauty and quirky and thoughtfulness has been ignited.

For the first time , in a long time, I am being led by my heart. Dave will come home and find me baking, sitting out the back watching the sun set, crocheting my blanket or hugging my wookie. I'm crazy and not even trying to hide it.

I now have time to look in op shops, to find something that makes me happy.
I like colour.

For the first time in 5 years we had friends over for a meal. We made the best of our awkward little house and entertained.

If I feel like talking, I talk. Feel like writing, I write. Feel like standing around the front yard in my knickers, I do it. I am drinking more than I used too, but I am allowing myself some grace in this department. Yay ... Wine.

I feel free. Sometimes at a loss, but certainly free. My time is mine, it is rich with opportunity as well as grief. "Cheers people on the bus, I'm in my underwear and I couldn't give a shit!"

I've jumped.... now what?

I surrounded myself with family and friends all weekend.

During the week, I am keeping myself busy with work.

I am in a funk. I know I am. Normally I would phone Mum.

Mum, who knew what was bothering me before I did. Mum, who would clear the funk just by talking with me on the phone, about nothing special. Who could hit the bullseye of me, without me ever needing to explain.

I am so sad, but it doesn't come out right. I don't cry and then feel better. I fight and hide and run away from it  and then try not to cry and then pretend it didn't happen. If I could call Mum, she would talk about something and the perspective would shift.


I am 35 and I can't clear my own funk. I have never had to. I always knew that if I didn't feel right, If the outside world felt off centre, Mum made it straight again. I don't even know if she knew she did it.

Mum was my litmus test to the world. No idea, no event, no change occurred before it got passed by Mum. I didn't even realise how much I did this.

But NOW I DO. Now I do.

It feels like, for the first time ever, I have jumped without my parachute.

Why your Bucket list should become your Fuck it list.

I have always had a bit of an issue with goal setting. I hated the idea of planning out my days and weeks for years at a time in order to reach certain goals even life (fun) goals, not just career goals.

I understand the concept, I also understand that it is formula for success that works. I get that.
What I have a problem with is the single mindedness of it. That while you are tirelessly striving towards the goal ahead, what opportunities in the left - field have you missed? The best things I have ever done in my life have actually come as the result of little or no planning and had a momentum of there own. I love the fact that these great things then led to the next unexpected great thing.

There is NO WAY I could have planned out the last ten years on paper, even the idea of it. I would never, ever have had the mental forethought to see what I have done or where I have been or what I have had to do. My true capabilities lie in the unknown and untested. I like the idea that in a years time, I'm not sure what I'll be doing.

Ah, but are you thinking, this is why you aren't rich Caroline? This is why you don't have a career?

Possibly, but I love the list of things I have done, failures and success's. I love the diversity of my experience. It won't make me rich, but then again, who knows.

Currently I am enjoying being able to completely enjoy my free time. In my previous incarnation as a real estate agent, I could never feel completely at ease. I always felt "on" or like I should be doing more. It is the sort of industry that if you aren't a million dollar success story, you are failure, with little to no in-between.

I realise a "bucket list" is not necessarily career or goal oriented. It can be about life experiences, what I am trying to explain is that the best life experiences just happen and you can't plan for it or wish for it because you have no idea what it is yet. I believe the saying about being careful what you wish for, because what you think you want versus what you actually get can be very different things.

Let life lead you a little. The more you have to force the situation and bend life to fit with your detailed goal list, the more life will fight back. Have you ever been trying very hard to get somewhere or do something and everything in life is just against you? Stop, stop trying, say fuck it. Something else will happen, I promise and it will be what life was trying to get you to see, over in left field and it might just be the best thing that you ever do.

Pretty things in strange places

While we were travelling I documented all the "Street" or "Urban art" I could. I loved looking down a dirty alley way and finding a splash of colour and style. Looking back through the images, a lot of them have more meaning to me than the big touristy places and traditional "happy snaps".

This post is dedicated to the pretty things in strange places that I collected and would like to share with you all and to the everyday art makers, who strive to bring fun, beauty and quirky to our mundane minutes. xx

P.S Italy, New York, Paris, Montpellier, Joshua Tree NP, Los Angeles, Texas

I am a freezer, what are you?

I'm probably not the one you want standing next to you in an emergency. I'm just telling you, my friends, just so your standards are suitably low if we ever get into trouble.

I am a freezer. I know this because the couple of times where I have felt in serious danger, one time in a close call on the road and a few times where I have had random scary people approach me on the street, adrenaline locks my knees solid and my arms to my side.

I have never been in a situation of life or death, or where my kids are in that kind of danger. I am really, really thankful for this, but it means I have no idea of what I would do (other than freeze into a standing coma.... so helpful).

I know a  special lady. This amazing person knows , that if she needs to, she can whoop complete arse. She has recounted a couple of experiences she has had. She once witnessed a person be hit by a car, and without hesitation, helped and protected the injured person until help arrived. Another time, a bag snatcher, attempted to steal her hand bag, with her left hand she clocked him one in jaw, so hard he nearly bit off his own tongue... and she kept her bag! She also won an altercation between her and a group of youths who were intimidating people in the city. Grown men looked on, scared , while she taught them a lesson.
How cool is it to have that knowledge, that in an emergency, you can whack on your cape and all of a sudden you are a superhero.

Obviously I hope that none of us need to know how we react in danger. I want you all safe and sound. But there is a part of me that wishes I was a super hero, not a freezer.

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,

No wifi and no data makes Caroline go something, something.....

                                  

 CRAZY!!!!





Dave and I have had no wi-fi at home for about a fortnight. Because of this we have chewed through 12GB of data on our phones and devices, I think we absorb it through our pores or something.
Its not only me. The kids love to play minecraft and have a plethora of apps and games. Before you frown with judgyness, at least half of them are educational. But the usage at home is mainly me. I like to facebook (hadn't noticed?), I like to blog (shock horror), I like to Pinterest, I like to research, I like to look for books and images for inspiration, basically I like to have the internet at the click of my fingers. It is no longer just a  convenience, it is now a complete reliance on technology. Like when you have a black out, and you know you have no lights, but every time you change rooms, you flick the switch anyway. 
The internet is now so deeply ingrained in me that to be without it is like a black out. There is only so much crochet and food network this old lady can handle before she wants to google something vitally important like where you can buy Chipotle Chilli in Perth, or search through what is on sale at Ikea. 
I am tech dependent, and I don't care.
 I get it. There is plenty of advice out there about disconnecting, about the dangers of ignoring society and real life and your kids while being in cyber space. You know where I read about them?
Yep, online, lounging back in bed, trying to stop my phone from bouncing off my forehead when I start to fall asleep.
 

To the boy on the bus this morning

You're young. Maybe 16. 
You are wearing a clean white shirt and pants and look like you are on your way to work. 
Through the music on my headphones, I hear you talking. 
You're on the phone... But no, no phone or headphones. 
You're talking to yourself. Swearing , hitting yourself and the bus wall in front of you. You're actually quite quiet. It's not aimed at anyone else on the bus, it's aimed at yourself. 

You stand up to get off the bus, I see all the scars and sores  on your face and arms. ICE or Meth, I'm thinking. 

You. Are. So. Young. You are handsome for a kid, you have big clear blue eyes. You aren't homeless and you look like someone cares for you. 

You have psychosis. 

If you stop now, you might not suffer from mental health problems permanently. If you stop now, at 16, you might have a normal life, you might even have an extraordinary life. 

In between swearing at yourself and getting off the bus, you stop and thank the bus driver and walk off. 

I think there is hope for you. 

I want it to be real, but is it?

Dave related a story to me today, it gave me chills. He was talking with a customer at work. He had spoken with her for about an hour, purely about work related things. The lady stopped talking, looked Dave in the eye and said "Are you ok?". "Yep, all good" was his answer. "No, you have had something big happen in your life recently, are you ok?".
Dave was shocked and had to fight back the emotions, there is no way that this lady could know about Mum, but somehow she sensed it. 

Some how there are people who know these things, people who can sense these things.

This opens a scary door for me.

I want to believe that Mum is watching me, that she can hear me. That I can talk to her and she could give me a sign that she is around. I want to believe that she is contactable. I am vulnerable. If your a telephone psychic... I'm your next mark.

But I just don't feel like that is the case.  

Before Mums death, I believed in the supernatural. I was terrified of opening that door, mainly because I believed that it was possible to contact "the other side". 
I have "angel cards" and guidance cards that are supposed to be messages from the other side, from your angels. I had a reading that I am convinced was the real deal. Ironically, Mum believed in these things and actually bought my first pack of Angel cards.

Since Mums death, I just can't fathom that its true. Do I really think that she could be a ghost?? Do I really think that she could send me a message through a deck of cards? No. I don't. I want believe, I really do. But now, when I want it most, I can only see the ridiculousness of it. Death now seems very final for me.

There are many, many things in this world that I can't explain, I think there is some kind of life after death or at least a continuation of the cycle. 

I sent a message to Mum today, the one month anniversary. No one can see the message, I am the only one who knows what I sent. 

So after saying that I dont believe, the fact that I sent that message means I still hope that maybe Mum knows what I wrote.

Do you even lift??

Pretty much my whole body is a collection of muscles that need work. Some more than others. So, Ive decided to start on one area in particular.

It is possible to work and tone these muscles using weights.

"So what?"you say? ... No this blog is not turning into a fit bunnies account of her own arse in various stages of roundness. Its worse.

I am talking about my pelvic floor. 
For the most part, I am a proud owner of my girlie parts and its not a big deal, really, until I decide I need to jump, skip or go for a jog.

For all the male readers that I may have somehow attracted to my blog and who have now realised that I am talking about "girlie bits", it's ok, It's funny.

So, one late night, I read an article about "that kind" of weight lifting to help train and tone those muscles.

Obviously, you can't just attach your nearest dumb bell on a string a walk around. So I order the beginners kit, sneakily, and hope that Dave doesn't ask what the extra $$ on the credit card were.

He did. I watched as the potential, hopeful gleam in his eye turn into absolute, belly clutching, roll on the floor laughter. Followed by cheeky questions about "How buff is it going to get?" and future texts asking if "I even lift?".

So, its early days. I can't exactly hop on the scales to track progress. But its the easiest work out Ive ever had to do and gives a whole new meaning to working out.


I'm blushing and already wondering if I will have the guts to publish this... If you ever actually read this particular post, than cheers to you in partaking in my overshare.

And heres to "Buff Vags" everywhere.

P.S If you're a little nuts like me and in the same boat, contact me and I can let you know the brand. 

Keys... Yes please

We are in the Hippo, our 30ft, 3 bed motorhome, a little dented and war wounded after having carted us from New Jersey to Niagra, through Pennsylvania, Carolina and Greogia  to Florida. We had a slight altercation with a metal safety barrier on a freeway in Jersey and we were all  a little worse for wear. Oh... And if anyone asks, it was a massive grizzly. 

We had been freezing our butts off in wintery Niagra, bored shirtless in the middle of "Camouflage, hunting and people of Walmart" America and we arrive in the Florida keys. It is a breath of salty fresh air and so quiet. There is only one place, one state park, you can stay in with a motor home.  It's in Long Key. It's not Key West, it's not restaurants and hotels, its not key lime pie and drunk girls. It's sandy car parks and beach, a throw back to 1960's motels with shell shaped little villas.  It's heaven. Quiet camp spots, right  on the beach. There is no wifi, no tv. We park up, get out our camp chairs, plonk them in the water and chiiiiiiiiilllllllll. Relax,the closest land mass is Mexico. 
Picture it, 
Warm, quiet beach, with no one really around and only a small threat of being stung and bitten from some small jelly fish. We are from Australia, you've got nothing that can kill us.
We are chilled. For 5 days, we do nothing. 
Wake up, coffee, sit on the beach. In the Hippo for nap when it's hot. After lunch we sit on our chairs in the water and stay there until after sunset. Naked frolicking children and the odd jelly fish and kayaker for entertainment followed by a spectacular sunset. 
The only negative was a thing called a "Noseeum" literally "no see them". A little invisible insect that bites like a Mozzie, But, the bite will keep itching days or weeks after you have been bitten every time you sweat or get hot. Resulting in head to toe redness and itchiness. So. God. Damn. Itchy. There is no repellent or cream that works. But it was worth it. We hadn't planned to visit the Florida keys and we saw nothing of the well known Florida keys, but we had our own private beach and our hippo and our family. Yes, I did sing the Beach Boys song "Kokimo" continuously for 5 days and we got to keep our "Noseeum" souvenirs. 



Oh and seriously, the rented camp chairs where already rusty and covered with seaweed, if anyone asks :)

Coffee, one of the most important things in life

Every morning, Dave brings me a coffee in bed. I love coffee, I'm as caffeine addicted as the next person. Buts its not that, its that he takes the time in the morning to make me one. It makes me feel loved and thats a great way to start the day.

On reflection, having coffee with people is pretty much my hobby, and if it was possible to major in Caffeine based meetings and then be paid as an expert coffee companion, then I would be home and hosed. 

There has been, on rare occasions, times where I have met with so many people in one day for coffee in addition to the "love coffee" I get in the morning that I actually have the shakes come evening. I can't say no, and I won't. The conversations had over coffee are my favourite. Honest, funny, anecdotal and therapeutic. There have been other days, darker days, where the coffee with a person has been the highlight of my day, rather than a casual morning interlude.

I come from a family where, an offer of a coffee is second only to "Hello". Not being able to meet my Mum for a coffee is the biggest gap I currently feel. Now, I visit Dad, and we are bonding over coffee too.

I know its not really the coffee,  Its the connection, the fact that in that time, all else is not important, I am enthralled in the stories and observations of my friends. I want to share and I want to laugh. Coffee is the glue that connects people to my life. Now I just have to find some kind of coffee sponsor  and perhaps switch to decaf!

We are screwed... Don't fight it, Embrace it

I am sitting on the bus, grappling with a stupid bout of Mothers guilt. As has become routine, I now drop the girls near school and I walk to my bus stop, leaving them to fend off the dangerous and evil of the world for a full 20 metres before they enter school grounds. Shock horror, how could I be so cruel. To add insult to injury, they also were in charge of placing their own canteen orders today, which was met with "But MUUUUUUUUUMMMMMMMMM, I don't know how to spell sushi???". That's OK, worse comes to worse they might end up with a meal beginning with "S".... so you know, Winning! 
So, while I am having day mares of my children sitting at the school gates crying because I left them without the correct spelling of their gourmet Japanese canteen lunch, I get a phone call.


"I just need to vent, seriously just let me get this out and then I'll be OK"

followed by

"F*n kids! seriously, how frigging hard is it???? I swear to god, I am ready to...."

Now I won't go into the details, we have ALL been there. What ever threat follows the "I swear to god, I'm ready to....." doesn't read well in print, and you're my friends, I don't want anyone arrested. 

No matter what age your kids are, or what type of parent you think you are or what type of kids you think you have, you're screwed anyway. Seriously, we are all screwed. Now is the time to accept that and go about your day. I mean this in the nicest possible way, let me explain.

When your baby is tiny and shiny and new, you know you know nothing. You make a few mistakes, you stupidly listen to some woman in your Mothers group who claimed to have had a pain free natural birth while sipping herbal tea in a spa bath and that her daughter smelled like Patchouli after coming out of her Vag and that parenting is soooooooo easy...., so you feel like a failure.

Move forward a few years and you've got screaming toddlers, who have just spent 45 minutes having a tantrum because you cut the sandwich into triangles, instead of squares and used the blue plate!! Or they wake you up four times a night because their blankets have moved and their sock came off. While you sit and cry and pick weetbix out of your cleavage, you wonder "what the hell am I doing ???"

Move forward a few more years, they are at school, they are learning! Yay, they can express their emotions and you can almost have a rational conversation. Then you over hear them having a conversation about another child or worse hear some children having a conversation about your child. "Is my child a bitch??? It sure sounds like it? Where are the manners and the sharing that we spent 4 years drumming into them?" or "Is my child making friends?, are they being bullied? why are they socially awkward??? Oh no Ive raised a cat lady..." 
Like I said screwed....

You can't win, you have to try though, that's our job. To be the bad guy, to be the boring one, to be the soother, the dictator, the lover, the fighter and ultimately in a lot of cases, the loser. They will fail, they will probably be a bitch at some point, they will probably be bullied, they will still have tantrums, but as adults they will call it stress, but they will have their Mums and one day.... long into the future, they will thank you for it, and then ask you to babysit the grand kids.





To my friend who was having a hard day.... don't fight it, there is always wine xxx

Same, same but different.

I have never questioned my decisions and myself more than in the last three weeks.
Everything I do or think of doing is scrutinised tortuously by my brain in an attempt to work out if i'm ok or if i'm, at least, understanding why I may not be ok.

Under normal circumstances the core belief that I subconsciously carry in my gut is i'm ok, things are good and all is ok. It might not be in the moment, but the foundations of my life are good.

Let me just clarify, I have a wonderful Father, who is also dealing with his own grief of losing a wife of 36 years, an amazing Husband, who loved my mother like his own, Two children, who are strong and a joy to be around but are also dealing, in their own way, with the loss of their beloved VoVo and Friends with their own lives, children and challenges who have volunteered their time or their ears to help me. I am not alone, I am not even unusual. Every face that passes through my work or that I see on the bus has been or will be floored by grief at some point in their lives. Do they handle things like I do? Do they want to share their thoughts and memories or do they retreat to deal in complete privacy?

I get sad at night, i'll sneak away from the action of the household and lie down. I have a chewbacca wookie teddy bear, that Dave and the girls gave me for my birthday in December. Mum was already in hospital and really sick. I have been hugging this thing every night, for about two months. This isn't healthy, I don't think, but it helps.

I didn't want to write this blog yesterday or last night, I am struggling a little to do it now. I can't get the flow, I am tired, I don't want to seem like I am trying to make my grief the spotlight. But I think this is good for me. I am a sharer and never have I written like this in my life. I have a slew of journals that have one entry on the shiny first page and were never touched again.

In a conversation with Dad yesterday, I said "The experience of Mum passing and the memories I have are now more like a ball or a sphere, in the first few days, the ball was shoved up right in front of my eyes, it was the colour red and it was all I could see, so the ball seemed as big as the world, now its a bit further away, I can hold the ball in my hand at arms length and turn it a little, look at different angles, sometimes, without my heart exploding in my chest". 
I think that is a healthy progression, but is it too soon?

But, life goes on, right? The clocks don't stop, the cracks I feel in my own heart aren't showing on the pavement outside. There is nothing new here. 
From now on, its same, same but different. 

Italy the land of food, booze and ATTITUDE

I realise that there is a chance that I'm going to sound like a wanker now when I say that we have a "Love / Hate relationship" with Italy, like "Oh you know darrrrling, I loved Sorrento but just couldn't staaaand the atmosphere in Positano".

I want you to know, My family and I are not pretentious wankers and over all we are up for any adventure being it 1 star "street food and sleeping bag" to 5 star "fragrant oils in the bath tub" experiences, but Italy for us was like a punch in the face with a beautiful satin glove, and very honestly, after about 10 rounds in the ring, Italy won by K.O and we never really recovered.

Our trip covered, Milan, Venice, Florence, Rome and Pisa with side trips to Sienna, Bologna, Napoli and Pompeii. A very well worn tourist route and for good reason. There is just so much history and amazing art to see, When we could we would tell the girls to "touch the history" because they had never even comprehended, let alone touched, anything that old before, and may not get to again. The richness of history and the beauty was evident in nearly everything,  but, it felt like we had to fight every step of the way in order to see these things. 

Firstly, there is the never ending construction and restoration. I am not arguing with the merit of these things , just our unlucky timing. Trevi fountain? nope, under construction and restoration. The Colosseum , half under scaffolding, The Spanish Steps, nope, restoration and scaffolding, Rialto Bridge? Nope under scaffolding. So OK, that's cool, lets enjoy some other sites.
Then we have the baffling and often intimidating rules and the guards that enforce them. When you deal with 100,000's of people a day, and priceless historical artifacts, I get it, you need to have security and rules, however it went a little something like this:

"Yes you may touch the water in the fountain and drink from it, NO! you may not do that if you are a child!"

"Yes you may sit on that patch of grass. NO! you may not sit on the identical patch of grass right next to it".

"Yes, you may lean on this railing. NO! you may not lean on the railing now, only after 3pm".

"Yes, this is the line for the such and such Museum. No! it's the line for the such and such pass holder, or for all people but only on Mondays and Fridays. No! there is no information on where you should line up but if you pay 200 Euro, Ill take you".

Look, this doesn't sound so bad, but when you are confronted by purple faced, whistle blowing and screaming officials, armed and in scary official uniforms and all you've done is perch your butt slightly to the right of where everyone else is perched, it gets a little confronting. So, OK, they are very busy and under stress, cool, lets catch some transport and see other things.

Italian bus drivers are interesting creatures. Firstly you must never assume that just because you found the correct bus stop, that it actually ever stops there. Secondly, you must never, ever talk directly to a bus driver, especially if that conversation is to do with the bus trip you are currently taking. If you do manage to get to your destination, you are then required to play a game of "guess which door you may exit the bus by". The buses have three doors, but they will only open 1 door for the exit and it is never the same one, forcing you to rugby tackle your way out of the bus. So, OK, lets take the train.

On some occasions, in a foreign country, you may need to ask for directions. We were polite, we smiled and asked in the best way we could, be  it in English or in broken Italian. This was met with eye rolling, some not subtle boob perving, followed by some pointing and general directions. "Thank you so much!" we say and off we toddle. After 4 attempts and 4 different answers, the best course of action was to preform a seance, call on the ghosts of our dead ancestors and allow them to guide us to the correct train platform. 

After all of this, we did stumble on a great solution. BOOZE, FOOD and MORE BOOZE! There is so much cheap and wonderful drinking options for your pleasure and there are no laws against public drinking, you are allowed to wonder down the street with a drink in hand, pretty much anywhere. Campari Spritzers in Milan, Prosseco in Florence, Wine and Limoncello in Rome and all of the above in Pisa. After we discovered this secret and with the edges nicely softened we were then able to be properly gob smacked and amazed, all be it a little head achy in the morning.