Monthly Archives: May 2016

stuff I don’t think you want to read anyway

stuff I don’t think you want to read anyway

Travelling.

by Lori Dwyer on November 13, 2013 · 4 comments

I spend Monday combing, combing, combing. My daughter and I have a rampant case of head lice. I’ve never had them before, and find the tiny crawling bugs to be just about the ickiest thing I’ve ever encountered. The Bump is grimly fascinated with the concept of having eggs in her hair.

I spend Tuesday night in the dodgiest hotel on earth.

That might be a slight exaggeration. but only by a little bit. Albury is not known for its glamour.

The kidlets and I are driving to Sydney, for my brother’s engagement party. It’s a long haul– eight hours. But cheaper, marginally, to drive rather than fly, even with two night’s accommodation tacked on top of petrol costs. So that is what we do.

The reception office at this hotel is locked. Checking in requires walking the kidlets through a grotty, dingy pub, and presenting ourselves at the bar. It smells like cigarette smoke and footy. It’s an old scent, ground into the grungy carpet. It’s as old as the barflys themselves.

I take my kids out to eat Maccas for dinner and burn off some of that accumulated energy from sitting in the car for hours. They are good travellers, both of them. It’s one of those parenting oxymorons– three hours in the car leaves me exhausted, but them wired.

Our hotel room is tiny, three beds crammed into one room. A bar fridge and kettle hidden in a cupboard. A bathroom with the very basics. A letter from the local police constable, reminding us to lock up our car and hotel room and keep the blinds drawn, is tucked into the hotel service book. The Foxtel channels don’t work, nor does the wifi. The three of us curl into the double bed and watch movies on my iPad.

I’m tired, so so tired. I have pimples on my face, my hair needs a good dye job. I’d underestimated how easy I had it, in TinyTrainTown. This full time parenting gig is hard slog.

But I’m loving my kids so hard right now. They are such a comfort, a balm to anxiety and adult fears. Right here, between them, their sleepy blonde heads on my lap… this is where I’m supposed to be.

 

{ 4 comments }

Shadows.

by Lori Dwyer on November 8, 2013 · 6 comments

I read this post on Eden’s blog…

Once. Only once. I’m not sure I can read it again. It’s everything I’m afraid of, written down and real and happening to someone else’s family right now.

All I can think of is my boy. My sweet, precious, innocent, serious little boy. My son, and all that’s ahead of him.

We’re in a somewhat ‘pleasant’ lull of life right now, in comparison to what has been and what will be. Chop hasn’t asked the question, not yet, of how daddy died. He will. But I’m in no hurry to begin explaining, to begin building foundations and framework for what he will eventually need to understand. 

I mourn for Eden’s brother, her Cam. I mourn for her and her sisters and this shitty reality they’ve had to face. Again and again and again.

It doesn’t end. It’s just taking your pain and transferring it on. It’s a chemical reaction, and the catalyst is a rope. A running car.

It doesn’t stop, it doesn’t stop, it doesn’t stop. The actions of one person who’s not here to see the repercussions just flow on and on.

It keeps hurting, even after you’re gone.

 

{ 6 comments }

Back To Black.

by Lori Dwyer on October 30, 2013 · 18 comments

I think the only bonus to being prone to depression is that you can recognise it quickly when it happens. Even if you don’t want to admit it to yourself. Or to your partner. Or to the people who love you, a thousand kilometres away.

I woke up yesterday morning crying. It’s not just a matter of being tired, of waking up to my daughter six or seven times every night. It’s not just being sick, having gastro, and the sinus infections seep into our house like small, unwanted vermin. It’s not just this Melbourne weather, being cold all the time, and never knowing when it will rain. It’s not just being broke and worried about money. It’s not just missing my mum, missing my friends. It’s not just feeling as though I’m never on top of things, like I’m always behind and disorganised.

It’s all of that… and none of it. It’s this black dog that nips at my heels, that eats happiness as though it’s scraps of food thrown out too early.

I have this whole new life, and it’s supposed to be okay. It’s supposed to be easy.

It’s not easy, and I’m not coping. And I hate myself for feeling like this. I hate myself for hating myself, and then I hate myself some more. The meds reach the outer boundary of their effectiveness- they make it so I’m able to feel nothing at all. But not so much that they can conjure up happiness, not so much that they can shed light on this kind of darkness.

I give up on cleaning the house, give up on showering, stop walking the kids to school and choose the easier option of driving them instead. I cant write. I haven’t been laughing at anything much. My sex drive is non-existent. I don’t bother putting on make up, or wearing anything other than jeans and black t-shirts. I have strange dreams. I wander round in a foggy half state, not thinking about anything much– my consciousness is stuck in past tense, events from years ago swirling through my brain with such thickness nothing new gets through. I am a ghost of myself, haunting my New House that doesn’t really feel like mine at all.

I don’t look forward to anything much, right now. Looking forward to things would mean I’d have to feel something, and I’m not sure I’m capable of feeling anything right now.

I have a doctor’s appointment today. They can’t up my medication any higher than what it currently is… but I’m telling myself that, surely, a good shrink is going to help.

{ 18 comments }

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October 2010 – RRSAHM

October 2010

The One Where Karma Bites Me

by Lori Dwyer on October 30, 2010 · 20 comments

Heya,

I have been known to yell at my husband.

Bad ass, I know. And not entirely the Man’s fault.

Although a large portion of it is his car’s responsibility.

I’ve talked before about my Man’s other woman, Tin Lizzie. An ’84 Holden tonner that currently has no wheels, no engines, no seats… not much of anything, really.

But oh, how he loves her. And he has a tendency to disappear into his shed to stroke and rub her just on the 5pm hour of Absolute Feralness; when the kids, dog and cat are all hungry, the adult dinner is overflowing on the stove, and the washing needs to be bought in before it becomes irreversibly damp (Have I mentioned before that my clothes line is so damp and totally crap that it actually grows mold? No? Remind me to post about that soon.)

Hence the yelling.

Whatever. Karma definitely came back and bit me for all that cranky-pantsing the other day.

It’s 5:12pm. One child is screaming for something undetermined, the other is screaming for PlaySchool. I’ve been attempting to peel the same potato for the last twenty minutes.

Baby on my hip, potato dirt wiped on my trackies, boogers (probably not my own) on my shirt. I traipse out to our back shed, which opens onto the lane way behind our house. From the doorway, I spot the Man at the open roller door. With a beer in his hand.

“MAN!! Any chance you could come give me a hand when you’re finished, huh? Or is that too bleeping difficult?”

“Uh, yeah, darl, I’m just finishing up out here”

*This is where Lori rolls her eyes* “Oh, it really looks like you’re working hard.”

“Ahem. Just having a beer with the new neighbor”.

Ahhh. The new neighbor. Who somewhat sheepishly- but not quite sheepishly enough- steps into view.

Why, hello there. I mutter an excuse about needing to go inside and peel potatoes. Look for a big hole to crawl into. Or a natural disaster to distract everyone.

I will never be nasty to my husband again*.


*And I kept that promise for at least the next 36 12 3 hours.

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{ 20 comments }

A scary, creepy FlogYoBlog Friday!!

by Lori Dwyer on October 29, 2010 · 17 comments

Boo!!

Happy Halloween everyone. Yes, I know, it’s a totally Americanised tradition, yadda, yadda, yadda, don’t care. i love trick or treaters,and I always have something here for them, just in case we actually get some. It’s happened once in four years. Dressing up and eating spewfuls of lollies, what is there to complain about? Commercialisation, corporatisation, bad themes for children. Shush now, common sense. You’re ruining all my fun.

Whatever.

Anyboo. In honor of all things creepy, I thought I’d bring you some very scary Lori’s.

I know. Terrifying, right?


Do you think Edward will dig this look…? Bite me.

OK. Enough of that. On with the flogging!! If you want the technical lowdown, check out this post here. But totally ignore what it says about WordPress blogs, that no longer applies- the regular code should work just fine. Oh, and just because the title says “Creepy FlogYoBlog” doesn’t mean you have to have a theme- link up whatever you like! FlogYoBlog Friday is never themed, no matter what trash I waffle on about here.

Get set, get linky… flog!!

The Rules.
  1. Follow my blog, the Random Ramblings of a SAHM. I never seem to get to reading all the links here. But believe me, I try. Not that any of this is my idea anyway- FYBF is MummyTime’s brainbaby, I’m just minding it for a bit.
  2. Grab B’s bubbly button and post it on your sidebar.
  3. Link your First Name and/or Blog Name and URL of your linked post (not your homepage) below. 
  4. Add a short description (max of 125 chars). It could be a description of yourself, your blog or a teaser to your latest post. .
  5. Follow at least 1 linkyer/blogger (Be nice and spread the love).
  6. The list will be open for linkyers on Fridays (and for the foreigners Friday as well).
  7. 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.
  8. 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).
    9. rrsahm

Annnnnd… in case anyone reads the fine print- it may just be my birthday this weekend!! Happy birthday to me!!
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{ 17 comments }

The Return of Mrs Winterpepper.

by Lori Dwyer on October 27, 2010 · 15 comments

The bitch is back!! A special guest post by my *ahem* good friend, Mrs Winterpepper…

*Sniff*,

Well. It’s Mrs Winterpepper here again. I’m back by popular demand, or so Lori *sniff* tells me. I’m not surprised, really. It’s unavoidable, given the filth you lot immerse yourself in here on the Internet, that once you come into contact with a lady of my standing and stature you are just instantly drawn to me.

Let me tell you, it happens a lot.

*sniff*.

It seems I have created somewhat of a kerfuffle amongst you “blog people”. As I said, I am in no way surprised. So, please, sit down and pour yourself a cup of tea. Splenda’s in the top cupboard, next to the tea laves. And grab the Weight Watchers jam tartlets while you’re there, why don’t you. What’s that, dear? Why, no, I am not on a diet. Thery’e not for me. I just imagined you lot could stand to lose a few stone. *Sniff*. Most people could, these days. Except for that strumpet Lori, of course.I’m forever telling she needs to put on some weight, she is just skin and bone.

Righto, then. First things first. I really must get this out of the way before we go any further. *Sniff*. One Emma K- you may remember I’ve had a run in with the likes of her before, over that atrocious book she helped to pen- asked for my views on *sniff* genital piercing.

Well. Emma, dear, please don’t take this the wrong way- actually, maybe you should take this the wrong way, young lady- the only thing I have to say about genital piercings is this- No. *Sniff* Never mind. I’m a lady and ladies don’t use those kind of words. Lets just say it starts with an “s” and rhymes with “smut”, and leave it at that, shall we? Really. Unless we happen to be discussing piercing of the male genitalia, in which case one does not like to speak ill of a dead royal. But the male appendage is a horridly grotesque thing, and no amount of *sniff* jewelery will change that. Lights out, ladies. Light out.

*Sniff*.

Moving on. A lovely lady by the name of Dannie asked me, sometime during the media frenzy that surrounded my last post, if I was a schoolteacher. And why, yes, Dannie, dear, I was a school teacher, once. For a good 30 years I taught Year One at Grifington Public School. I was just six months off retiring when the Unfortunate Incident occurred. Allow me to say, here and now, that I was well within my rights to give that child a good spanking. It’s exactly what he should have gotten from his *sniff* parents in the first place.

May I say, Dannie, you come across as a lovely young woman and I do believe we would get on like lemonade on a Sunday afternoon. Feel free to drop in for a chat anytime, dear, but do make sure you call first, I most despise uninvited guests.

Now, the last question for today, I must say, is the work of a most disturbed individual. I actually attended the local police station to make a complaint against this particular gentlemen, but the policewoman was most unhelpful, as she usually is when I approach them with these sort of things *sniff*.

In the comment ledger following my last inscription on this blog, a man by the name of Glen- if that is his real name, most unlikely, given the circumstances- took it upon himself to describe me as a “bit horny“ *sniff*. Now I’m not entirely sure what that means, but I’m assuming it has something to with Glen wanting to *sniff* procreate with me. Quite understandable, but really, Glen, I am most disgusted. I have had a thorough inspection of your “blog-whatever” and have found it to be the work of a person who one can only assume is a free-loving, wacky tobakky smoking hippy.

Glen, you should be very, very ashamed of yourself.

*sniff* Well. That’s quite enough from me for one day. There is only so much culture you people can handle in a small frame of time, given the disgustingly short attention spans of young people today, with your ADD’s and you BookFace and whatnot.

But if there is anything further you would like to know, comments you wish to make, or advice on life or children you are in need of- and surely there’s plenty of you who are in need of that- do let Lori know and she’ll pass your issues on to me during our weekly phone chats where I inquire about the health of her children, how many teeth the baby has and whether she is walking yet and maybe they should take her to a specialist? *sniff* 13 months is awfully late to be walking, after all. My children all walked at 6 months.

Righto then. *Sniff*. Off you go. Don’t bother trying to pop the Royal Doulton into your handbag, I will be counting the cups once you leave.

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{ 15 comments }

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Falling Into Place – RRSAHM

Falling Into Place

by Lori Dwyer on August 31, 2011 · 65 comments

Sometimes things just fall into place, without you meaning them too.

That’s happened to me, just lately.

I’ve been stressed and sad and stuck between a few rocks and hard places.

Loving the serenity of Paradise. But being overwhelmed by the solitude on bad days.

Not wanting to move my children back to hustle bustle of the ‘burbs, but desperately needing to be closer to my family and friends.

All set up with a new house in Paradise… but the thought of moving there just making me cry.

And having money. Why does that always cause so much stress?

Wanting to buy a house, a place for my children and myself to call our own, a roof guaranteed over our heads. But not having quite enough money to do that. And knowing that, the longer I rent, the less money I have, and the further away that dream of owning our own home- being safe and stable and secure again; the further that dream floats away.

And then, without warning, things fell into place.

My mum, with all that scary latent psychic ability she seems to have, presented me with a page torn from her local paper.

A house for sale. Jaw droppingly, within my price range.

Three bedrooms, two lounge rooms. a dishwasher, a Hills Hoist clothesline, wooden floors (OK, lino that looks like wooden floors, but whatever) grassy, sunny backyard; fenced and ready for our dog.

In a tiny semi-rural location, with a train line that runs only steam trains once a month. 45 minutes from the ‘burbs, but with a population of less than 500 people.

Sadly, far away from the beach.

But closer to the people we love, the people who love us.

A little patch of land, all our own. Somewhere where I can make new holes, to hang pictures- the old ones that I took down months ago, and those I’ve taken since.

It took me less than twenty four hours to decide to purchase this little TrainStation House. And then I came home and wrote this post. And the whole time, I can hear my husband’s voice ringing in my head. He’s telling me he’s proud of me.

I’ll keep you all posted, as usual.

We move in less than two weeks.

And for the first time in months, I’m smiling.

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{ 65 comments… read them below or add one }

Jane February 3, 2012 at 1:09 pm

I'm glad you have found new homes for sale that fit your family's need. Good luck with the move!

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Madam Bipolar September 4, 2011 at 4:42 pm

Wow. Congratulations. Well done.

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Shellye September 4, 2011 at 4:16 pm

Hello Lori!

I'm chuffed to bits about your new home and that you found your smile again! That's great news! Congratulations!

Sorry I've been MIA, but a recent development with the internet has me frustrated and unable to get online. Today must be my lucky day because here I am.

Anyway, love & prayers to you, Lori!

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Megan Blandford September 2, 2011 at 9:19 pm

Congratulations, that's fantastic news!

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Melissa September 1, 2011 at 10:05 pm

oh joy :) I hope everything works out beautifully :)

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tonymcfadden September 1, 2011 at 7:49 pm

Great stuff. Except for the not being close to the beach, but the each will always be there…

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Melody September 1, 2011 at 7:48 pm

Awesome. =)

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Anonymous September 1, 2011 at 5:06 pm

That is brilliant, to hear you so enthusiastic, about it all.
May your new place be blessed, with all sorts of warm fuzzies, to keep you three safe and well.

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CauseMummySaidSo September 1, 2011 at 4:02 pm

Wow, that is so awesome I shed a tear for you :D and i have to say, when you live away from the beach, it makes it way more special when you visit it so don't worry, there are always day trips to the beach, and it means less sand to clean up!!!!!

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PinkPegasus September 1, 2011 at 3:46 pm

Congratuations! I've got tears in my eyes – the good kind. xx

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connieemeraldeyes September 1, 2011 at 3:44 pm

I think that is wonderful for you. I am glad you found something. I have to save for a down payment before I can buy a house. You get to move in fast.

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Emma. September 1, 2011 at 3:39 pm

Oh Lori, how brilliantly serendipitous! I guess it's been rather a long time since things "fell into place" for you, so this is so wonderful…I'm thrilled for you and the kids. And the dog! :-)

Enjoy!

Em.

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Jodie Ansted September 1, 2011 at 2:22 pm

Fantastic, brilliant news. Look forward to hearing more!

xxx

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Sarah September 1, 2011 at 1:35 pm

So exciting, buying a new house, making a big move, starting off the Spring in a happy place. Not to mention moving back closer to family & *ahem* friends ;)

Love love love this post, you sound so happy with your decisions :)

Did I mention YAY!

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Jodie Daniel September 1, 2011 at 1:25 pm

It makes me smile that you are smiling! congratulations on your house purchase. May it be filled with happy events that turn into happy memories.

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Melissa September 1, 2011 at 1:16 pm

OMG Lori, this is huge! You bought a house!

So proud of you. SO happy for you. This is wonderful news.

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Nicole@MyIdeaLife September 1, 2011 at 1:04 pm

So cool! Big squeeee for u! xx

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Sarah September 1, 2011 at 1:04 pm

Lori I have read, but I have not commented in a very long time. I simply haven't had words. But today I read this post and smiled for you. I'm sharing this with my cousin today, because she has travelled a very similar path to yours and I want her to know, well that things do fall into place. Not all the time, but sometimes. xxxx

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Julia September 1, 2011 at 12:59 pm

I'm smiling now, too :)

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CRAP Mamma September 1, 2011 at 12:52 pm

Reading this brought tears to my eyes Lori. That's fantastic news, you deserve to be happy and you're right, sometimes things just fall into place. Good luck with the move. Jac xx

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kiwichickee September 1, 2011 at 12:50 pm

Lori I have been following your blog for some time now and this is the first one which has moved me to happy tears! So happy for you and your little family :o)

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Anonymous September 1, 2011 at 12:44 pm

fabulous! you go girl :~D

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Kel September 1, 2011 at 12:14 pm

That's awesome news! I'm so happy for you :) I love that you've dubbed it the 'TrainStation House' – it sounds very unique and special, just like you and your family x

Good luck with the move!

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Caroline September 1, 2011 at 9:34 pm

*hugs* so happy for u. shear a small tear of happiness when I read this. u deserve some happiness :)

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Donna September 1, 2011 at 9:29 am

Oh Lori, smiling right along with you lovey! May this bring much needed peace x

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Mary September 1, 2011 at 7:24 pm

This comment has been removed by the author.

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Mary September 1, 2011 at 7:24 pm

Seems so fitting that I read this on the first day of Spring – new beginnings. Paradise has done what it needed to do for you and I can only wish you for a peaceful happy transition to your new home.

xxx

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Sarah September 1, 2011 at 9:01 am

That is so truly wonderful! I am really excited for you and your family!

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Newmumma September 1, 2011 at 8:56 am

Sometimes things do just fall into place! Congratulations hun – You deserve to be happy x

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Kelloggsville September 1, 2011 at 8:14 am

:) x

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Kimmie September 1, 2011 at 7:53 am

:]

Good stuff!

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Mrs J September 1, 2011 at 6:17 am

Squuueeeee!!!

Oh how exciting! I hope you post a few pics of your new home but understand if you don't.

I remember buying my first home and the ideas and hopes I had for it :D

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In Real Life September 1, 2011 at 6:04 am

Congratulations! That is great news! :)

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Yules September 1, 2011 at 5:53 am

YAY! I'm smiling now too!

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Kerry September 1, 2011 at 4:28 am

Oh Lori, YAY! I am so happy for you. This brought tears to my eyes to read that you are smiling. Congratulations! What great news. :-)

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OurGangof7 September 1, 2011 at 12:39 pm

Oh Lori I am so happy for you and you are right Tony would be so damn proud of you!!!
You are awesome girl and don't you forget it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

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Ms Styling You September 1, 2011 at 1:15 am

Love that mum ofi yours – love you too x

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Steph(anie) September 1, 2011 at 1:11 am

Woohoo, that is awesome!

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Keely aka The Richest Girl in Bondi September 1, 2011 at 11:09 am

Congratulations on your new home! It's wonderful when things seem to happen by fate (in a good way). All the best with the move ..

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Trisha September 1, 2011 at 12:26 am

Congratulations Lori!

That is fantastic news. Good luck with the move.

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Kayla August 31, 2011 at 11:34 pm

Congratulations! I hope this is the start of many smiles :)

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Glowless @ Where’s My Glow August 31, 2011 at 11:29 pm

Huzzah! So happy for you :)

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Dovic August 31, 2011 at 11:26 pm

You just put a major lump in my throat. Major. I am beyond happy for you. Can't tell you how much. You go Lori..you're a dynamo. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

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Tony August 31, 2011 at 11:12 pm

Good Job Lori, I am really happy for you,so good to hear you feeling good about something. :)

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Photographer Mum August 31, 2011 at 10:58 pm

Fantastic news! Hope all goes well – so glad you are smiling again

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Miss Mandy August 31, 2011 at 10:50 pm

That was a really lovely post to read. Happy for your happiness.

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Claire August 31, 2011 at 10:34 pm

Oh congratulations, what wonderful news. If an when you're settled, I must send you a housewarming present!

Cxx

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Lavender Hearts August 31, 2011 at 10:30 pm

Oh Lori! Congratulations on your purchase and keep smiling!
x

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Kymmie August 31, 2011 at 10:17 pm

Oh, this is such great news! Bot the house AND the smiling. xx

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Fox in the City August 31, 2011 at 10:09 pm

I am smiling right along with you! Wonderful news.
Jenn

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E. August 31, 2011 at 10:09 pm

Excellent news. I hope the next few weeks and your new move go smoothly.

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Wendy B. August 31, 2011 at 10:04 pm

I'm smiling while reading this post. Congratulations on your new house Lori! You deserve it. I hope you will show us some pictures of it, once you moved there.

Love, Wendy

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Kellie August 31, 2011 at 9:58 pm

Lori that is fantastic news. So happy you and your babies will have a place to call home.
x

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Stuart August 31, 2011 at 9:50 pm

It's wonderful to read this positive news.

Lord knows you deserve it….

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Anonymous August 31, 2011 at 9:50 pm

*cough*
That last comment was me, Miss Pink. ;)
http://www.mummyautobiography.blogspot.com

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Anonymous August 31, 2011 at 9:49 pm

Wow such exciting news!
I am beaming from ear to ear for you.
2 weeks is no time at all! Cannot wait to be seeing posts from your new place. Your home among the gumtree's perhaps?

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Brenda August 31, 2011 at 9:48 pm

Sounds perfect, Lori.xxx

And yay, my iPhone is letting me comment again!

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Rachel August 31, 2011 at 9:48 pm

Congratulations my love…. I hope you will all be very happy in your new home <3

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Annieb25 August 31, 2011 at 9:48 pm

That is the best thing I've read all day. Things always fall into place when the time is right. xxxx

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PinkPatentMaryJanes August 31, 2011 at 9:47 pm

Wow Lori, that's brilliant news. You deserve to smile x

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Crystal September 1, 2011 at 6:07 am

I'm smiling right along with you, Lori. Ear. To. Ear.

I hope you love the new place and that your move goes smoothly. HUG!

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Stephani September 1, 2011 at 1:23 am

Yaaay! Congrats, Lori- I'm so happy for you!

XOXOXO

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Denwise aka Denyse Whelan August 31, 2011 at 11:29 pm

Ah Lovely Lori…. So wonderful to read…. Makes me sigh with happiness… Welcome home ….. To yours and one so much closer to those of us who love you & care about you… Best News! Much love Denyse xxxxx

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Mrs Woog August 31, 2011 at 10:45 pm

I am so smiling for you as well. Xxxx

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nobreadforyou August 31, 2011 at 9:51 pm

Congrats, that is awesome!

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The Recipe Book- Part One

The Recipe Book- Part One

by Lori Dwyer on April 1, 2010 · 8 comments

in Uncategorized

A happy martyrdom to y’all,

A peanut walks into a bar and gets assaulted.

A baby seal walks into a club.

Wait.

What?

Never mind. That’s the funny stuff out of the way for today.

A pictorial presentation in parts, if you will.

My lovely Gran was kind enough to lend to me, for a little while, her mother’s recipe book. Which makes it my great-grandmother’s recipe book.

And wow, does it make for interesting viewing. Most of the papers in it come from around 1947- 1951. And they come from magazines like ‘Woman’ and ‘Woman’s day’, and newspapers like the Sydney Sun-Herald.


Seems she was a lot like me. She went to the trouble of buying a book and stuck the first two recipes in…


..even write the heading ‘Cakes’ on one page….


..and then, it seems, continued on collecting recipes with the best of intentions, without ever getting around to sticking them in.


Like I said, a lot like me. But I’m kind of glad she didn’t. Because the irony is that the most interesting bits of this book are the ones she didn’t intend to be there. Like the articles…


..the handwritten recipes, strokes of personality on paper (her name was Sadie, so I’m assuming ‘Sadie Fruit cake’ was one of hers)…

..and the ads for services and products that have died out…

..and lots that are still around…


That’s just a teaser for now. I’ll publish Part Two tomorrow. And, to actually fulfill the purpose of the book, and in the spirit of the season, here’s a 60 year old recipe for hot cross buns. Metric measurements at your own peril.

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{ 8 comments… read them below or add one }

Lori April 2, 2010 at 10:28 am

Maybe sarah, maybe… you know what a shocking cook I am! I am looking at the scone recipe though- I'll let you know how it goes.

Sarah April 2, 2010 at 8:48 am

That's very cool :) Are you going to test out any of the recipes?

In Real Life April 2, 2010 at 1:49 am

What a wonderful treasure!

Kakka April 2, 2010 at 12:28 am

I love this (and the new look blog too), to often we never get to share in the past. How wonderful that you have been able to do so.

Melissa @ Suger Coat It April 1, 2010 at 10:07 pm

It's the best time capsule you could have hoped for. One that was not at all deliberate.

Thanks for sharing! Very cool.

Lulu April 1, 2010 at 10:02 pm

Oh that stuff is GOLD!

I have heaps and heaps of written correspondence and photos of my family from back in the 1940's. It's actually the reason I started my blog – but all I've done is talk about me me me *rolleyes

Lucy April 1, 2010 at 9:51 pm

Oh goddess, Lori, I want to cry. You have no idea how much that reminds me of my Granny Peg. I miss her so much. LOVELY post. xx

Tenille April 1, 2010 at 9:31 pm

It's a beautiful little piece of (family)history isn't it? My mum has one quite similar to this. I scanned it all to disk for her so that if something terrible were to happen to it, she'd at least have a version of all the beautiful old hand-me-down recipes.

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Are you a dog ear-er, or not? – RRSAHM

Are you a dog ear-er, or not?

by Lori Dwyer on April 8, 2010 · 24 comments

Aloha, readle deedles,
There’s a theory that I’ve had brewing for a number of years now. There are two types of people in this world, I think- those that dog ear their books when they can’t find a bookmark, and those who most definitely do not.

Now, before I go on, I mean no offence. But I have never really understood people who are precious with books. Not that I don’t have respect for them- I do. Books and I are very good friends. My Chop knows not to rip them, or draw in them. But he also knows Mum doesn’t get cranky over general wear and tear issues.
And it’s the same with my books. I love them, each and every one. But they are well worn and well used. The pages are dog eared. I’d say that’s because I can never find a bookmark, but really it’s because I don’t see the point in bookmarks. And they fall out when a book is bouncing around in your over sized handbag.

I’m also a spine cracker. I’m OK with things, if I happen to put a book down and the spine cracks. I actually find the sound quite satisfying.

And I’ll even confess to being an eater-reader. Most of my books have crumbs in them, smears of chocolate on the pages, or apple stickers on the back covers.
As I said earlier, no offence meant, please don’t throw things at me. But I do think I would probably avoid copulation with people who are anal when it comes to the condition of their books. It just wouldn’t be any fun.
So… which are you? A dog ear-er, spine cracker… or not?

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{ 24 comments… read them below or add one }

Making Your Home More Green August 12, 2014 at 11:22 am

Yes! Finally something about green surroundings in ph.
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Anonymous August 17, 2011 at 11:19 am

Hey I just read this post as it was at the bottom of another one… anyhoo, I was given a massive version of a wrist band like the yellow Livestrong charity one, it was a book mark, wrap it around the back and the page you are up to. A large, stretched rubber band does the same trick. You will never loose your page ever again! I am precious with my books as well ;-)
KT

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ForeverRhonda April 10, 2010 at 2:29 am

Just found your blog through Mummytime blog hop! Love this post!

I'm not a dog ear-er but I definitely eat and read. FYI apple stickers and chiquita banana stickers make great bookmarks and they don't fall out!! Although I have been to known to call the library asking if they found any "fill in blank" in the book I returned because I was using it as a bookmark.

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Sarah April 9, 2010 at 8:05 pm

LOL Lucy, you know me well!

Oh Kakka I love you!

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So Now What? April 9, 2010 at 9:25 am

Dog earer. I just cannot, for the life of me, hold on to a bookmark. And believe me, with 3 kids in some kind of education where making bookmarks is a part-time hobby, I should be able to. So I dog ear and spine crack. I guess too, unless I a reading last thing at night, get constantly interrupted or have stuff spilt on them. Great blog :)

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Kakka April 9, 2010 at 8:57 am

Horrified here too, no dog ears, no crumbs, no spine cracking unless absolutely necessary. I get upset when I see any damage to my books. My kids treat their books with the same care – if they borrow my books they know they have to come back looking good – and they always do. Come to think of it my Mum also is the same. Always use a bookmark (although that sometimes is a piece of paper or such). Not precious about much less – well my car maybe – and my handbags and jewelry too. But the house – nah – its a mess, just my library full of books looks good.

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Lori April 8, 2010 at 10:09 pm

No! Sarah!! How can we have such different viewpoints on such a vital topic!!

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Lucy April 8, 2010 at 8:22 pm

hahhhahha Sarah, I KNEW you would be horrified! xx

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Sarah April 8, 2010 at 7:28 pm

Oh dear god I think I am about to have a complete & total meltdown. Lori I'm not sure we can be friends anymore :P

DOG EARS??? NOOOOOOOOOOO. The thought makes me shudder. It drives me insane & if I lend someone a book & it comes back dog eared, never again! (I also tell them not to when I hand it over!). I am very very precious with my books. Most of my spines are in perfect condition if they've only been read once, but some well read books are very cracked.

And as for bookmarks… I have stacks, but one that my mum bought cost $150, it has a whopping great big pink swarovski heart.

Hmmm I could go on about books all day, maybe I should do a post too!

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Lulu April 8, 2010 at 3:44 pm

Hun, if you are collecting Lucys as a part of your world domination plan I would suggest its actually a BIG part…and the bestest part!

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Melissa Mandy April 8, 2010 at 3:29 pm

I have bookmarks for my special books (the ones that will get pride of place on the shelves), the others not so anal I will dog-ear if necessary. Food smudges and crumbs galore, although cheese and crackers and wine doesn't leave much of a mark, the chocolate however makes up for that!

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Thea April 8, 2010 at 2:54 pm

How funny, I was just thinking about this yesterday!!
I used to dog-ear…all the time…and now suddenly I've got all precious. Who knows why? I don't!! LOL

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Emma April 8, 2010 at 2:46 pm

I'm with Lulu, I generally use random handy things to mark the pages (not that I am a strictly anti-dogearer). e.g. I would be using an easter egg wrapper at the moment :)

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Amy xxoo April 8, 2010 at 1:23 pm

I prefer a bookmark, but that doesnt mean i'm averse to a little dog-earing if my bookmark has gone astray.

What I am anal about is my DVD and CD collection – dont even get me started on that….

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Lori April 8, 2010 at 12:55 pm

ROFL at everyone.

I think you're correct Jen, dog-earers attract dog-earers. And eaters.

That's a very good point Lulu, I guess it depends on just what you're into. Not that I'm into that kind of thing.

And yes, I'm collecting Lucy's. Just another small part of my plan for world domination…

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Jen April 8, 2010 at 12:32 pm

Dog Earer here too! (although lately I have been using bits of paper as bookmarks only because I have borrowed the books off my mum who isnt a dog earer ;) . I have a new theory for you Lori..nearly everyone who has commented has said they are a dog-earer..so do dog -earers attract other dog-earers? :p

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Draft Queen April 8, 2010 at 11:06 am

I'm a "wisher". As in "I wish I had a Kindle because none of those things would be pertinent.

So that also makes me a thief, because I use my man's Kindle all the time.

(And when it's an old fashioned book? Dog earer and eater).

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Lucy April 8, 2010 at 10:48 am

Lori, are you collecting Lucy's…..your first three commenters are all Lucy's. Or are we just common?! xx

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Brenda April 8, 2010 at 10:38 am

My name is Brenda and I am a dog ear-er.=)

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Gemma April 8, 2010 at 10:26 am

i am all of the above… spine cracker, dog earer and crumber…..

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Lucy April 8, 2010 at 10:08 am

Most of mine are dog earer purely because I didn't have bookmarks. I also dog ear magazines.

Lately I have been using bookmarks in my books as I got some free with some books I bought.
Completly agree though that they are annoying when they fall out.

I'm also a eat and reader. But don't think I have any food marks in my books…only cookbooks but that is a whole other story!

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Lulu April 8, 2010 at 9:51 am

My books are full of crumbs but NO DOG EARS. I think book marks are a bit precious though…I use random bits of paper, chocolate wrappers etc.

and just quietly its probably a good idea to avoid copulation with anal altogether……

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Lucy April 8, 2010 at 9:19 am

Hahahahaha! I am a dog-ear-er. Big time. I also (used to) read and eat. Many trashy chick lit novels of mine have tell tale yellow finger marks from the fake cheese crack dust from Cheese & Bacon Balls.

Lovely husband is not a dog-ear-er. He is precious. Shits me to tears, just quietly.

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Madmother April 8, 2010 at 2:46 pm

{{{{shudder}}}}

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Why Does School Pick Up Suck So Much? – RRSAHM

Why Does School Pick Up Suck So Much?

by Lori Dwyer on April 22, 2013 · 16 comments

I vaguely recall, a long long time ago, vowing never to blog about school pick up. Evidently… I lied.

***

The really good thing about school holidays is not having to engage in the daily ritual that is school pick up time.

School pick up is the equivalent to social torture.

I’ve spent hours examining this inside my own head, attempting to figure out what my problem is. I’m still not exactly sure why I hate it so much… but I do. It’s a veritable dip in my daily routine. I spend hours waiting for three o’clock.

It’s not something I consciously worry about. Just a nagging, hot anxiety that brushes against my mind at irregular intervals throughout the day, with an annoying frequency. A combination of ‘Do not forget to pick up your son!’ (which, again, I’m worried about for no good reason I can come up with- it’s not like I’ve ever forgotten him before) mixed with ‘Oh God. I have to go and pick up my son’.

The two or three minutes between arriving at the school and the bell ringing are a compressing, heavy knot of boredom and conspicuousness, mixed with a frustrated disgust at my own inability to care. Mums and occasional token dads stand around, mostly singular but sometimes in isolating groups of twos or threes.

I’m bad at small talk, at chit chat. And I have no desire to engage here. I’m sure these people are all lovely and probably quite interesting, if I just got to know them. But I have absolutely no compulsion to do that.

I know it’s no big deal. School pick up should be on the very outer edge of consciousness and, except for the fact that I can’t quite figure it out, it is. 

But I also know I’m not the only mum who equates school pick up with the eighth level of Hell.

It’s the openness of it, perhaps, the feeling of parenting on an visible platter,  lashed with large helpings of lingering parental guilt. That persistent thought you probably should engage here, but can’t be bothered, don’t have the tenacity or ability to bullsh*t required.

I’m envious of the mums who revel in the extended opportunities for chatter and casual friendship that kid-centric social activities bring. I think, maybe, I used to be one of them.

For now it’s undefinable, unmitigated torture. And I have no clear idea of exactly why.

Tagged as: children, chop, mental, mothering, Shhh It’s A Secret, This Not My Idea Of A Good Time

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{ 16 comments… read them below or add one }

Meg May 10, 2013 at 3:45 am

When the black dig won’t stop biting your heels and you hate who you are school pick up just tears you apart over and over again. They all look in control, you know they all must bake daily and they can throw a groovy little outfit together without thinking. Meanwhile it’s been a week since I showered I want my bed and the meds make me fat. So everyday a 3:30 the dog and I go for our daily no self confidence poor body image and poor self care reminder while watching these mothers and their little cliques make everything I can’t do look so fucking easy.

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Anne-Maree April 25, 2013 at 10:20 am

It’s easier when they’re a bit bigger and you can pick up and drop off without leaving the car….
By mid year for my first, I’d trained him to meet me at the gate. By the time number two started, he told me on the second day “you don’t have to walk me in mum, I’m fine… SEE YA!”
Ahhhh independence! Yay!

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Belinda April 24, 2013 at 10:47 pm

I hat school pick up because all the mums at my sons school (well most of them) are a bunch of old stuck up bitches. I loathe 3.10pm but I guess I’m not there for me, I’m there for my son and daughter. But it’s still not easy standing around feeling like a total nigel no friends every afternoon. haha

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shannon April 24, 2013 at 9:09 am

I know exactly what you mean.

On top of the hell that is trying to find a car park,the awkwardness of standing alone when everyone else seems to be nattering away in little circles (even though you don’t want to chat to anyone particularly) while you try to look busy & nonchalant waiting those last few minutes before your child leisurely makes their way to you.

Brings back my old school odd-one-out feeling..the most annoying thing is why I care if I dont want to talk to anyone?!

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Sue April 23, 2013 at 7:23 pm

My youngest is in Grade Two and his older brother finished senior school before he started in Grade Prep. Yep, twenty-six years of school drop offs and pick ups!!
Hate it too, all the ‘Cliques’ but have decided that none of the other parents matter because after Junior school you only stay in touch with the parents that you want to, so I only bother with the people that treat me with respect now.
As for stressing about pick up time, I have set my phone alarm to half an hour before I need to leave as well the when I need to go, so no matter where I am I won’t forget :)

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Marie April 23, 2013 at 5:49 pm

I’ve been a nanny for a long time and I hate pick up with a passion. First of all the die hards get there at 3 and wait half an hour just to get the best parking spots, so unless I want to sit in my car for ages I end up miles away. I actually wouldn’t mind chatting to the mums but when you’re “the help” they won’t have a bar of you. Then the kids never get out on time, then it’s a long walk back to the car followed by nightmarish traffic and kids going in all directions.

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spagsy April 23, 2013 at 2:47 pm

HA! Since when do you have time to be bored?

poppycock I say!!

In all seriousness didn’t this happen at Kindergarden? I would imagine it to be worse than the school pick up? And what parental guilt? I am all confused?

Is the school near the library? Maybe you could hang out there for a bit?

I know I know… I suck. I should just say what’s in my head…which is…

“oh crap! not more parental torture to (not) look forward to”

I hope it gets easier for you Lori.
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Carol April 23, 2013 at 11:37 am

Yes, yes, & did I say… YES!!! Loathed the pick-up with every fibre of my being. I’m well finished with it all now, thank my kids. I think it has to do with the not knowing of things. The who-fits-with-who, whose kids went to kindy/pre-school together so they’re already a click on their own. The blonde brigade (dear god – how I loathed them), the list is never ending really. First day of school, DS wanted to invite a little asian boy home. No problem there, ‘cept said little boy’s mum didn’t speak English very well. Then there’s the – if the parents don’t like you, will their child be allowed to play with yours? How do you explain that one?
DH did forget to collect DD once after school – she still reminds him of it some 20 years later lol.
See – time does pass. And you can always hibernate in the car ;)

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Helen April 23, 2013 at 11:18 am

Yep, it gets easier and you will find once you have a child in higher levels of primary school you will find very few parents hanging around within the school grounds. We live to far away from school for our kids to walk home but I have an arranged pick up spot where I park and read blogs on my phone until they met me at the car. makes for a far better use of time!
Hang in there!

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Sapphyre April 23, 2013 at 9:44 am

It gets easier Lori, right now you are transitioning from parent with pre-school kids to parent with one preschooler and one school kid – and it’s almost as big a change to life as having that first baby. Eventually you’ll be a parent with two school kids and it will be different again. I’m at the stage where my kids can get themselves home from school every day – this is wonderful :)

I have forgotten to pick my daughter up from after school care on occasion, but I did generally remember as I pulled into our driveway :)

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Anonymous April 23, 2013 at 2:15 am

I loathe school drop off and pick up with every fibre of my being.
Especially in my case with younger children to drag along day in, day out for the whole horrible process.
I live for school holidays and no routine.
And I won’t even start on the chit chat that I never want to partake in. Nor the bloody play date saga, as someone else has already mentioned.
I think I could have a blog dedicated to just this topic!

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Miss Pink April 22, 2013 at 7:48 pm

I hate it too. It was expecially hard at the start when I was still working out who was who’s mum, and who of those I could actually strike up a comfortable friendship with. It will come though, as Chop tells you who he especially likes and would like to come play at his house, you will slowly talk to some of the parents. Some you will click with, others not so much. Sometimes even though you click great with those mums you will want to hang your head and just not chat that afternoon, and sometimes they will leave you in your solidarity, and sometimes they will approach you with comfort or a distraction that you may just need for the day.
I mostly don’t like the school pick up, sometimes it is filled too much with the small talk, but sometimes I just need an adult to talk to.
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Sapphyre April 23, 2013 at 9:42 am

Totally agree that the easiest thing to do is just be friendly with the parents of those kids your kid wants to hang out with. There are way too many parents in one grade – it can be quite overwhelming.

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Kirsty Forbes April 22, 2013 at 6:57 pm

Ohhh dude. Could of written this post word for word I swear!!!!! This is my first year of having to do it. And the school run, drop off and pick up, everyday, does.my.god.dam.head.in!!!! I hated it after the first 2 weeks actually lol … I don’t know why either!!! I said to a few friends of mine, ‘is it normal to hate school drop offs in the first two weeks?!?!’ …. School holidays were bliss! (well besides from the screaming and fighting with two kids home, plus the ‘I’m bored’s’) No time frames!!! blergh lol.. so glad there are other mummy’s out there who feel the same!

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Istina Mavit April 22, 2013 at 6:36 pm

I agree wholeheartedly! I hate school pickup so much I contemplated hiring someone to do it for me! If school pickup were a comedy club, I would be the one dying on stage. I often blurt out inappropriate things, I live in fear of teachers calling me over to discuss my children (so much so that I tried to hide from a teacher, only to find she wanted to compliment my son!), and I dread having to organise playdates (unless they are at someone else’s house!). I’ve never forgotten to pick my kids up from school … but, I did forget to pick my son up from after-school care! I think the only thing worse than school pickup would have to be kids birthday parties!!
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WonderWoman April 23, 2013 at 7:20 am

I’m with you on this one despite the years I’ve been doing it.
Selfishly enjoying the change of schools now as the kids are eligible for a bus pass and LOVE it. I get to stay in my pjs.

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Spiteful. – RRSAHM

Spiteful.

by Lori Dwyer on August 15, 2013 · 17 comments

If you went to high school in a small enough town, and you stay there- or return to there- until your children are old enough to attend school themselves, it’s logical that some of your children’s classmates might just be the offspring of the same people you yourself went to school with.

Having not particularly enjoyed going to high school in this area, that wasn’t a very comforting thought. But, hey, we’re all thirty years old now, right? We’ve all grown up a bit. Or so you’d hope.

Over the course of the last six months worth of the dreaded school pick up, I recognised one of the mums who was milling around the school courtyard, waiting too. Her daughter was in the same class as my son. I know I went to highschool with her. But that’s about as specific as my memory gets. I can’t remember her name, or any particular interaction with her. I do remember that we didn’t get along. There’s been too much life happen in between then and now… the memories weren’t important enough to keep.

Obviously I made a bigger impression on her than she did on me. She remembered me well enough to pass on to her daughter that she knew me, that we’d been to school together. That she didn’t like me.

And, kids being kids, her daughter passed that information on.

I was a bit dumbstruck when the Chop told me, “So and so’s mum went to school with you and she doesn’t like you!” He said it nonchalantly, a point in his rambling list of Things That Happened That Day. I don’t know why it bothered me, because it didn’t bother him. If he’d been upset about it, I might have been, too… I wasn’t, so much. It just bugged me.

Just… for f*ck’s sake. As if there isn’t enough turmoil in the social lives of five year olds, without adding high school bitchiness into the mix. I wonder, vaguely, how much life has happened to this other mum in the years since we finished high school, for her to be able to hang onto that hate so much.

In the end, I just tell my boy that maybe that other mum “needs to grow up a bit”. I’m thinking the tumultuous kindergarten grapevine means that reply get passed on, too.

The spiteful, five-year-old part of me hopes so.

 

Tagged as: bitchin’, children, chop, hippy stuff, mothering, my head is an awesome place to live, Shhh It’s A Secret

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Gaynor Alder August 20, 2013 at 11:58 pm

Who arrrre these people? NEXT.

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Miss Pink August 17, 2013 at 5:08 pm

I find it to be the same problem when you move back to where you grew up and send your child to the school you went to. Bluey’s teacher this year was my sisters year six teacher. Thankfully none of the teachers I had still teach at the school. Actually not thankfully, I was a good student so I wouldn’t mind seeing any of my teachers.
One thing I am thankful for is my age meaning that there aren’t too many children of people who I shared a class or grade with. There are a lot of parents who did go to the school or even my high school but they’re all older so much so that we didn’t cross paths in that time. Bluey’s best mates mum went to both of the same schools that I did but we didn’t know each other. It’s kind of nice that we can share this experience together without preconceptions.
There are two kids in Bluey’s class who’s mothers I do know but I don’t say anything to their children (or Bluey) about it. We weren’t really friends, and I don’t think too much of them now, but why tell children that? I am just judging from afar, and that is my issue. They could both be wonderful women now for all I know, I just don’t really care to find out.
If I had had a message like that passed on to me, especially in that way I’d be mad. Some people just never leave high school. Just smile to yourself at how much you have changed and grown.
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Lori Dwyer August 20, 2013 at 7:49 pm

Oh wow Pink. I had enough trouble in high school when my maths teacher was then my brother’s maths teacher… I can only imagine how it would go down if she were teaching my kids.
And yep, some people never leave high school Sad but true.
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Jill August 16, 2013 at 3:26 am

I TOTALLY understand why this bothers you. It would bug the hell out of me, too. The black mark is on her, though. Who still holds HS grudges in their 30′s? Even worse, who takes it to the next level by trying to pass them along to the next generation? Be proud you didn’t remember her name or whatever stood between you back then.
Back in college my roommate had a friend who was roommates with a “popular girl” I went to HS with. I was not even close to popular and in my large HS those who were popular usually didn’t bother themselves with the unpopular masses. So I was floored when her roommate passed along to mine that this girl “hated” me. WTF? Part of me was bugged that she decided to hate me when I didn’t do anything to her. Part of me was glad to know that I bugged a “popular girl” because they always bugged me :)

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Lori Dwyer August 20, 2013 at 7:49 pm

Hehe. It’s kind of gratifying, knowing you still have that effect on someone, hey? In a weird kind of way :p
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Chris August 16, 2013 at 2:36 am

I can’t believe an adult would tell their child that. I love your response. I hope it gets back to her. Glad you’re moving. You don’t need that.

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Lori Dwyer August 20, 2013 at 7:50 pm

Thanks Chris. It made me kind of glad I was moving, too.
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Dorothy August 15, 2013 at 11:22 pm

You are the Baawwsss of her!!! And that was the perfect response you gave to your son.

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Lori Dwyer August 20, 2013 at 7:50 pm

*Total* boss :p xx
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Tamsin August 15, 2013 at 7:00 pm

Totally understand! I didnt enjoy high school either because of those bitches (the one at chops school is probably one of them). Half their problem is that they’ve never left and grown up so are stuck with small town mentality. When I moved back it was awful seeing them in the street and being ignored. You are better than them, you’ve grown up where they haven’t. . And As scary as your pending move is and how much you will miss your family you will feel better after the move and will make new friends. Throw yourself in to activities like playgroup or volunteering it will make things easier :) I have more real friends now than I’ve ever had in my whole life. Good luck with the move and cant wait to read all about your new adventures xoxo

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Lori Dwyer August 20, 2013 at 6:58 pm

“…the one at chops school is probably one of them”
Quite possibly ;) Thanks Tam xx
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Mrs Woog August 15, 2013 at 4:13 pm

What a strange person x

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Lori Dwyer August 20, 2013 at 7:16 pm

Indeed.
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Kim Bayne August 15, 2013 at 3:59 pm

What a snooty biatch! Oh well, imagine how toxic her insides must be holding onto all that negativity for so many years! She may just be jelly of your awesomeness!! xox
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Lori Dwyer August 20, 2013 at 7:46 pm

Totally jelly :p
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Bec @ The Plumbette August 15, 2013 at 3:49 pm

Great response. Her decision to tell her child that she didn’t like you is so high school. Grow up indeed.
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Lori Dwyer August 20, 2013 at 7:39 pm

Thanks Bec x
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So. What Do You Think About Stuff…? – RRSAHM

So. What Do You Think About Stuff…?

by Lori Dwyer on September 13, 2012 · 4 comments

It’s world Suicide Prevention Week this week and today in Australia it’s RUOK Day.

As I’ve said so many times you may just be sick of hearing it– if someone asks you “Are you OK?” they actually want to hear the truth, even if that means saying “Not great”– especially today. The askee may be actually be able to do sweet f*ck-all to help you… but, as they say, a problem shared is one halved.

Sometimes, just saying it out loud is enough to shine light on things that are never as big or as daunting as they seem in the dark.

Speak… if someone asks, they care. Speak.

***

As requested, the entirety of the retro jellybean photo shoot is here on Flickr. Votes still being taken on which shot fills the blank in the new RRSAHM header….

***

Speaking of votes and, ya know, this blog and all, I’ve gots a quick survey about what you love, hate, what you think is edible and what you would change about RRSAHM here. It will only take about two minutes and forty three seconds, all questions are optional and it’s completely confidential which means I won’t be able to track you down and steal your letterbox if you tell me you don’t like the sugar high.

Not that I’d do that. Really. It’s just that… those out there who don’t like jellybeans? I am never going to understand you people.

*** 
 

If you all leave me linked up and alone for this month’s Muse Wars, I will cry. That is all.

***

Not really– that being all, I mean, the crying I’m totally serious about. If you’d like to submit an image to be used as next months inspiration for the Muse Wars, drop me an email– any and all images welcome as long as you own the right to use it and it doesn’t contain pictures of naked kittens eating palm oil or anything really weird like that.

***

Sometimes, I get to do really cool stuff.

And sometimes I manage to f*ck that cool stuff up.

A few weeks back now I was sent to The Darling hotel in Sydney thanks to Olay Regenerist Night Resurfacing Elixir, Head and Soulders green apple shampoo (yum. Just… yum) and the Oral B Triumph 5000 toothbrush (if electric toothbrushes have a mother.. then this is it.  It is the toothbrush with a wifi connection. As well as beeping you through your brushing schedule and refusing to brush if you push too hard, it actually makes your teeth feel as though you’ve just been to the dentist for a clean. And I’m not even making that up).

The Darling is just freaking divine. I have never seen anything like this place. I think because they knew I was someone a bit special (heh) but had no idea who, the lurvely Darling desk staff upgraded me to suite. Which meant I had a loungeroom and a kitchen, complete with my very own Nespresso machine; a bedroom with the biggest, most comfortable, bed I have ever seen and a bathroom with a rain fall shower head, a huge bath and lots of tiny packets of cool stuff like shower caps and bath salts.

Yes… I think that’s cool. What…? I have a thing for hotels. Especially really nice ones where I can operate the lights, blinds, room service and air con via the TV remote without leaving the comfort of the lounge, or massive bed, depending on where I’m sitting. And where they knock and offer a turn down service at eight pm (“Errrr… no, thanks.” the whole idea is a bit creepy. But the offer was lovely).  And where everything is so automated that even the mini bar works on sensors- remove that sixteen dollar box of jellybeans (what else?) for more than thirty seconds and it feeds directly to your bill. Which I’m told feeds straight on to one’s credit card.

The artwork was cool… the view was better.

So. The big plan was to make with the awesome and do a video blog for y’all, showing off the decadent luxury I had somehow found myself in. The very bad news is… remember how I blew the speakers on my flip cam? Well. Turns out the replacement one had a bad habit of corrupting SD cards to the point where anything I recorded was rendered unreadable and, obviously, unusable.

And that’s where the me f*cking up part comes in.

The good news is- I diagnosed the new flip cams SD intolerance problem just in time to get the footage of this…

That’s really, truly me. On a flying trapeze.

F*ck yeah. Watch me fly– that’s coming next week.

And don’t forgot that survey, mmmkay? Cheers.


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Lori @ RRSAHM September 16, 2012 at 1:02 am

@Anon- you assume that the person you tried to talk to was either having an off day or they have the emotional intelligence of a bucket full of sand.
Then you break out some chocolate and EMAIL ME please- lori (at) ladefrickinda dot com. Because I care- I want to know if you are OK.
Hang on in there. Much love xxxx

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Anonymous September 14, 2012 at 9:43 pm

Re: R U OK day…

what if they don't ask.. or if when you tell someone they don't listen.. or make fun of you for it :(

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Vicky Finch September 13, 2012 at 5:40 pm

All of them! As a moving banner (I'm sure there is a far more technical term but I'm a noob) the photos were brilliant, and I loved seeing your high voltage smile. You looked beautiful Lori.

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Sharon @ Funken Wagnel September 13, 2012 at 5:01 pm

It looks like you had fun shooting those photos for your header! Can't wait to see which one you pick:) Glad you got spoilt at the hotel too, I really appreciate a good hotel stay especially since becoming a mum

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What Would You Say, To A Ghost? – RRSAHM

What Would You Say, To A Ghost?

by Lori Dwyer on September 22, 2011 · 14 comments

After I posted Ghosts, I had a few comments asking me… if I did get to see my husband again, what would I say to him?

The immediate response my head gives is “Nothing at all.”

I suppose it’s all about time. How much time would I have, if I saw him again? An hour, half an hour? A minute, day? Because there are so many things I’d like to say to him, so many things I’d like to ask… I guess I’d have to have my priorities.

Given an hour with him…. I’d ask all those things I want to know so badly. Why? What were you thinking? Did you plan this, try it before? Did you really think it would work that way? Was it me, was it my fault, something I did or didn’t do?

And I suppose, if time allowed, I’d want to know… did it hurt, dieing? Could he hear us in the ICU? What’s it like, for him now, in his After… if there is one at all?

Give me just minutes, and I’d talk… I’d tell him I’m OK, the kids are OK, we will be fine. I’m stronger than I thought. That I was so lucky to have him for as long as I did. All the things I said to him, already, when he was lieing, dieing, in a stark white hospital bed.

But I doubt it would work that way. If popular fiction tells us anything, it’s that contact with the AfterLife is fleeting at best.

So if I had just seconds, just a minute or two with my husband again… I doubt I’d say anything at all. Except to whisper I love you against his lips.

It’s not that I want to say anything. I just want to feel the size of him, the strength of him again. The way he held me as if I were made of some fine porcelain that might break if he weren’t gentle. The way he kissed me as if I were precious. I just want to hold him again, just for second. And whisper that I love him, always have, always will. And hear him whisper it back, the softness of his lips and the rough prickle of stubble brushing my cheek as he does so.

It’s not a burning anger, a raging, screaming desire to see him.

It’s not even a desperate want of answers.

It’s just a want, an aching hole, left by the physical presence of my soul mate. It feels like I’m missing a limb.

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Shellye September 26, 2011 at 8:15 am

This post is so precious and a great reminder to me to stop and really appreciate my husband, tell him I love him once in a while instead of assuming or hoping he knows that.

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strawberrysmum September 25, 2011 at 7:22 pm

Hi Lori,
I spent a great deal of last Thursday reading your blog. I'm a PR person, I was reading blogs for research. I'm also a blogger myself. But I've never read something that affected me so much as what I've read here.
I think your blog chewed up about 3 hours of my afternoon :) It was 3 hours well spent.
You left a mark on me, and it bugged me all weekend that I didn't leave a comment.
I thought about you all weekend and even spoke to my husband about what I'd read, because I saw a lot of my hubby in what you'd written about your hubby.
He and I had a chat we'd needed to have for a long while.
So this is my comment, because I must. And I know you're not lacking in comments but I was moved on a personal level and it's a crime not to let you know. Thankyou and bless you and your family. xox

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Bambi Kay September 25, 2011 at 4:17 pm

LOve and Hugs to you, Lori.

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Kristen September 24, 2011 at 4:36 am

My heart breaks for yours. I just found your blog. Sometimes the best thing to say is nothing. I know this as well. When you are bored (and have internet) … come see us.
Kristen @ http://www.alittlesomethingforme.com

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tattoomummy.com September 22, 2011 at 8:43 pm

Your blog always makes me snuggle in a little closer to tattoodaddy at night. Thank you for sharing x

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tattoomummy.com September 22, 2011 at 8:43 pm

Your blog always makes me snuggle in a little closer to tattoodaddy at night. Thank you for sharing x

Reply

Tricia September 22, 2011 at 8:25 pm

My name is Tricia and I came to your blog via the recent newspaper article.
This post was very moving. It's good to hear how others deal with life's monumenal losses.
Your words help me. Thank you

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Madam Bipolar September 22, 2011 at 5:19 pm

Big hugs.

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Just Jennifer September 22, 2011 at 10:03 am

Hi Lori, I just got caught up on about your last 10 or so posts. So happy you found a home of your own, but frustrated right along with you about your internet.

As always, SO very touched by all the grief you pour out in your posts. As hard as it is to read, I must. You inspire me. thank you.

Reply

journeyman September 22, 2011 at 9:32 am

I still think you're cute.

Thare some who lose limbs who yet go on to become great champions and inspirations.

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Kimmie September 22, 2011 at 7:55 am

My heart aches for you Lori.

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Melissa September 22, 2011 at 7:14 am

A beautiful post. When it comes down to it, I think that's what I'd want too.

xxxx

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Kelloggsville September 22, 2011 at 6:12 am

well that had me sobbing and I sent a text to my husband to tell him I love him. Lori, you always take me back to the important..wet towels on the floor don't really matter and telling him I love him does. Love and hugs as always and thank you for helping me xxxx

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Kristy September 22, 2011 at 6:30 am

Lori – what an amazing post as always… Thanks :) Kristy The Imperfect Mum xx

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Keluang Bay, Part Two. #BloggersToBorneo – RRSAHM

Keluang Bay, Part Two. #BloggersToBorneo

by Lori Dwyer on June 10, 2013 · 1 comment

Continued from… last time I posted. Sorry, guys- Internet problems in TinyTrainTown.

***

The further inland Erin and I stroll, the denser and more untamed the jungle growth becomes. Five hundred metres away from where we released turtles, the foliage becomes almost impassable and returning to the other end of the spit, where the people are, seems a very feasible idea.

Erin and I wander along the shoreline, spotting crabs and trash and driftwood. Like a lot of places in Borneo, this one appears to have had a lot of money invested in it, once upon a time. It’s just that the structures have never been maintained, never repainted or patched up as things fell down. And the humid weather, the rapid growth of the plant life… they take things so quickly, with such earnest mold and rot.

Abandoned housing on the peninsula.

Abandoned housing on the peninsula.

Small shelters that dot the shoreline, picnic gazebos in various overgrown stages of becoming run down. We come across the occasional abandoned longboat. There’s a building that appears to have once been a house, and another that might have once been a unmanned lighthouse. Both are being slowly swamped by the greenery around them.

And, sadly, there’s a lot of litter. Discarded food packets, empty water bottles, shredded plastic bags. The feeling of self-satisfied eco-tourism that releasing turtles produced is nastily offset by the sight of a knotted mess of nylon fishing net that Erin and I discover on our walk. You know the kind of net I mean…. it’s the type of fishing net that you see strangling sea life in grisly enviro-shock pictures.

As we return to the more populated end of the peninsula, where the water is clearer and the sand wider; we find ourselves unable to walk more than twenty metres or so before someone stops us for a chat, a hug and a photo. Families pause to say hello and practice their English skills with us. As usual, my over-confidence begets confusion- a woman assumes my greeting, in Bahasa, means I’m somewhat fluent. I feel dumb-foundedly stupid, standing and staring at her with my mouth open as she clearly waits for a response to a question she just asked me in rapid fire Indonesian. She laughs at my confusion, and repeats her question– “Where are you from?” in perfect English. Which makes me feel even dumber.

DSCF1118

There are two or three school groups on the beach, releasing turtles and picnicking. The boys are too shy to ask for a photo but attempt to stand inconspicuously a foot or so away from Emma while their friends snap pictures on a mobile phone. The girls are nowhere near as timid and we communicate in a mixture of broken Bahasa and English. They want their photo taken with us despite the fact none of them have a camera, and we happily oblige with our own. They love that Erin is American and ask us if we know Rihanna (“Ri–Hanna?” The pronunciation takes us a few attempts, back and forth, to decipher).

We’ve been told we can swim, should we wish too. The water is tepid and the weather certainly warm enough. We all decline. The local woman here are veiled and while we’ve been assured no one will mind, it still feels disrespectful to show that much flesh in a place that does not warrant it. (In the elevator in Pangkalan Bun, a man dressed in a business suit greets me and asks where I’m from. I reply “Australia”, and he smiles “Ah! A lots–of–Jesus land!” and that kind of seems to cover it, so I just nod and smile back).

Me, third from right; and Erin, third from left. Jumping as per the locals request.

Me, third from right; and Erin, third from left. Jumping as per the locals request.

We find ourselves climbing back on board our small klotok at the same time the girls we chatted with earlier are boarding their own. We take their photo and wave, blow kisses and shout goodbyes.

Gliding across the Bay back to the other side, where a seafood lunch is waiting (chicken for me, thanks Garry); the sky behind us turns inky indigo, heavy with an impending tropical storm. The clouds swell and crest over the heads, between the land that cups the Bay from the Java Sea.

They roll their way low across the water, chasing us back toward the land.

Pondok

 

Tagged as: Borneo, Lets Ride, stuff that makes me happy

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A Daft Scots Lass June 10, 2013 at 8:20 pm

Brilliant
A Daft Scots Lass recently posted…So You Think You Can Vlog?My Profile

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What-If-I…. – RRSAHM

What-If-I….

by Lori Dwyer on April 5, 2011 · 35 comments

Lets play a game. A game of grief, and guilt, and What-If-I’s.

What if I’d turned to him, instead of brushing him away, and said I loved him too, and I was sorry?

What if our son had been awake, if I’d put him down for a nap just a half hour earlier?

What if I’d just swallowed my pride, and walked, and left him to be angry without me around?

And what if, in the imediate After… what if I stopped, and tried to.. do something. Cut him down. Ease the pressure on his neck.

Why I even be capable of that, a dead wieght twice my size…?

What if I’d been there, been stronger, the first night he was in ICU? Stayed, instead of run?

And what if I’d been there more, in the ICU…? The doctor there, she told me “His blood pressure drops perceptably every time you walk into the room?”

Had I been ther e more, would he have pulled through? Given the oxygen deprivation.. would that have been a good thing, or not?

What if I’d picked something up, days, weeks before this happened? What if I’d done things differently?

What if I’d founf that fucking orage rope in the garage, weeks before this happened? Would he have just assured me it was nothing..?

And would I have believed him?

Of course I would.

What if i’d known, hanging was so quick, so violent? Known that it didn’t matter that his feet would touch the ground if he jumped, the damage would already be done?

What if I’d pushed him, hit him? Would it have been me, who ended up in the ICU instead?

Would have been better, or worse?

I know.. pointless questions. Time is impossible to turn back.

And this, it’s horrible, it’s the most awful fucking thing in the world….. but it is what it is.

And those questions will never be answered.

Things don’t happen for a reason.. that has to be bullshit.
It’s simple pyschics. A heavy object, a fast drop… and a nerve in the neck I’d never even heard of.

And it boils down….. to this.

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Suzy April 14, 2011 at 11:42 pm

Oh the what ifs. They have kept me up at night too. I think everyone who has lost someone plays that game.

But honestly, love, if you had responded to him that day – perhaps he wouldnt have done it right then, but he would have done it another day.

Mental illness is a fucking beast of a thing. You had no control over what he did.

I wish you peace as you try to put your life back together.

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rin.dell April 7, 2011 at 11:22 am

I like the comments that they girls who have gone through similar situations have written. You are all amazing and it is incredible that you can still offer so much love and support when you have gone through the same thing. Another thing that has stood out is the comment "He may not hv done it that day, but it would hv come another day". Maybe if any of your what if's could hv been changed, there is still a big chance that Tony would hv done it after the next fight. If he was so tormented inside no what if could ever change the final outcome. Sending you love xxx

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marketingtomilk April 6, 2011 at 3:36 pm

What ifs will tear you apart.

M2Mx

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Draft Queen April 6, 2011 at 9:23 am

Oh honey. I play the what if game. What if I had just quit my job, like Nate asked me to (a hundred million times). Would I still be pregnant? I can come up with a billion more just like this. About this, about other things. But you are right and time can't be turned back. It sucks and it's shitty but we just can't. I'm not sure why we torture ourselves with what-ifs when we know damned well that all it does is hurt us. I can't tell you to dwell on what "what nows" and moving on instead of looking back because I can't do it either. Instead I'm popping pills to keep the PTSD at bay.

I imagine it's much like that for you as well. And that makes my heart hurt for you so much. We have different pain, because I know I have never walked in your shoes and that pain is all yours, but I know that we're both still here trying to figure our own shit out.

Until then, I'm listening. It's all I can do.

xoxo

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Lillian2611 April 6, 2011 at 7:12 am

Lori, I don't think things happen for a reason. They just happen.

Having said that, when things happen there are consequences or options or possibilities that come afterwards that we would certainly have missed or ignored if the original 'things' hadn't happened.

The life you're about to have is not the one you were on a path to have Before. There's nothing particularly meaningful about that, it's just how it became. In the meantime, you'll hurt and you'll grieve and you'll grow, also in ways you wouldn't have Before.

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Kelloggsville April 6, 2011 at 7:07 am

The only words running through my head are "if wishes were horses beggars would ride" which also goes onto "if ifs and ands were pots and pans then there would be no need for tinkers, if fishes were wishes there would be no room in the river for water". There is rarely sense to be made of things that happen, I think maybe we just have to let what is 'be' and work out how to manage around that. xxx

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Toots April 6, 2011 at 4:39 am

Lori, remember the post where you tuurned off comments & said it was all your fault &, I'm guessing, a tonne of people immediately emailed you to make it very, very clear that this was NOT your fault? Yeah, well fault & responsibility are two sides of the same coin. It was not your fault & it was not your responsibility.

Tony was a grown man, a husband, a father, a bill-payer, a driver, an employee…so he was capable of making his own decisions & being responsible for them. And even if he wasn't himself that day, he chose at some point not to talk, not to tell anyone about that orange rope. You could have changed every 'what if' you can think of, but his mind was still his mind & when someone is in whatever headspace Tony was in, it doesn't matter what you change.

You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make him drink.

Hugs & love & hugs again,
Sophie xxx

You're not psychic, you're not Nostradamus.

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Kristy April 6, 2011 at 3:09 am

Of course you would wonder about the what ifs. I have been catching up reading your other posts and find it so disheartening that you mention people judging you for various things. THEY ARE NOT IN YOUR SHOES. I hope you have been able to not let it get to you too much. I can't imagine how draining it would be to deal with everything – all of it! And to hear your boy cry. You will need breaks and relief from that. And, your boys will need to know that there are many other adults who care for them too, so some time with others is good for them as well. Anyways. Thinking of you.

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In Real Life April 6, 2011 at 2:16 am

*HUGS* Thinking of you.

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Cassondra April 6, 2011 at 1:09 am

Please don't torture yourself with what-ifs. They're always there, but pondering them just hurts. You need more hugs than hurts. Hugs.

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rageagainsttheblackdog April 6, 2011 at 12:55 am

Just hugs.

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Michael April 6, 2011 at 12:51 am

One of the best pieces of advice I ever got on grieving was simply this- don't let anyone, including me, tell you how, or when, or what to grieve about, or when it "should be over".

Of course you're going to ask these questions. You wouldn't be human if you didn't. You're not going to find answers, but the questions are going to come.

My mother likes to say, "God won't give you anything more than you can handle. I just wish he didn't have so much faith in me."

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Glen April 6, 2011 at 12:28 am

What if?

Exactly

What if?

There is no answer to a question you cannot possibly stop yourself asking.

What if tony had not been shot, what if then? That caused this – not you.

Reply

ForeverRhonda April 5, 2011 at 11:47 pm

someone once told me to stop focusing on the what if's and just manage the what is. Right now your what is, it's hard enough honeypie. No need to trouble yourself with the what if's. Because those, they are relentless.

Reply

Misfits Vintage April 5, 2011 at 11:11 pm

There is no 'reason'. You are not responsible for anyone else's choices. You are not responsible for Tony's suicide. You are a good person and it is not your fault.

I agree with above commenters – get this shit out, ask the questions, process it however you can. Good for you.

You rock.

Sarah xxx

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Danielle April 5, 2011 at 10:36 pm

Lori I have no words please dont play the What if ! etc.. game it will eat your insides out ((HUGS)) I am sorta playing that game right now i am alone and feel shit but with you it's different .
My poor man is in imense pain daily and he has read your post with me as he is a little suicidal
(bone cancer sucks shit !

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Hope’s Mama April 5, 2011 at 9:57 pm

Nope, everything doesn't happen for a reason. There was no good reason for this. I often find the people who trot out that line have never been through a huge fucking catastrophe in their lives.
And I can't sit here and tell you not to play the what if game, when I still play it myself.
xo

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Melissa April 5, 2011 at 9:14 pm

Those questions hurt so bad, but they are impossible not to ask. Thinking of you.

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E April 5, 2011 at 9:03 pm

Maybe it wouldn't have happened at that particular time, but I believe it still would have happened at some point. xoxo

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Donna April 5, 2011 at 9:00 pm

I know its natural to play this painful game of what if's but the torturing wont ease any of the hurt. You hold your head up high as you were not to know this tragedy would occur. Sending you much love as always xx

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cassey April 5, 2011 at 8:33 pm

Hugs

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Mary Quite Contrary April 5, 2011 at 8:06 pm

The "what ifs" are the worst part. I wish i could take it all away for you lovely xxxx

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Lucy April 5, 2011 at 7:25 pm

On the one hand I want to tell you to not play this game, to not torture yourself with "what- ifs". But the more realistic side of me tells myself to tell you that it is like pressing in a sore tooth or picking at a scab. Natural instinct. That will, hopefully, speed you through this process that is grief.

xx

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Jane April 5, 2011 at 7:15 pm

Please don't play the horrible "what if" game. It never ever leads to anything good. Whatever will be will be. Love you, Lori xxx

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Veronica April 5, 2011 at 6:47 pm

Reading the what-if game feels like falling down a rabbit hole of pain and hurt. I'm not sure I believe that things happen for a reason either. We just make do with what we're left with.

Love.

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Glowless @ Where’s My Glow April 5, 2011 at 6:32 pm

I have no words… can I just add ditto to Kirrily's comment? (Comes up as Being Me). xxx

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Miss Pink April 5, 2011 at 6:25 pm

I despise when people say "Everything happens for a reason" it's the most bullshit line ever and doesn't offer any comfort.
Just like what happened to you, to Tony, to your children is bullshit.

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Being Me April 5, 2011 at 6:15 pm

Yes. It's simple physics. That part is not "for a reason". I hated the "for a reason"/"for the best" do-gooders too. But I reached past that, tuned those things out, and headed right for "what gifts has this landed me?"

It is GOOD to get these sneaky, insidious, guilt-ridden, insides-eating what if's out, Lori. For after that comes The Other. The Next. Fight it, hate it, accept it, go with it, reject it. It's all part of that god-awful cycle.

Wishing you much strength and love. xxx

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deardarl April 5, 2011 at 6:15 pm

Ohh yes – the "what-ifs". I think every widow has some "what-ifs" to torture themselves with on dark nights, no matter the mode of death. What if I had phoned him at the crucial time, stopped him from going to work that day, what if the truck was a second later, what if…
But it is just that: torture. The outcome cannot me changed.

Ultimately, it is what it is ….
There is no rhyme or reason. No "grand plan".
It just is.
even though it sucks beyond the telling of it.

Hugs

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Toushka Lee April 5, 2011 at 6:12 pm

Sending love xxx

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Deer Baby April 5, 2011 at 6:01 pm

Please don't torture yourself with what if's, although that's easy to say not being you. Thinking of you.

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A Daft Scots Lass April 5, 2011 at 5:59 pm

*HUGE HUGGLEZ*

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Ames April 5, 2011 at 8:24 pm

Yuck. The 'what ifs' are horrible. There is no point to them at all BUT they are part of being human and surviving a tragedy. They are normal. Unfair, cruel yet normal. *hugs* I wish I could take all the pain away from you and your family, as do many other people.

Thinking of you.

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Lisa (Becoming – Mum) April 5, 2011 at 6:39 pm

Thinking of you. Hugs

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Tara @ Our Whirlwind Adventures April 5, 2011 at 6:32 pm

There cannot be a good reason you have lost your husband, and your kids their Dad.
The only thing that it has come to is so many women & men who follow you, and love you, are checking in & talking with the "Tony's" in their lives. Their husbands, brothers, fathers. The big strong men, who look after everyone else, but leave little time for themselves.

Because of you & Tony, someone's life will be saved.

Losing Tony is not for the best, but what your writing is doing for others, is a small light at the end of a long dark tunnel.

You are amazing Lori. Just amazing xo

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Bump's Fluffy Bum and the Chop's Super railway! – RRSAHM

Bump’s Fluffy Bum and the Chop’s Super railway!

by Lori Dwyer on February 1, 2010 · 0 comments

My little Daisy Bump- a piccie of her in the gorgeous Itti Bitti that one of my beautiful BB friends sent for me to try out today- my first ever fluffy mail! (hi, Rachel!). Too cute. And soft and fluffy and purple to boot :)


Tra la la, it is very early for me to be blogging- only 9pm. (oops- make it 10pm buy the time I hit post- back on schedule) Wow. That either means I’ve been extremely productive and have gotten everything done early, or incredibly lazy and indulged in rampant procrastination. I’ll let you choose (hint: It’s been a week since I mopped my kitchen floor.)

But I did have to get on here and share my piccies of the completed Thomas railway, on it’s table, with all it’s bits in place. We had miles of leftover track. When I said it was enough for CityRail, I wasn’t joking- they could finally put in a Hills line with our leftovers. But I must admit, the finished product does look pretty cool (points to dh for the Thomas-blue paint job and new legs on the table).

And, as you can imagine, ds just adores it :) He is totally in his element. Thats’ him over therplaying with Edward, his favorite. Or his arm, at least. Busy toddlers are difficult to catch on film.In the background there is Cranky the Crane, who is my favorite. Great big rusty cranky thing that is ;) Cranky the Crane is also dd’s afternoon nicname- because, boy, is she cranky. And bossy. It’s hysterical- yells at the top of her lungs till you look at her, then starts smiling and coooing, all cute like, because she’s got an audience ;)

To be honest, I’m exceedingly blessed. I go on about how feral my kids are and how I’d leave them at the LifeLine donation bin, given half the chance, but they are gorgeous. Even ds in the midst of the terrible two’s, is a pleasent little fellow to be around- not just for me, but for everyone. Happy, friendly, funny and independant. I’m a very proud mummy.

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The Muse Wars- Writing Challenge Three – RRSAHM

The Muse Wars- Writing Challenge Three

by Lori Dwyer on March 11, 2010 · 7 comments

Welcome back readle deedles,

Writing challenge number three in the Muse Wars. This time it’s been set by the Menopausal Mumma, and it’s scenery rather than people. And as usual, I had to twist it just a little left of centre.

Just to interrupt myself before I begin, it is FlogYoBlog Friday, bought to you by our homegirl Brenda. I’ve got a pretty shiny new McLinky on the bottom of this post. Feel free to add your blog, and we can all ride aorund on the coat tails on MummyTime’s 600 million Followers. Woot!! If you did happen to alight here off the blog hop, and short stories aren’t your thing, please have a scroll around. There are dead fairies, hot piercers and toys doing sordid things in very bad taste. You’ll love it.

And now on with the show…


The Something

At the age of six, Hannah knew a good deal about a lot of things. One of the things she knew for sure was that sometimes, adults lied. She knew her father lied when he said he was going to church at night, because her mum got all cranky. She knew her mother lied about Santa Claus, because Santa used the same wrapping paper that mum bought at the grocery store just the week before Christmas.

So, sometimes, adults lied. But this time, the adults really weren’t lieing, and that was what worried Hannah the most.

She had tried to tell them, many times, about the Something that was hiding in the field. When they refused to listen, refused to believe, and eventually began to get angry and told her to Leave Them Alone, she enlisted the help of her sister Kate, two years older than Hannah and therefore infinitely more believable. But the adults weren’t lieing. They really had no idea.

Kate knew about the Something in the field. She had seen it too. Just a flash of it, every now and then. A sparkly something, pushing out from the top of the long grass. It bought with it the smell of chocolate and sugar cooking, floating on the wind to tantalize small noses and unsettle young desires. The Something in the field sang to them, calling them, daring them to enter and see what lay beyond.

The Something felt bad, and the two young girls had used all their willpower to resist it, to ignore it’s song. They discussed it between themselves, at night, deep under the covers, when the lights went out, and decided the only course of action was to ignore the Something in the field, and stay as far away as they could.

But that wasn’t always possible.

One sunny autumn day, Hannah and Kate were sent out to play, in the yard that backed onto the field. Kate wasn’t quite sure how it happened. One moment Hannah was there, right next to her… the next she was drifting toward the long grass, where the peak of the sparkly Something could just be seen. Kate called out her sister’s name, over and over, but Hannah didn’t seem to hear…

The whole town looked for Hannah. For a week, they scoured every inch of every paddock, evry trail, every stream.

It took Kate two full days to tell them that Hannah had disappeared into the field. No one listened, no one believed. Why would they? The field had been searched, there was no sign of Hannah there.

Kate never mentioned the Something.

Not then, and certainly not later. Not to her husband, and never a word to her little girl. It never occurred to Kate, after so many years, to whisper a warning to her daughter, visiting the house of her grandparents for the very first time, a place Kate herself had moved far, far away from just as soon as she was able.

Kate’s daughter was five, and a headstrong, curious child.

The Something found she was not nearly as difficult to lure into the field as her Aunt Hannah had been.


MckLinky Blog Hop

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Kakka March 14, 2010 at 8:55 pm

WOW loved it, what a great challenge this is turning out to be. Lori – you get to choose the next photo for Challenge 4 – looking forward to it.

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Madmother March 13, 2010 at 11:29 am

Fantasmagorric!

Love this (appeals to my jaded, twisted mind).

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frog ponds rock… March 12, 2010 at 5:51 pm

I did skip the short story but only because I am a tad stressed and can't concentrate right now. But I will be back and the hello readle deedles made me laugh out loud.

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gem88 March 12, 2010 at 5:17 pm

EXCELLENT story had me sittin on the edge of my seat.. i want more :D

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Lori March 12, 2010 at 2:57 pm

Thanks jen and brenda. Jen, I won't hold the comment thing against, I'll even go and re-comment for you :)

To flog yo blog, just click on the link straight under the white box, enter your details, and ta-da! you show up on everyone's list! Just click on a few other blogs and follow them, and go to Brenda's link @ number 1 to grab the button for your page, if you want it. Too easy!

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Jen March 12, 2010 at 2:38 pm

Wow! Great story, it's totally captivated me and i've now read it a few times! Well done :) . I think I'm a bit dense (or it's hard to work out while viewing on the iPhone) but how does flogyoblog work? I have to say sorry too Lori, I have accidently just deleted a comment you sent through on my blog :( stupid big fingers and little typewriter thingy on the iPhone :( .

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Brenda March 12, 2010 at 1:47 pm

Wow! Love the story, Lori!

And hey, thanks for the linky loves. Mwahs.

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Search: label/the terrifying world of internet dating

Search: label/the terrifying world of internet dating

Orange Utans. #BloggersToBorneo

by Lori Dwyer on November 16, 2012 · 2 comments

I’m going to annoy a lot of you right now by continuing to cause you to seethe with jealousy. Listen as I tell you… I really don’t know a lot about orangutans.

In fact, in my head, I call them ’orange utans’. You know those weird things that stick with you from when you’re a kid? ‘Orange utans’ is one of mine. I remember being young– maybe eight or nine, I’m not sure– and in the car with my mum and my brother, living in Paradise but making the hour and a half round trip to the BigCityTown at least once a week. We played games in the car– long before in–car DVD players, I’m not even sure we had a cassette player. So we played guessing games and number plate games and Eye Spy and a more modified version of Eye Spy that was more along the lines of ‘I Think…’

 “I’m thinking of something that is the colour orange, and it’s an animal” says eight or nine year old Lori on one particular drive. And, as is the fashion, my mum and brother put forward as many guesses as they can think of (”Tiger? Butterfly? Cat? Giraffe?”) while I sit, smugly, shaking my head ‘no’ to every guess they make.

“OK” says my mum after what felt like a very long time, “we give up– you’ll have to tell us the answer.”

“It’s an orange utan!!”

My mum laughed so hard she nearly couldn’t breathe and had to pull the car over to the shoulder while she recovered.

The whole ‘orange utan’ thing followed me around for the next couple of years, one of stories parents tell when they’re demonstrating how gorgeous and cute and potentially stupid their offspring can be.

And that’s, really, about as far as my knowledge of orange orangutans stretches.

Which meant it was time to do some research. And here’s what I dug up…

Nine Things You Really Should Know About ‘Orange Utans’ (especially of you happen to be trekking into the wilds of Borneo in just a few (eep!!) short months time).

  • Orangutans are, like chimpanzees and us humans, classified as a Great Ape (remind me to put that on my Internet dating profile). The easiest way to tell the difference between monkey and ape…? The tail. Or lack thereof.
  • Orangs are considered ‘solitary but social’ creatures. They live mainly alone, especially males. Females raise their offspring for six years before the wean and become independent, learning how to survive in the forest. But, while loners, orangs hang out in casual social groups, often connected by one dominant (big daddy) male, and have been known to interact and play when they encounter one another, especially if food is not scarce and there’s no need to biff on for it.
  • Orangutans are one of the few primate species not to engage in infanticide (killing babies). Why? Well. It’s partly due to the inherent promiscuity of female orangs, who are, reportedly, flirts even into the first months of pregnancy– designed to confuse the daddy orangs as to who’s baby is who’s.
    Other than that, orangs don’t kill babies because they’re just too cool for that.

  • Orangs are arboreal- (is that not the up there with the most awesome words you’ve ever come across?) meaning they live in trees. They also build themselves intricate sleeping nests– with mattresses, pillows, the works– specifically designed to hold their weight, every single night.
  • They not only have opposable thumbs… they have opposable toes as well. Not to mention a 360 degree rotating hip joint.
  • Despite the rumors, make orang utans generally don’t get the hots for– or try to rape and pillage– female humans. Even if they are Julia Roberts. (It only occurred to me, writing that, the inherent redhead stigma that comes with that particular piece of tripe. Good grief… people are weird.)
  • Orangs have been known to blow raspberries.
  • Orangutans are chronically endangered, with less than 30 000 estimated to be left in the jungles of Borneo and Sumatra.
  • It costs the disturbing, disgusting amount of just forty five dollars to buy a baby orang to keep as a pet in Indonesia. I can’t even tell you how sad that makes me. Especially when it costs just $55 a year through Orangutan Odysseys, to have that tiny orang utan cared for in a nursery, then hopefully rereleased back into the wild.

And that, ladies and jellybeans, is the facts on orangutans. In case you missed it (where have you been…?)
us bloggers are going to Borneo. You can come too.

If that’s waaaay too much of a stretch, I totally understand. So I’d love for you to donate just one dollar to help cover the cost of my trip, to ensure the awareness we’re raising for Orangutan Odyssey and the orangutans of Borneo comes to them for nix.

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Learning To Say ‘No’

by Lori Dwyer on November 2, 2012 · 6 comments

I am– so very, very gradually– learning to use the word ‘no’, and apply it where necessary.

It’s not about saying ‘no’ to my kids– I’m quite well practiced at doing that. And they are equally well practiced at hearing it (even if not actually listening to it). Some days I feel as though all I say is “No, no, no, no, no!!” And I get sick of hearing it myself. So I can only imagine how my four year old must feel about it. And exactly why he gets that sour look on his face when he Spidey-senses I’m about to say it again.

It’s more about learning to say ‘no’ to pretty much everything else in my life. For my own health and sanity.

I’m such a ‘yes’ person, and I’m ridiculously suggestible. It’s taken me a long time to even begin to understand the notion that just because someone asks you a question, that doesn’t mean the answer has to be ‘yes’. And just because someone suggests something, that doesn’t neccessarily make it a good idea.

Ironically, putting myself into the situation where that created a huge weakness helped. You just can’t be a ‘yes’ person, dating in the modern world… you will only sleep with people for all the wrong reasons and get hurt. (And I can tell you that from sordid experience, too.)

But in most situations, I really can’t seem to help myself, and I don’t remember really being any other way. I dislike saying ‘no, and it takes a lot to squeeze a refusal from me.

I hate saying no to more writing work, even if the money’s not worth the time involved. I hate saying no to requests of time and space on my blog, especially from charities, even when I really can’t squeeze it in. I hate saying no to invitations to events I know my kidlets would enjoy, even if they fall on one of those holy sacred ‘Mummy’s Days Off From The Screaming Children‘, otherwise known as the blessed institution of daycare. I really hate saying to my friends, to requests to join them sin some way, do something with them. Especially if it’s something fun. And especially if the reason I’m saying no is I am just too damn exhausted to say ‘yes’.

For as long as I can remember, in most every area and aspect of my life,I’ve prodded and pushed and flagellated myself, saying ‘yes’ when I mean ‘no’. Bending to the will of the wind, rather than breaking against it. And, to be honest, I like that character trait in myself as I do in the people around me. It makes me happy, contented, knowing for sure that generosity, kindness and a willing to offer whatever I’ve got to assist others is so ingrained in my personality that I have to fight against it. And I’m certainly not planning to shut that off, stunt it, let that creeping bitterness seep foggy fingers under the doors of my mind again.

I’m juts going to stop running around like a goose, trying to do everything at once, when half the things I’m doing no one notices but me, and no one- including me- is any better off for them.

It hasn’t so much been a conscience decision as a simple unavoidable, catalyzed by that massive meltdown following my return from Melbourne. In the wake and comedown, the day after that one of my mates stayed and patted my back as I cried myself to sleep like a tiny child missing someone they love dearly; I look back on the last few months and take stock of what I’ve been trying to do– everything, all at once. Trying not just mum and a bit of dad as well, but also a handful of other randoms with long to-do lists and multiple anxieties . And I realize, in the calm following that storm, that there’s none of us who are any better for what I’ve been doing. As I said, I’m not sure anyone noticed but me. And the only person really paying any price for it is me, too.

Of course, as usual, I’m exhausted.

So I’ve begin the practice, the ritual, of saying ‘no’. I’ve discovered, of course, that’s it not saying ‘no’ that’s difficult. It’s dealing with that self-flagellating, arse-kicking guilt in the aftermath. But that guilt always passes, and the people who love me understand.

So I’m saying ‘no’ more often. And once again, the only person who’s really noticed is me. I’m still exhausted, but somehow, it’s an easier exhaustion.

Maybe it’s because at least this way, that exhaustion is negotiable. I can trade off big hunks of time for things I was going to do, but have said ‘no’ to. The relief is… awesome. This saying ‘no’ thing, I’d highly recommend.

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Suplication

by Lori Dwyer on September 17, 2012 · 7 comments

“Hey boy take a look at me… let me dirty up your mind.
I’ll strip away your heart from here, let’s see what I can find…”
Queer, Garbage.
“People always afraid of what’s different.”
Cool Runnings.

A few weeks ago now I blogged about the somewhat disturbing trend I’d noticed whilst Internet dating. It’s actually quite logical. Police officers tend to be the alpha male type. And the alpha male types tend to be into a little bit of hardcore bondage.

To offset how very uncomfortable and vulnerable it made me feel, offers of coppers tying me up with rope; I reacted with depreciating humor. Not self depreciating humor… just depreciating.Cause that’s what we do.

Now, it’s coming to my attention more and more that the people who read this blog are very, very cool. I’ve always thought that– how could I not, when every comment and email I receive speaks to that being true? But the results of this survey are making me realize what a liberal, open minded, honest bunch of people you lot really are. And that is fucking awesome. (Surveys still open, by the way).

Every now and then, someone will leave me a comment that ruffles my feathers and challenges me slightly. I always fight the urge to dismiss them as ‘trolling’, or call them a dickhead just because they don’t agree with me. If something’s making me feel bitchy, there’s probably an issue there I need to take a look at. And this comment, left on that post about coppers and bondage, was no different…

“Not that you have a judgmental attitude to go along with your complete lack of knowledge of BDSM. Oh no, not at all. Can you feel the sarcasm? I do hope so.

I have no issue with your not being kinky, to each their own, but just because it’s not your thing doesn’t make these people creepy or irresponsible or disturbed. That’s your own internal prejudice, and this post is exceptionally narrow minded. Go and do some research before applying such labels to anyone who doesn’t want to fuck the same way you do.” (Edited to correct spelling).

I freaking hate it when people are right.

And this commenter couldn’t have been more correct. I knew nothing about BDSM. That much was evident in my surprise at the new knowledge that this was actually a ‘culture’… there was more to this than sex.

I despise willful ignorance. And with an Internet connection, in the year 2012, there’s very little excuse for it. This was so terrifying because I knew nothing at all about it… and that’s the kind of attitude in the human race that is, in the long run, responsible for starting wars and spilling blood.

So I did a little bit of research. And, as one usually finds when they delve into the human psyche, what I found was nothing short of fascinating.

Forget sex. This has nothing to do with sex. What I mistook for role playing is a lifestyle for some people– and here is where I am going to apologize for not acknowledging that in the first place.

The Doc likes to say that everything is about sex except sex, which is about power. That’s a basic human truth. People feed on power, and it tends to bring out the worst in us. I guess that’s why the appeal of dominating someone seems to easy to understand. Even if it’s not something that gets you off, there are a million examples of it, and it’s a base truth is pop psychology– power is sexy. Power is heady and narcissistic and so easy to wield.

The talent would have to be in restraining it.

But while it’s easy to understand, in theory at least, the attraction of being the one who is dominant; it’s the role of the submissive that seems terrifying, difficult and almost impossible to understand. And yet, for someone in control of every aspect of every their life, with little direction from others, there is an appeal to it which I’ve written about before. The thrill of letting go. The wanton hedonism that comes with feeling like an object.

I read The Story of O, infamous long before 50 Shades of Grey, and fond myself marveling at the language used, the lack of vulgarity and crude nouns where synonyms can be used instead, exemplified by the slight lilt of the French–to–English translation of a book penned forty years ago. I find blogs, of course, ones that I could spend hours reading for the simple fact that the lives chronicled in them are so different to mine. I stumble across the online journals of women who are married, who have been with their Master for years and live a normal suburban life when they’re not naked and collared in the presence of their husband. I discover women who are single and have chosen submission, who are preparing and training themselves as they search for someone who would be compatible… a yin to their yang. A darkness to their light.

And again, I’m not talking about sex… this has nothing to do with sex. There is an admirable element of self improvement and self denial, of restraint and discipline. The practice of yoga is encouraged, as is the perfection of poses that streamline the body and can be assumed upon request or demand.

Somewhere deep in the shady underground of the interwebs where fluorescent mushrooms bloom in the darkness, I find a submissive prayer, a rosary to be said in meditation. A supplication to one’s master as if they were a God. The deliberate and careful use of language within BDsM fascinates me– I resonate with people who play intermiddley with the English language, who flirt with capital letters and double entrendes.

Don’t get me wrong– I saw plenty of kinky perversions too. And why yes, I did feel all kinds of weird and creepy “doing research on fetish sites”, even if it was legit. (It’s right up there with telling the salesman at Harvey Norman you want a high quality HD webcam and feeling as though you should add “it’s not
for that!”). But the implicit kink that comes with wearing a dog collar somehow feels far more wholesome than the Christian Domestic Discipline fetish movement that involves God–fearing men spanking their middle aged wives into premenopausal submission.

Sarcasm (laced with fear) aside, I’ve discovered a subculture seething with base psychology. And, as we know– I love that kinda thing. Bizarrely and unexpectedly, I’ve found myself with a genuine respect for a lot of women who act as full time submissive slaves, in the same way I found myself startled at the admiration I had for women who are paid to strip. There’s nothing easy or simple about it– it appears to be a matter of dedication and hard work, of being as in control of one’s mind as completely as to let someone else control you, to trust someone complexity as to allow them that kind of power of your body, to believe they know you intuitively enough to make your decisions for you. It was difficult to find a great deal of information about the psychology of the practice and the way the inherent differences between makes and females serve to strengthen submissive relationships… But perhaps I just didn’t know where to look.

Before we all go taking massive leaps to sordid conclusions- I find myself so amazed by the trust required to actively practice as a submissive simply because I could never imagine having that kind of implicit faith in someone. I’d add ‘ever again’ to the end of that sentence, but truly I don’t recall if I had that intense of a souls agreement with my husband, or not. And neither the person I am now nor the one I was in the Before is capable of that level of selflessness or patience. I require too much time to myself, my temper burns far too hot when I feel my freedom is restricted.

Human nature never ceases to strike me as incredible. I’ve discovered a whole slice of humanity I never knew existed, a mindset that’s akin to a religion. I dislike it when I discover a flat spot of understanding in myself. A big raspberry-blowing kind-of thank you to those of you who kick my arse into line when you happen to see it, too.

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