Monthly Archives: May 2016

Where The Wild Things Are. – RRSAHM

Where The Wild Things Are.

by Lori Dwyer on March 4, 2014 · 2 comments

Tasmania is the most beautiful place I’ve ever been. It’s a place I could back to , over and over, and still feel like I haven’t seen all of it.

I could spend months there, happily exploring. Abandoned farm houses. Wild, untouched rainforests that are brimming with cute, fat wallabies and undiscovered secrets buried beneath a carpet of moss. Quaint, contented sprinklings of towns with names like Nowhere Else and Savage River.

Tasmania is a hundred different shades of rolling green. The air is so clean. The strange, smooth sweetness of breathing in tastes like a cool glass of water does when you’re parched with thirst.

People are laid back and chilled, friendly and self-depreciating. There’s a happiness here I can’t quite put my finger on. Towns are tiny, but don’t seem to be struggling. People work hard but don’t seem bitter. Tourists are accommodated for but not grabbed at nor begrudged.

Amongst all this untamed forest, there’s an inherent contentment. Things tend to work like clockwork. and if they don’t, nobody’s seems too fussed at all.

***

“The Tarkine rations nothing. It gives its all in a fury of excess that is raw coast,
mountain ranges, dark gashes of gullies and the benediction of unbroken tracts
of old man rainforest.”

‘Tarkine’, a book by WWF Australia, edited by Ralph Ashton.

***

The rainforest of the Tarkine is an enchanted fairy place.

It reminds me of Borneo, but it’s wetter, greener, colder. The canopy is like a thatched green roof that drips against you every time you brush against it. The floor is a carpet of squelchy, vibrant green moss. The forest is furnished with gnarled trees covered with lichen. Decaying stumps and rotting logs crunch underfoot.

It smells like a necrosis of organic jungle things. We cross over tiny waterfalls, clean cold water burbling over smooth rocks. Almost everything is covered with tiny fronds of fungi. The rocks; the decaying, fallen trees. Long green tendrils of green moss drip from trees, silly string from a fairy party.

The Whyte River is swollen and brown, rushing and foaming with tannin. Platypuses live here, but they are hiding today. It rained just yesterday and the river is full of wrath, swollen and angry.

Away from the river it’s quiet. The forest sounds are muffled. It’s like stepping inside the glass of the last surviving wilderness. it’s silent here, but not. All around is the sound of things growing, of microscopic pieces of life regenerating and feeding. The sound of things growing and living on terms of their own.

Tagged as: Fairies and Things, Tassie, travel

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{ 2 comments… read them below or add one }

Tammie March 5, 2014 at 5:50 pm: I love what you have written about my home. I too love Tasmania and all it has too offer – I am so happy that during your visit you have seen the beauty and magic that some tourists (or expats) seem to miss… Thank you Lori.

Reply
Manda March 4, 2014 at 4:12 pm: So glad you guys had a getaway =) Sounds magical.

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Previous post: Six Months In.

Next post: The Kidlets Do Tasmania

Brave, Part Two – RRSAHM

Brave, Part Two

by Lori Dwyer on April 19, 2012 · 10 comments

Continued from yesterday…

No child should have to lose a parent, ever. And if they do, no child– especially not one as young as three– is ever expected to ‘cope’ with that loss in any particular way.

Some days, when I look at it closely, examine the place in my soul that weeps soundlessly for what my babies have endured, I am blown away by the way my little boy has taken this in his stride. Dealt with it, coped with it… whatever. You don’t get over losing a parent (or a child, or a spouse, or a sibling, or a friend… the list goes on), you just get on with it.

But I’m amazed by my eldest child’s tenacity and resilience. I’m in awe of his cheerful, optimistic nature. I’m fascinated with the way he has this whole thing down pat (“Don’t cry, mummy, daddy is happy in heaven, and he can still see you. You can still talk to him”). I’m continually challenged and inspired by his inherent ability to question and query, to want to know, to form a concept in his little brain that even some adults can’t fathom.

I’m just proud of him, with every cell of me. He is bravery personified, humanized and poured into the form of an incongruous four year old boy.

He lost the house he’d spent his life so far in… he lost his Purple Life, too. He lost his ‘school’, the daycare and play groups he was so fond of; his friends, a lot of his extended family, and most of the people he’d been taught to call Auntie or Uncle Whoever since he was born.

And then he lost his dog, his best mate since the first one was taken away. And Tony and Chop were the very best of friends. They were a team, a partnership.. they understood each other in a way I think only fathers and sons really can.

My little boy, as much as me, he lost everything. He lost the mother he had once too… for a little while there, I think he lost his mother altogether.

And all through that– he’s been so very, very brave. So brave I want to scream at the skies to leave my child alone!!!, let him live the rest of his life quietly and without drama or trauma or conflict… but what a boring existence that would be for him, when he’s destined for such magnificent, awe–inspiring things, and to give him a short cut might mean turning him onto the wrong path altogether.

Sometimes great people… they must do hard things.

My son is, despite his losses, the type of child who is smiled at in supermarkets by old ladies; who is popular and easy to get on with at daycare; who is, for a larger chunk of his time, a pleasure to be with, easy company and good conversation. He suffers anxiety, and I ponder as to whether that’s nature or nurture, personality type or a product of my own crippling post-natal depression; but that anxiety has decreased and become easier to deal with over the space of the last twelve months, not the opposite, as you would be forgiven for expecting. He’s managed to ditch his dummy and his toddler bed of his own justification and inclination, with little assistance from a mother who was emotionally comatose for the first six months of the year, and toilet trained himself as well. He visited the dentist for the first time a few months back and, while I saw the natural hesitation slow his exuberance, it was his innate curiosity for new experiences that won out, and I sat and watched him; at a loss for words, this child braver than I am.

Chop does the dentist chair with flair.

The Chop was excited, looking forward to the prospect of his four year old immunizations. I explained, over and over, that these are needles and they may hurt, thinking that he didn’t quite understand what would be happening at his doctors appointment. I was wrong– not only did he understand, but he was genuinely excited, and watched closely without flinching as the nurse pushed two separate needles into two different arms; examining the clear, cold fluid as it sponged through his muscles.

Brave. Tolerant to pain, emotional and physical, in a way that’s almost superhuman.

He’s grown up far too quickly, and I’m painfully aware of that- I’m too immersed in the damage that’s been done to be able to ignore it. But he’s happy, my little boy. He’s cheerful and optimistic and playful. He laughs and giggles a lot. He’s smart and inquisitive and a gentlemen at three feet tall.

I’m proud to call this tiny human mine. I’m not sure how much credit I can take for the pleasurable nature he has, given the emotional void that I still occasionally exist in and was the status quo for the first six months of 2011. But I’m proud to bear witness to his triumphs, to the way he takes life and stares it down, afraid but not turning away… barely even flinching.

It’s an honor to watch him growing into the man he’s going to be.

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{ 10 comments… read them below or add one }

–Sunrise– April 24, 2012 at 3:03 pm: I simply loved this, he seems like such a superstar and so are you! With his fascination for needles, he's going to grow up to be a doctor, just you wait and see. much love and good wishes to you from the UK… xxx

Reply
Katie Moore April 20, 2012 at 6:52 am: Hi,
I just had a quick question in regards to your website. If you could email me at your convenience that would be great!

Thanks,
Katie

Reply
Kelloggsville April 19, 2012 at 8:40 pm: Yey for Chop. Well done mum.

Reply
Melissa April 19, 2012 at 8:08 pm: wow. thank you for sharing him with us. what an amazing post, and an amazing little dude who inspired it If only we didn't live on opposite corners of the world – I think your Chop and my oldest would be good mates

Reply
Rachel April 19, 2012 at 8:01 pm: He's a genuinely beautiful little soul Lori. Your pride in him is entirely justified.
xxx Pix

Reply
Miss Pink April 19, 2012 at 3:07 pm: You're right, he shouldn't have to have gone through what he has, but he wouldn't be who he is without it. He's a strong boy and he will always be there to look after you and The Bump, and his family too when he has one.

Reply
Lynda Halliger-Otvos April 19, 2012 at 2:00 pm: He's a keeper-for sure, Lori. You are blessed that he chose you to be his mom.

Reply
Anonymous April 19, 2012 at 11:32 am: Beautiful post.

Reply
Sharon @ Funken Wagnel April 19, 2012 at 11:11 am: "Sometimes great people… they must do hard things." Yep. Absolutely.

Reply
Mummy Nutrition April 19, 2012 at 10:20 am: He is just gorgeous! Keep smiling little man! <3

Reply

Previous post: Brave, Part One

Next post: If I Were, I’d Be… In The After.

pets

The Thing With Cats, Part Two.

by Lori Dwyer on January 23, 2013 · 2 comments

Someone commented on Twitter a few days ago that, just perhaps, TinyTrainTown is very bad juju for cats. The TinyTrainHouse, in particular.

I’m thinking they may have a point.

I guess the easiest way to break this is to say I have both good news, and bad news.

Let’s begin with the good news, shall we…?

You may remember George, bless his little white socks. Just a week or two after losing George– still unable to tell my children the truth, as I still am now, unsure of what good thatt kind of honesty could possibly do– I got one of the most awesome, bizarre, uncannily coincidental emails.

Another one of those coincidental things that happened so perfectly, it doesn’t feel like a coincidence, not really. Not at all.

This email came from a reader of my blog and fellow resident of TinyTrainTown. I think we’ll call her WonderWoman. WonderWoman originally commented on my BookFace page, saying that her family had actually adopted George’s brother from the TinyTrainTown vet a week or so before we took George home. George’s brother’s name was Floyd… and he wasn’t getting on with her older, nearly geriatric other cat at all.

I know, I know… I believe I did, at one point, say ‘no more cats!’ But really- when the Universe offers to fix a problem so practically, so perfectly… why on earth would you say ‘no’?

I didn’t. I said a silent thank you to Whoever’s In Charge and emailed WonderWoman straight back to tell her that, if she ever needed to re–home Floyd, we would be more than happy to take him in.

And WonderWoman, being awesome, allowed us to do just that.

So that’s how it came to happen that the myself, the Chop, and one more than slightly confused Bump found ourselves at WonderWoman’s house. And returned home with Floyd. Who is the very spitting image of his late brother George, except for the teeny white socks on George’s paws.

Floyd.

WonderWoman is a mum herself and has a handful of WonderKids– to be honest, between her kids and my kids and the running and the yelling I have forgotten how many WonderKids there were. But the oldest WonderKid… I think I’ll remember her forever. Her name is Chloe, and she’s just… beautiful. A tween–aged eleven year old, she was pretty and smart and caring and honest and if my Bump grows up to be anything like her, I will be a very happy mum indeed.

Chloe was Floyd’s rightful owner, and, being the very mature young person she is, she made the decision to allow him to come and live with us and see if her family’s other cat– and Floyd himself– would be happier living apart. There were a few tears shed, and I promised Chloe I would give her baby lots of love, cuddles, good food and a human to annoy in bed every single night.

Floyd and the Chop

I’m pleased to report to Chloe- and to you, jellybeans- that Floyd is well and truly settled in here. He and DimSum the Godfather are quite good mates– DimSum, while old and crotchety, missed his mate George badly, and is patient and tolerant of even the most annoying of kittens.

Which is a good thing. Because Floyd is the very cat–devil himself. He pounces on unsuspecting soft fleshy feet from behind corners, claws at lounges, slinks in to steal food from your plate when you’re not looking, and uses Dimsum’s long, flicking tail as a plaything.

And we all very, very much adore him.

I don’t know quite how to thank WonderWoman and her family enough for the gift they’ve given us. Floyd fits in so well, it’s like he’s been here all along.

In fact, if you ask the Bump, you would think he has been here all along. Poor child is thoroughly confused by the whole cat-swap, and has to be corrected every time she refers to Floyd as ‘Georgie Peorgie’ (But having said that, I also have to correct her every single time she picks up a banksia seed pod and brings it to me saying “Look mummy, a money bank!!”)

***

If you follow me on Twitter, you may have seen me lamenting and whinging a few days ago about my cat being missing. On returning from Melbourne, I discovered my house sitter had lost both his sense of sanity and proprietary over the weekend and left the TinyTrainHouse mostly un–sat. Mailbox full, plants un–watered… ‘other’ cat (that’d be DimSum) missing.

I’m so ridiculously accustomed to losing pets, I assumed DimSum was dead. Don’t think I’m just being macabre– he’s twelve years old, and the temperature here hit 48 degrees Celsius (that’s 118 degrees in American) on Friday while I was in Melbourne.

And besides that… there’s that horrible, pitch dark road.

My mum did a quick scan of my yard and a slow drive-by of the Very Dangerous Road. No black, fluffy carcass. Which was nice. But in the back of my mind, I was waiting for a skinny, pitiful, ragged creature to drag himself back home to die, the way Tigger had done years ago.

Which was why it was such a huge relief to hear his familiar loud “Mauuuuu!!!” and the reassuring thump of his bulk climbing the lattice at the front steps.

DimSum

He refuses to divulge details on where he’s been, or what he’s been up to. He was a bit hungry and a bit thirsty but other than that, no worse off for his adventure. Whatever that adventure was. And he’s resumed his usual position of laying like a huge big fluffy lump on the cool concrete of the backyard, with next doors cat’s occasional sitting a respectful distance away from him on either side, like minions or hand-servants or hench–cats or something.

***

For the reader who asked the (very reasonable) question of whether my vet would like DimSum to lose a bit of weight, if he’s unhealthy heavy. The answer is, believe it or not- no. He’s actually quite skinny, and getting skinnier as he ages.

He’s just… big.

{ 2 comments }

Keluang Bay Turtles

Turtles in Keluang Bay.

by Lori Dwyer on June 5, 2013 · 5 comments

On our fourth day in Pangkalan Bun, in the depths of the lush greenery of Central Kalimantan, we visit Keluang Bay and immerse ourselves in the people there. Keluang Bay is a local fishing village, a family-friendly Sunday destination. People bring their children here to swim, while fathers fish and mothers sit in groups along the shorelines, eating seafood caught that morning.

We find ourselves, with our pale skin and loudly spoken ‘Ingriss’, the subjects of intense, polite curiosity.

Keluang Bay is a short drive from the hotel in Pangkalan Bun. There is so much space in Borneo. Once you leave the densely clustered city, packed tight around the river that sustains it; the properties are spread wide apart, tiny wooden houses that squat on huge blocks of jungle.

And then there’s tiny wooden houses, set amongst plantations of palm oil trees in all different stages of growth. Large, dull yellow dump trucks that look like over-sized Tonka toys are everywhere on the rural roads of Kalimantan. They are referred to, simply, as ‘the palm oil trucks’. We see them waiting patiently in line for diesel fuel every morning, a lumbering line of belching vehicles and their cigarette-smoking drivers stretching up and around the corner; waiting patiently for access to the shiny, newly-built commercial petrol station.

It rained last night, heavily, thrumming on the roof of the hotel, vibrant blue lightning crackling the sky and outing the hotel’s power supply until the generator kicked in. We’re only going as far as Keluang Bay today because the roads beyond it are washed out, impassable by car. The roads into the Bay itself are a mixture of poorly laid asphalt and huge, slippery mud puddles formed from densely packed clay soil. The palm oil trucks, motor scooters carrying two or three people, and over-crowded people-movers compete for space on the road in a way that is peacefully terrifying. Erin has taught me the Arabic word ‘Inshallah’– ‘God willing’– and the phrase becomes a helpful mantra for travel on Bornean roads.

It takes less than half an hour to reach Keluang Bay. There’s a huge seafood restaurant dotted with knee high tables where freshly caught crab, lobster, and fish are served. There’s not much beach to speak of on this side of the bay– the slightly muddy water washes up to a dirty shore, longboats and small klotoks occasionally moored to the breakwalls. The dusty promenade is lined with vendors selling Coke and Sprite and Nestle Milo in cans out of branded cool-boxes. There are gaudy children’s toys and sugary snacks on display. Men carve huge green coconuts into edible, drinkable treats.

Eating coconuts.

A wooden jetty sticks out into the middle of the calmness of the bay. There’s a pondok– an ornate, beautiful sheltered area– that sits serenely five or ten metres from the end of the wharf. Once they were connected, Garry the tour guide tells us. Now the pondok just sits, calmly, waiting to be reconnected to the land. A testament to the best of intentions.

Across the Bay, on a small peninsula of land that juts out opposite the peninsula of Tanjung Pating National Park, is the Hawkbill Turtle conservation area. That’s where we’re headed, the four of us plus Garry and Ivend, as well as the skipper and crew of our river klotok; who we’re ecstatic to discover Garry has invited for lunch. We board a small boat that smells of diesel and sit quietly, rocking in the gentle waves as the front of the boat splits the water, cuts the Bay in half, to deliver us to where the turtles are.

We’re further out toward the sea than we were on the Sekonyer River– we can see the entrance to the ocean as we leave the jetty. The spit of land we’re headed for is the last headland before the Java Sea opens up beyond it. Where the land meets the water, it’s a very close approximation of an Australian beach– white sand, gently rolling breakers. The side of the island we first alight onto reminds me almost surreally of Paradise. Most of the dense, knotted jungle growth has been cleared here. Sturdy pines, prickled with the pine needles I saw a thousand times during my childhood, ring the shoreline.

The turtle conservation center is a few hundred metres inland. Hawkbill turtles– they’re probably exactly the kind of turtle you’re imagining, Finding Nemo style and all– are amazing creatures.

Baby green sea turtles are just about the cutest things I’ve ever seen. (Right up there with, say, baby orangutans.)

The turtle conservation program is ridiculously effective for something so simple. Turtles come up to the beach at night to lay their eggs. Not only are they are a delicacy for Komodo dragons; they’re also a delicacy for people, and turtle eggs fetch 5000 rupiah a piece. So the rangers who work for the conservation project head out at night and wait, digging up the turtle eggs once they’re laid and the mother has left. They then re-bury the eggs in a fenced-off area, wait two months until they hatch, feed them up for another two months, and release the extremely adorable babies back into the ocean.

Turtles. With iPhone, for scale.

For about five Australian dollars, tourists can release their own turtle. Where I planted a tree for an old life, I release a turtle for a new one.

There’s a trick to releasing baby turtles, apparently– you have to face the turtle toward the shore, a few feet away from the water; and let them turn themselves around and make their way into the waves.

They are, as I said, amazing creatures. In the thirty seconds it takes the to do that, they develop a mental snapshot that will last their whole lives- they’ll always know to come back to this beach, to lay their own eggs in the future.

***

Turtle video, coming soon to YouTube.

Tagged as: Borneo, Lori Gone Wild, stuff that makes me happy

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{ 5 comments… read them below or add one }

Rhianna July 23, 2013 at 2:14 pm

I watched some baby turtles being released on a local beach last year. They are truly amazing and I love that I live in the only capital city in the world that has a turtle release program on it’s beach.
Rhianna recently posted…A bit about guns, wants, needs and parenting

Lori Dwyer July 25, 2013 at 1:12 pm: That’s awesome Rhianna. Which city do you live in?
Lori Dwyer recently posted…The Evolution of a Birthmark.

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Jane Francis June 8, 2013 at 9:46 am

Lori, once again I am immersed in your writing, not wanting to come up for air!!! I feel I am there with you, Erin, Emma and Mum painting a beautiful
picture within my mind.. Love love your blog…

Emma Joyce June 7, 2013 at 7:51 pm

Beautifully written , as always ..love reading your blog and re-living our adventure x

Karen Loethen June 5, 2013 at 7:10 pm

I’m so excited for you being in Borneo. SO much to do and see.
I haven’t been up to see the turtles a few hours north of us here in Brisbane, but we still want to before going home.

Previous post: Fireflies- Part Two. #BloggersToBorneo

Next post: Keluang Bay, Part Two. #BloggersToBorneo

The Best Bits – RRSAHM

The Best Bits

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The best of RRSAHM…? Well. That really depends on your sensibilities.People tell me that if you’re new here, this post is a good place to start. And if you’re looking for more like that, discussing love or lust or bad romance, there’s posts for those too.

In the Before, I wrote for the fun of it about topics like diaphragms (twice), vibrators, sex, being a yummy mummy and my frustration at people’s obsession with my child’s birthmark. I video blogged, or tried to.

I wrote for the craft of it. I painted literary pictures of the town I grew up in, studying to be a social worker, working as a magician, menstruation, breastfeeding my daughter and gently disciplining my son.

And then came the After. In the weeks that followed my husband’s death I wrote about shooting stars, the meaning of words I’d never understood Before, floating hope and packing my life into a castle of cardboard boxes. I video blogged then too, physical proof that I was doing OK, that I was, somehow, surviving.

Since then, I’ve written about my son and my daughter, about the effect of grieving so publicly, about how beautiful that can be. I’ve confessed to Internet dating, hating my husband with a burning passion, the balm on my soul of dreaming I’m with him again.

I’ve chronicled what an abortion is really like. I write a lot about mental health, and I’ve touched on the ethics of giving to charity. I video blogged chopping off my hair, getting a tattoo, and the best twenty five dollars I’ve ever spent.

Sometimes I write short stories. Sometimes I meet interesting people. Sometimes I just blog about blogging. Other times, I’m just attempting to sort out the mess that is my head.

So far, it seems that’s the best of RRSAHM. Take your time, have a read. And please, leave a comment and let me know is there’s any posts that should be here that I’m missing.

Cheers.

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Random Ramblings of a SAHM: All This Stuff

Something for da mummies. – RRSAHM

Something for da mummies.

by Lori Dwyer on May 8, 2010 · 10 comments

Happy Mother’s Day!!

To all the mummies.

The kissing mummies*. And the smacking mummies.

The cranky mums* and the serene ones.

The mums*, moms, mama’s*, ma’s*, mummies*, mommies and otherwise.

The mums who iron.

And the ones who don’t*.

The ones who bake cupcakes from scratch.

The ones who bake cupcakes a ‘la Betty Crocker*.

And the ones who don’t bake at all.

Happy Mother’s Day to the computer mums*.

The shopping mall mums.

The playgroup mums*.

The Stay At Home Mums*.

The working mums.

And the mums who do a bit of everything.

The breastfeeding mums*, the bottle feeding mums, the expressing mums.

The ‘sposie nappy mums, and the cloth nappy mums*.

The gluten free mums.

And the ‘my kid has every Happy Meal toy ever made’ mums*.

Happy Mummies Day.

To the mum’s who like to play*.

And those who don’t.

Who like craft and coloring in*.

And those who don’t.

Who like to sing and dance to the God forsaken Wiggles.

And those who don’t*.

Happy Mother’s Day, Mummies.

The quirky*, the strict, and those that are in between.

But of course, most of all, Happy Mothers Day to my wonderful mummy, my childrens loving Nonna, who taught me love, humility, patience, kindess, and not to sweat the small stuff (and it’s all small stuff… right?). The best of who I am, I take from you. We are very blessed and eternally grateful to have you in our lives.

* Denotes “Yuh, I’m that type o’mummy”.
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{ 10 comments… read them below or add one }

ezymay May 10, 2010 at 7:39 pm: That was gorgeous Lori!! Like you! Hope u had a great day.

Reply
Tamsyn May 10, 2010 at 8:30 am: Happy Mother's Day to you too! I love that you put the astericks in so that we could see which kind of Mum you are, nice touch

Reply
lori May 9, 2010 at 10:09 pm: Awww, that brought a tear to ma eye. And I think it's a gorgeous photo too. Happy Mother's Day!

Reply
Megan May 9, 2010 at 8:26 pm: Love it! Hope you had a great day!

Reply
Sarah May 9, 2010 at 3:33 pm: Beautiful post

Happy mother's day to you, awesome mummy.

Reply
Wanderlust May 9, 2010 at 7:25 am: Happy mothers day to you sweets. A lovely post and a lovely picture.

Reply
Thea May 9, 2010 at 7:14 am: Awwwww, that is gorgeous!!
What a beautiful photo.
Have a wonderful day. xx

Reply
In Real Life May 9, 2010 at 12:42 am: Awwwwww…so sweet! That is a fabulous photo of you and your mum.

Reply
Lucy May 8, 2010 at 9:36 pm: Oh you are good. So good.

And that photo: awwwwww, just lovely. xx

Reply
Ratz May 8, 2010 at 7:33 pm: Awwww. Beautiful….. Happy Mothers' Day to u too Lori….

Reply

Previous post: I’m a Wiggles Purist.

Next post: I’m A Swinger (but quite possibly not the way you’re thinking).

Something for da mummies. – RRSAHM

Something for da mummies.

by Lori Dwyer on May 8, 2010 · 10 comments

Happy Mother’s Day!!

To all the mummies.

The kissing mummies*. And the smacking mummies.

The cranky mums* and the serene ones.

The mums*, moms, mama’s*, ma’s*, mummies*, mommies and otherwise.

The mums who iron.

And the ones who don’t*.

The ones who bake cupcakes from scratch.

The ones who bake cupcakes a ‘la Betty Crocker*.

And the ones who don’t bake at all.

Happy Mother’s Day to the computer mums*.

The shopping mall mums.

The playgroup mums*.

The Stay At Home Mums*.

The working mums.

And the mums who do a bit of everything.

The breastfeeding mums*, the bottle feeding mums, the expressing mums.

The ‘sposie nappy mums, and the cloth nappy mums*.

The gluten free mums.

And the ‘my kid has every Happy Meal toy ever made’ mums*.

Happy Mummies Day.

To the mum’s who like to play*.

And those who don’t.

Who like craft and coloring in*.

And those who don’t.

Who like to sing and dance to the God forsaken Wiggles.

And those who don’t*.

Happy Mother’s Day, Mummies.

The quirky*, the strict, and those that are in between.

* Denotes “Yuh, I’m that type o’mummy”.
post signature

Leave a Comment

{ 10 comments… read them below or add one }

ezymay May 10, 2010 at 7:39 pm: That was gorgeous Lori!! Like you! Hope u had a great day.

Reply
Tamsyn May 10, 2010 at 8:30 am: Happy Mother's Day to you too! I love that you put the astericks in so that we could see which kind of Mum you are, nice touch

Reply
lori May 9, 2010 at 10:09 pm: Awww, that brought a tear to ma eye. And I think it's a gorgeous photo too. Happy Mother's Day!

Reply
Megan May 9, 2010 at 8:26 pm: Love it! Hope you had a great day!

Reply
Sarah May 9, 2010 at 3:33 pm: Beautiful post

Happy mother's day to you, awesome mummy.

Reply
Wanderlust May 9, 2010 at 7:25 am: Happy mothers day to you sweets. A lovely post and a lovely picture.

Reply
Thea May 9, 2010 at 7:14 am: Awwwww, that is gorgeous!!
What a beautiful photo.
Have a wonderful day. xx

Reply
In Real Life May 9, 2010 at 12:42 am: Awwwwww…so sweet! That is a fabulous photo of you and your mum.

Reply
Lucy May 8, 2010 at 9:36 pm: Oh you are good. So good.

And that photo: awwwwww, just lovely. xx

Reply
Ratz May 8, 2010 at 7:33 pm: Awwww. Beautiful….. Happy Mothers' Day to u too Lori….

Reply

Previous post: I’m a Wiggles Purist.

Next post: I’m A Swinger (but quite possibly not the way you’re thinking).

There's Always Christmas. – RRSAHM

There’s Always Christmas.

by Lori Dwyer on September 20, 2011 · 17 comments

I still have no freaking Internet.

In a case of “this is totally not even funny anymore”, I’ve just discovered that neither ADSL broadband, nor cable, are available in the TinyTrainTown.

Fuck. To the power of one million. Fuck, fuck, fuck. How ridiculous. I’ve found the perfect place to live… except for the fact that it cuts me off from the one thing I love to do, from my community, from the virtual place that saving my real-life arse, over and over again.

I’m trying not to be so pessimistic. Telstra (*ahem* *cough* fuck you, Telstra) have signed me up to their mobile broadband. My modem gets here in 5-7 working days. Again. I’m hoping the service is reasonable. I can live with reasonable. Some Internet is better than no Internet at all.

And I guess I’ll keep doing what I’m doing now. Not Tweeting, or Instagram-ing. Doing a forty minute round trip every two days to sit in my car, laptop on and iPhone plugged into it, and get a little bit of a fix.

It’s enough to make me want to sob. Why does this have to be so freaking difficult?

***

Written sometime last week.

Tomorrow is my daughter’s birthday. I’m trying not to let it hit too hard- she is, after all, only two. And this is only the first birthday of many she will spend without her father.

It’s easier, and harder, with her being such a baby when this happened, such a tiny 15-month-old. I’m spared the grief her brother carries with her sunny smiles, her lack of questions.

I know it will be harder for her, as she gets older…. Grieving a man she never knew.

I’m glad we’re here, in our new house, for her birthday. It feels just right.

And I’m so proud of my sunny, smart, funny, boisterous little girl, who loves dollies and babies and flowers and birds and food.

I’m not going to try and explain the patchwork of disbelief, and sadness, loneliness, confusion and terror that comes hand in hand with each of these ‘firsts’ without my husband.

***

In the top of my linen cupboard is a box that contains all the bits for a pink doll’s wardrobe. I bought it just a week or so before Tony died, in the post-Christmas toy’s sales. It was for the Bump’s second birthday.

If Tony were still alive, that’s what we’d be doing tonight- standing, talking, in the garage of our Purple House, wearing shorts and thongs for the first time in six months after the first real day of spring, while he drilled bits of a tiny wardrobe together.

It doesn’t sound like much at all. But if I close my eyes, I am almost there. And it hurts like I can’t even fathom.

I pulled down that white box earlier tonight. Pulled the bits out, glanced at the instructions.

And decided that all of it, the entire project and what it represented, was just too damn difficult.

Hell, there’s always Christmas.

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{ 17 comments… read them below or add one }

rings May 19, 2013 at 7:59 am: I came across this site on http://www.rrsahm.

com/2011/09/theres-always-christmas/ and if I may I want to point out to you some helpful things or ideas.

Maybe you can write your next articles referring to these ideas.
I want to read more things regarding what you’re talking about.
rings recently posted…rings

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Mrs K January 5, 2013 at 2:05 pm: Did you ever put the wardrobe together for her?

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Shellye September 26, 2011 at 8:29 am: Sorry about your internet troubles. Our first apartment ten years ago was in a dead zone and we didn't get mobile service, so we had to get a land line, which was frustrating. My internet has not been working recently, so I know how frustrating it is to have some form of communication cut off and you have to go elsewhere to do what you need to do.

Even though it doesn't sound like much, what you described about the garage and the wardrobe assembly, it is so much more, the little things, standing in the garage together or just talking, even though you may not remember the words you said. It's the little things that make up the big picture.

A friend of mine made up a list of the thing she missed after the death of her husband. Everything on the list was what most of us consider mundane, little everyday details, like fighting and making up, walking hand in hand, him calling her fifteen times a day just to say "hi" or watching him reading the paper on Saturday mornings in his chair.

If anything were to happen to my husband, I would miss how he can't go into another aisle of the store without telling me he loves me…I don't find it so annoying anymore.

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Donna September 22, 2011 at 5:41 pm: Sometimes I read this and feel your raw pain leap out at me – it takes my breath away. The image of the present laying in the box, lovingly planned so far ahead, when you could never known what was to come… I hurt for you. And I'd not blame you if you threw the whole thing in the bin!

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Zoey @ Good Goog September 22, 2011 at 4:10 pm: Now I feel like a bit of an ass for constantly complaining that there's no ADSL2 on the central coast. I hope the mobile broadband works! I am not the best version of myself when separated from the internet for too long.

Make someone else put that thing together. Some things are just too hard.

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WilAma4 September 22, 2011 at 7:11 am: Happy birthday to your sweet girl and to you too Lori. The day we give birth is our day too… big change in our lives and special.

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iamevilcupcake September 22, 2011 at 12:25 pm: You are so right regarding the firsts. I found they are the worst part after someone dies.

For me the hardest wasn't the wedding anniversary without him. Or the first birthday. It was the first time I had to shop like a single person. Where I had to buy only one of everything. I broke down and sobbed in Coles.

I promise you Lori, as each year passes, it does get easier. You will still get sad on those days, like birthdays, but it will get easier.

I just wish I could give you a big squishy hug . . .

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Melissa September 21, 2011 at 8:45 pm: Happy Birthday to your lovely little girl. I hope you guys had a good day, and that her lightness was able to lift some of the sadness for you. It's hard for me to fathom how you make it through these days – but your strength is truly amazing. Keep on, keeping on, sister.

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Surely Sarah September 21, 2011 at 4:27 pm: If you get Telstra 3G mobile coverage in your house, your Telstra wireless modem should work – they run on the same mobile network. Good luck! I can't imagine life without my broadband now.

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Eccles September 21, 2011 at 8:19 pm: Happy Birthday to Bump. I hope you , Chop, Scarlette & the Beautiful Birthday Girl Bump have the most wonderful birthday party. Happy Birthday to Bump, Happy Birthday to her!! (X)

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River September 21, 2011 at 9:51 am: Mobile broadband isn't too bad, I have a dodo usb stick which is pretty reliable.
But still, this is the 21st century, you'd think Australia would catch up with the rest of the world by now and have fast, reliable internet service everywhere!

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Kelloggsville September 21, 2011 at 6:23 am: I remember once struggling to put together a toy kitchen that came in 70squillion pieces and my hands weren't strong enough to do it. I sat and sobbed about how the life of a single mum sucked. You'll get there. But if you're planning to do it by Christmas start just after halloween!! Hugs.

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Anonymous September 21, 2011 at 4:10 am: Happy birthday Bump, I'm sure it was a special day xx

Oh Lori. The bittersweet of firsts. You're doing such a wonderful job sweetie, I just wish it wouldn't hurt so much.

Mobile broadband isn't too bad the only bug bare is at times it'll drop out but overall is bareable. I hope your little house gets into the adsl zone shortly.

Chris Johnston

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Miss Pink September 20, 2011 at 7:44 pm: Lots of love to you and Bump. It is harder than I could possibly imagine, i'm sure.

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Dorothy September 20, 2011 at 7:36 pm: You can only do what you can do. I cried over every first. And then I learnt how to transform Transformers and put up the Christmas tree.

I know it's different for you. Hugs…

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MrsTully September 20, 2011 at 6:28 pm: Happy belated birthday to the Bump, I hope her day and yours was just lovely.

And Telstra mobile broadband isn't THAT bad, it's not ADSL but it ain't dial-up either. Here's hoping it's there before the weekend, when my parents signed up it was delivered the following day!

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Crystal September 20, 2011 at 10:29 pm: I can't even imagine what all those "firsts" must feel like… Also, my deepest sympathies on the no-Internet thing! That must be awful! HUGs to you and a special birthday HUG for your Bump!

Reply

Previous post: Ghosts

Next post: What Would You Say, To A Ghost?

March 2010 – RRSAHM

March 2010

Look at me, look at me, look at me!!

by Lori Dwyer on March 31, 2010 · 14 comments

Stop! Do not hit your back button. I promise, you are are in the right place.

It’s just that I have had a makeover. And not just any makeover. A makeover done specially for me by the very lovely Fairy Sarie over at Just Me.

For those of you who are not already huuuge fans of Sarah’s, she is a Super Mummy- Internet guru, cake decorator extraordinaire, brilliant photographer, loving mother, forum moderator, part time worker, avatar genius, Repressed Clown and all round beautiful soul. Phew, makes me exhausted just thinking about it.

So a huge thank you to the lovely Sarah, whom I love very muchly. And check out how clever she is!! Even if I do say so myself, the new me looks amazing *wolf whistles*

I gots a signature, some cool fonts, pretty piccies and a rather appropriate colour scheme called ‘Sweet Tart”. That’s me.

And, the piece de resistance- my brand new button, over on the left there. Scroll down a bit. There you go. Go, on, grab it. You know you want to.

So, what do you think…? Am I gorgeous, or what?

Proudly pinched from MummyTime, who stole it off The Bloggess

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{ 14 comments }

Wordless Wednesday- Is that a dog…?

by Lori Dwyer on March 31, 2010 · 5 comments

Bonjour,

Toilet training in the purple house, with the slightly mental dog…. is it any wonder we have troubles getting the Chop to go on the loo?!

{ 5 comments }

The Muse Wars- Challenge Six.

by Lori Dwyer on March 30, 2010 · 8 comments

Mushi mushi,

The Muse Wars is back!

Originally the brilliant idea of Melissa at The Things I’d Tell You, christened the Muse Wars by the MadMother when she set Challenge Two. Challenge Three by was set by the Menopausal Mumma, Challenge Four by yours truly. Challenge Five was set by the muchly awesome Gemma at Sometimes You Just Need To Vent.

And this one, Challenge Six, was again set by Kakka at Menopausal Mumma. Could you tell I couldn’t be arsed doing all the links again and just copied and posted that whole last paragraph off my Challenge Five post? Thought so.

Anyway, your mission, should you chose to accept it- 500 words (ish) on this picture. First one in picks the next challenge. Anyone can play- just pop a comment up on Kakka’s post when you’re done.

And away we go…

La Lotteria

A whole new world.

It was a phrase you heard all the time. “A whole new world of this, a whole new world of that”. Very few people, he thought, understood the true meaning.

At least, until now.

The air here was warm. As was the water. Always bath temperature, smelling of sulfur. It was midday and this planet’s sun was at it’s brightest. Yet it looked like twilight.

Could they really live here? All of them? For how long?

There were now 15 ooo inhabitants on this previously un-colonized planet of Zantaria. All of them were winners, so to speak. Winners of La Lotteria.

Earth was dead. That was an irrefutable fact, had been for the last 200 years. There was nothing left there, no food, little water. Earth’s sun got hotter and hotter.

People were dieing. Slowly at first, then famine ran through countries like wildfire, eating up entire cities.

That was when they announced La Lotteria.

There was a planet, they said. One they had been sending missions to, manned but top secret, for years now. The atmosphere was air, breathable. There was water, drinkable water, more water than land. The geography of Zantaria consisted of millions of tiny islands, connected by water just deep enough to run a boat on.

But there was a catch. The trip there took years. The earth would simply not survive that long. And there was only enough space vessels for 15 000 people.

And so, La Lotteria, the random selection, began.

It took a week. Numbers drawn every day, families split apart, people left in desperation when their number was missed by one or two digits. A winning number for an adult allowed them to take one child, and one child only, with them.

It was at that point Ben began to thank the gods that he and his wife had stopped at just one.

Chaos. Anarchy. The world, falling apart. Ben’s number is drawn. His wife’s is not.

Ben, and his young son, stand ankle deep in the warm water of Zantaria. They can hear people in the distance, proof they are not alone, as much as it feels like it.

Other winners of La Lotteria. More of the lucky ones.

{ 8 comments }

← Previous Entries

Ha! Recognise, Hot Piercer Dude! – RRSAHM

Ha! Recognise, Hot Piercer Dude!

by Lori Dwyer on March 10, 2010 · 3 comments

Aloha,

Well, I am muchly pleased to announce that the terrible episode of social awkwardness that we will call the Bloody Expensive Piercing has a happy epilogue.

Here’s a new piccie of the Bloody Expensive Piercing. Cause I like it better than the last one.

Anyways, a friend of ours went and got tattooed by Hot Piercer Dude’s brother a few days ago, and happened to be chatting to Hot Piercer Dude. He mentioned that I had come in and got my nose pierced….

Now, apparently at the mention of “nose pierced”, Hot Piercer Dude blanched slightly and said

“F#%k! How did I not recognise her? Omigod, how will I face her again? Tell the Man he has a $70 in store credit”.

And then proceeded to confess that he thought I was a young (20-ish) arrogant young chick who was stupid enough to get pierced without first asking for a price (true-ish), and therefore charged me double.

Nice.

Sucks to be you, Hot Piercer Dude.

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{ 3 comments… read them below or add one }

Kellyansapansa March 11, 2010 at 10:39 pm: No way! That is so funny – and the piercing looks great!

Reply
DaughteroftheStars March 11, 2010 at 9:52 pm: This is is the best follow up story ever – 10 points to Lori. Now, what to do with that $70 store credit…

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Sarah March 11, 2010 at 8:52 pm: Hahahahahaha that's hilarious!!!

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Previous post: Well, that was unexpected.

Next post: Oh, the pain of de-Follow-nisation…

Random Ramblings of a SAHM: In The Powder Room

August 2010 – RRSAHM

August 2010

Down To Earth

by Lori Dwyer on August 31, 2010 · 2 comments

Greetings,

Today you can find me over at Home Grown, guest posting about something I love… fluffy bum goodness!!

See you there!

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{ 2 comments }

The Second Child

by Lori Dwyer on August 30, 2010 · 8 comments

Heyall,

I’m guest posting over at Early Childhood Resources today about my second child- the beautiful Princess Bump. Isn’t she just the cutest thing you’ve ever seen…?

Come on over and read all about her.

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{ 8 comments }

FlogYoBlog Friday and What Lori Did To Her New Car.

by Lori Dwyer on August 27, 2010 · 26 comments

Yeehaa,

It’s blog flogging day again!! If you don’t what I’m talking about, here’s the low down. Please feel free to grab the button and link up, however big or small your blog may be…
.
Anyway. As the title of the posts suggests, we gots a brand new car. Isn’t she pretty? Leather seats, sun roof, pop-out cup holder. Awww yeah. Her name is Roo. Cause she’s a Suba-roo. Boom tish. I know, the height of freaking creativity.

Poor Roo. I’ve had her for just two short, sun-roofy, cup-holedr-y weeks and…well….

She had just a wee bit of a clash with a pole. I blame the fact that ~~I am a sh*thouse drive~~r this car is so huge compared to my little bubble-mobile I used to drive around.

It was actually much worse than this, the Man popped most of the damage back out. Bless him. (Why he didn’t wait until after I took a photo for my blog, I don’t know. Whatever.)

Needless to say, the Man was not entirely impressed with this turn of events. Again, whatever.

OK, that’s enough about me. Really. What about you..? Link on up below and tell me all about it…

The New Rules (which are kinda almost pretty much the same as the Old Rules)

Follow my blog. (*ahem* *cough* My Blog. Me me me. Me me. You get the picture.)
Grab B’s bubbly button and post it on your sidebar.
Link your First Name and/or Blog Name and URL of your linked post (not your homepage) below.
Add a short description (max of 125 chars). It could be a description of yourself, your blog or a teaser to your latest post.
Follow at least 1 linkyer/blogger (Be nice and spread the love).
The list will be open for linkyers on Fridays (and for the foreigners Friday as well).
A new and fresh link list will open every Friday. And you will have to link up AGAIN. The previous link list does not carry over to the following week.
And lastly, have lotsa fun. I mean it. If I detect anyone not totally loving the awesomeness, I will bump you off the linky list. (Joking) (Kinda).

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{ 26 comments }

← Previous Entries

Random Ramblings of a SAHM: The Crappest GiveAway Ever (really, this time)

Random Ramblings of a SAHM: Running Away Again.

I Hate Grocery Shopping. – RRSAHM

I Hate Grocery Shopping.

by Lori Dwyer on November 27, 2013 · 4 comments

This post is sponsored by Woolworths.

***

I hate grocery shopping. Shopping centres make me all kinds of anxious. Combine grocery shopping, shopping centres, and shopping with small children, and you have a very unpleasurable situation.

The Most Amazing Man and I are technologically minded kinda people, so we’d already been talking about using an app for our shopping list. One that we could sync between the two of us, to avoid the situation we’ve had before, where we both buy tomatoes and both forget mushrooms and have too much of one thing, not enough of another.

So we tried out the new Woolworths online shopping app, much to the delight of the iChild, who had been bugging me to download it since he first saw the ad on TV.

I am, historically, a huge fan of online shopping. When I was living in Paradise, the closest Woolies was a good 45 minutes drive away. For a couple of bucks, I could order online and have everything I needed delivered to my door.

There’s a ridiculous amount of benefit to online shopping. No dragging small children around the supermarket, kicking and screaming, and saying “Mum, can we have this?” over and over (and over and over). Plenty of time to add things to your list. Very little chance of forgetting anything.

Online shopping with the app makes things that little bit easier again. The app saves the items in your virtual trolley as long as you leave them there. So you can add products as you think of them, wherever you may be. It’s also got a scanner function, so you can just beep the barcode of a product and the app brings it up. You can can link your Everyday reward cards to the app and check your fuel discounts. There’s even a section for have a look at your personalised specials– products Woolies have flagged just for you, that they know you buy often.

The only thing the app doesn’t do is let you see the prices of your products until after they’ve been added to your trolley. So, say you do a search for ‘soda water’. The app brings up all the available brands for you to scroll through. But it doesn’t tell you how much each individual product is until after you’ve added it to your trolley. Which means comparing prices requires adding all the products to your trolley,and deleting the ones you don’t want.

Anyway. Having done your shopping, you click ‘checkout’ and pay with credit card or voucher. You can choose delivery, or Click and Collect. Delivery feels kind of lazy when you live as close to the shops as I do. So I went with Click and Collect.

The novelty effect of Click and Collect is fabulous. Rocking up to the counter of my local Woolworths and knowing I was soon going to get all my shopping without actually having to go in the store is sheer delight. The customer service woman rolling her eyes slightly and saying “Another one…” when I rocked up to the customer service counter only slightly dampened my enthusiasm. I guess we can say it’s just an example of how many people are Clicking and Collecting.

Online shopping is kind of awesome. It’s a huge time-saver. My inner organised personality (who, evidently, only shows herself on rare occasions) is impressed.

Being able to do boring grocery shopping without any of that anxiety-causing social interaction is like some kind of consumerist heaven.

***

This is the bit where I let all you compers know that every time you shop online and place an order before December 22 you will go into the draw to win FREE groceries for a whole year. There are six prizes to be won, and details are here.

Tagged as: $

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{ 4 comments… read them below or add one }

Tony Taig January 20, 2014 at 10:14 pm

I hate supermarkets as well. I go at 10-11 pm at night to avoid the masses. If you ever wanted to review our online store and solve all your cleaning problems have a look at http://www.australianeucalyptusoil.com.au. We could even throw in home green cleaning kit for you to give away.

Karen November 28, 2013 at 3:21 pm

Hee hee! It took us years to burn through five bottles of soy sauce and three of worcestershire.
It’s one of those lame running marital jokes now- Do you need anything from the store? Yeah, I think we’re out of soy sauce!

Karen November 28, 2013 at 3:22 pm: (Yet we have run out of toilet paper and dish detergent

Reply
Lori Dwyer December 2, 2013 at 8:37 pm: Hehe. When I cleaned out my cupboards before I moved, I found so many things that were soooooo past their expiration date. And most of them I was looking at going ‘Why on earth did I buy that in the first place…?’

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Previous post: The Time You Have, in Jellybeans.

Next post: The Garden.

16

by Lori Dwyer on January 20, 2012 · 22 comments

in Uncategorized

I hated being a sixteen year old girl.

I don’t know what it’s like for guys– just as bad, maybe, but men just don’t talk about this stuff much as women do. But being female and being a teenager– anywhere between the ages of about thirteen and seventeen, really– it’s horrible and difficult and painful.

Or at least, it was for me. And for a lot of other chicks I know as well.. Those who are teenagers now, and those who have been teenagers in the past. It’s a time of being awkward, of not quite fitting in anywhere, of being insecure and sometimes pretentious and all the while a little out of touch with reality, because that’s just how your brain is wired at that age. (Really.)

Being a teenager in the modern, material world is difficult at the best of times. Add anything that makes you different or even slightly undesirable, and ’difficult’ becomes ’virtual social torture.’

You can be too thin, too fat, too smart, too dumb, too poor,too rich, too boring, talk too much. You have to watch what you say and who you say it to. It a hormonal scramble combined with social chest beating sessions and it’s enough to test anyone’s sanity.

Friends are so important when you’re that age. Your family literally becomes something you take or granted for a small percentage of the time and actively resent the rest of the time. Your friends are your family… The love and understand you more than blood relations do anyway.

I hated myself as a kid. I thought I was excessively ugly, boring and plain. I was bullied and I was unpopular and I remember a stretch of months where I cried every night, begging my mum not to send me to school the next day, please don’t make me go… It’s difficult to see a life beyond high school when you’re in the thick of it. Life after school– as a grown up– it’s all one big confusing daydream where you may fail, or may succeed… And somehow that is directly tied in with your high school career. Although no one can explain that to you as an exact science.

Added to all the usual crap that teens have to deal with, now there’s the internet to really screw things over. The FaceBook feeds of young people are terrifying. At least when I was a kid, I could go home and shut it out and escape it- kids today don’t even really get that option because it follows them home. On their phones, their computers, their online social networks. If you are not on FaceBook you my as well not exist, and I understand that. But it also leaves you with few options as far as taking a break from the constant social parade that is being a teenager. And that sucks.

I’m not even sure why I’m writing this post. But it’s for someone I consider a mate of mine, someone I love very much. It’s hard now, I know that, and it probably sucks way more than I actually remember… But it passes. It feels like forever, like the most important chapter in your life… But it’s not. A few years from now you’ll look back had realize that what I’m saying is truth– being a teenage girl totally sucks arse, but it doesn’t last forever.

It passes. The best I can do is promise you that if nothing else… In time, this will all be insignificant. Everything– everything– passes eventually. And being is a teenager, feeling this way… that passes too.

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{ 22 comments… read them below or add one }

Sapphyre January 25, 2012 at 1:07 pm: 16 and 17 were some of the best years of my teenage life. I finally had friends… after 2.5 years at an all girls school, meeting some new people (and yes, boys were included) made all the difference. I lost weight, had people to hang out and have fun with, life couldn't have been better But I know it's not like that for everyone.

Reply
goodbyealbatross January 24, 2012 at 2:34 pm: This post struck a chord! Sixteen huh? Like just about everyone else who has commented i just wanted it to end and instead, it seemed like the year that dragged on forever! And no being ostracised, finding nowhere to fit in, isn't just confined to teenage girls.
I'm hoping that my teenage boys take how they were raised out into the world with them (i think the only people they bully is their parents
For what it's worth, I always found comfort in these words when I was younger:

For My Young Friends Who are Afraid

There is a country to cross you will find
in the corner of your eye,
in the quick slip of your foot-
-air far down,
a snap that might have caught.
And maybe for you,
for me,
a high, passing
voice that finds its way by being afraid.
That country is there, for us,
carried as it is crossed.
What you fear will not go away:
it will take you into yourself
and bless you and keep you.
That’s the world,
and we all live there.

– William Stafford

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Anonymous January 23, 2012 at 6:10 pm: I was also bullied really badly at my girls school in Melbourne. I still carry the emotional scars and have very low confidence as a result. This means that is easy to pick on me and people still do. I hope Karma hits those people really hard one day. I feel sorry for anyone who has been bullied and I hate all bullies. It is hard enough to grow up without having your rights to happiness trampled all over by selfish and mean people.

Reply
Anonymous January 23, 2012 at 6:51 am: Paragraphs make reading what u have to say so much easier! Try it next time

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Nicky Singh January 22, 2012 at 5:51 pm: I currently have a 16 year old son and I think it's just as bad for boys these days as it is for girls. There is also a lot of pressure on the way they look and of course…, they must be on face book.

Nicky Singh.

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lori January 22, 2012 at 12:24 pm: Yuch. Hated that time in my life. The cliques, the insecurity. Wouldn't want to live that again. It's even harder now, like you said, with the internet putting everything in your face. It brings the drama of school home so there's no escape. And drugs are so much easier to get now too. It's a tough time to be a teen-age girl.

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Leslie January 21, 2012 at 1:30 am: It's true! I live in the U.S. and there have been several teenage suicides directly related to social media bullying. It's becoming a major issue here and the last one I heard about was only 10 years old! I know the media doesn't report on suicide in Australia, but I would be surprised if this isn't happening everywhere!

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Amy xxoo January 20, 2012 at 6:53 pm: Gawd my teenage years sucked! Now i regret letting all my fear and anxieties paralyse me, but back then the easiest thing was to hide in my room and write really emo poetry!

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Kimberley January 20, 2012 at 5:37 pm: If it were possible to go back to my teenage years I wouldn't do it for a million bucks! The whole time I lived through my teenage hell I had older people telling me to make the most of it because those would be the best years of my life. My arse they were! Being a teenager was awful for me.

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Rhonda January 20, 2012 at 2:36 pm: ugh the teenage years…if only I could have a re-do but with the knowledge I have now!!!

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Good Golly Miss Holly! January 20, 2012 at 2:28 pm: 16 sucked ass. I was too boy crazy for my own goddamn good. If only I had listened to my Mum and focused on school? Siiiigh!

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Meredith Mull January 20, 2012 at 1:18 pm: I would never want to be 16 again…especially with all the media and electronics. But on the other hand, with a 14 yr. old daughter, sometimes texting and FB is the best way to communicate! Miss Pink, I was just like you…and realized that even as an adult, there are many women out there that still act like they are in high school. I think we are the ones that grew up!

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Neenish Arts January 20, 2012 at 12:15 pm: I'm sad that there are so many women who have sad and terrible memories of being 16.
I was a really happy teenager, had lots of friends, worked part time and went to things like Homebake and local band competitions, I loved school and was devastated at the end of year 10 when alot of friends left to pursue jobs or change schools (to pursue performing arts). I loved the classes I chose to do and have a lot of memories. I never dumbed myself down at fear of being a 'nerd' I was in top classes and loved learning. I didn't care about weight or being pretty, but I was interested in my "grunge" look hehehehe. Luckily for me I wasn't bullied and I was also never a bully either. I remember sticking up for other girls on occasions when they were being bullied but then I would go on my merry way. It so saddens me to think that so many have sad memories of this age when I often dream about going back to this time. I guess I was lucky?
Either sad or happy memories it does pass and it does pass quickly! Before you know it school has finished and the reality hits that you are an adult and some of the things that used to matter don't matter anymore. There's no point trying to be in with the cool kids… its fake and pretentious. The best thing you can do is be you cause what makes you so special is that you, are you!

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Miss Pink January 20, 2012 at 11:40 am: Being a teenage girl does SUCK.
I actually see a lot of my teenage years mimicing how life is for me now. The insecurity, it doesn't just go, but you get better at handling it, and not worrying where it doesn't matter.
In high school I was the observer, with pizazz and a very loud presence. I was different, and I actually prided myself on it and got quite annoyed when people would copy my style or mannerisms.

Now I am still the observer, I still have pizazz but it's hidden down in me as I happily make friends with the corner and watch quietly. I don't get so upset when people mimic me anymore, sometimes it is annoying but I see it as a compliment, just don't try to say I copied you because I will tell you to fuck off.

Ask anyone who has made it throug the teenage years and they will tell you they wish they did better at school. It's the best advice I can give a teenager. When it's hard, just switch off the social thing. Most the people you meet in high school are fuckwits and you won't need their friendship to have a future.
I stopped caring halfway through high school about making friends and that's when I found that people started to want to befriend me. I just wish when I stopped caring I also put more effort into my school work. That follows you through life FOREVER. Friends will come and go.

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Lirio Jaguar January 20, 2012 at 10:56 am: I used to make myself sick, literally, to avoid going to school – I would wish on a fever and voila! Next morning, too unwell to go. Back in those days you didn't 'give your kids what they want' (good lord, what's the world coming to, when someone tries to communicate their needs??), so I never did get pulled out of that damaging time to go the school I thought would be a better bet, even for a little while. Back in those days parents didn't see my reactions as an indication of something going on that needed addressing, beyond talking to teachers to no avail. Being 16 and with no power over your own destiny sucks a lot. I'm grateful, eternally, that there was no Facebook. It was bad enough with school ground taunting, and shopping centre taunting. It was easier for me to understand the actions of a 16yo neighbour who went into a suicide pact with her friend, a few years ago, because had I not had a separate social outlet (very much before social networking online and mobile phones), it could have been me. So, a few of us are here to say "It gets better", "Life is YOURS when you finish school", "Those kids won't be in your life in a few years' time". Thanks for the reminder, Lori – in a good way, because I've come a long way from the desolation of teenager-hood!

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Lirio Jaguar January 20, 2012 at 10:56 am: I used to make myself sick, literally, to avoid going to school – I would wish on a fever and voila! Next morning, too unwell to go. Back in those days you didn't 'give your kids what they want' (good lord, what's the world coming to, when someone tries to communicate their needs??), so I never did get pulled out of that damaging time to go the school I thought would be a better bet, even for a little while. Back in those days parents didn't see my reactions as an indication of something going on that needed addressing, beyond talking to teachers to no avail. Being 16 and with no power over your own destiny sucks a lot. I'm grateful, eternally, that there was no Facebook. It was bad enough with school ground taunting, and shopping centre taunting. It was easier for me to understand the actions of a 16yo neighbour who went into a suicide pact with her friend, a few years ago, because had I not had a separate social outlet (very much before social networking online and mobile phones), it could have been me. So, a few of us are here to say "It gets better", "Life is YOURS when you finish school", "Those kids won't be in your life in a few years' time". Thanks for the reminder, Lori – in a good way, because I've come a long way from the desolation of teenager-hood!

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Stinky January 20, 2012 at 10:24 am: I remember reading Judy Blume books when I was younger (who didn't? The library book would fall open at the sex scene in Forever and I remember a photocopy of the pages being passed round!!) and marvelling at how she nailed my teenage brain. there was a blurb in the front of the books about her remember exactly what it was like to be a teenager, and I swore I would keep a diary of those times to remind myself of where I had been (I did, my brother found it and read it, so I destroyed them. Wish there had been passwordprotected files and laptop back then!).

But yeah, ole Blumey had her finger on the pulse, recognised and remembered the shitey hormonalsocialmaelstrom that makes absolutely no sense, and of course, with a few years maturity, and of course, that bloody hindsight, can put it all in context when no apparent context is seen back then.

I'm rambling, but I love this post. I recall the strains of wanting to do my own things without parents getting in the way, telling me what I could and couldn't do, controlling me – I remember that straining at the leash at 16 even though up until that point I had been a 'good girl'.
And its all relevant – all the patterns and thinking can crop up again years later, just the frontal lobe is a bit more developed and able to deal better. Sometimes!

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The Girl January 20, 2012 at 10:21 am: Wow, I could have written the exact same thing. I wish somebody had told me that highschool ISN'T the best time of your life, it is horrible and terrible and it gets better.

Thanks for writing this.

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handmaidofpeace January 20, 2012 at 10:13 am: I agree about facebook. I am SO glad that it wasn't around when I was 16. I can't even fathom how much more chaos it could've created in my life.

Fortunately, my little sisters (16 & 12) don't have fb accounts and don't want one, right now.

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Callie @ InfiniteMonkey.co.nz January 20, 2012 at 9:59 am: T H A N K Y O U!!

I have tried saying as much to my 16 year old, but my own attempts at making this point seem to escape her… (What does mum know, right?)

I'm going to show her this post. Heck, I'm gonna print it out and stick it to her door!

THANK YOU

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Karen January 20, 2012 at 9:42 am: It is true. It will pass and sometimes that is all I can offer. Sometimes the knowledge that it would be over someday was all that got me through another day of the years between 11 and 18.
Just last week a fellow 30-something and I wondered, too, what we would have done if school had the ability to follow us home via technology; and heaven knows I've made my share of impulsive and potentially embarrassing adult faux pas via texting.
Kids, we promise, just hang in there even if it is by your last thread! Stay strong- everything has a tipping point and the worst will end!

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Debyl1 January 20, 2012 at 8:47 am: I have just shared those years with my daughter and yes it was hard.But now high school is over and already she is blossoming with new friends in the big wide REAL world.Friends she can choose and not have to be with all day like when at school.I wish all teenagers could see past the school years and realise all experiences make you stronger and things do get better.I wish for them all to read Dr Suess 'Oh The Places You Will Go'

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Previous post: The Not-Dead Bonsai. With Trains and Dinosaurs.

Next post: A Big Deal.

Random Ramblings of a SAHM: Fuck You Too.

my head is an awesome place to live

For Bunny.

by Lori Dwyer on September 21, 2013 · 4 comments

I wrote this before I left the TinyTrainTown, and haven’t published it until now.

Because now… I’m missing my mates. All of them. A lot.

***

“It’s a big bad world full of twist and turns, and people have a way of blinking and missing the moment.”
Californication

***

There are so many people I will desperately miss.

I know… it’s only a state away. Only an eight-hour drive. A one-hour flight. 800 odd kilometres. 500 or so miles.

But people have a way of slipping away from each other. Friendships have a way of stretching and threading into fragile strands of fairy floss.

I know, with a dread deep in my gut, that nothing will ever be the same again as it is right now. It’s not that things are fantastic… they’re not. I have tried my best, been optimistic and hopeful and I’m proud of that. I’ve made the most of what I’ve got at the TinyTrainHouse. It’s only looking back at it that I realise how much I’ve been struggling to be content. How much I’ve been faking it, hoping I’d make it. For the sake of my kids. For the sake of myself.

But in between the sadness, there are people. People who’ve loved me and held me. People who have made me laugh, caught me and held my hand and showed me that good things- really good things- are still very possible. And while I’m sure I will find my people in Melbourne- truth be told, I already know so many of them that I doubt I’ll be short for company- my heart is breaking to leave the people I love.

People like my mum. People like Princess Boofhead, and the Mother Of Princess Boofhead, who’ve been in our lives since a week before my son was born; who have been our best, most unconditional friends.

People like Kristabelle, who I’ve known since I was 15. She’s like a guardian angel- the two worst times of my life, she has been there for me, allowed me to sip from her strength.

People like Tinks and The Doc, who loved me broken and bruised, and made me feel worth something again. People like my Katie Kitten, who walked me through the dark numbness of the weeks After, and who I have let down and neglected to thank, over and over again. People like Faerie Saerie, for all the reasons I’ve listed a thousand times over. And The Bear and The Pixie, who just help, with no wish of thanks or favours returned.

People like Auntie Mickey, who has been my best mate for twelve long, awesome years; who took me in when my own home exploded.

And people like my Bunny. The best bloke I know. He’s the reason I love Melbourne as much as I do, because he introduced me to it with such enthusiasm. He has a heart bigger than everyone. He understands me.

I’m sitting in his lounge room as I write this, listening to him sing and play guitar. He amazes me, and he only taught himself to play six months ago. He doesn’t know I’m writing this- I’ll ping him once its published.

He will miss me, and I will miss him. He texted me not long ago, asking “Who will be my best friend when you go?”

I will be, Bunny.

It’s only an hours flight. An eight-hour drive. 800 or so kilometres. 500 odd miles.

I’ll never be far away.

{ 4 comments }

Softly.

by Lori Dwyer on September 19, 2013 · 2 comments

Softly, softly, softly. That’s how we do it here, every day, for now.

I watch my children adapt and warm to living with a new person in our lives. I watch with amazement as they take things in their stride, as they assess what goes on here and assimilate it into their tiny frames of what life is like.

As those of you who’ve done this before me know, introducing a new parental figure to the family mix is done with care and trepidation, and a definitive sense of not pushing things too far.

Softly, softly.

Small invitations to intimacy are made. The Most Amazing Man offers the Chop a hug before bed, and he responds with his arms wide open. I see the hesitation more with my son than with my daughter. My Chop is hesitant to trust too much, to get too close. He remembers what it’s like to be left behind.

“I will leave you!” The Most Amazing Man says to me, taunting and joking, and I poke my tongue out in response.

Neither of us realised my son had heard that exchange, until his head pops up with shock and he asks “What? What did you say?”

“Joking, baby. We were joking, I promise. The Most Amazing Man is not going anywhere.”

Everything is done in tiny pieces, tiny increments of trust and discipline. Tiny offerings- a hug, a bedtime story, a family day out. All those ‘normal’ things you do with a dad, that my children have been missing for years.

Softly, softly. One tiny baby step at a time.

{ 2 comments }

Urban Bliss.

by Lori Dwyer on September 10, 2013 · 16 comments

I’m a little bit in love with the suburb we’re living in. It feels like all neighbourhood-like. We’re at the point where I’m singing Sesame Street melodies in my head whenever I leave the house on foot.

It’s just nice here. People are friendly. I smile and nod hello to everyone I pass. Old men say “Good morning Bella!” to my daughter as she cruises past them on her way to daycare (which is called ‘kindergarten’ in Victoria, I’ve discovered. And what was kindergarten is now called ‘Prep’. Colour me confused).

Walking to school, Melbourne-style. Which translates to ‘with an umbrella’.

This area is filled with young parents, and there’s that aura that is everywhere in Melbourne– we’re all in this together- and most strangers are defaulted with trust rather than suspicion. My son takes a spill on his bike, riding 10 metres ahead of me, and another mum picks him up and dusts him off. I find myself doing the same thing for a little boy who’s fallen from his scooter. And the cycle continues.

We’re within a healthy walking distance from main roads and trams. Tiny corner shops- bakeries, milk bars, the odd bizarrely placed speciality store- dot the streets surrounding us. My car hasn’t left the driveway in days and I’m saving a fortune on petrol alone.

I’m also healthier, and feeling it, after just two weeks of this new, suburb-specific lifestyle. So are my children. They’ve taken to riding their bikes to school and kindergarten every day while I keep up a brisk pace beside them. The majority of food in our house is healthy and simple, and the Most Amazing Man ensures I eat a proper meal every night. I’ve given up Coca-Cola (it’s day four. My head hurts.) and I’m drinking water instead.

I soak up the aesthetics of where we are living. Houses in this area of Melbourne all seem to have the same basic structure. High ceilings. Wooden floors. Ancient light switches and electricity meters. Ducted heating and oddly-shaped backyards. Despite their sameness, they’ve all been here long enough to be quirky and inherently different, with years of lives lived, and changes made, tacked onto them like their typical two room extensions.

I love walking around, soaking up the goings-on around me. There were a lot of shops along these roads once, it seems, small boxes with a house behind. And so many of their new owners here have incorporated both the shop and the house as a living space, designed around it rather than tearing it down. The concrete storefronts have become the back ends of houses, or airy front entrances hollowed out with a garden hidden between the front walls.

Clothes by www.babytakesatrip.com.au. Not sponsored- I just adore them.

Clothes by Babytakesatrip.com.au. Not sponsored- I just adore them.

And the flowers. There are flowers everywhere here. People’s gardens are magnificent and diverse. Veggies grow in small front yards, daisies and roses are planted on nature strips. On the days the Bump and I walk to her kindergarten, we stop and admire everything in bloom, and I pass on to her what my Gran taught me. “These are hibiscus. These are geraniums.” And lilies and paper daisies and lavender and jonquils.

It’s difficult to miss the TinyTrainTown when I take full advantage of being where I am right now. I love it here. It’s all tiny lane-ways lined with blue stone, happy people and urban farmer’s markets. It’s diversity and it’s acceptance and it’s Melbourne.

This place, it speaks to something in my soul.

{ 16 comments }

← Previous Entries

Random Ramblings of a SAHM: All This Stuff

Random Ramblings of a SAHM: Giant.

Random Ramblings of a SAHM: Steamy Windows

Random Ramblings of a SAHM: For Any Mother Who May Pass This Way (Nothing funny about this post, folks)

Rope. – RRSAHM

Rope.

by Lori Dwyer on July 21, 2011 · 34 comments

Fuck.

***

In my loungeroom, there is a hanging, looped cord attached to vertical blinds.

I’m in a rental, so I can’t just cut the loop the way I normally would, snipping in half the latent danger that lies in things like that for small children. So, I wrap the cord around the curtain rod, to keep it up and out of harms way.

Yesterday, I didn’t warp it tight enough. Obviously, because it slipped down and dangled, resting just an inch or so off the lounge.

I had a friend at my house, and he walked into the loungeroom first….

Don’t panic. There was no danger, not immediate, not with the next two seconds.

But the visual gutted me.

My friend ran to the Chop, removed the cord, admonishing him to never do that, never touch that cord, rewrapping it where it is safe.

All while I stand, frozen.

I’m not even sure what I’m thinking. Nothing. Nothing logical. A primal voice in my head is screaming “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”, and I might faint.

I don’t. I’m OK. Chop’s OK.

It’s OK.

***

The new trampoline we bought, it had to be tied down. The wind down here is strong, and would easily pick it up and flip it all over the yard.

“Lori? Do you have any rope?”

It’s a logical question, but I can’t answer, I can’t even see. Rope, rope, rope, shades of orange. My mind is full of coils of orange rope, that’s all there is, and where it is, in the garage, in the dark, coiled and sinister and watching us for months.

Rope.

Orange rope.

I shudder, shake the thought from my head.

No, I answer, I don’t. I don’t keep rope in my house.

post signature

Leave a Comment

{ 34 comments… read them below or add one }

Martha July 25, 2011 at 10:13 am: Screw the landlords, cut the loop. You can tie them back together when you move out.

Lots of hugs flying your way.

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ClaireyH July 24, 2011 at 9:45 pm: Tell the landlord they need changing, they can't be so long and unsafe.

They are required by law to provide a safe premise for you and they don't sound like they meet current requirements. Otherwise go Bunnings and screw them in yourself. Up high.

Cos even bigger kids play with those things. We have them everywhere. I hate them. Hate them. When they jump on the bed they can still get caught in the high up loop.

Shivers!

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Just Jennifer July 24, 2011 at 3:40 pm: Oh.My.God.

I've had a few moments like that where how I felt the night my husband's heart stopped 3 times comes rushing in for some lame reason. On night lying in bed I literally GASPED and nearly nurst into tears, but managed to calm down.

I don't have a weak constitution, but this post makes me want to throw up.

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E. July 22, 2011 at 11:11 pm: Oh, Lori. Im glad Chop is okay, I'm glad someone was with you and entered the room first, I'm sorry that it happened at all.

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Glowless @ Where’s My Glow July 22, 2011 at 7:02 pm: This made my stomach drop exactly the same way it does when you're on a rollercoaster.
xxx

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Cate July 22, 2011 at 6:41 pm: Huge hugs Lori.

And a rope burning ceremony in your honour.

x

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MaidInAustralia July 22, 2011 at 4:06 pm: Oh shit, this is awful. Most of all that there is nothing I can do or say to make it better. Just, hugs for you and your kids. You are so brave and doing so well. You help me practically every time you post, by reminding me of stuff I need to know. Will tell you about it someday. Thank you xo

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Joy July 22, 2011 at 2:45 pm: Hugs. Nothing but hugs for you and your kidlets…

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Sophie July 22, 2011 at 2:38 pm: Uuurgh. I'm so sorry you have to go through these things. They do get easier in the sense that they are not so envicerating… but I think you always see them 'differently' and orange rope will never 'just' be orange rope to you again.

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bookwormkaz July 22, 2011 at 2:00 pm: Massive hugs.

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Annabellz July 22, 2011 at 1:39 pm: Just breathe is all I can say (which I often forget to do and feel light headed)… I read your blog today and this is so amazingly painful but helpful at the same time. I'm spending time near family on my vacation…why did I ever choose to come here I wonder… did I think it healing to be near "them" when it drags a million painful and scaring memories to the surface… breathe and let the feeling wash over me and hope that there is redemption and healing ahead…

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MamaRobinJ July 22, 2011 at 1:28 pm: Yep, I think "fuck" just about sums it up.

Horrible that these things can just come out of nowhere and blindside you.

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Miss Cinders July 22, 2011 at 12:47 pm: 3

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Miss Pink July 22, 2011 at 12:43 pm: Fuck ropes.
You don't need em!

I'd cut the blind cords because I'd hate the anxiety that surrounds them. I'd possibly even take the blind down. Surely you can just put it back up when you leave?

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alyciaestok July 22, 2011 at 8:06 pm: I would like to connect with you. A mutual friend suggested that I check you out as my husband just committed suicide.
Email alyciaestok@gmail.com

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Vicky July 22, 2011 at 9:44 am: triggers fucking suck.

Sometime… and I wish I could tell you when… the trigger won't paralyse you, or activate that flight/fight response. It will still trigger you, but your internal diaglogue will become such that your limbic brain system won't be the first to switch on.

It still fucking sucks though. That's the thing with trauma…

Be gentle and kind to you Lori. Sending you love and light darlin. x

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Amy xxoo July 22, 2011 at 7:16 am: Its funny how something so small, so insignificant to someone else, is enough to completely mindfuck you… glad to hear that its all ok – or ok as it can be….

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Frankity July 22, 2011 at 10:39 am: I'm so sorry that you were triggered.
I have a very easy suggestion for the blinds — one of those bread clips, you know, the clips they sell in the kitchen department, like at IKEA? If you google bread clips IKEA, you'll see what I mean. All of my rental's blinds are up and out of the way with these.

Peace.

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idratherberunning July 21, 2011 at 10:56 pm: Cut the cord or ask your landlord to replace it with a wand. The Office of Fair Trading has raised awareness of the danger of blind cords & all new blinds come with safety measures. Problem is that old blinds (in rentals) often get missed. What a terrifying experience for you. But your kids are safe & you are safe. Be strong Lori xxx

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Melissa July 21, 2011 at 9:39 pm: Oh Lori. Oh Lori. So sorry. I know about triggers, and about the world having unexpectedly sharp corners, though my sharp corners were not nearly as scary and traumatizing as yours. I'm so sorry.
I can tell you that for me, it got better and I hope and pray the same happens for you.
Cut the damn window cord – your landlords will never notice Or tell 'em to send me the bill.

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A Daft Scots Lass July 21, 2011 at 9:11 pm: The Triggers will lessen and get easier!

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Melissa July 21, 2011 at 8:42 pm: I can't fathom that moment. Or living with anything remotely ropelike even now. In my own home, Lori. Not yours. So I don't know how you are.

I'm glad Chop was ok. I'm glad someone was with you. And I'm sorry.

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Teni July 21, 2011 at 8:39 pm: I felt sick for you, just reading that I'm sorry you had to be ripped back to those moments.

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Shellye July 21, 2011 at 8:37 pm: I'm so sorry, Lori. I'm praying for you. I'm glad that Chop is okay.

I'm pretty sure the window blind manufacturer does not think of the danger those cords pose to small children or animals.

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Zoe Paige July 21, 2011 at 8:25 pm: This comment has been removed by the author.

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Zoe Paige July 21, 2011 at 8:25 pm: Lori, you never fail to give me goosebumps. Visuals are horrible. But you are strong, and clearly an amazing person and an amazing mother. X

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River July 21, 2011 at 8:23 pm: What Sarah said. Secure the cord. Also take the time to teach the Chop, on a daily basis until it sinks in, that he is never, never to touch the cord. At all. Then teach the Bump.

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Kelloggsville July 21, 2011 at 8:20 pm: Visual rush backs are debilitating and sometimes I think others think you should/would have moved on already and forget how debilitating they are. Coping mechanisms are only that, coping, removing seems impossible sometimes but I hope your therapist is still working with you.

On the blind cord, even in rental, if it poses a danger then changes beyond wrapping it up out of the way should be allowed. There is no compromise with child safety. This is not you being sensitive to it, that is the way it should be. Ask for permission to snip it. (ps Tent pegs are very good for holding stuff down.) xxxx

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Sarah July 21, 2011 at 8:18 pm: Blind cords are supposed to now be attached to the window frame, you can buy the little thing-a-ma-bobs from Bunnings & it just takes one screw. Check with the real estate if you can get them, surely it would be ok because it's a safety risk.

Hope you're doing ok xx

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Toni July 22, 2011 at 1:50 am: Fucking ugly bastard orange rope. We should have a huge bonfire and burn it all. Every piece.
XXX

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Good Golly Miss Holly! July 21, 2011 at 9:44 pm: Oh Lori, that's awful. Just fucking awful. I'm glad Chop's ok, I'm glad you're ok xx

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Crystal Cheverie July 21, 2011 at 9:38 pm: OMG, how awful…. I'm not shocked that rope is a trigger for you. I'm with all these other commenters – if it's a matter of child safety, surely the people you're renting from will be OK with letting you cut the cord or install some sort of safety feature. I'm just glad Chop is all right. I really don't blame you for keeping any and all rope far, far away from you. HUG!

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Eccles July 21, 2011 at 8:37 pm: Speak to the Estate Agent about fitting "cleats" to the walls to tie up the blind cords. Sand bags are also good for holding stuff down. You may have to consider putting the trampoline away over winter/on windy days. (My kids didn't have one 20 odd years ago, so I've got NO idea about putting them up/down). I have also frozen in 'dangerous' situations. My son (19 now, 2 then) bounced off a friend's trampoline, onto his head,onto grass just missing rocks. I watched while it happened in slow motion. (It was the old style unfenced tramp). It's OK to feel like this. It's OK to not keep rope in your house. You're OK & so are the kiddlets. Be kind to yourself!! You WILL know what to do in the future. (X)

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Sandy July 21, 2011 at 8:14 pm: It's so odd, the way things can trigger our minds, our memories.
I'm the same way with razor blades.

It sucks how quickly a moment can slice you by something as simple as seeing an inanimate object.

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Previous post: Jeans and Stuff.

Next post: That’s What Ghosts Are.

27 Signs You Are Totally, Completely, Mercilessly Addicted To Blog. – RRSAHM

27 Signs You Are Totally, Completely, Mercilessly Addicted To Blog.

by Lori Dwyer on April 30, 2010 · 16 comments

Happy Flogging Friday!

And welcome Blog Floggers. If you don’t know what I’m waffling on about, get thee butt to Brenda’s blog, grab her cute button, and get McLinked. It’s worth your while. Promise.

And in honor of this, the ninth ever FYBF, I’m quite chuffed to bring you the following. The title says it all, really.

My top 27 signs that you are totally, completely, mercilessly addicted to blog.

Your two year old points to the computer and calls it “Mummy”.
Your husband is threatening to divorce you if you don’t get off that bloody Internet RIGHT NOW.
And he means it.
Really.
Forget bookmarks. Your blog and your Dashboard are both top of your ‘Most Visited’ drop down.
In fact, never mind either of those- your blog is set as your home page.
You see two cows in a playground and your first thought is to pull out your phone and take pictures… for your blog.
This leads you, once again, to the conclusion you really need an iPhone.
Or, at the very least, a compact digital camera for the nappy bag.
Until then, you’re tempted to carry round the big camera with the long len-sy thing in it’s padded bad doovie, everywhere you go. Just in case. But given I live in south west Sydney, this is probably not a good idea.
You find yourself wondering “I wondering how many details of this story I can change, to protect anonymity, and still blog about it…?”
You also find yourself waiting to do something stupid. So you can blog about it.
You dream about blogging.
And have nightmares about blogger’s block and connection interruptions.
You have Follower-related anxiety.
And a slight obsession with your Follower numbers.
You have been known to slump into a drunken depression upon losing a Follower.
And spend the next week staring at your Follow box, trying to figure out who it was.
So you can stalk them.
The thought of socially or personally awkward situations no longer bothers you. It will be worth it if you can get a blog post out of it.
None of your friends ring you anymore. They don’t need to. They read your blog.
You’ve signed up to Twitter. For blog purposes only.
Traffic turns you on. And not the kind with wheels.
Comments are your crack.
Each new Follow requires a full blown bum-slapping Happy Dance.
A little part of you thinks you may have a problem with how much you blog.
And another little part of you says “I think you’re right. Let’s blog about it!”

*Herumph*. Problem? Who says I have a problem? I can stop anytime I want to. Right? Right.

post signature

Leave a Comment

{ 16 comments… read them below or add one }

Argentum Vulgaris May 3, 2010 at 11:57 am: Okay, I admit it, I'm a blog addict, now will you stop flogging me?

AV

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Barbara April 30, 2010 at 10:26 pm: You really do need an iPhone, trust me on this one.

Happy FYBF

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Lulu April 30, 2010 at 8:48 pm: Hope this comment causes some a happy dance!

I am a blog addict too! Up until recently I had stopped looking for new blogs to read but now I am addicted again!!!

This week saw my 4 year anniversary of blogging! WOAH!

HAPPY FYBF!

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Deb – Science@home April 30, 2010 at 4:27 pm: Hand up, me too!
I started blogging for sanity, it's an interesting line to walk to keep it on the healthy side. Especially when I lose a follower.
I think the solution is to get to the point where the number on the end doesn't bother me because there are several in front of it

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Sarah April 30, 2010 at 3:23 pm: I'm addict also You missed one though… You think in terms of how to write this situation into your blog instead of actually participating in it!

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Ratz April 30, 2010 at 3:21 pm: Bwahahaha. Loved it. Straight from 1 to the 30th. All of them are superly good…

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Wanderlust April 30, 2010 at 12:44 pm: And #30, your significant other quite often, mid-conversation, is ovetrtaken with a silent look that says "oh crap, this is going to end up in your blog, isn't it."

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Draft Queen April 30, 2010 at 12:03 pm: I love my blog. It's almost as dysfunctional as I am!

And I love that little cartoon. Mostly because the Knight always adds "you may NOT blog about this" or "do you really have to blog this? Now?"

He loves my blog, too. I know he does.

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In Real Life April 30, 2010 at 11:03 am: Uh-Oh, I think I may possibly be a little bit addicted as well! I haven't given in to Twitter yet though!

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Amy xxoo April 30, 2010 at 10:50 am: Uh, i think that may be me. Now where do i go to get some help?

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lori April 30, 2010 at 10:20 am: You are toooo funny. I love the one about staring at your follow box trying to figure out who booted you. Who could un-follow you??

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Brenda April 30, 2010 at 9:24 am: Well, I for one don't know what you are going on about. Addiction Schmaddiction!

I have complete and utter control over my blog addiction tendencies. Really I do.

Just ask my therapist.

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Jen April 30, 2010 at 9:20 am: Point 28# you have delusional tendencies which tell you that you can give up blogging anytime you like.

Point 29# just when you think you can kick the habit a bunch of incredibly cool blogging friends come in and encourage you to, "just keep blogging, just keep blogging blogging blogginblogginbloggin" cause our little community wouldn't be the same without you and besides there is totally nothing wrong with being addicted to blogging right?:p (says me and 77 of my other blog addicted friends :p)

Awesome checklist Lori lee! And oh so true

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Lucy April 30, 2010 at 9:14 am: From one addict to another, I am glad we are indulging in this wicked addiction together.

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alliecat April 30, 2010 at 8:37 am: Oh dear, I'm a blog addict too then, it seems I can relate to at least 20 out of those 27 points, and then some others…..

Ooh, I loved that little cartoon!

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Holly Homemaker April 30, 2010 at 8:38 am: Hi, my name is Holly and I am a blog addict

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