Life

Miracle

Posted on April 27, 2013 6 Comments

I have a friend.

I get to be healthy, and she is not.

She is far braver than I could ever be. Took crazy risks. Beautiful risks.

She is far more talented than me. In words and pictures.

But I am healthy, and she is not.

I am an independent person, but she is the most independent person I’ve ever known.

And she was always strong, when I was weak.

And yet still, I am healthy, and she has to look at her mortality.

I’m in denial about it. I know I am.

Because there is no justice in it. None.

If I could trade places, I don’t know if I would. But I’d hope that I could.

Because I think if she was healthy, she would live her life better than I live mine.

But she still does things, her way.

And I’m waiting on a miracle.

She deserves a miracle.

Her life deserves a miracle.

You are not my friend

Posted on April 23, 2013 20 Comments

People are idealists in friendships. You think because you were friends once, that you will always be friends.

Like the last line in ‘Dances with Wolves’: ‘do you understand you are my friend? Do you understand you will always be my friend?’

It would be comforting if all friendships were like that. But they aren’t. Because friendships, like people change and move. They drift in and out. They move back and forth. And sometimes they end, when you aren’t looking. And maybe that’s why they ended in the first place, because you weren’t paying attention. Or maybe you were, but you didn’t want to admit it even to yourself.

And even though it’s not the first time you’ve watched a friendship whither away and die, it’s hard to watch. And it hurts. Even though you thought you were made of tougher stuff than that. Even though you think it shouldn’t bother you as much as it does.

Why is it so hard to say? You are not my friend anymore. You are not kind to me anymore. And I’m sorry that our friendship got to the point where you could not tell me why. Or that things degraded to the point where it seemed more palatable to be rude, than civil.

I try to think of a way that I could explain it. Give it a reason. Find a way that I am to blame. Because if I am to blame, then maybe it is fixable. If I am not to blame, then I am just down a friend for no good reason. If there is a way that I could see the behaviour in a positive light, I will. If I can find a way to explain it, I will. Because that’s easier than admitting what I already know. It’s more convenient for me. It’s easier on my heart. And it doesn’t weigh so heavy on me.

But you are not my friend. If I could change it I could. But I can’t. I have to live with that. And it is with reluctance that I say it. You are not my friend. And all it took was a slap across the face to let me know for sure.

You are not my friend. But I guess in truth, I am still yours. Until the slap sinks in. And then one day I will say I am not your friend and I will care a little less. And it will hurt a little less. I am not there yet. I don’t know if I want to be. But you aren’t my friend, so it is of little consequence to you.

You are not my friend. I wish you hadn’t been so faithless.That you could have tried, just once to not assume the worst in me. But you did. And you are not my friend.

My armour

Posted on April 19, 2013 3 Comments

I don’t write much about my husband on this blog.

Not because I have nothing to say.

And not because he would mind. He has given me permission to write about whatever I want.

But mostly I keep it private.

He does a job that he doesn’t love. Because he looks after his family.

He commutes 15 hours a week. And that’s a good week.

He has never asked me to be less or more than what I am.

He listens (mostly) even when his care factor is zero.

There might not be a strong man behind every woman, but I have one who always has my back.

Sometimes he goes out late at night to buy me tampons or wine. I’m a simple soul really.

And there’s something about that person who you get to bask in how much you love your babies with. You don’t have to qualify it, or tone it down. He wakes me up to look at them in the wee hours of the morning. I make him get up and look at them while they are sleeping.

He accepts that me mocking him continuously is a core part of my personality.

I have a few life partnerships, I’m lucky that way.

And they are all keepers.

Green

Posted on November 1, 2012 15 Comments

I avoided Halloween this year. No amount of chocolate in the world was going to persuade me that I wanted to take my children trick or treating and knocking on neighbours doors. I applaud people who love it because it fosters community spirit. But I am not that person. I will probably never bet that person.

I manipulated my children into thinking a treasure hunt was a good idea and they handed out chocolate when trick or treaters came to the door. I think that’s what you call winning. But it did get me thinking. We put in our green card lottery application this week. Next year I could potentially be in a different hemisphere. A hemisphere that actually celebrates halloween properly. A hemisphere where my chances of manipulating my children into staying home with me are significantly decreased. Or we could be living up near Lismore where the odds of potential child manipulation are still excellent.

The logistics of moving is entirely terrifying. But the adventure still seems like a good idea.

Serenity Now

Posted on October 29, 2012 9 Comments

Today is the first day of 2-3 weeks without my laptop. I’m trying to ignore the fact that I feel NAKED right now, but I don’t think it’s working. I’m trying to channel some of the oaf’s serenity. But I don’t think it’s working. It’s just me, the iPad 1 (the dinosaur that I think Apple has forgotten they ever made) and the Big Mac. The fact that I am having severe separation anxiety despite obviously being more than computer equipped speaks to my level of dependence rather than my lack of intelligence. I hope.

The only thing that really suffers during these periods, other than my mental health is photo editing. Which means it’s the perfect excuse to try out lots of different photo apps, right? It’s times like these I could kiss Google Drive, seriously.

In the meantime I’ll try not to buy a MacBook Air. But I’ll have to try really, really hard.

With Added Frivolity

Posted on October 25, 2012 25 Comments

It was said on Media Watch this week that “of course some of the mummy bloggers are naïve and their preoccupations frivolous, but many of these women are direct and honest”. I agree. I think that is a fair statement.

The beauty of blogging is you can create your own space. It can be sunshine and rose-coloured glasses, it can be entirely frivolous, it can be completely escapist, it can be searing political analysis, it can be erudite and intellectual, it can be about awareness of social good, it can be brutally raw and honest. It can be anything. But mostly it’s a combination of all of those things.

These days, I trade in a whole lot of frivolity. And not a whole lot of higher purpose. Or anything of a deeper meaning.

It’s not because I’m a black hearted bitch. I don’t think.

I worked on the coal face of a charity for five years. It was an amazing experience. It was rewarding. It was unbelievably hard. I used to have to manage the waiting list. So I had a lot of people telling me on the worst day of their life that I was sentencing them to death. After a while you know too much to watch the news or current affairs to maintain any kind of serenity whilst doing so.

Simple things really. Like how attempting to minimise the drug supply lines has negligible benefit and negligible impact on actual supply. Spending money on drug treatment is twelve times more effective than spending money on drug control. People sneer at illicit drug users but deaths from illicit drugs make up about 5 per cent of total deaths from drugs. Hello alcohol and cigarettes!

All of a sudden it becomes difficult to listen to the government talk about their policies of ‘zero tolrance’. It becomes hard to hear people talking about ‘junkies’ as if they were some unfortunate kind of cancer. And it becomes even harder to leave work at work.

I am really proud of my time there. But it means I don’t feel bad about being frivolous or vain or not talking about something that means something. Because sometimes things mean to much and they break your heart a bit. Or a lot.

I wasn’t offended by the statement on Media Watch, because I think there are plenty of blogs out there that are frivolous. i think the only mistake you could make is that thinking that someone who writes a frivolous blog is a frivolous person. I don’t make that mistake. And I don’t think Media Watch made that mistake either.

And even if my blog stays in the frivolous space for a very long time, with no greater meaning than babies are cute, baking is awesome, housework sucks ass, Friday is my favourite day of the week, I worship at the altar of shoes and creativity is like breathing. Even if that’s all I ever do, well I’m ok with that.

I spent a lot of time trying to change the world. For now I’m just trying to love living in it.

I Heart My Body

Posted on October 24, 2012 68 Comments

It would be easy to look at my body as it is now and be disappointed. It would be easy to say that I’ve failed to reach my goals for my body. It would be easy to look at the weight I have to lose. To give in to thoughts that I have a baby who is not a baby anymore and at 18 months, I should have lost the weight by now.

But I don’t think that. I think I grew two humans. I think that I’m ok with the fact that I’m a person who gains weight everywhere and lots of it when I’m pregnant. I look at them and they are worth far more than the fat on my bones.

Image from here

I could think about how much more work I have to do now to even think about losing weight. I swear, in my early twenties I barely even had to look at a treadmill for the weight to fall out. But instead, I can be proud that I am capable of all of that work. I can be proud of the fact that I love my body enough to make it run, lots. Most weeks I make it run about 34kms. I love it by giving it strength, determination and the ability to not listen to it when i need to find the next gear and the wisdom to listen to it when it needs a rest.

What do I love about my body right now?

I love all the parts that all that work has touched. I can see where all of that running has defined my body, in the same way carrying and birthing my babies have defined it. I love both definitions.

Be Not Here

Posted on October 20, 2012 19 Comments

I go through the speech. I don’t know how many times I’ve said it now. Every time I have a new dentist? And he is a good dentist. But he makes me go through it. No, I don’t drink lots of soft drinks. No, I don’t have lots of lollies all day. I just have bad teeth. He’s not sure if he believes me yet, as nice as he is. He will, eventually.

Be not here. I tell myself that as I lie down and tell my brain I don’t feel the needles in my gums. Be elsewhere. This is not your body. You are somewhere else. This is not happening.

And the drills start. It’s just noise, I tell myself. Be not here. Don’t feel that open, sensitive hole. Or the white hot pain from the cold. Be somewhere else. I can’t wait for the drilling to stop. He goes from a fine drill with a high pitched noise to a bigger drill that sounds slower. I don’t like the lower reverberations. And I will it to be over. I cannot wait until I smell the chemical of the polymer telling me that the big, sensitive hole is going to be filled up.

Be not here. How many times have I done this? I guess that I have probably had over 75 fillings done in 10 years. I should be used to it by now. But I remind myself that I’m not here, I’m somewhere else. I smell the chemical stench of the filling and I am so relieved I could cry. The drilling of the empty sensitive hole is done and only once it’s filled will it be drilled again. But I can handle that.

They are curing it now. I wonder if using those curing rods in my mouth is slowly rotting my brain, filling by filling. I wonder if when we finish these fillings if he’ll tell me there are more. Be not here. Be writing. Be swimming. Be outside. Be anywhere but here.

The final drilling and polishing is happening. I stay still, trying not to feel that fine point on my gums. In my mind I am not here, I am already out the door.

He tells me that is it, I can go. My face is still numb but I can no longer feel that gaping hole in my teeth. And I leave knowing that I won’t think about it until it’s a few months before my next check up and then my nerves will kick in again.

I go home. I look at the babies. I wonder if I should be more rigorous with their dental hygiene. I hope that they have their fathers’ teeth and not mine. The adrenalin makes me groggy and a little bit faint. And I return to my body. It’s ok to be here now.

Terminal

Posted on October 7, 2012 10 Comments

Everyone is born with a terminal disease. Life has a hundred percent mortality rate. Sometimes that life is long, and sometimes horrifyingly short. But there is no cure for that mortality.

Sometimes I live as thought there is. As if I have infinite time. Infinite possibilities. Infinite chances. But I don’t have any of those things.

Sometimes you have to wake up from that stupor and shake yourself and ask yourself the question. Whatever that question may be. And you either evolve a little bit, or die a little bit.

I have a few questions in my mind. And it’s time to wake up.

Yellow

Posted on October 2, 2012 3 Comments

Favourite dress I bought for Piper in New York. I have a Baby Gap problem.

It’s a shame that clothes for women aren’t anywhere near as cute. If they were, I’d buy a whole lot more dresses.

Instead of buying dresses, I’ve been buying up in yellow shoes and handbags. I am not an embracer of the beige or neutral tones. So when the trend gods decide that they are going to grace us with actual colour, I’m all over that.Because I’ll blink and we’ll be back to black and brown and beige. And I will be sad AND bored.

Sometimes you just need a bit of sunshine.