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Mentally Unhealthy. – RRSAHM

Mentally Unhealthy.

by Lori Dwyer on September 9, 2011 · 39 comments

I sit in the doctor’s waiting room. It’s the first time we’ve been here, and I have to fill out the New Patients form. My children play with a selection of incomplete, probably germy toys as I flick past questions, tick boxes.

Then I stop, unprepared for what comes next.

Mental illness in the family…? Yes. Mother, medicated. Father….

It’s the first time I’ve entered into my children’s medical history the fact that their father has died by suicide.

***

The doctor obviously hasn’t read my form.

“How did she your husband die?” She asks. she has a thick accent and kind eyes, and gives my children lollies to take away stings and fear.

“Suicide’” I answer bravely. “He killed himself.”

“Ah, well,” she replies, “you made the wrong choice this time, eh? You chose a man who suffered from depression. next time, you will not.”

I am gobsmacked. For so many reasons.

If I have depression, does that make less loveable, less worthy of being loved…? Now, or Before….?

I’d like to think not.

***
After I leave my neighbours backyard, my children relieved form my arms, the shock hitting me, a wall of painful disbelief disconnecting me from reality… the police, they need to ask my questions before i can go to the hospital. Hurry, I think, just let me go, I need to go.

“When was his birthday?”

“The fifth of January. Yesterday… it was his birthday just yesterday.”


“Does he have any history of mental illness?”


The question knocks the breath from me, and when it returns it’s a thumping wave of sobs. How did this happen?


“No! I’m the one with mental health issues, I’m the one with depression. What the fuck is going on?”

***

A few days after this article in the SMH was published, one of Tony’s old friends from school posted on the wall for the memorial FaceBook group that is run by some of Tony’s mates on FaceBook.

The beautiful photo featured in the SMH Sunday Life magazine.

The message was lovely- wishing me the best, thanking me for speaking. Stating that she had some understanding of what I was facing, as her daughter suffers from Bi-Polar.

I can’t remember the person’s name, and I never got to say thank you before the comment came down. So, if you’re reading, thank you.

A few people took offense to this comment, on the grounds that it mentioned mental illness. Compared Tony to someone who was mentally ill.

I’m not even sure where to…. *sigh*. Let’s start from the beginning.

My husband suffered from no diagnosed mental illness at the time of his death. However, when he was younger, he was, from what I was told by him, diagnosed with severe depression.

A pre-existing mental illness is a factor in most, but not all, attempted or completed suicides.

Personally, I think that just the act that you put a rope around your neck and jumped- not even once but twice- indicated that there is something very mentally wrong there. You don’t do that in a normal state of mind. You don’t do that just because you’re angry. That’s not a mentally ‘normal’ or healthy reaction, no matter what state your mental health was in up until that point.

Tony was stressed and worried and had a lot playing on his mind. Maybe he did have depression. Maybe not. The police and staff in the ICU agreed that Tony probably suffered from a violent psychosis.

I guess what all this comes back to is… why is mental illness such a dirty word? Why is it so shameful, so terrible, if he did have a mental illness? What fucking difference does it make? Does it make what he did any better, any worse?

For pity’s sake. This is half the problem.

There is no more shame in being mentally ill then there is in having a cold, or a broken ankle, or cancer. It’s an illness. It doesn’t make you any less of a person.

***

Tomorrow is World Suicide Prevention Day. For the sake of family’s grieving all over the world…. talk about it. Speak.

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{ 39 comments… read them below or add one }

Anonymous November 11, 2012 at 10:42 am

That is bullocks my grandma has Bi-polar and she has her ups and downs unfortunately she is not on the right medication atm which sux anyway I have OCD, autism and depression and it is thought at one stage bipolar which thankfully I have not got, got enough problems as it is without adding to then list bipolar. My grandma was married for fourty yrs even though my grandpa died mere 10 yrs ago of prostate cancer anyway he treated my grandma like an equal she is Please please please stop seeing the doctor it is not worth putting yourself through all that trouble. Your words inspire me Lorie I am only 16 yrs old probably the youngest but anywho YOUR AN AMAZING PERSON. much love anon Xx

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Suzi September 12, 2011 at 7:18 pm

It's sad that someone in the medical proffession can be that uneducated as to the affect of her words, particularly in regards to mental health. She should read your blog.

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Rin September 12, 2011 at 6:34 pm

Please keep talking Lori. I just watched a documentary about "Surviving Suicide" and what I took most of it was what a super amazing person you are! I take my hat off to you! You are an inspiration to every single person out there. Mental illness is nothing to be ashamed of and should not be such a dirty word! Talk, talk, talk and never stop! You have so many people supporting you here!!

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Sapphyre September 11, 2011 at 10:41 am

Hi Lori, I've just finished reading your blog since January… prompted by the SMH article. Thank you for writing it.

My husband has been suicidal on/off for years. He has lots of physical and mental health problems. We have two kids in primary school. And even though we love each other so much, sometimes I've wondered if it would just be easier if he did kill himself.

This blog has given me one resounding answer to that. "No!"

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Lisa September 10, 2011 at 5:20 pm

It sounds like you need to find another new doctor! Thanks for your honesty in your posts. I've been reading here and there for a while and I think this is the first time I've felt I could comment.

My older brother attempted suicide 12 years ago. Psychosis, they called it. Fortunately for him, he was found and our brother (a nurse) was able to revive him and keep him alive until the ambos arrived. Doctors didn't hold much hope, he'd lacked oxygen to his brain for an unknown period of time. He suffered some permanent brain damage.
He's been suicidal several times in the past 12 years (and prior). He has spent a lot of time in the psych ward. Mental illness is not a dirty word in our family – it's reality.
No words can adequately describe the pain of suicide, even a failed attempt.
Thanks for sharing your journey. I am certain there are others who also appreciate your honesty.
x

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Donna September 10, 2011 at 12:26 pm

I'm not sure what amazes/annoys me more – that insensitive Dr or the fact you are still expected to explain yourself or your situation.

Will always speak, because of you and your story x

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Ms Styling You September 10, 2011 at 11:14 am

Lori, I will speak. I will talk today to my former workmate, whose mum committed suicide almost seven years ago. Thanks to your posts I now know that we all should talk. And I have a better understanding of how to now do that. x

PS. I'd be reporting that doctor.

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Rhonda September 10, 2011 at 10:56 am

I think you should tell that doctors office worker that her comment was offensive and she should really watch her mouth. She deserves no less.

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Michael September 10, 2011 at 10:10 am

125% agree.

Dump the doctor, posthaste.

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Shellye September 10, 2011 at 7:28 am

I accidentally hit post without sharing my thoughts on the nurse's comment.

I'm not defending the nurse, but unless there's something I'm not aware of, she could not have known that you had any sort of mental health issues. She was merely opening her mouth and inserting her foot there. (If she has any sort of compassion at all, she will realize the error of her words and apologize to you the next possible opportunity she has to do so.) As for her comment about how you "picked the wrong one" so to speak, that was just completely rude to say the least. She wasn't there. She had no idea of the intimacy you shared with Tony in the Before. And you are not unlovable. The comments and readers/supporters of this blog obviously answer that question. Love isn't just about romance.

There are four types of love; Agape, Phileo, Storge, and Eros.

Agape refers to unconditional love.

Phileo pertains to friendship and brotherly love.

Storge is a physical show of affection that results from pure motive.

Eros refers to the fulfillment of physical desire (sex).

That nurse is just so clueless, but should she continue such rude and judgmental comments, I would suggest a nice long chin wag with her superiors.

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Shellye September 10, 2011 at 7:00 am

Lori, I totally agree with you. There is no shame in having mental illness. I am guilty of not speaking up. I do make a bit of fun of myself when talking about my issues, especially Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder, but I never talk much about how it disrupts my life. So allow me to be completely honest right here and right now to show my support.

1. I have Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder that affects almost everything about my daily life, how I clean, what I wear, what I am capable of accomplishing. I am afraid of germs and contamination. I can't relax until everything in my house is in order.

2. I have Anxiety and Panic Disorder. I don't think this needs further elaboration.

3. I have emetophobia. (Fear of vomiting.)

4. I have an eating disorder, EDNOS (Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified). This is tied in with perfectionism from the OCD and emetophobia, which affects the way I cook, especially when it comes to meats. I don't cook poultry at all.

I've been tested for depression several times, but my test scores have proven otherwise. (I kept trying to tell them that somehow, I wasn't depressed.)

I tried therapy for these things, but when my husband lost his job on Tuesday, November 10th of 2009, we lost our insurance coverage and I couldn't (still can't) afford any sort of therapy/treatment etc. The only therapy I have is the book that I'm writing. It's my way of escape from the mess I call a life at times, and I get so much enjoyment out of writing.

I admit, there are times I embrace my mental illness. I have a good memory from OCD; I am generally cautious of things due to anxiety which helps me provide a safer environment for myself and others; When I'm anxious, I become an instant comedian for those around me; but there are other times I am ashamed of having mental illness(es). I have been more forthcoming about my issues in the last three years.

Hopefully, the the future, I will get the help I need to lead a normal (or as close to normal as possible) life. Where I'm at right now isn't idea for anyone.

So here it is. I admit that I am a bit nervous about sharing everything to say the least, but maybe this will help others come forward or seek some help to prevent suicide attempts. There is hope.

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Cassondra September 10, 2011 at 6:13 am

I wish I could say that I can't believe a doctor would say something like that, so callous, and so obviously not paying attention. But in the past few years I've run across several doctors who contradicted themselves from one visit to the next, didn't pay attention, accused me of being a wuss (normal women who have working uteruses have pain every month), and asked the same questions over and over (about my brother-in-law's job after a partial amputation) and over after six months of treatment. Some doctors are just idiots I think. I promise there are good ones out there, sometimes you just have to keep looking to find them.

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Hanna September 10, 2011 at 3:59 am

Thank you!

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Good Golly Miss Holly! September 10, 2011 at 12:52 pm

This culture of sweeping shit under the rug is not doing anyone any favours, that's for sure. Oy x

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Wanderlust September 10, 2011 at 1:38 am

Thank you Lori, for another beautiful, honest post. You are a light in the darkness and you are bringing change to a corner of the world. Don't forget that.

Doctors can say inane things. When I wasn't able to breastfeed my daughter, after several consults with a lactation expert, I was devastated. A nurse practitioner said I had to start her on formula, she was losing weight. She put a hand on my knee and said, "It's okay, it's god's plan for you". Really?? For my child to have formula? What bullocks.

Half the people I know, men and women, have suffered from depression at some point in their lives, myself included. WTF? Are we not worthy of being loved, are we to be tossed to the wayside. What silliness. x

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Hear Mum Roar September 9, 2011 at 11:55 pm

I think you have your answer as to why you get blamed for his death, Lori: ppl don't want to acknowledge that mental illness must've been involved. It's easier for them to get angry at a person, and it sounds like you were the most convenient to them.

It sickens me that I just wrote that. There had to have been something wrong at the time Tony did this. Perhaps no one will ever know exactly what the name for it was, but I agree with what you said, it takes some form of mental illness or another to do what he did that day.

I wish people could understand it's an illness too. My partner has mental illness, and occassionally will be criticised by others for not helping out at school or going to our daughter's awards night.

I've been told, 'no one wants to go to these things, but it's mind over matter, you do it for your kids'. Which only makes me feel like shit. Like if my partner had a 'tougher mind' he could go to an awards night despite his agoraphobia. It doesn't take the bloody night off!

It doesn't mean he loves his kids any less than the fathers who can go to these things.

And don't even get me started on ppl's opinions on OCD! That's what's getting to me the most here at the moment, is the idea that if you have mental illness, you're somehow being a wuss, when you should be using 'mind over matter'.

Yeah? Why do sufferers need medication, treatment, therapy, sometimes even carers then? It boggles my mind how little ppl understand it all. It's as if ppl think sufferers choose to be mentally unwell to be 'quirky'. I wish ppl would understand that no one chooses to have mental illness. Ppl think it happens to 'other ppl' but never them.

If anyone's reading this who thinks they're above mental illness, just know, it could happen to you, it could happen to anybody. So stop trying to brush it away because it makes you uncomfortable

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Melissa September 9, 2011 at 11:44 pm

Oh my god Lori, I'm absolutely stunned with the doctor's comments to you! I hope you're shopping around for a different one….

As far as I'm concerned, mental illness is exactly that….an illness. We don't get all precious over people suffering other illnesses so why should we be so uptight about mental illness? Unfortunately I think it's gonna take a loooong time before everyone else wises up to this :(

*hugs*

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Anonymous September 9, 2011 at 11:33 pm

You need to get a new doctor immediately. Aside from the fact that this one is obviously an idiot you don't want someone with that sort of an attitude towards mental illness as the primary care for your kids. Chances are that somewhere down the line at least one of them is going to have some "issues" (possibly stemming from the death of their father, possibly not) but at that point it will be much better to have a doctor who is at least compassionate about mental illness.

I say this as someone who has been diagnosed with and medicated for depression in the past and who has several family members who have been as well including a teenage niece who spent months in and out of residential treatment last year after threatening suicide. If she hadn't gotten the appropriate care from wonderful people I don't know where we'd be today.

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Melissa September 9, 2011 at 11:33 pm

I've had this page open over an hour, and I haven't been able to reply. I'm still stuck back on what the dr said, and my visceral reaction to it. I honestly felt like I'd been punched in the stomach. I wonder, more times than you can imagine if that's what Joel's parents think. I imagine that it must be. Pity. Sympathy for him, for being stuck with this. With me.

I'm sorry she said something so hurtful. I agree with you. I think it's time we accepted that in 99.9% of cases we can pretty much guarantee that the person who commits suicide is NOT mentally stable. Is not well. It's not a cowardly act. It's not an act of anger or revenge. It's not the act of a sane man or woman. For that moment, at least, and I'm sure many leading up to it, they are mentally unwell. No sane, healthy person does what Tony did. So for a time there, Tony was sick. Very, very sick. And he acted the way a very sick person, without the use of all of their faculties would make.

Whether he'd been diagnosed previously or not is neither here nore there. The act speaks for itself.

My love to you.

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Glowless @ Where’s My Glow September 9, 2011 at 11:16 pm

This hurts my heart :( Some people are insensitive pricks. Luckily they seem to be heavily outweighed by a whole lotta awesome people. People who send cards and stuff x

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Kirsty @ Bowerbird Blue September 9, 2011 at 10:50 pm

Well said Lori, such prejudice out there, as if you just go out shopping for some problems.

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Jayne September 9, 2011 at 10:47 pm

What an insanely crass and insensitive remark from the doctor.

I can't believe after the shit you've been through, there's more to come. You are so strong and your story a beacon for others struggling to be heard.

<3

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Claire September 9, 2011 at 10:30 pm

Good Lord, Lori, I hope you aren't going back to that doctor! If you are looking for a new one, try one that has a mental health nurse attached to it – they hopefully have a bit more of a clue when it comes to mental health matters!

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Dorothy September 9, 2011 at 9:59 pm

Firstly, that doctor needs a slap. That was such an offensive, patronising comment. She is not the sort of person I would want to be treating anyone with a mental illness.

Secondly, I am constantly shocked at the stigma associated with mental illness. I know so many people who either are or have in the past suffered something or another, that it would almost be strange to meet someone who is perfectly mentally healthy. And yet, you are right, most people will not readily admit to it. No wonder really, given the reaction of most of Tony's friends.

If people would just talk about it, admit to it, get treatment, the world would be a much better place.

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blondtress September 9, 2011 at 9:54 pm

I can't believe that a doctor of all people would say something so dumb and hurtful!

I hope that you are making a difference out there after all you are going through.

Good luck with the big move on the weekend :) xxoo

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Squiggly Rainbow September 9, 2011 at 9:52 pm

I cannot believe a doctor said that to you. Wow – I too am gobsmacked. I denied by depression for so long because of people like her. Crazy. It takes courage to talk about it, especially knowing some still have ill-conceived ideas and notions. I thought most people were past that. Someone gave me an analogy of with-holding insulin from a diabetic – why would you do that? Why would you with-hold or name and shame depression and mental illness? Gets my goat!

Rach xx

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Chantel September 9, 2011 at 9:50 pm

I admire the strength you have to share something that must be so painful for you. Your blog and your story is getting out there and making a difference to so many lives. If we can normalise conversations about mental illness, lives will be saved. Well said Lori as always. xx

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Tony September 9, 2011 at 9:47 pm

I'm not sure if I'm taking in the first bit correctly, Did that woman really say that to you? I am so angry about that.
That right there is why we feel ashamed, we are a faulty product that shouldn't be chosen. At least if you have a broken something or other, people can see it, and accept there is something wrong with you. If they can't see anything they don't believe it.
At the end of the day its PEOPLE who make you feel weak if you admit to having a mental illness, So that's why we say nothing and feel embarrassed if we are asked or have to fill out a form. I would have no problem saying to a receptionist across the room,"I have a broken Arm" but I would get up and go right up to her and say very quietly "I have depression" That's how it is. 'Unfortunately"

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Lee September 9, 2011 at 9:43 pm

I will add Truth to the comment above (Love).

So so true.

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Miss Pink September 9, 2011 at 9:39 pm

Love.
I want to say more. Just…can't.

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claire September 9, 2011 at 9:34 pm

Thankyou for this post, I agree whole heartedly. My best friend suffers from severe depression and anxiety, I spent years picking up razor blades that she used to harm herself, and was for a long time the 'guardian' of her meds, only allowing her to have a certain amount of pills on her at any one time. This makes her no less loveable, no less of a beautiful human being, and it pains me so much to think that there are people that might find her 'defective' or any less of a person. Thankyou for speaking. thankyou thankyou thankyou.

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tonymcfadden September 9, 2011 at 9:28 pm

I don't think there's need to add anything to this except, Spot On.

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Fiona September 9, 2011 at 9:27 pm

Apparently, I still need to feel shame for taking a day off for being anxious and overwhelmed. but not for having the flu or wanting to chuck a sickie.

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Mrs Woog September 10, 2011 at 6:55 am

That doctor is a fuckwit. Please do not go back.

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keeksaz September 10, 2011 at 3:30 am

Beautiful post. You say things so perfectly. Thank you.

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Crystal September 9, 2011 at 11:54 pm

Wow. Just wow. I can only imagine how exasperated, frustrated and angry you must be at the people who continually try to sweep mental illness under the rug. Like you said, mentally healthy people don't just throw ropes around their necks and jump! Argh! And it IS an illness, just like cancer or a common cold or a broken leg.

Also? I would dearly love to slap that doctor for you. You're most certainly not unloveable or unworthy just because you're depressed. ((HUG))

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Clairzilla September 9, 2011 at 11:19 pm

I wish I could say that I can't believe a doctor would day that.

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Denwise aka Denyse Whelan September 9, 2011 at 10:00 pm

Like others here, Lori, I am appalled at the insensitive comments from that doctor…however, I can only guess it was for her sake that she did it, more because she was in a room with 2 little people and a mum…but truly…
moving on…I agree X100 that it would be ideal to be able to express ourselves properly about our emotional health, mental illnesses, and more that affect us and in our relationships….
recently I had an experience where some old thoughts and feeling were brought to the surface, some 9 years after the occurrence of the event which triggered my mental health breakdown.
the body may age, the brain and its senses does not forget.
love you hon. stay strong…as you face tomorrow and the attention via RU OK day…. XXXXX

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Toni September 9, 2011 at 9:37 pm

So true Lori.

It must exhaust you to have to keep telling people all this though.

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March 2014 – RRSAHM

March 2014

The GrampOut- Part Two.

by Lori Dwyer on March 31, 2014 · 6 comments

This post brought to you by Aerogard, Mortein and Nuffnang.

***

The weekend before I start work, we go gramping.

All good gramping trips start with packing the car. It’s one of those completely irrelevant life skills I like to pride myself on. It’s almost like a life sized game of Tetris. I expertly stack and slot Eskies, washing baskets full of food, Aerogard, tents, camp chairs and numerous bags of stuff to assist with every possible situation.

The kidlets, seasoned travellers by now, strap in, sit back, and we get cruising. Their excitement level peaks somewhere around Shepparton, when the bouncing and countdown of kilometres begin (”How far to go? How long until we see our Nonna?”).

Arriving makes for two very excited little campers and one grandmother beaming with joy. We don’t mess around when it comes to setting up camp. The tent is up, sleeping bags unrolled, and camp chairs popped open within an hour or so of parking the car.

It’s ridiculously easy. I’m not sure why gramping ever seemed liked an idea fraught with trepidation. An extra set of very willing hands to keep the kidlets entertained makes setting up the tent a very simple process. Mainly because the Chop and the Bump don’t want to ‘help’ quite so much.

It’s lovely, having my mum camping with us. She takes the kidlets for a walk to explore the campground, and the Most Amazing Man and I get to chill out for a while, just the two of us. We relax, listening to the occasional murmur of people and the birds tweeting around us.

Time slides away so quickly when you’re camping. The afternoon fades away rapidly. We sit and chat for a while. The kids begin to get absolutely feral, so, after spraying them quite liberally with the Aerogard Odourless Protection, we walk down to the river. It’s not really bushwalking. But there are trees and bugs for the boy–child and dozens of gumnuts and rocks for the girl–child. She is a bower bird, but not just for all things blue. She collects little bits and pieces, anything that takes her interest. Her Nonna and the Most Amazing Man and I ferret things away in our pockets for her, keeping her treasures safe until she forgets about them (which usually takes about twenty minutes, or until something else catches her attention).

Gramping1

Then there’s UNO– many games of UNO, as predicted. There’s also Monopoly on the iPad, which kind of feels like cheating. But I really don’t think we could have fit the Monopoly box in the car. We light the Mortein Citronella candle Outdoor and he ambience is beautiful. Everyone looks better by candle light. It smells divine and there isn’t a moth or mozzie for miles. In fact, the kidlets not only don’t get eaten alive by mozzies, they don’t receive one single bite.

Dinner is a fairly simple affair. Because, much to my mother’s continual dismay, the kidlets are fussy eaters. As am I. So we cook sausages and have sausage sandwiches and, for the actual grown-ups (not me, obviously), there is salad.

After that, we have a campfire. Because it’s not quite authentic, camping without a campfire. We also have marshmallows, for the same reason. The kidlets love the idea of marshmallows cooked on a campfire, but not so much the reality. They end up eating them ’raw’. I prefer mine with a charcoal crust.

What with the sugar they’ve just ingested and the absolute novelty of camping in general and gramping in particular, we don’t even bother putting the kidlets to bed until we’re ready to sleep, too.

***

Waking up to spreading sunlight and birds tweeting is entirely peaceful. Only slightly less so when it’s combined with the excited early morning chatter of small children.

I thought yesterday went quickly. Today disappears even faster. I feel as though I’ve only just woken up properly by the time we begin packing up.

Pulling down a campsite is a weird thing. It’s been a living space for almost 24 hours– a family space. Somewhere to eat and sleep and laugh. Twenty minutes later, and it’s bare ground again. Apart from the peg holes hidden beneath the grass, it looks like we haven’t been there at all.

I hug my mum goodbye and there’s that sadness that’s always there when I leave her. I know I’ll see her again soon enough, and I talk to her on the phone all the time… but it’s just not quite the same.

Gramping has been entirely more awesome than I thought it would be. And the whole process is much, much less stressful than driving to Sydney and back for the weekend. Camping with the grandparents– 10/10. Would gramp again.

***

For more on how to enjoy gramping with the people you love, visit the Gramping Association, and sign up for the chance to win* one of seven Gramping Adventures for the whole family. And don’t forget to enter the giveaway on RRSAHM– there is a stack of cool stuff to be won.

*terms and conditions apply, visit www.grampingassociation.com.au for details.

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{ 6 comments }

Single Mums.

by Lori Dwyer on March 26, 2014 · 7 comments

Attempting to rent out the TinyTrainHouse has been a comedy of small town real estate. I’ve had to work hard not to take it personally. Who wouldn’t want to rent out my beautiful little shack, with it’s sprawling cottage garden and native bushland backdrop…? 

Applicants have come and gone, either been rejected or found properties more suited to their needs. My mate Kristabelle has rented the place since I moved to Melbourne. My only complaint with Kristabelle is that she decided to go and fall in love and move out. Given my own way, I would have kept her as custodian of my safe place forever, knowing that the rent would be paid like clockwork and that she would take good care of the little house I still think of as mine.

After the TinyTrainhouse has sat empty for many financially stressful weeks, I get a call from the real estate agent.

“We have a possible tenant! They’re not perfect, though. But we thought we’d run it past you anyway…”

My stomach flips slightly, wondering how desperate the situation has gotten. What kind of person are they suggesting move in? A convicted felon? Someone who will gut the storage space under the floors and fill it with a hydroponic set-up that’s definitely not being used for growing tomatoes?

“She’s a single mum. Three kids.”

I wait for the agent to say more. Something along the lines of “….and she runs a small prostitution business from home.”

But there is no more. That’s it. This woman has a perfect rental record, and all her previous property managers say they would happily rent to her again. After giving up an obscene amount of information on her history and her income, it’s been determined that she can definitely afford the weekly asking price.

It’s just that she’s a single mum. With three kids. All the hesitation I hear in the agent’s voice oozes from that.

I’m too shocked to take a stand over a few hundred kilometres of phone line. I’m too flabbergasted to tell the real estate agent that until a few short months ago I was a single mum myself, and it doesn’t at all mean that she’ll trash the place, or be unable to pay the rent. Most single mums I know are particularly conscious of keeping a roof over their children’s head, making that their first and biggest priority. It’s kind of a vital necessity.

Not that saying any of that would have made much difference. It likely would have fallen on deaf ears, dismissed with an eye roll and a few estate agents and office staff discussing the crazy lady on the phone after we hung up. The best I could do was squeak “That’s fine- please, rent her the house!”

So the TinyTrainHouse has a tenant. It’s a single mum.

I am, not surprisingly, quite okay with that. 

{ 7 comments }

The Grampout- Part One.

by Lori Dwyer on March 19, 2014 · 17 comments

This post bought to you by Aerogard, Mortein & Nuffnang.

***

Apparently, there’s a whole new trend called ‘Gramping’. Not to be confused with ‘glamping’, which is also a thing. ‘Glamping’ is glam camping– roughing it with all the luxuries included. ‘Gramping’- which is what we’re discussing here- is camping with your kids…. and your parents.

I’m not sure why that sounds so terrifying. It shouldn’t, really. It’s all about spending tie together, bonding, and sharing experiences. And with my mum so very far away now, any shared experiences are good ones.

Gramping is such a thing that they even have its own representative body– the Gramping Association, sponsored by Aerogard and Mortein. For some reason, they decided to ask me to try out the whole experience of gramping and report back my findings. Maybe because they’ve read that post about how camping makes me feel like a better parent even when I’m yelling at my kids. Maybe because they know the Most Amazing Man is all kinds of crazy for the outdoors. Maybe I’ve blogged about my kid’s horrible mosquito bite allergy and how we should virtually own shares in Aerogard. Who knows?

Anyway. My mum (bless her) has quite happily agreed to forgo her regular weekend trip to Melbourne and meet us in sunny Cobram instead. She’s excited about the prospect of gramping- it’s been quite a while since she’s slept in a tent. We’ve promised her she need only bring herself and her sleeping bag, and we’ll supply the rest.

Packing and preparing to go gramping for the weekend takes just as long as the actual camping trip itself. Especially when you’re providing for small children, and extra people. We make lists, mentally working through all the possible scenarios to ensure we’re prepared for everything. Amidst the slight stress of packing, the excitement level is huge and we’re all very much looking forward to getting away from the city for a few days.

And we shop. An extra, smaller tent. Completely adorable matching camp chairs for the kids. Many, many, many groceries. The list of essentials includes ten litres of water, UNO cards, torches and batteries, wet wipes, antiseptic cream, butane, swimmers, towels, instant coffee, mini boxes of cereal, Barbies and phone chargers. And, of course, much mozzie spray. Aerogard sent us some of their Odourless Protection spray- which, to be honest, is what we use anyway. It doesn’t smell at all and doesn’t feel yucky and greasy on the kidlets skin, and lasts for hours. Mortein provided another essential in the form of their outdoor candle with natural citronella, which looks stylish enough for glamping and gramping and burns for 25 hours.

I’m anticipating much excitement from the kidlets on seeing their Nonna, many games of UNO, some bushwalking, campfire cooked meals, high energy levels from the two small people, and maybe even some relaxation time squeezed in.

I’ll let you know how we get on.

*** 

Sign up to the Gramping Association to receive gramping tips, events, giveaways and offers. You could WIN* one of seven Gramping Adventures for the whole family.

While we’re talking about winning stuff, I’ve got a stack of prizes for you guys to WIN, including….

  1. 4 x $100 Turu vouchers to give away
  2. 4 x “Gramping essentials” pack which includes Mortein and Aerogard products
  3. 4 x $250 Anaconda vouchers

To enter, leave me a comment telling me how and where you go camping, and how a Mortein and Aerogard pack would help you out with that. Entries close 6/04/2014. T’s and C’s can be found here.

*terms and conditions apply. Visit grampingassociation.com.au for full details.

{ 17 comments }

Purple Happy Stuff- The Story Behind the Before – RRSAHM

Purple Happy Stuff- The Story Behind the Before

by Lori Dwyer on November 30, 2011 · 22 comments

“By the way, how long did it take you and Tony to find each other?
Tell us your story.”

The lovely and gracious Mrs C, who I’ve blogged about before, asked me this question a month ago now, and I’ve been meaning to answer ever since.

Why of course, Mrs C, I’ll tell you our story, and I’d say that it’s for no other reason than to have it written here for my children… but if I’m honest, it’s simply my pleasure; to lose myself in the memeory of something sweet. The only problem is it’s painful once it’s over, coming out the other side… sometimes memories fit like warm gloves, and the cold when you take them off again is unbearable.. it feels like frostbite.

I’ve written before, kind of briefly, about how we met, and ironically I ended that post with “And we all lived happily ever after.”

If only I’d known.

Tony and I, we met in a collision of perfect timing. I was newly single. He was over being single. And both of us were looking for That Person.

Romance is lovely, the sweet peaches feeling of falling in love is even better. But a long term relationship- a marriage, I guess- is built on more than that. Respect, commitment, a desire to make this work… I think anyone who’s celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary will happily tell you that. Marriage is hard work, and you have to be in it from the beginning.

And both of us were.

We discussed this many times… we were both looking for That Person, the one who was stable, fun, bright, who kept us interested… and who felt secure enough, real enough, tangible enough  to begin to build a life with.

Our ‘we bought a Purple House!’ photo

I guess it wasn’t so much that we begin a relationship, and then gradually saw our lives together fold out from that. We began our relationship with the unspoken intent of getting married, staying together, having kids. Building up a lovely little suburban life.

Which, of course, was what we did.

Mrs C asked me how long it took to find each other. I don’t know how long Tony had been actively looking…. but I’d been waiting for him for years. Getting married, having babies… that was on my bucket list, remember? I was just looking for the perfect bloke to do it with. And Tony was looking for a girl, different to all the ones in the area he lived; a girl to settle down with. And he told me later, in hindsight, that the second he saw me he thought “I could marry this girl.”

So, for my babies, who may read this one day and see it in grainy tones like old holiday photos, I guess these are the things you should know. The things that mean nothing at all… but tiny threads weave magic into the fibre of healthy relationships.

The first time I met your father, I was wearing brown cargo pants and a pink singlet top; and he amazed six months later when I asked him, and he remembered.

And on our first date, your father borrowed his best mates car, because he was so afraid his would break down and leave us stranded on the side of the road. And the first time we kissed was in the front seat of that car, before the evening had really started, nerves making him kiss me far quicker and less romantically than I would have wished.

Your father, he asked me to go bowling for our first date, and I laughed at him- that would have been far too embarrassing, bowling in front of someone I barely knew. Instead we ended up at a restaurant in Leichardt, me too nervous to eat, teasing him about having ‘bad coffee etiquette’ because he licked the froth off his spoon, and he remembered that too, and mentioned it only weeks before he died.

We went out for the first time on a Wednesday, and weren’t supposed to see each other until Saturday, but just couldn’t stay apart. And- embarrassing as this may be for you to read, I’m putting it in anyway- it took until Saturday night, four dates, for us to all in to bed together, nearly biting chunks from each other’s skin in an effort to get closer.

Two weeks after we got together, I had my wisdom teeth out and was in pain for days. Your father bought me a pink teddy bear carrying a love heart under it’s arm, and it reminded me so much of him… carrying his heart and soul under his arm, unprotected and prepared to lay it out in front of me. I wish I had kept it- the teddybear, I mean, the heart and soul I still have.

The first Christmas we spent together- just a year before the first of you was born- we drove all the way to Cowra, slept in a tiny, freezing house; and came home with a kitten we named Diddy that ran away two weeks later.

One night, after we’d been together about three weeks, I turned to your father and whispered to him in the dark “Do you love me?” and the answer that came back was “Can’t you tell by the way I hold you, that I do?” I know, because I wrote it down in my diary, but your father, he never remembered that one.

When we moved into our Purple House, we were as happy as two people have ever been.

And that’s the most important thing to know… no matter what happened before, or what came after, we were, at so many points, two very, very happy people. And you are the direct product of that happiness.

Love is, as they say, a many splendoured thing… but it’s not always grand. Sometimes, the best bits of love stories… they’re the average bits. The everyday bits. The little bits of ordinary that happiness turns into magic.

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{ 22 comments… read them below or add one }

Livi December 13, 2011 at 6:42 am

What a beautiful story. That really is true love. So many never find that *hugs*

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Shellye December 5, 2011 at 7:52 pm

Thank you so much for sharing your precious stories, the ones filled with good memories that give us all a glimpse of the before, especially those who didn't have the privilege of knowing you then. I think your children will appreciate those stories.

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Donna December 2, 2011 at 8:02 am

My husband remembers what I first wore when we met as well, and that was a completely random event with friends but he recounted it to me years later…

Thanks for sharing yet another spine tingling post – your children will cherish this one x

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Andrea G. December 1, 2011 at 9:53 pm

Your post made me tear up yet again. I had to post it on my Fb page. I hope you get more followers through it. Your story is beautiful and you are amazing!!

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Mich December 1, 2011 at 12:14 pm

the sweetness and love in this post has made me tear up.

xx

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Kristen December 1, 2011 at 11:14 am

*sigh* I'm just so sorry for your pain. I wish I had better words to say. I wasn't going to read the post… because I knew it would be gut wrenching. And yet I couldn't stop because my heart breaks for yours. It really does break for you. Kristen

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Sarah December 1, 2011 at 9:27 am

I adore that photo of the two of you :) And such lovely stories to give the chop & moo about their daddy & you together :)

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marketingtomilk December 1, 2011 at 6:41 am

such beautiful writing, and memories to cherish. your children will read this with eagerness x

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Anonymous December 1, 2011 at 12:02 am

Loveliness…. a beautiful memory, thankyou for sharing.

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MaidInAustralia November 30, 2011 at 11:42 pm

What beautiful memories you have to pass down to your children darling. And thank you for sharing with us. xo

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A Daft Scots Lass November 30, 2011 at 10:33 pm

A magical story indeed!

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Melissa November 30, 2011 at 10:27 pm

Oh Wow. That is so beautiful. And so tragically sad. I'm so humbled. I've always thought you were so amazingly strong, but sometimes you write something and I am absolutely floored by your courage. You are amazing. Truly amazing.

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Corinne – Daze of My Life November 30, 2011 at 4:20 pm

This is such a beautiful post and so true. It's the average, ordinary things that become precious treasures. xx

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Jennifer November 30, 2011 at 2:43 pm

Thank you for sharing this, Lori. That photo of the two of you is so beautiful – it's clear how deeply in love you both were. And your words brought tears to my eyes. *hugs*

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Wanderlust November 30, 2011 at 1:46 pm

So beautiful. xo

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Amy xxoo November 30, 2011 at 1:37 pm

That, strangely enough, sounds a bit like Mick and I… so it makes me glad to read about the " magic " the two of you must have shared.
Oh, and also? Christmas in Cowra huh? How very (not) exciting… but i have rello's there, so i wont poke too much fun!

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Miss Pink November 30, 2011 at 11:50 am

I know this will make your kids smile.

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Sassafraz November 30, 2011 at 10:59 am

Such a wonderful piece of writing to read, it makes my heart ache and sing at the same time. I'm sitting here at work wiping the tears that are falling down my face. Thank you Lori, for constantly reminding me about the goodness in my own life, and how much I have to stop taking for granted.

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Sapphyre November 30, 2011 at 10:47 am

Very sweet :)

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Rin November 30, 2011 at 10:24 am

That is just so beautiful!!!

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Lynda Halliger-Otvos November 30, 2011 at 10:17 am

Sounds like a glorious beginning to your relationship made an impression deep in your soul. I am sorry for your loss, Lori.

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Shelley November 30, 2011 at 6:50 pm

Thats so beautiful Lori, id love to hear more about you & Tony & the blossoming romance :) The photo of you two kissing, so sweet. Xx

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My Children Are Trying to Kill Each Other. – RRSAHM

My Children Are Trying to Kill Each Other.

by Lori Dwyer on October 16, 2013 · 2 comments

My children seem somewhat intent on killing each other.

What is it with kids and siblings and continually attempting to physically maim each other?

Don’t get me wrong. There’s no blood shed here. It’s not like I have psychotic potential-serial killers on my hands. There’s no gratuitous animal abuse or setting fire to things. It’s just that particular aggression that seems to be reserved only for one’s brother or sister. That play-fighting that becomes hair-pulling and hollering and kicking and me dragging one or both of them for (another) time-out in their rooms.

Shamefully enough, fighting like that with my own brother (hi, Uncle Grog) is one of the most vivid, intense memories I have of my own childhood. It was all laughter mixed with pain laced with gritted teeth and that sudden anxiety when you hurt your younger sibling and they go pause, shocked, before running off and screeching “Mum!!!”.

I see that replicated in my own children. The oldest will suddenly push too far, forget his own strength; and his sister, mildly hurt, will run for me in tears, sobbing. Her brother is bigger and tougher and she seems to be hurt more frequently, but she’s also the cheeky instigator at least half the time.

They drive me insane, between them, especially on those long rainy weekend days that we seem to be having so often at the moment in Melbourne. I try my best not to yell, try to be firm and consistent. I attempt to extinguish physical violence altogether, long before someone has their legs bruised or their feelings hurt.

And I grit my teeth in frustration as they still fight, regardless of what I say or do. I take deep breaths of patience every time I hear “YaaaaaaHHHH!!”, giggle, thud, “Muuuuuuu-uuuuMMMMM!!!”

I remind myself that when they’re not attempting to inflict as much damage to each other as possible, the two of them can be best the best of friends, loving, warm and kind to one another. And I tell myself that that’s what really counts. (Right…?)

 

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Karen October 19, 2013 at 10:28 am

I don’t have any of my own but I am six years older than my sister and I remember the anxiety produced in me by her tears and “Mom!!!” Though when we were little, the youngest one could do no wrong. It was ALways my fault when 9 out of 10 times I whacked her for whacking me good first or, my favorite, when she would pinch the skin of my arm between her fingernails and twist off a chunk of it.
We are 33 and 39 now and just recently she confessed to our mom how she used to intentionally get me in trouble and my mom was quite shocked when I told her about Jill twisting off my skin. I even still have scars I showed her. :-)

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Whoa, Molly October 16, 2013 at 9:58 am

I didn’t have any siblings growing up, but I do remember having similar experiences with my cousin. He knocked my front tooth out when I was three! (Though it WAS an accident.) Even though they drive each other crazy, it’s sweet that they still love each other. I sometimes get jealous of people with siblings, seeing that closeness that I wont ever have…

At the same time, I’m happy I was an only child, if only for the lack of bruises. :)
Whoa, Molly recently posted…ChernoblehMy Profile

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You're Stupid And I Hate You. – RRSAHM

You’re Stupid And I Hate You.

by Lori Dwyer on January 31, 2013 · 23 comments

I write posts like this… then I hesitate. I toss and turn things over, tumbling like rough rocks in my mind until they’re smooth and their edges don’t draw blood.

I tumble and test the weight of the memory of a dead person and what it means to respect that. I struggle with the bulk of adding to a stigma that already heavily clouds suicide and men’s mental health.

I guess I recognize that while I have this voice, read by many… the man who used to be my husband has none. And that is certainly not entirely fair.

But then I balance that against an email I received, from a women whose husband survived his own suited attempt, asking– would I have been angry with Tony, had he lived? And the answer is… of course. I’m furious with him, and he died. Had he lived and that anger been less tempered by guilt… he would have been lucky had I not killed him myself.

And I shuffle that email up against the very justified, very real anger my children will probably feel toward their father one day. And how I want them to know that’s OK– the light and the dark can coexist. You can love somebody and hate them, too.

And somehow that all gets too confusing and I think f*ck it, I’ll just tell the truth.

Because if this blog is never anything but the story of a suicide’s aftermath, then let it be the whole story. With every emotion labelled ‘okay’.

And eventually, logically… I have to hate him.

***

For Tony…

You’re stupid and I hate you and I miss you still and I wish you were here. Not for me… I’m OK, for the first time in a long time.

But for your son. For your little boy who starts school this week who needed you and loved you and misses you still. Who looked at your picture on his bedroom wall today and told you I love you Daddy, I miss you!” and then insisted I do the same. Because he felt your absence far more than I did in this school preparation we’ve been doing he last few days. I wonder if he can picture in his mind, the way I can in mine, exactly how you would acted and what you would have said.

I don’t know if I hope he can conjure a mental image of you like that… or not. If it’s going to hurt him more or less as he grows older, remembering you.

Your daughter (my daughter…) doesn’t remember you, not at all. And again, I’m stuck between an emotional rock and a hard place. And not just for my sweet precious fairy girl, but, in some twisted way, for you too.

Because part of me, the part that’s viciously angry and is finally screaming with a mother’s instinct at how you hurt my babies, how dare you… That part of me hopes, spitefully, that wherever you might be you are watching this, regretting what you’ve missed out on, wincing in pain every time you hear the phrase My Daddy died. That it hurts you to watch them grow them up without a father as much as it hurts me.

I think decided, long ago, that dead people don’t feel anything at all. Because I loved you once, very much. And I don’t like to think of you, of anyone, hurting like that.

But you should be here, and my God I am so f*cking furious that if you were here I’d scream and punch and kick at you until I finally made it hurt. Because what happens this morning– my son walking into his first day of school with just his mum, when most kids have two parents by their side… it’s the height of disgusting unfairness.

And right now I don’t blame the universe.

I. Blame. You.

I don’t know what else to write, what else to say to you… as if you’re listening at all. It’s a psychologically accepted fact, Charlie the shrink tells me, that you continue to have a relationship with a dead person. It’s just that its one sided.

Every so often, I talk to you, the way I have done all along. But now it’s different… it always seems to be about the kids. The tone of it is lighter… I rarely cry at you anymore. I was starting to think to that, maybe, myself and the memory of you… we could be friends.

Except for the fact that right now, I can’t f*cking stand you. I think of what you did and its not about me, not right now. It’s about my son and his big wide blue eyes and the look on his face when he sees another kid playing with their father.

Right now… I just hate you for that.

 

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Marie February 3, 2013 at 11:32 am

I think in a way you do give him a voice. Because there are people reading this who may be considering what he did. Through you, Tony can say to them “Don’t do what I did. Look what I did to the people left behind.” I’ve heard suicidal people nearly always feel like everyone is better off without them. You can show them that is not true. Maybe someone will rethink it after reading your blog. Maybe somebody already has.

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Lori Dwyer February 6, 2013 at 12:42 pm

Marie- this comment has been going round and round in my head the last few days. You’ve given me a whole other perspective- thank you xx

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Elise February 1, 2013 at 1:30 am

You would do a disservice not to tell it all. So proud of you

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Lori Dwyer February 2, 2013 at 11:08 pm

Thank you Elise- sometimes, I feel that way, too xx

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Kimberlee f January 31, 2013 at 7:38 pm

Beautifully honest Lori.
Thank you for sharing. You are so right…
All emotions are okay…
Love to you and the kids

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Lori Dwyer February 2, 2013 at 11:07 pm

Thanks Kimberlee xx

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Notwhatiexpected January 31, 2013 at 5:01 pm

My husband attempted suicide a few years back…10 days before our first daughter was due. I was travelling to the hospital not knowing whether he was alive, and yet mentally planning his funeral. When I got there and he was ok, I managed to feel a whole lot in the matter of around an hour. The most powerful of those emotions was hate. Of course I was heartbroken, fearful, guilty, terrified…and just plain murderously enraged. Enraged by the thought that he felt it was better to leave me all alone to raise our child, to be alone, forever. For months following I spent quiet hours alone in my mind staring at my newborn daughter just wondering ‘what if?’. I had to pick up the pieces of our business, our marriage and try to find a relic of our old lives…the before. It was about 2 years after that day that I found your blog. On that day, I sobbed, I screamed, I realised you knew the reality of my ‘what if’. Reading the more recent blogs, I would be lying if I said I wasn’t happy for you that you have reached ‘anger’. You deserve to feel any and every emotion whole heartedly. I hope you find a path to a happier existence via the anger. I had to break myself in order to rebuild, much the same as my husband. I may not ‘know’ you but I ‘feel’ you, more now than ever. Keep feeling, good, bad and ugly you will find the right pieces to make your puzzle. I wish you nothing but clarity in a world of happiness with your two babies.

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Carin January 31, 2013 at 7:45 pm

Wow notwhatiexpected. You have courage. You are much further on in your journey than me, but our stories sound somewhat similar. It’s hard being the one who didn’t try to kill themselves too. Few people get that. But you pulled through, courageously it seems. I admire you.

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Lori Dwyer February 2, 2013 at 11:01 pm

What Carin said- i think she got it perfectly xx

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Notwhatiexpected February 4, 2013 at 9:42 pm

Thank you. It’s 3 years down the road and I have to agree that people don’t understand my journey and how it’s changed me. I’m happy in the knowledge that my husband and I were strong enough in our relationship to survive that day and the fallout. I’m proud to say I fought to get through to him in the aftermath. I’m proud that I was brave enough to yell and scream and feel everything I needed to feel in order to help him, as well as myself. I hope for you both, and anyone else reading your blog Lori, that we can all take a little piece from each other to help ourselves.

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Dorothy @ Singular Insanity January 31, 2013 at 4:29 pm

So understand how you feel.

I remember when Sam started school last year, I was so sad and so furious that his father has caused him to start school with just a mum, while Ben got to have us both there.

Your anger is totally justified and healthy, the guild would make your grief unbearable otherwise.

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Lori Dwyer February 2, 2013 at 11:07 pm

It’s weird isn’t it? I kind of knew the anger was coming… but never expected it to be this intense. xx

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Kirsty Forbes January 31, 2013 at 1:46 pm

I totally understand Lori. How could you NOT hate him. Or be angry at him at the very least. And not for you so much, but for your children. Surely he must of known what him killing himself was going to do? No? Surely it entered his mind that it would absolutely devastate those he left behind no?

Huge hugs to you. And huge hugs to your little man on his first week of school. I’m sure he totally rocked it :)

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Lori Dwyer February 2, 2013 at 11:06 pm

That he did, K- rocked it is exactly the right expression ;) x

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Sharon @ Funken Wagnel January 31, 2013 at 12:17 pm

You have every right to be angry. He chose to have kids with you and the deal was that you’d raise them together. That isn’t how it played out, and how could you not be pissed off? It’s a tough gig.

And whether or not his actions were caused by mental illness, yes, the mentally ill are required to be accountable for their actions too. The fact that he doesn’t have to face any accountability wherever he is right now, would be the part that would really eat at me. The not being able to stand in front of that person and it express it, to monitor their face for remorse, which is so badly needed.

No remorse would help where he is. Nothing could make this right. But the good thing is that your anger is directed squarely in the right place for now. As unhealthy as it probably feels inside, it’s probably the healthiest and most rational way to feel.

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Lori Dwyer February 2, 2013 at 11:04 pm

You always leave the most awesome comments Sharon- thank you xx

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Carin January 31, 2013 at 10:18 am

I hold your hand in hate.
I squeeze your fingers tightly.
My palms sweat furiously with yours.
I seethe and I taste bile and I grind my teeth until they chip with you.
I know I can’t move past hate until I’ve hated the hardest I could ever hate.
I need to hate now.
I don’t know if I will ever be able to stop.
Everyone tells me that hate is a misguided form of love, and that it’s indifference I need to aim for.
Don’t talk to me about love.
Love didn’t even turn back for a fleeting second.
For now, I just hate.
And I thank you.
x

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Lori Dwyer January 31, 2013 at 11:21 am

Carin, that was… beautiful. Can I republish it in a post? I’ll email you :) x

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Carin January 31, 2013 at 11:30 am

Already emailed you. X

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spagsy January 31, 2013 at 10:18 am

You know I was told the same thing in grief counselling. That you still have a relationship, it is just one sided. (refer to email for the rest of this…)

More importantly don’t stop telling his story and giving you both a voice. People need to hear it.
XX rah rah

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Lori Dwyer January 31, 2013 at 11:20 am

Thanks Spags xxxxx

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Woah Molly January 31, 2013 at 9:17 am

You do everyone a service by telling the truth. People don’t just feel one way about things – they feel a million little different ways about everything. Emotions and relationships and memories aren’t simple. If more people talked about it, fewer people would feel guilty about how they feel. So keep on talking about it, always.

x

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Lori Dwyer January 31, 2013 at 11:21 am

And that’s what I needed to hear- you rock Mollykins :) x

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July 2012 – RRSAHM

July 2012

Sin Eaters

by Lori Dwyer on July 31, 2012 · 5 comments

Folklore tells us that ‘sin eaters’ are sourced from the lowest castes of society past– beggars, thieves, bastards, peasants, and probably single mothers and whores as well.

The task of the sin eater was simple– to relinquish the dead of their earthly misdeeds. The family placed water by the corpse of their beloved, bread was broken on their chest, salt sprinkled across their stomach.

The sin eater partakes of the bread and salt, quenches their thirst with the water. Depending on custom, tradition or rumor, sin eaters were paid a pittance, not at all, or took the pennies from the eyes of the deceased as their remittance.

***

Occasionally, I receive an email that haunts me, one that leaves an image that burns my retina like a bright flash.

(Orange rope, blue shirt; green plastic bag, red gas cylinder…)

I never dislike receiving them, never mind reading them. I just try to make sure I’m in a good place when I open them, so I am prepared… I make sure I open them on good days, so the effect they have on my afternoon will be minimal.

I understand… on so many levels, I get it. This is so rare, what I’ve seen, what we’ve been through; and it’s so taboo to be the one left behind, after a suicide. No one speaks about it, it seems. No one except me.

And I find hands reaching for me, constantly seeking me out in this darkness. People who have seen the same. People who have a picture in their mind somewhere, something ugly.

I take thehorrific pictures burned into their mind like shots from a bright camera flash along with my own burning pain and lock them away in place no one else can see. Somewhere where their ugliness won’t spill out and taint the entire world with it’s shrieking trauma, it’s enveloping velvet darkness.

(turn on the light an she’s just there, just ninety centimeters away hanging by her neck and my God she’s been there two days)
Evry comment and every email I get, from every person who reads my stuff, gives me something. Every one adds a tiny piece of happy, a tiny piece of OK, a tiny piece of self esteem… and they all build up to create a finger-knitted barrier of belief in myself. Something that helps me survive when everything else falls down.

But I will admit that some emails make me jealous, when I let myself be… jealous that others have me, where I did not. And instead of being locked up and held tight, my ugly truth was spread all over and everywhere.

It’s not that I’m ashamed of it– I never will be, I don’t think. It’s more a matter of the pity my reality inspires when I see it on the faces of people who know almost kills me some days. It’s the only thing that comes to close to breaking me, ever… seeing the reality of how very difficult this actually must be, in the stark normality of others eyes.

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{ 5 comments }

The Muse Wars- Round Two.

by Lori Dwyer on July 30, 2012 · 3 comments

Last month on RRSAHM saw the return of the Muse Wars. It’s not as violent as it may sound, I promise…

The object of the Muse Wars, originally the brain-baby of Mel at The Things I’d Tell You, is to get your written electricity sparking and encourage everyone to get creative… how many of us are blogging right now, who haven’t written fiction since high school?

If you read that last sentence with a pang of regret for the tales you used to weave in your mind, just to pass time and for the simple fun of it; a happy nostalgia for the way your head used to feel populated with the most interesting kind of characters… this may just be the meme for you.

This Month’s Image.
In the interest of variability and accessibility, I’m making a point of choosing completely random pictures, unrelated in any way… have a pizza.

  

The Muse Wars, Round Two-  The DownLow 

The object of the game is- write a piece of fiction (poetry, short story, song, shopping list, whatever) taking your inspiration from the picture above. (Feel free to copy and paste it into your post.)
 
The experts say modern attention spans last 1000 words, maximum (keep that in mind). Past experience has taught us that it’s easier to play the game if you don’t read other people’s stories first- but the choice is yours.

Publish your piece, return to this post and add your link to list below.
The linky list is open from now until Friday, 24th of August; and if we have fun we’ll play this game with a new image every month.

Share the love– read other entries, leave a comment; grab the button below and paste it somewhere on your blog. If you like, you can have the entire linky list on your blog too.

If you don’t have a blog, you can certainly still play! Either email your story to me for publication on RRSAHM, or you can upload your story here, copy the link and add it the list. And please don’t be shy- email me if you need help with any of the techy stuff.

Anyone can play The Muse Wars and all entries are welcome.
 

Muse Wars- Prescribed For Writers Block and Blog Disillusion

‘);

If you’d like this linky on your own post, grab the code from here….

My own pizza-based (heh) short story coming Wednesday, same jellybean place, same jellybean channel. Stay tuned.

And… happy writing!

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{ 3 comments }

It has been a strange kind of week… wading in salt water, almost buoyant enough to float, but not quite.

Hating myself just a bit. Uncelebrating my third wedding anniversary.

And- just for the Universe to really be a bitch- our cat, Mr Tree, has been missing for five days.

I’m assuming he’s dead.

I’m not surprised.

***

On a slightly (heh) happier note, there are all kinds of giveaways going on around here. There’s still time to order yum cha from Chan’s and win a big arse TV to eat it in front of.

And– in case you forget what your children look like, being so engrossed in Chinese food and 3Dness- the lovely people at Stuck On You have given me a few sets of personalised ID labels to give away.

The Chop and I got to try them out first, just to make sure they stick. And they do. To everything. Pens, pencils, lunchboxes, school bags, drink bottles. Even shoes. They don’t fade, don’t run and can even go in the dishwasher (not the shoes, obviously).

To win one of three Stuck On You 5+ Value Packs personalised with your child’s name, let me know in a comment on this post, what piece of stuff is your child always losing? (And here, it’s socks… anyone would think the children were centipedes)

Dots added for privacy. Heh, again.

The answer that amuses or confuses me the most wins. My decision is final and no discussion will be entered into.

This one’s open to Australian residents only.
 
Entries open Friday 27th July and close midnight (AEST) on Friday 10th August.

The winner will be announced via RRSAHM’s FaceBook page and Twitter feed, and probably in the newsletter as well. Winners will be emailed and have 48 hours to respond to that email with their postal address, or the prize will be redrawn.

Comments must have a valid email address to be included in this competition- I cannot stress this point enough, people. The number of times I pick a winner and have no contact address for them… it makes me sad. If you’re on Blogger, make sure you’re logged in then click this link to set your email address to reply-able. Cheers.

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{ 12 comments }

Sunshine Awards! – RRSAHM

Sunshine Awards!

by Lori Dwyer on February 22, 2010 · 4 comments

Howyadoin’,

It must just be the day- I’ve been very honoured to accept another two blog awards- both of them Sunshine-y awards! And goodness knows we need some sunshine here at the moment, with the Man still hospitalised. The Single Mummy Experiment is onto Day Eleven and starting to look like it might stretch into a whole month. The stats look like this-

Day Eleven.
Frazzle Meter Reading : Low.
Exhaustion Meter Reading: Moderate.
Sexual Frustration Meter Reading: Catastrophic.
Cigarettes Smoked: More then enough.
Times shouted: One or two, perhaps.

Anyway, enough about me. Onto the awards!

First off, thanks to the Starry-Eyed Girl over at Daughter of the Stars for presenting me with this one…
…which I’m going to pass onto my gorgeous friend Sarah over at Just Me. She not only reads and comments on my blog regularly (either her or her secret alter ego- she’s a very busy woman!) but she introduced me to this whole blogging thing, and I do thank her for it, as addictive as it is.

Speaking of Sarah- how’s this for sharing the love?- it was Her Loveliness who presented me with my second award. That’s this one…
…. and as a condition of acceptance, I need to share with you my favorite blogs.

And the winners are….

Really?
Daughter of the Stars
A Study in Contradictions
Kellyansapansa
Tiny Little Reveries

I think I’ll leave it there. Please, ladies, if you’re swamped with awards, tax time, wedding planning or otherwise, don’t feel obliged to accept or respond or whatever you want to call it. Just know that I love your blogs, I look forward to reading your new posts, they inspire me and brighten my day. Sharin’ the love!!

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DaughteroftheStars February 28, 2010 at 7:06 am

How rude of me not to respond to this, so thank you lots, :)

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Kellyansapansa February 26, 2010 at 5:44 pm

Thank you so much!

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Sarah February 23, 2010 at 8:30 pm

Awwwwww thanks Lori :) I'm not sure who to give it to, cos my first choice would be you of course :) Might have to think on it.

And sadly no alter ego… Can you imagine how much I'd get done if I had one?! LOL

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lori February 23, 2010 at 11:19 am

Awww, shucks, Aussie Lori! Tanks alot! I'll pass them along responsibly.

How's yer hubby? Hope all is ok. I tried to email you, but couldn't find your email address.

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The Circus – RRSAHM

The Circus

by Lori Dwyer on February 22, 2013 · 5 comments

I take my children to the circus this weekend, for what I thought was the first time ever. Until I remember that Tony and I took the Chop once a long long time ago, before the Bump was born. I can only just vaguely recall it. The Chop remembers it better than I- it’s him that reminds me, mentioning his dad for the first time in the two weeks since he’s started Big School.

I adore the circus- I always have done. There was very little entertainment in the town where I grew up. The circus was a bi-annual highlight. I love the skill, the music, the colour and sparkles. I love the applause and the laughter. I love the smell of a heavy vinyl tent, buttery popcorn mixed with the faintest whiff of greasepaint.

I think that’s the only thing I miss about going to an animal-free circus, like this one was. Without the heady, fermenting stink of a fantasy barnyard- straw mixed with elephant dung, contrasting against the burnt sugar smell of fairy floss…. It’s not quite the same, not quite as exotic.

That’s OK. The smell is all I miss. I remember, a smoke-like apparition becoming more solid as the Chop mentions our last circus visit. There were one or two performing elephants there last time. A herded handful of sad, dusty, shaggy lions. Watching them slink through a caged entrance to the ring, looking distrusting and p*ssed off and depressed enough to be spiteful… it was just sad. I can still remember their growling, somewhat pathetic and desperate, only just audible under the pumping techno music, the sweltering stage lights of the Big Top.

“Will there be lions at this circus?” asks the Chop, and I tell him no, and explain why- it’s cruel and unnecessary and lions like to be where they can run around and play.

I’m disappointed for him, slightly, but I’m relieved as well. For my kids, for myself, for my conscious. The older I grow the less I am able to stomach the idea of seemingly proud creatures cowed and coerced before cheering, paying crowds.

And a circus is sad enough with exotic animals, really. I don’t know if it’s just me; if a traveling circus simply pings at my romantic, dark side. Maybe it’s a result of those movies I used to watch with my Gran, black and white films filled with melodrama, where beautiful women had knives thrown at their broken heart by the dashing, dark magician they assisted.

It’s possible that was it, the reason seeing a circus performance always left me somewhat pensive as a child, in ways (weltschmertz) I didn’t even understand. But I think the older I am, the more it’s the reality of a circus life that makes me sad, rather than the romanticism of it. I’ve always wanted to run away and join the circus– who hasn’t? It’s all those things I mentioned- the lights and costumes and make up. The excitement. The applause.

But then you look at the reality of it… the constant traveling. The damn hard work. Once I realised, probably in my early teens, that all the performers did double-duty before, during and after the show; working as roustabouts, ticket-takers, riggers and carnies, people-watching became my favorite element of any circus. Spotting who did what while they weren’t in the ring. And pointing it out to my fascinated, wide-eyed son today was all the awesome bits of parenting, rolled into one.

The man who released balls into a turning clown-head game for us was, in fact, the circus clown and an expert at slapstick, at mimed audience participation. The lady who sold us popcorn later appeared on stage with a troupe of trained dogs, much to my daughter’s delight. Twin acrobats showed us to our seats. And the crowd’s roving photographer- who then sold over-exposed family photos for ten dollars a pop at intermission- re-appeared at the end of the show on the Wheel Of Death. Which was one of the damn coolest, scariest circus acts I’ve ever seen.

Our circus photo. Check out the kid photo-bombing us in the background.

Our circus photo. Check out the kid photo-bombing us in the background.

The photos must be a new money-spinner for traveling circuses, introduced with the advent of cheap digital technology. And after watching the amateur photographer perform his day job- skipping with a rope atop a metal cylinder that’s rotating fifty foot high in the air- it was kind of difficult to say ‘no’. Of course. I guess that’s part of that sadness of it, too- with insurance and equipment and training and costumes and travel costs, would this place make a profit at all? Or be just struggling to break even?

I don’t know, and I suppose it doesn’t really matter. My kids- my son especially- loved the circus as much as I do. I watch my emotional little boy closely for signs of that same melancholy that overcomes me at the circus, and see none. Only once does he react, and that’s when a man- a dad, at the show with his wife and two small children- is called up on stage and pleasantly ridiculed by the circus clown.

“I wish that was you, Dad!!” chimes in a little girl in the row behind us… and I feel a wave of sadness and longing roll of my son, who snuggles in closer to my side.

But that’s OK. It’s nothing like the huge, gaping hole of a year ago; when we felt the absence of a fourth person in our family like a missing limb. Today, we did the circus. Just the three of us. And it was fun. It never occurred to me, at any point, that I needed another pair of hands, that it was just too difficult to do this by myself.

We are family, and today we went out like families should.

Just we three. And that’s just fine.

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Miss Pink February 23, 2013 at 7:09 pm

We did the circus too a couple of weekends ago and it was amazing. Some of the stuff the performers do is just amazing!
Miss Pink recently posted…New DirectionsMy Profile

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Mouse February 23, 2013 at 12:15 pm

Been popping into this blog, every month or so, for years now, just to see what’s what.
An enduring impression, is just how much damn staying power you have, Lori. It’s that, that lets you ride out the tantrums, and the “too difficult to do this’s”, and the late night panic attacks in friends’ bathrooms, and and and………so that you can reap the rewards, at times like this, when you can just go out, the three of you, and be a family.
Good on you, Lori. You’re one incredible human being, that’s for sure.

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Fiona February 22, 2013 at 3:47 pm

I am so glad that ther are less and less animals in the circus

xxx

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Sapphyre February 22, 2013 at 2:25 pm

Yes, took my children a couple of times, gotta love the circus!

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Melissa Mitchell February 22, 2013 at 9:18 am

I refuse to take my boys to an animal circus. I have hated them since I was 7 and felt so unbearably sad for the elephant.

But they’ve been. Joel has taken them before.
I’ve not been to any blogs for a couple of weeks. I’m loving your makeover! Gorgeous. <3

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April 2010 – RRSAHM

April 2010

Happy Flogging Friday!

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

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

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

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

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

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{ 16 comments }

This Ain’t No Foodie Blog.

by Lori Dwyer on April 29, 2010 · 17 comments

Returning to our regular programming,

There’s a rumor that the sale of cake mixes increased by humongous amounts once a fresh egg was required for the mix, rather than a mix using dried egg powder. Because it made the Stepford wives feel like they were actually cooking, and not cheating. That rumor is false, according to Snopes. Ner. What a pity. It’s a good one.

But hey, I’m a lazy mix mumma all the way, and it never feels like cheating. I wouldn’t know a home made cake if it came up an sat next to me on the bus. I have made muffins from scratch a few times but the recipe required gratuitous amounts of of canola oil. So I’m not entirely sure they count.

How simple and self satsifying are cake mixes? Many, many easy peasy varieties. Icing and sprinkles and paper cake cases included. Even pre-made icing, if you’re Betty Crocker inclined. Add an egg, a bit of milk, a splash of oil and mix. Most of them you don’t even need an electric mixer for these days, you can use a wooden spoon. Ahh, lazy SAHM-ness at it’s best. No, scrap that. Make that total awesomeness for time poor frazzled mummies. And much easier to make with a toddler  ‘helping’ than multi step scratch cake.

And no one can stuff up a mix cake. Right?

Wrong.

I have a friend, who we will call CourtneyB. AKA Super Mummy. She has two kids under three, yet still manages to show up to playgroup with a delicious batch of baby cakes she just “whipped up that morning”. Baby cakes that look just like the one on the packet mix box. Quite like this.

Picture proudly stolen from White Wings website.
The Chop and I endeavored to make the same cakes just the other day. Ours looked a bit more like this.

*Ahem* 
Oh dear. Somebody call Cake Wrecks. Not only did they not rise, they actually sunk and flattened. The mix was too runny, probably because I got bored and decided it was thick enough after two minutes of stirring. And I just can never get the hang of dropping the mix neatly into tiny cake cases, using two teaspoons like conductor’s batons. It goes everywhere. Hence the burnt and blackened paper cake cases.
The icing was another matter altogether. Maybe I added too much water…? I dunno, but it was runny. Very runny. And lumpy. Just a little lumpy. It’s a good thing the cake cases were burnt like they were. It kept the runny icing in.
The sprinkles, we can totally blame on the Chop. Honest. Unfortunately, I have no one but myself to blame for the uneven icing. See the cupcakes in the front left hand corner, with no icing at all? Hey, it’s difficult to spread or apply or whatever the terminology for icing is when it’s that runny, OK?
Ah, well. They all got eaten, that I can guarantee. I think the most disturbing part of this particular mix cake failure was that the cake mix and icing were both a lurid shake of bright pink, and smelled like strawberry Hubba Bubba. Surely that can’t healthy? The list of numbers on the ingredients panel looked like a phone directory. Whatever.

Foodie blog, this ain’t. But you already knew that. Right?

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{ 17 comments }

Shiny Random Housekeeping Stuff. – RRSAHM

Shiny Random Housekeeping Stuff.

by Lori Dwyer on August 25, 2010 · 7 comments

Mushi mushi,

Just a few random (fancy that!) bits and pieces I thought you all should know. Being the sharing, benevolent spirit that I am.

Firstly, thank you all very much for your support yesterday, and last week as well. You guys are the topsest, you know that? Yuhuh. It means a lot to me.

Secondly, just in case anyone *ahem* happens to be stalking someone, she ain’t here. Mmmmmmmkay? Now please go away. And don’t let the door hit you in the bum on the way out.*

Thirdly (we were up to third, right?), just for the sake of interesting stuff that’s happening in our virtual world, have you heard that Post It Note Tuesday is for sale?! Yes, really. I know. I bet Brenda is spewing she is renting me FYBF for free. I am supah curious to know how much it will go for. I’d bid, but, ya know, the Man would cut off my allowance if I started spending it things that do not actually exist. I get in enough trouble for spending on things that do exist. Like shoes that I don’t wear, but look pretty. Indeed.

Fourthly, the Chop and I are heading off to the Raggs Kids Club Band Live Show next month. You know Raggs, right…? No…? Checks it out.

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oY7emd1ioOA?fs=1]

Cool, huh? Tickets are only eighteen bucks and the show promises to be good- it’s been choreographed by one of my show bizzy friends. And I am only friends with talented people. Which I why I love you lot so much. Awwww. Keep that in mind as we come to the next point.

Fifthly (is that a word? Probably not. Don’t care.) and lastly, you’ve all voted for me, right…? This is the last time I’ll harass you. Promise. But did you know you can vote for more than one blogger? Just not one blogger more than once. If that makes sense. Edit- I actually just went and checked out the votes of the top five bloggers so far. The good news is I only need roughly another 350 votes to get me in to the lead. Awesomeness!!

And I think that’s about it. Housekeeping done! It must be spring time being almost in the air, because I am feeling the need to housekeep just about everything in my life. Except, unfortunately, my house. But I’m sure that will come with time. Right? Right. Or something.

*Don’t worry, I’m not sure what I’m talking about either.
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Sarah August 27, 2010 at 12:22 pm

I may or may not have bid to get PINT onto my blog *ahem*

And yay for Raggs!!! Is it just you & The Chop? We can go in together if you want?

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Thea August 26, 2010 at 12:40 pm

Yes, I did vote for you already!!
Good luck. :)

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Wanderlust August 26, 2010 at 10:22 am

Hey, pssst over here! Okay, leaving now… (they don't call me Wanderlust for nothing)

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skinner675 August 26, 2010 at 6:40 pm

Thanks for the Posdt-It link! Never heard of that one!

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Brenda August 26, 2010 at 4:24 am

Spewing? Me? Nah! Okay, maybe just a tad. Joking. Joking.

You deserve FYBF, Lori. Cuz you *love* it as much as I have loved it.xxx

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Mrs Woog August 26, 2010 at 7:25 am

And you are the most gracious host!

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Eva Gallant August 26, 2010 at 1:26 am

They say housework can kill you; why chance it?

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Full Meal Regression – RRSAHM

Full Meal Regression

by Lori Dwyer on September 4, 2012 · 9 comments

Full meal regression. (adverb; ‘full me–al re–gres–sion’; eg “That spaghetti bolognaise she attempted clearly shows she’s in a state of  full meal regression”)
Definition: The state of one’s cooking and meal delivery skills when in rapid decline.

***

It’s hardly a well kept secret– I think we may have covered it a few times before– cooking is not my strongest skill.

In fact, not only do I not enjoy cooking, I completely suck at it. When my husband was alive, I actually used to put some effort into creating meals for him and the kidlets that were reasonably healthy, reasonable economical, reasonably easy and sometimes even tasted reasonably edible. Fats forward to now and… well…

The night of my husbands funeral (those with particularly sensitive sensibilities, cover your ears, please) I declared in all seriousness to a friend of mine that I was never, ever, ever cooking a roast dinner ever again; be it beef, chicken, pork or lamb.

So far, so good. Let’s face it, the act of not cooking is not the most difficult goal to obtain.

If we could just leave it at that, we’d all be happy. Me, especially. But my children having this annoying habit of wanting to be fed every bleeping evening right about six o’clock. And after eighteen months of sandwiches, oven chips, microwave pasta and homemade Lebanese bread pizza for dinner… maybe it’s time I began cooking again.

The universe seems to approve of this idea because some new Maggi stuff arrives in the letterbox within the week. In my life Before, I felt it was one of my duties as a full time housewife and mum to avoid ‘packet mixes’ at all costs and deliriums. I cooked everything I could from scratch.

But that was Before. When I was up one set of hands, a whole lot more patience and dose less trauma. In the After, I am the person the packet mix was invented for– I have a family to feed and far more important things to do than cook.

And the less washing up, the better.

So bring on the Maggi One Pan range. They also included a pack of their new So Crispy schnitzel coating. And everyone loves a schnitzel. (Randomly, we were playing #SchnitzelAsASwearWord on Twitter a few weeks back. Try it. You’ll be amazed at what a brilliant curse substitute ’schnitzel’ actually is. Mother schnitzels.)

Considering I was cooking a grown up meal I figured I may as well have some grown ups round to share it with. And, you know, do most of the cooking for me. My mates Kristabelle and Pete the Chef were more than happy to oblige. (Kristabelle and Pete the Chef live nearby in a tiny sandstone house named the Daisy Cottage. It’s become somewhat of a sanctuary for me in these last few weeks of winter.)

The first question Pete the Chef asked was whether or not I happened to have any carrots, broccoli or shallots. I told him that if he wished to desecrate my kitchen with such evil, complicated vegetables, then he needed to bring his own.

Pete the Chef’s One Pan, one hand flipping awesomeness.

Which he did. There is something to be said for One Pan awesomeness. You basically take your packet, and add whatever you’ve got. Veggies (complicated or not), meat (beef or chicken or… whatever. I’m sure there are either types, I just don’t eat them very often. Or, for that matter, on purpose) and then your noodles, rice or pasta. Cook it all in the one pan, as the name suggests, and watch the flavors infuse. Yum.

While I did have meat in my freezer (probably chicken) it was most probably frost bitten, so Kristabelle and Pete the Chef swung by to pick some up from the local supermarket one their way. And guess what was on special…?

That’s right… chicken.

Long story, short– One Pan Chinese Beef Stir Fry with chicken instead of beef and hokkein noodles actually stir fried and flipped itself (with the help of Pete the Chef) into a total win. The whole procedure was declared ‘seriously easy’ and quite tasty. And that’s from an actual, real chef (as Pete the Chef’s suggests, no?). As promised– one pan. Add two chopping boards, a couple of knives and a few stirrer–thingies; and consider the dishwasher stacked.

Maggi One Pan Chinese Beef Stir Fry. With chicken.

The Chicken Schnitzel Coating mix was officially designated as dinner for the kidlets. My kids– especially the Chop– are, sadly, just as fussy as I am. And, like me, the best way to get them to eat anything at all is in nugget form. Chicken schnitzel nuggets with good old fashioned BBQ sauce? Nom nom. And when they are super crispy, cooked in the oven without a smidgen of oil- that’s called ‘guilt free child chow.’

My main problem with cooking dinners has always been that the time s
pent in preparation– which I really don’t like, especially any raw chicken factor– is inversely proportioned to the time spent enjoying the meal. The dreaded roast dinner, for example, takes a good two hours to prep and cook. And no longer than twenty minutes to eat. Add the forty five minutes (minimum, dishwasher inclusive) cleanup time, and, mathematically, cooking dinner becomes a waste of time.

I think, on that note, it’s safe to declare dinner in One Pan, and about half an hour, a success. I’m not promising it will become a habit. But it certainly makes everyday cooking an option.

*As I’m sure you already guessed by now, this post is sponsored by Nuffnang.

I’ve got 25 Maggi One Pan and So Crispy packets for some RRSAHM readers to try- Fill out the form here and tell me- how many pans do you use, on average, to cook one family meal…?You can check out the t’s and c’s here, and entries close Sunday 9th September.

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Marianne Arensmeyer September 6, 2012 at 10:33 pm

You need a crock pot. I know you have an aversion to the roast meal…but what if you could conquer and reclaim? I don't know if crock pots are something primarily used in the South here in the US or what…but if they're available down y'all's way, get one.
Then you take your meat (I'm partial to a beef rump roast) and put it in. peel and quarter an onion, put it in. Get some fingerling potatoes and baby carrots and toss those in. Then take a pack of au jus seasoning and mix into some water and pour over. Add more water 'til everything is covered. Walk away. Come back 8 hours later…done. Meat and veggies and one thing to clean.
Left-overs can be chopped up, add a package of frozen mixed veggies and a can of stewed tomatoes, and a Tablespoon of Italian seasoning and thrown back in the crock pot the next day for vegetable beef stew.
I know you work from home, but crockpot days are my favorite since dinner is ready when I walk in the door after a long day at work.

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Sapphyre September 5, 2012 at 10:37 am

Lori you are not alone in giving up cooking from scratch.

I used to like cooking before life became such a juggling act. But this sounded easy & yummy.

I try to avoid pans completely. I use the George Foreman to grill something with crumbs on it and the oven to fry potato gems to go with it… or I buy fried rice and/or microwave steamed rice (one of those 90s things).

My meals are all frozen microwave things.

When I make hot dogs, I boil them in one pot, when I'm really short on time I wrap them in glad wrap and microwave them.

I do make spaghetti, like Cassondra. That requires a pot for the spaghetti, and a pot in which I brown the mince, throw in some beef stock and the pasta sauce. Does this count as actually cooking? I think not. I've tried to make it with different brand/type of sauce, then the buggers won't eat it.

Don't even waste the stirfry pack on me (I'm off sugar and no one else will eat it, well maybe DH), but I'll give the schnitzel stuff a go :)

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Cassondra September 5, 2012 at 4:11 am

Two. One is for the pasta, that's really more of a pot than a pan but whatever. The other is for everything that goes on top of the pasta.

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Meri September 4, 2012 at 10:53 pm

Im with you :)
I need roughly 4 million pans, spoons, tongs and other assorten kitchen gadgets. I love cooking and relish the mess thats made at the end. Even if I have then to clean it up.
No entry for me either – just commenting:)

Love the idea of the nuggets for the kiddlets.

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Miss Pink September 4, 2012 at 5:52 pm

Three is a good night, but up to five, and this is just the stuff that cooks/heats the food.
To own a dishwasher and not have to dry up as you wash up because not everything fits would be a DREAM.

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Karyn September 4, 2012 at 2:37 pm

Oh gosh. Way too many pans!

I usually use 1 pan – I don't have a stove, so it's the electric frypan. However .. I also use the rice cooker, and around 2-3 microwave bowls …

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Tara @ Our Whirlwind Adventures September 5, 2012 at 12:31 am

Hubby's been cooking since the night I managed to cook my hand while attempting to cook rissoles about three months ago.
I'm the designated dishwasher and he uses every bloody dish in the house.
He got me a set of pots and pans for Mother's Day, and I wash them everynight. Even if we have takeaway.
Makes no sense!?

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Bri September 4, 2012 at 2:16 pm

I don't use any pans. I make someone else use them. I f*cking hate cooking.

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woahmolly.com September 4, 2012 at 8:48 am

(No entry for me, I'm one of those bloody vegetarians, but I generally use about eight million bowls and pans per cooking event – yep when I cook it's an event – and I have this weird habit of not being able to use a spoon for more than one thing before I chuck it in the wash and get another one.)

I go through ebbs and floods of cooking. Sometimes I just want to create culinary art, sometimes all I can be bothered with is lebanese bread pizza (though it's really tasty so it's no big loss.)

Good luck on adventuring back into cooking – it CAN be fun soemtimes, trust me. Even though it's often lots of work and even more washing up.

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If Shakespeare Used Emoticons… – RRSAHM

If Shakespeare Used Emoticons…

by Lori Dwyer on May 14, 2010 · 0 comments

…. he’d totally be laughing at my guest post on Sarah’s blog.

What? Really.

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boobies

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Burlesque and Some BodyLove.

by Lori Dwyer on May 8, 2013 · 9 comments

This month’s RedBalloon mission was quite exciting but slightly intimidating. Four one hour burlesque classes in Sydney, taught by a real live burlesque performer who goes by the name of Satin Spitfire.

Satin is hot. Not to mention crass, funny, loud, sweet, accepting and inclusive, and about a million other kinds of awesome. The class was small, the dance moves relatively easy, and the music loud and sexy.

The idea of burlesque dancing is so appealing to the lush, heady side of creativity. It’s all sparkles and glitter, velvet and feather boas, champagne and sex, and something inherently feminine and powerful. It’s so commonly confused with stripping, but getting naked is not the point. It’s all about the tease.

While certainly not enough to turn me into any kind of sexy, sensual performer (a la Ms Spitfire); four one hour-long classes were just enough to get a taste of what burlesque is like; an introduction to the ins and outs of the theory, attitude and basic moves behind it. There is absolutely no experience necessary- the first class begins with the very basics of a ‘burlesque walk’ and choosing a stage name. Going with my theme, I am now officially (kinda) known as Lilly Bean (like jellybean, only…. not?).

Out of the class of five, only one of us had any prior exposure, having done pole dancing and been to quite a few live burlesque shows. She even had a kick-arse pair of stripper heels to wear. Along with comfy clothes and drinking water, ‘high heels and lippy’ are essential requirements for burlesque classes. I, of course, wore my favorite black and white heels. And when it came to Week Three- Tassle Twirling- I was delighted to discover Satin had a pair of black and white pasties for me to borrow.

Pasties, in case you’re wondering, are the things worn to completely cover your areola and nipples, to which your tassels are attached. You can either tape or glue them on. We played with a stack of props, including gloves and fans and feather boas. And there was no pressure to undress- the option to wear your pasties over bras or even a shirt was there. All but one of us stripped off anyway.

By popular request... a pastie photo. Ta-da!!

By popular request… a pastie photo. Ta-da!!

Just for the record- I suck at tassle twirling. The objective is to get your tassles to spin, just by shimmying your shoulders. Despite being assured that boob size and shape makes no difference, and everyone can twirl… I really don’t think my boobs are big enough. I did get some twirling happening, but only by putting my arms straight up in the air and jumping up and down. And I’m not sure that’s sexy.

Having put on a bit of weight recently, the timing for this one was perfect. I badly needed some self esteem boosting and body love, and this was perfect. All sizes and shapes are celebrated in burlesque. The vibe of the class was lovely- there was no judgement here; no bitchy poking and snarking about weight and lumps and bumps. The instructor was easily a size sixteen, and she was one of the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen. There was something confronting about feeling like a veritable stick figure, and not at all desirable. It was probably a good thing that I found myself looking sexier and slightly fuller-figured as the months worth of classes ran on, and appreciating what curves I do have.

As much as I hate to disappoint you all… I don’t think I’ll be making the transition to burlesque performing any time soon. I’d have to do a lot of work on twirling first. But I highly recommend burlesque classes. They’re a work out- you’ll leave sweating- but the moves are relatively easy. It’s the attitude that takes time to perfect.

And in terms of body love- this has been one of the most positive experiences I’ve ever had. I left every week loving my body, feeling sexy and womanly. And given those ten kilos I’ve quite comfortably put on, that’s been exactly what I needed.

***

As we’ve discussed, sometimes Mother’s Day just sucks. Do yourself a huge favour and invest in some burlesque body love, for you or someone else, this Mum’s Day. Red Balloon gift vouchers are available here.

Red Balloon Blogger

Thanks to the team at Digital Parents  Collective for inviting me to be a part of the RedBalloon Experience Program. Stay tuned- more awesomeness over the next few months. As always, all opinions are my own (because no one else would want them…?) however the experiences are complimentary.
And, just for jellbeans, there’s a special offer for RRSAHM readers- Spend $129 or more on any RedBalloon experience, and receive $30 off.
To redeem: Visit www.redballoon.com.au and enter the promo code
REDMUM06 at the checkout to receive your discount.
Terms and Conditions: Offer valid until 31/12/13. Promotional Code can
only be used once per person. All purchases are subject to Red Balloon T’s and C’s.

{ 9 comments }

A Prayer For My Daughter.

by Lori Dwyer on February 27, 2013 · 8 comments

Unashamedly inspired by Tina Fey’s prayer for her daughter. She did it better.

 ***

A quick, quiet prayer to whoever may be in charge, regarding my sweet, fairy daughter. If it be within the keeping of your (admittedly skewed) sense of humor…

May my darling little girl always keep her uniqueness, her sweetness, her sense of humor. She may need it.

May she know that, no matter what, she is loved by a great deal of people; and will undoubtedly be loved by many, many more people over her lifetime. And if everyone else seems to have failed; I hope she will know that she always, always has me.

Allow her to be teased, bullied and left out, but only once or twice; just enough to grant her empathy and convince her never to hurt someone else like that. When it happens, may she have enough of those people who love her unconditionally around to break the humiliating impact.

May she feel the simple platonic pleasure of being mates with members of the opposite sex. Let her know, every know and then, how it feels to be ‘one of the boys’, so she might respect them and demand the same in return.

Let her know herself enough that she is able to find interest and hobbies she is passionate in. Let her know, through some divine intervention, that high school, homework and final exams are not the end of the world- six months after her eighteenth birthday they will probably seem insignificant, anyway.

May she be at ease with her body, know herself and how she works; and never think of herself as shameful or dirty or unpleasant. Allow her to know the decadence of food, untainted and untouched by belief her body is not perfect as it has been made.

May she fall in love, hard and fast and blissfully, at least twice. And may the first time break her heart, shatter it to pieces… much as that hurts to ask for. But allow her that so that, the second time, she appreciates and understands what it is to love someone and be loved in return.

Give her the ability to appreciate simple pleasures that come with being female. Allow her to feel the simple fancies of lipstick and high heels, having her hair done and dancing, dressing beautifully and batting her eyelids. Let her enjoy the ripe pleasure of sex. But give her control over herself, and make her at least a little aware of how awesome she is, so she avoids doing the same silly things that I did.

May she be blessed with children, should she want them. May the conception be without the heartbreak of infertility, and childbirth as fast and pleasant as her own entry into the world was.

Give her the blessing of female friendships, of sleep-overs and coffees and play dates- give her sisters in other women that she will not have by blood.

Let her work hard enough that she knows what hard work is; but never to, nor for, desperation. May she find a job where every day is an adventure, where her mind feels stretched and her comfort zones questioned.

Let her live, completely and fully- taste things, feel things, smell things, see things. May her life be peppered with experiences, with happiness and sadness and realities and laughter.  If she is afraid then allow her the strength to see through that and do the things she wants to do anyway. May she see every day as something new, every road as a possibility.

And when things do go wrong- when she loses her favorite toy; when she misses out on something she really wanted; when her best friend hangs out with someone else; when that first love breaks her heart or the pregnancy test comes back positive; or her own daughter won’t stop screaming at her for something undetermined…

May she known that I have been there, done that; and even if she never, ever wants to admit it, I kind of understand. And may she not hesitate to come to me. Without guilt or fear of judgement, though no doubt she will have them.

But may she know that whatever she confesses to, whatever the problem may be; I will always, always love her, and never turn away.

And may she know that’s because she’s beautiful, inside and out. And even if she wasn’t, I hope she knows that I would still be there, anyway. Because that just what mothers are for.

{ 8 comments }

Eat

by Lori Dwyer on January 16, 2013 · 4 comments

I get a stack of PR emails. Most are awesome. Some are not. The one I received recently titled something along the lines of  “How To Look Hot After Birth” was most definitely in the ‘not awesome’ category.My response, as seen on Twitter, went as thus.

Click image to embiggen.

And obviously, I was quite smug and happy with my response, yes… thanks for asking.

But it bitches at me in the most unpleasant way that, for every response such as mine, and for every twenty other people who received this email, rolled their eyes and moved on… there is probably at least one woman who didn’t.

At least one woman who didn’t dismiss it and return to thinking about more important things than looking ‘hot’ or ‘sexy’ or ‘reclaiming a pre–pregnancy figure!’.

For every one of us who hears sentiments like those and feels a bit disgusted, a bit cheated out of the ripeness that should be a feminine birth right; there is at least one new mum who feels fat and inadequate.

For every grown woman who views her body as a soft place, a miracle, a playground; there is a teenage girl who’s convinced, positive, that her bum is huge and life would be better if she were just that bit prettier, if her hair was that bit longer.

For every handful of us who find ourselves angry at such irresponsible, un-sisterly bullsh*t; there is at least one media outlet– social or mainstream– who has taken this PR approach on, who is promoting it, who is saying it’s a good idea to fill the heads of a million impressionable minds- male and female- with this crap. At least one publication who’s allowing this kind of unhealthy, detrimental pressure and focus to continue to seep into the spot where women are most vulnerable, where insecurities lay stagnant in dark crevices of the soul.

And I know (thanks, those in the peanut gallery– shut up already, this is my show), that by addressing it here I’m quite possibly giving it a voice, giving this platform attention it certainly doesn’t warrant.

But if I have a voice here, the let me use it. And if for nothing else, then let it be to ensure, every now and then, that things like this don’t seep into the female psyche so… quietly.

If this idea is to be presented to us as valid, then let there at least be a voice that speaks otherwise.

And so, to every woman reading this, to the mothers who are and who will be, to the grandmothers, aunts, best friends and cheer squads, to the millions of my sisters around me who bear the weight of being female, who feel all the weight of the immortal responsibilities of reproducing, nourishing and rearing, to you; let me say this…

Eat.

Eat… gloriously. In health, and good fortune, in company and pleasure. For sustenance and growth, for love and pleasure.

There is no hunger that compares to the famishment of a new mother, her body shell-shocked, tired arms cradling a baby freshly birthed. All energy has been spent, used, burnt– labour, birth, the body pulsing and recovering, retaining shape slowly like strong tempered rubber, producing food perfectly weighted and optimally nutritious. There is no meal that tastes as good as the first you eat following childbirth, no hunger that could possibly be so demanding nor so satisfying when satiated.

Babies eat and suck and chew calories from their mothers, swallow kilojoules in slurping breaths, literally and figuratively sucking your life away. Mother’s milk, enough to sustain life. Compound the exhaustion of constant waking, continual watching, always worrying. Then babies grow to toddlers and they move, fast and unpredictable, with you the only one to catch them and still their tiny feet. You the only one who’s energy is eaten and resources drained by the constant thought processes, the constant re-prioritizing that’s required to keep up with hundreds of questions, the mental fog of attempting to stay one step ahead and quench that frantic curiosity, that intense drive of seeing, doing, thinking, being; a constant sponging of information from the world.

And toddlers, eventually, they become children. And still it’s hard work, still it’s constant. Playing, running, making, hugging, cleaning, building, doing. It feels as though it’s been five years since I sat down, relaxed and put my feet up… maybe it has been.

Being a mum– being a woman, in general, I believe– it requires energy untold. I’m always tired, always slightly shabby. My body always feels as though it needs that little bit extra nourishment, something that bit more to get me through. As though it needs a big cuddle and warm blanket, a bad rom-com on DVD and a big plate of soft lasagna, with hot chocolate and marshmallows to follow.

There is, so they say, three guaranteed pleasures in the human existence– sex, sleep and food. Primal, tribal, biological…. urges that cannot be ignored.

So I say, mothers, ladies of all ages and denominations… let us eat. Let us eat breakfasts and brunches, lunches and suppers, dinners and teas and snacks and midnight feasts by fridge light. Let us eat food real and rich, cooked and raw, prepared or thrown together, freshly cooked or lukewarm and waiting for hours. Munch, nibble, graze, chew, masticate, relish, swallow and suckle; dine, pig, nourish, gorge, pick, fuss and tuck in. Eat real food, and enjoy every mouthful. Taint it not, for today, for right now, with weight and calories and peer pressure and pairs of size-eight jeans.

Just eat, the way you did as a child– ripe peaches held with both hands over a scratched stainless steel sink, flesh stuck between teeth and juice flowing down china, streaking the backs of forearms and pooling tangy iridescent on elbows. Sticks of fairy floss bigger than your head that leave sticky pink spiderwebs strung between your fingers. Mangoes eaten in bathtubs filled with tepid water at the humid height of a bushfire summer.

If you are, or plan to, or have been providing with every piece of yourself in order to nourish a new life on this planet; recognize the divine in that, and worship that divinity with the pleasure of food, eaten messily and hungrily and without care of who’s watching on, in the sunshine of the altar of life.

No mother needs to ‘look hot after birth’. Especially not by starving herself, by punishing herself with exercise that’s excessive to the detriment of herself and her child.

Nurture yourselves, ourselves.

Be kind to ourselves, and one another.

Being ‘hot’ is such a relative concept. As is being ‘healthy’.

But beauty comes from within.

And so I say- ladies, women, sisters… eat.

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{ 4 comments }

Eep. – RRSAHM

Eep.

by Lori Dwyer on July 31, 2013 · 12 comments

Finding a house to rent in Melbourne turned out to be much easier than anticipated. Which is great, but also… well, it’s pushed my timeline forward by a least a week or two.

After the filling out of many forms, and providing enough documentation for someone to steal my identity, the Most Amazing Man in The Universe and I were approved for a house on our very first try.

Which is awesome. And terrifying. And awesome…. and terrifying. (I’m still not sure which. Both at once, perhaps). The reality of what I’m about to do has suddenly kicked in. I’m kind of dumbstruck by the massiveness of the task ahead.

I’m nowhere near organised enough to do this kind of thing. I’m not sure my kids, nor myself, are prepared for having the people we love living so far away.

I keep reminding myself… this is an adventure. We will be fine.

We have to be. Hopefully, we’re moving on August 24th. That’s just 24 short days away.

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{ 12 comments… read them below or add one }

Emily August 1, 2013 at 9:37 pm

24 days! Easy. No sweat. (Gulp.)

Chookas for a smooth move!
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Anne August 1, 2013 at 11:32 am

It’s my birthday… I will say a sweet thoughtful prayerful offering for you on that day!

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Brenda August 1, 2013 at 10:29 am

That’s my birthday, and nothing terrible happens on my birthday! Good Luck with the move, I feel like it’s the best thing ever for you guys. Enjoy Melbourne, I’m a bit jealous!

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Miss Pink July 31, 2013 at 8:49 pm

You can do this! Just start now by packing up all that you can, anything going into storage that you don’t need, move it into a space so you can focus on going through what you need or want with you. Everyone will still be here to visit, and will visit you guys! So happy that finding a house worked out smoothly for you guys. A sign maybe?

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Josefa @always Josefa July 31, 2013 at 4:48 pm

Well that is exciting news! Welcome to the neighborhood! and you are going to be more than fine, you are going to be awesome x
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Lori Dwyer July 31, 2013 at 7:02 pm

Thanks so much Josefa! I’m taking deep breaths.. ;) xx
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Tina July 31, 2013 at 4:26 pm

We’re going to miss you up here, love. But I’m SO excited for you. What an adventure! x
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Dannie (A Dose of Dannie) July 31, 2013 at 4:20 pm

Woo hoo! Thats so awesome .
Looking forward to a catch up soon x

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Melissa July 31, 2013 at 4:20 pm

I’m in Narre warren if you need help with unpacking or taking kids or park dates or play dates or trackies on the lounge while the kids enjoy destroying my house days or whatever the heck you want :)

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Dorothy July 31, 2013 at 4:03 pm

Big excitement! And moving sucks. Hope it all goes smoothly for you. If you can afford it, I could highly recommend getting someone in to help you pack. Just don’t let them unpack, or you’ll never find anything ever again.
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Wanderlust July 31, 2013 at 12:58 pm

This is an adventure. You will be fine! :)
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Toushka July 31, 2013 at 12:48 pm

Awesome news!!!
Congrats. Hope the move goes smoothly. See you in August!!!

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