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.

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.

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.

It doesn't rain it hails a fiery shit storm

I am late for work, my cat does a massive chewed up mouse and fur spew on the carpet and I have no bread to make lunches so I fashion a sandwich like shape from mushed up rice bubbles.

It doesn't rain, it doesn't poor.... the shit hits the fan and the fan then falls on your head.

There is no coffee in the house, the toaster literally went up in flames and claimed the last hot cross bun as its sacrifice. The computer system at work fails and I am now officially in 1933 with a rubber stamp and that stupid purple paper stuff.

And Finally...

Work finished, my bus pulls up at my stop, 1st I drop my phone and my headphones are ripped from my ears and fling into my bra, promptly lodging themselves in my boobs with the force of bullets. While I am picking up my phone, I drop my smart rider and it flips down under the bus. While I am arse up trying to retrieve my smart rider, the shopping bag I am holding splits and the cans of instant icing I have just brought go rolling onto St Georges Tce.
The bus driver is holding back his laughter so hard I am pretty sure he tinkled. So now I have my hands full of icing tins and my smart rider is in my mouth, so I get on the bus, lean my face against the smart rider box thingy so it beeps and fall into the closest seat. In my head all I can hear is fucking applause.

This a true story, ok the toaster thing happened to a friend but the rest was all Caroline.


This blog is dedicated to a friend who is going through a much worse fiery shit storm. You are one of the strongest people I know. Keep on going x

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.

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!

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