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 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

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.

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.

Judgy McJudgerson and Judginess of the Judgers

This literally just happened. I am writing it down now so the scar isn't burned to deeply into my psych.

So, this weekend is turning out to be a bit of a pisser. I am working a lot of it and today is the school fete. Which involves volunteering and baking and a DUNK TANK etc etc Ugh. Don't think badly of me. Its just not something I do well, but the things we do for our kids, hey?

So this morning, I have been icing, cleaning the kitchen putting on some washing and getting whined at for breakfast by my youngest daughter. The straw that broke this mummy camel's spine came in the form of one last whiney shout across the house "I'MMMMM HUUUUUNNNNGGGGRRRYYYYYY, wheres breakfast?????????".

It didn't go down to well. "Get your BUTT into the kitchen RIGHT NOW!". I won't bore you with the details but it involved the sayings "I am not your slave", "Things are going to change around here" and the classic "Are you arms painted on?".

After all the shoutiness, I hear a little wrap at the front door. Leah tells me "Its the lady who gives you those magazines".

AWWWW crap, the Jehovah Witness lady (from my earlier blog) and her two young daughters had just been witness to my Mummy tantrum in full volume and all its glory.

I could feel the "Parenting Judginess" through the brick walls and I know they heard the whole thing because from the looks on their faces when I came to the door, I am pretty sure they think I am possessed.

Its ok though, I am guessing this is karma for my "slightly" judgy earlier post. At least the Jehovahs
don't believe in Karma :P

What a bunch of whacky f** weirdos we are

I can't leave the house without making the bed, have to take my phone to poop (I think 100% of my blog readership is all of you on the loo?), can only sit on the right side of the bus and I have to have my asthma inhaler by my bedside even though I don't actually think I have asthma. Oh and I never eat the bottom part of a banana, have to have some sort of cover on me (even in the arm pit of humid summer nights) and I have to turn the radio off if I am trying to parallel park or if I am lost.

My eldest daughter Leah has to straighten things on shelves, not at home of course, but in the super market. She spends a lot of time straightening and correctly stocking at Coles.

One of my friends has to make the "woosh" sound (the one Microsoft used to make in the 90's) when she sends an email. This ensures it arrives quickly apparently.

Another of you has to put your right shoe on first, every time.

There is the friend who can't sleep if there is ANY water in the kitchen sink and another friend who has to check the bed for spiders every night before they can set toe inside it.

And then there is this bunch of whacks:
gets physically sick at the sight of a raw egg and won't allow different foods to touch each other.

Always has to use the last stall in the public toilets (furthest from the door),

Has to sleep in complete darkness and even covers the crack under the door,

and my absolute favourite crazy quirk, that I am pretty sure would make you money on the internet... Only cleans the house in heels, can't do it in flats.

Please share your quirky traits and be a loud and proud weirdo!

Girls Can Be So Mean!

I have been home for 10 minutes. I have literally walked back in the door and had my youngest daughter grab my hand, pull me into my bedroom and shut the door. In a flood of tears she told me she was fat.

After a fair amount of coaxing, the story came out. A little friend of hers had pinched her waist and exclaimed "You're already fat!". To make matters worse, today was a "dress up" day. My daughter wore her most favourite and pretty dress, the one that gave her a little confidence in herself.

This blog is not to question wether or not she is fat and its also not to defend her or myself. IT DOESN"T MATTER.
The fact is, she is 8 and the sweetest, kindest, most mild and caring little girl. Not only that but she is very bright. I am so proud of her and in her private moments she is also a very special kind of funny. I love the fact that she reserves this special inner clown just for us, her loved ones, it is a real privilege. My daughter also loves to sing. She wakes up in the morning with a song and a little skip and dance. Everything is a musical to her. I pretty sure in her mind, life is a disney cartoon and I am so grateful for that too.

I am hugging my daughter, equal parts crying for her and fighting the urge to pin a certain little girl up by her big toes next time I see her.

I am facing an annoying and unwanted choice.

Do I reassure her and say "No darling you're not fat, you're a growing girl who is gorgeous"?


Do I say "It doesn't matter. big, small or tall you are a good person with a loving and kind heart"?

I ended up doing a bit of both. Every girl deserves to have a period in their lives where they feel and truely believe they are the most beautiful girl in the world. EVERY GIRL deserves that. I am her MUM and I am so angry that at 8, she has already lost that.

This won't be the last time. I know that. I want her to be strong enough to say "Screw you and your shallow opinion", but I know she's not. She will take that hurt and little bleeding heart and tuck it away, from now on always doubting a little if she really does look pretty.

How dare they?

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....

Shout Out to the Fellas

A shout out to the fellas on International Womans Day,

No I am not a doormat and no I haven't missed the point.

I read something the other day about Men and Woman and it resonated with me. 

I am paraphrasing but it went something like:

The quest for Woman to do everything a Man can is not only driving us nuts but eroding our uniqueness. We shouldn't be striving to do everything a man can, but to do everything a man can't.
 
A lot of the people I blog to are female, a lot of you have male significant others.

Sometimes they give you the shits, sometimes you give them the shits and sometimes you are a united front against others who give you both the shits (read kids)

I live with a bicycle in our bedroom, golf clubs and buggy in our living room, tools in the laundry, electronics in the fruit bowl and our most recent fight was about grain waves (yes the chips).

Dave has to live with me randomly throwing things out, messy cupboards, lots of books and candles and that cooking is not my forte.

I also get to live with a great dad, a funny guy, a strong man and a caring person.

I wouldn't have anyone else. We are a good case for the "opposites attract" rule. We stretch each other, we move each other from our "normal" into "new" on a regular basis just because we think differently.
 
Together, we are both our best and the result is more than 100%.

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!"

Bitch Slap by Email

Yesterday, I missed Brianna, my youngest daughter, receiving an award at assembly. The school didn't have my correct phone number, and so I missed the message that it was happening.

Rather than accept the fact that I had stuffed up by forgetting to give the school my new number, I sent an email, a really shitty email.

You know the type I mean, where you don't even take a breath the whole time and you hit send before your brain even knows what the hell is going on. I laid the guilt trip on pretty thick too.

I sent it to the Principal and anyone else I could find in the school address book.

It must have been a doozy of an email because at 10pm last night I get a response from the Principal. Not only is she very sorry, she offered to re-present the certificate at the next assembly.

So, basically, my email had the power to essentially turn back time. Oops ....

At this stage, I had well an truly calmed down. Brianna was super chuffed with herself and as long as her Sister saw her (which she did) she didn't really give a stuff whether I was there or not.

So, I had  to draft and send the "back-peddle, I am very sorry, eating humble pie" email back. I may have also booked a meeting with the Teacher and the Principal, which I will now have to either cancel or explain.... gees, over react much????

Let me be a lesson, breathe before you send people, breathe before you send!

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.