Monthly Archives: May 2016
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: The Finger
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: F*ck.
Not Quite A Porno. – RRSAHM
Not Quite A Porno.
A few weeks before I left the TinyTrainHouse, Ambi Pur was nice enough to send me their Ambi Pur Home Transformation Squad for the day. Being slightly scatterbrained as I am, I actually forgot to write it up on my blog until… well… now.
Sorry about that, Ambi Pur. I do realise that whatever point you were trying to make is probably no longer relevant or measurable. But it was pretty damn awesome, so I will tell my readers about it anyway.
It was just like a porno. Only not.
The storyline was about right. Young, bored housewife is surfing Reddit one weekday morning. A trio of male cleaners appear at the door. They are all a bit spunky, dressed in jeans and leather jackets, and white Ambi Pur t–shirts. They present the young housewife with a huge, dazzling bouquet of flowers.
And that’s when things get really debaucherous. Using their long, unwieldy hoses and high pressured spray guns, the three men lunge into action…
And proceed to clean the entirety of the bored young woman’s house. From top to bottom. And leave it smelling sweet and fresh and delightful.
As I said, just like porn, only not. Alternative pornography, for time-poor women everywhere. A fantasy come true- three guys, literally cleaning your house (not a euphemism), all day long.
Previous post: Father’s Day.
Next post: Urban Bliss.
Not Quite A Porno. – RRSAHM
Not Quite A Porno.
A few weeks before I left the TinyTrainHouse, Ambi Pur was nice enough to send me their Ambi Pur Home Transformation Squad for the day. Being slightly scatterbrained as I am, I actually forgot to write it up on my blog until… well… now.
Sorry about that, Ambi Pur. I do realise that whatever point you were trying to make is probably no longer relevant or measurable. But it was pretty damn awesome, so I will tell my readers about it anyway.
It was just like a porno. Only not.
The storyline was about right. Young, bored housewife is surfing Reddit one weekday morning. A trio of male cleaners appear at the door. They are all a bit spunky, dressed in jeans and leather jackets, and white Ambi Pur t–shirts. They present the young housewife with a huge, dazzling bouquet of flowers.
And that’s when things get really debaucherous. Using their long, unwieldy hoses and high pressured spray guns, the three men lunge into action…
And proceed to clean the entirety of the bored young woman’s house. From top to bottom. And leave it smelling sweet and fresh and delightful.
As I said, just like porn, only not. Alternative pornography, for time-poor women everywhere. A fantasy come true- three guys, literally cleaning your house (not a euphemism), all day long.
Leave a Comment
{ 9 comments… read them below or add one }
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September 9, 2013 at 10:10 am -
OMG
I *so* want this. Like, really. How on earth do I get these delectable delights? -
September 6, 2013 at 11:01 pm -
Close enough for me but better
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September 6, 2013 at 7:47 pm -
Aww man, how do I get them at my house??
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September 6, 2013 at 7:36 pm -
Nothing sexier than a man cleaning your house! ‘Can I come home and wash your dishes’ is such a winning pick-up line!
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September 6, 2013 at 1:59 pm -
Oh that actually sounds better than sex right now. I’d love to have a clean house!
Lori recently posted…Keepin’ Calm and Fraggin’ On
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September 6, 2013 at 1:54 pm -
Oh yeah! Get those bits of fluff under the couch! Faster, deeper! haha
Sheri Bomb recently posted…It’s Time To Brooch The Subject -
September 6, 2013 at 9:18 am -
Oh, baby. A clean house really gets my engine revving.
Ha!
(No, but really. The foreplay could be my special man or lady friend doing the dishes, or mopping the floors. By the time it’s done? READY TO GO!)
Whoa, Molly! recently posted…Don’t Forget To Read! -
September 6, 2013 at 7:41 am -
This made me bahaha out loud. I just got this vision of you being… And doing the shimmy….
Spag recently posted…Happy Mess -
September 6, 2013 at 1:27 am -
Sounds like my idea of a fantasy come true!
Marianne recently posted…Zombie flesh vs cat poop
Previous post: Father’s Day.
Next post: Urban Bliss.
New Year's Eve. 2012. – RRSAHM
New Year’s Eve. 2012.
(Hey jellybeans– Happy New Year. If you’ve been wondering where on Earth I have been… I took an impromptu holiday, otherwise known as #FuckOffAndRunAwayWeek. Read on.)
***
“’I don’t like walking around this old and empty house…’
’So hold my hand, I’ll walk with you my dear.’
The stairs creep, I should sleep, it’s keeping me awake.’
’It’s the house telling you to close your eyes.’
’Some days I can’t even trust myself.’
’It’s killing me to see you this way…’
’There’s an old voice in my head that’s holding me back.’
’Well, tell her that I miss our little talks…’”
I get to the point where I think I may just lose my mind. Where I go through motions, day after day, hours slipping through fingers as if they were ashes. Each day an accumulation of nothing much. I’m in a fog… it’s easier. Because I am exhausted. When you’ve examined your own mind so much that there just isn’t any stones left to turn over… what do you do then?
I need to get the f*ck out of here. Yesterday would have been too soon.
So, the way I do every now and then… I run.
It doesn’t really matter where, just as long as it’s not here. I book a flight to Melbourne, harass the Melbournians on Twitter until someone offers me a place to stay. I give myself twenty fours hours between when I book my ticket, and when my plane takes off… a ridiculous timeframe, really, not nearly enough minutes to squeeze in the things I need to do.
And I do not care. My house is disgustingly filthy. There are so many clothes piled up, waiting to be washed, that it’s much too much of a task to even begin and I resort to ruffling and rack using through a heaving basket of limp, warm clothes, pulling out only those things we will desperately, definitely need; I was them on the quickest cycle possible and wash and throw them in the clothes dryer despite the sunny humidity of the morning sun. My heartbeat repeats to me that I am ’selfish, selfish, selfish’, and I think that’s probably true. But what other way is there to be, when concept of a good mother is so far in my rear view I can’t even remember what it looks like anymore? When I’ve forgotten how to do this life-thing somewhere amongst the stealth, sneaky, silent months of a Christmas that didn’t feel like one at all? (”There are not enough presents”, I think to myself as I elf in the middle of the night. My wrapping duties once took days upon days and decades of wrapping paper… There are less people to gift, every year, and I’m not sure that’s a good thing at all.) A January, a new year, a tipping point that has crept it’s hands around the base of neck, thick wrists resting on my collarbone like a bad dream that’s just waiting for me fall asleep…?
I tell myself it’s for the good of everyone, running away when I need to… but the further I go into the After, the more that feels like an easy cop–out, a simplified excuse. Do I really still need to do this, let pressure off by acting like I’m sixteen again and running away from all my responsibilities? Or is it just that I enjoy it so much I’m happy to take it as a Get Out Of Jail Free card whenever I can, to the detriment of my kids and those people who are left picking up the slack of child–wrangling I’ve left behind?
I don’t know. But my children… they are sucking the very life from me. And I just cannot replenish it quickly enough.
I need to get the f*ck out of here.
***
Every time I go to Melbourne, I meet people I feel like I already know. I never really want to leave, never want to come home. In some parallel universe, I’ve been living there for years, basking daily in the people, greedily soaking up the infinite energy of the city.
In this Real Life, I eat and laugh and sleep and smile, listen to music and watch movies. I spend an afternoon wandering the Queen Victoria Markets by myself, watching people and just feeling… like myself. It’s been a twisted scarlet ribbon of time since I’ve felt like just me, and been happy and contented with being in my own skin, as opposed to trapped and ready to jump out of it.
***
I fly home again the night before New Years Eve, suddenly stricken with a funny woebegone homesickness for my own space.
I’m not sure how, but I’d forgotten what a f*cking disgusting my own space was. I begin to clean, to rearrange and resettle the house after the influx of new Christmas toys, the fluster of the Christmas tree. I complete tasks I’ve been procrastinating over for months… I even climb the small wooden ladder to the top shelf of my wardrobe and open Pandora’s Box. It’s a box of things from the Purple Before, and I can’t describe it’s contents to you, because I dared not look. I open the lid enough to put two things inside– photographs I’ve taken down from the walls because I just can’t walk past them every day anymore, and the baby blanket I bought the Bump home from the hospital in.
It’s as if there’s some venomous snake (rope) uncoiling itself within… I close the box with a snap, lest it bite me.
I spend New Years Eve and most of New Years Day Japanese–style, cleaning my house from top to bottom. Bunny refers to it as a ‘life clean’. Really, that seems to be the best phrase for it.
***
There are layers of shed shrouds around me, or so it feels– they whisper off my shoulders like ghosts, skimming away so silently I never even see it happen.
Leave a Comment
{ 14 comments… read them below or add one }
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March 27, 2013 at 7:26 pm -
Aaah, fukkemall!
Griff recently posted…Some FNQ Images Again -
January 8, 2013 at 9:14 am -
Thinks Anonymous should grow up and not post as anonymous. Back your words you said them and should stand by them by showing how you are.
I to crave get the fuck out of here days, I honestly don't think their is a mother or father for that matter who does not wish for one. I love my four children to bits but I also know when I need time out and I take it and there is nothing wrong with it.
- January 4, 2013 at 9:14 am
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This comment has been removed by the author.
- January 4, 2013 at 9:14 am
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Hello lovely Lori – I have been a long time lurker here, but never commented
I have followed you from the Before and through the After – crying with you and for you through your pain, and rejoicing every small step towards healing you have made. For idiot anonymous above to compare being a single mum to being a single mum who has endured your journey is nothing short of absolutely laughable – don't ever feel bad for doing what you need to!! In fact, next time you feel like buggering off to Victoria, feel free to come stay with me here in Ocean Grove! You can take my bike along the Bellarine Rail trail, or take the roof off my car and go cruising down the coast looking for places to explore Offer is always there, and 100% real xxLisa
- January 3, 2013 at 1:59 pm
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Anonymous, you're a fuckstick.
- January 3, 2013 at 6:56 am
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I know that no matter what now the only comment that's going to stick with you is the one from someone anonymous, because it's echoing your fears and the voice in your head that hates and hurts.
But it's not the one you should remember.
Put it in balance with four other people in the same moment who were moved enough by love for you to comment, for one who was moved by her own struggle to wish she was able to get out.
Whatever else you have *earned* your support system. When you reach breaking point, you have people who understand and will pick up that slack, because you didn't just wall yourself off when things got bad. You didn't take the easiest route, which is to stop talking to anyone, to spend all day in bed unable to move, leaving the kids watching tv.
And I know this, because I have been that Mum. The one who got so far down she couldn't move. Who hadn't made enough effort to keep up her friendships, who hadn't reached out when it was hard, and when it got to breaking there was nobody to reach for.
You earned your support network, by taking risks and showing your vulnerabilities and always being as honest as you could be, even when it meant tears streaming.
You are still here. You are still trying. And hell, now your house is clean. I'd count that as a fucking big win for the new year.
When you tell truths you leave yourself vulnerable for people to stab you in the stomach. And they will do that, without even letting you see their face.
If they aren't strong enough to even look you in the eye while they do it, they aren't worthy of being seen. xxx and happy new year hon.
- January 2, 2013 at 10:14 pm
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With respect above Anonymous, you do not have any evidence toback your Harsh statement that Lori is doing 'untold damage' every time she seeks some time out from her single-parenting. Lori has a loving and supportive network that is therefor her and her kids and she is super lucky to have that so that she can try and keep on top of the stresses of her life. By realizing that she needs a break and taking it she is doing what she feels is best for her family and herself. Don't knock that – she obviously finds it hard and feels guilt about it, so how about lending some single- parent empathy rather than sweeping statements of damnation. I have utmost respect for both you and Lori and all single parents – you've got a tough job. But don't think that only the parents can provide support and love and guidance and security – family and friends and other adults who care can be an important part of a child's healthy care.
- January 2, 2013 at 7:16 pm
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I enjoy your blog Lori and I get you but seriously you can be one self-indulgent cop out.
Single parenting is hard-I have 3 kids myself with no help whatsofuckingever,So i know first hand but for gods sake YOU chose to have them,they need you and you're doing untold damage by fucking off every time it gets a bit hard.Grow up.
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February 20, 2013 at 6:02 pm -
Better to go somewhere, Anonymous, to get some peace of mind and recoup than to suddenly break one day and cause true irreparable harm. Or be a self-righteous, sanctimonious asshole and play the martyr online.
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April 1, 2013 at 1:55 am -
Yes Lori chose to have children …. Lori chose to have children with Tony.
I cannot imagine how hard it must be for her to keep living despite seeing what she saw only a few short years ago, one day in January.
Anon your comment is not fair and not cool.
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- January 1, 2013 at 5:37 pm
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Happy 2013! May you be blessed with everything you wish for.
- January 1, 2013 at 3:32 pm
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I love Melbourne, I think I may have stated that previously
if she were a thing I would wrap myself in her like a blanket. She is eclectic, acoustic and moody. She burns hot and fast in the summer and brightly like magnesium….and in the winter a shroud of melancholy that chills you to the core… she looks you in the eye, and strips away your sadness and the wind blows through you as you float around the city like a ghost….but you don't – you never disappear… you just give up your pain to the 'wind and rain' and it washes you clean…
We all strut – but we march to the beat of our own drum… and "you gotta love this city.."
I am glad you hear the beat, and just remember, you can take the girl out of Melbourne, but not the Melbourne out of the girl.
XX rah rah
- January 1, 2013 at 3:21 pm
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Sorry about writing shat I realize in my first comment ever. Note to self – learn online etiquette Bel xx
- January 1, 2013 at 3:19 pm
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Sh@t Lori sounds like you are having a really rough time (understatement?). I lurk never comment. When you feel dark and numb no fluffy words can help, even when you really, really want them to. I know. May 2013 give you a break and some healing xx. Bel
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Previous post: F*ck Christmas.
Next post: The Hotel- Blue Mountains, Part Two.
Britney. – RRSAHM
Britney.
I guess you can tell, after yesterday’s post, that it’s been a bad kind of week…? I hate being hurt. I hate being lied to. I hate being talked about. I really, really hate people doing things because they think they know ‘what’s best for me’.
Honestly… no one knows what this is like. How can they possibly know what’s best for me, what I need, when they can’t understand where I’m at?
Once upon a time, in the before before the Purple Before, before children or any kind of being a grown up; I used to cut myself when things hurt. Sometimes I still feel the urge to do it now.
It’s the blood I think about, the redness of it, the shine; that’s what holds the appeal these days. It’s no longer the pain, I no longer crave the swelling hurt that makes me grit my teeth, the power I got from not crying out. I still craved that pain, right up until Tony died; and then that craving seemed insipid and teenage, the thought that the pain of a simple razor cut could even come close to comparing with the pain I was already in.
So it’s not the pain now, it’s the blood. I’m fairly psychologically aware, I know what that means. It means I’m screaming out for help, wanting some visual marker for the pain, something that people can’t run away from, something they can’t so easily ignore.
And, being the relatively crazy person that I am, this also occasionally manifests itself in the desire to shave my head.
Yep. Britney style.
You can poke fun at Britney Spears all you like, but I get this chick. I understand that desperation.
How many times can you scream? How hoarse can you make yourself, crying? How may pleading phone calls to people to who are sick are being your friends can you make?
How many times can you get pierced and tattooed before you realise no one is paying attention, before you realise that those markers just aren’t painful enough scars to effect the world, to make them stop and listen?
I have some strange fascination with women shaving their heads. It’s so anti-feminine and socially it draws gasps and assumptions of illness and rabid female hysteria, especially if it’s done for a reason other than altruism. Speaking, a bloggy friend of mine named Kim is The World’s Greatest Shave next month, and that’s awesome. Any support you can throw her way is muchly appreciated.
Bald women, they are beautiful. They have a certain majesty to them- they have to. You need a special kind of confidence to pull off being hairless, with every feature exposed.
Warrior women.
I don’t think I’m that confident. Maybe. Not this weekend, anyway.
But I’m certainly still thinking about it. I even did myself a mock up of how it might look…
… which was probably a bad idea. Had I not scared myself with that picture, I might have actually gone through with it.
Leave a Comment
{ 27 comments… read them below or add one }
- February 21, 2012 at 9:19 pm
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I carry the scars from cutting. Your post is the first ever that I have read, that 'gets' it. Only a few of my friends know about my past life, about my scars, and they certainly don't get it, and I don't know how to explain it to them. I hope to one day have the courage to blog about my own years of self harm, and your post has shown me why I should. Because I want others to read what I write, and think, like I have tonight- Yes. Someone gets it.
Thnak you for sharing, as always xx - February 15, 2012 at 7:24 pm
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Thank you for your explanation of the subject matter. Nobody ever thinks of celebs as people with feelings. They assume anything that a celeb does is all for a publicity stunt.
Meanwhile, I'm glad you didn't shave your head.
- February 12, 2012 at 12:34 pm
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In the first two years of my recovery from my own tragedy, I had a desperate urge to get a tattoo. For the pain. For a visible, painful mark of the pain that my ex visited on me.
I don't have that urge. I think I am beginning to see that I am still whole. Undiminished. Tempered, like steel.
Hold on tight, Lori.
- February 10, 2012 at 3:12 pm
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Cutting releases something inside that you just can't let out any other way. x
- February 10, 2012 at 1:43 am
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Whoops, you look like your brother!
- February 9, 2012 at 11:41 pm
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Lori, I'm so sorry – it just seems like you don't have the support you need. You shouldn't have to shave your head to get people to support you. You very often say things like, " How may pleading phone calls to people to who are sick are being your friends can you make?"
Your friends shouldn't be sick of you or your grief.
I don't know if you are just venting here, or if you actually need to get yourself a sturdier support network – whichever is the case, I hope you're feeling better soon.
Lots of love. - February 9, 2012 at 8:55 pm
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I can only imagine that ripping your heart out and showing it all blood, sinew and gore would still not convey the hurt. How to externalise the inner pain? I'm guessing the people around 'know' your pain but can't come close to the true extent of it. I guess that's why support groups where people have had similar experiences work so well. Those people really 'know'. I think head shaving is shocking for society, I think it makes a statement or at least creates a reaction and that is what is needed, a reaction to the pain that others can't see. X
- February 9, 2012 at 8:28 pm
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As someone who started ripping her hair out to feel the pain the other week, I understand…
so much so much..
- February 9, 2012 at 4:24 pm
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Ditto with Anonymous – I totally think you could rock the no-hair. Appreciate your words.
- February 9, 2012 at 4:04 pm
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I admire your bravery and honesty in talking about your pain and the lack of way to escape it. Perhaps it's not a lack of people to talk to but that even when you do talk to people you are left with the same pain. Unimaginable to those of us who haven't been there.
As to the hair … I think you could rock any haircut you wanted and for any reason.
Be gentle with yourself. There are people around that you know and that you don't who would be more than willing to listen, hoping to ease your burden at least a little.
FMIDK - February 9, 2012 at 3:46 pm
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Britney is bipolar, so I so get her.
I am sorry to hear about the cutting. You are so amazing, girl. xxx - February 9, 2012 at 3:36 pm
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I wish I lived nearer so I could be someone for you to talk to, cry to, scream & sit in silence with. I would do it for you, I honestly would.
I wish I had a magic wand… xx - February 9, 2012 at 2:55 pm
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I hear ya…
I shaved my head bald in April 2008 (for charity). I gave the money raised to a local Domestic Violence charity called T.E.S.S.A. I did it to gain a sense of closure and celebrate 10 years free of domestic violence. It was empowering, truly. I loved it and I was told I had a beautifully shaped head. I understand the need to do something, I do. xx - February 9, 2012 at 2:55 pm
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I shaved my head a year and a half ago. It was something that I had wanted to do since I was a teenager. At 26, I finally built up the courage to follow through with it. I loved it so much, I have kept it shaved since. I enjoyed the freedom and the balking of traditional ideals of femininity.
When I initially shaved my head, I shaved it down to the scalp – I do not recommend doing this, your scalp will be incredibly white and will burn easily in the sun. If you can, shave it to a number 3 razor – this will still be quite short, but will leave you with enough hair so your head won't burn immediately when you go outside.
- February 9, 2012 at 2:17 pm
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I feel that need. the cry out, the show of pain. this is what I'm feeling, please don't leave me. Please look afterme, they all say.
- February 9, 2012 at 2:17 pm
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I feel that need. the cry out, the show of pain. this is what I'm feeling, please don't leave me. Please look afterme, they all say.
- February 9, 2012 at 2:17 pm
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(I should email this) Hey Lori. I was going to ask a stupid question (do you find daily blogging a good catharsis), but I answered my own question. I'm beginning to feel like a bit of a stalker now
. Tinas (@onegreenbus/PhoenixArt on Redbubble) daughter (@flamingfledgling) & is also doing 'The Shave' for leukemia.
When Tina had her operation, the surgeons had only shaved the front half of her head. So after a couple of days, Tina & Her sister both shaved their heads completely. I jumped on the band-wagon a bit later. Of course, our reasons for shaving weren't so much cries for help, it was more a 'half a head of hair looks really weird'. Hugs & love Lori xx - February 9, 2012 at 1:09 pm
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Hear the roar, you are that beautiful
- February 9, 2012 at 12:24 pm
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Dow hat you have to do chickadee xxx
- February 9, 2012 at 10:42 am
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Ok so I know this isn't supposed to be a funny post, but I laughed at your last sentance.
You have so many people listening, willing to be your sholder you are never alone. I see people offer to help you again and again all the time. You are not without help, without an ear to listen. I understand it's hard though. Hard to unload, to open yourself up to another person to trust. - February 9, 2012 at 10:30 am
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I'm sorry for the pain that inspiring you to want to shave your head. I can't imagine what it could be like.
Shave your head if you need to though. If you need that release. You know, it's just hair. It grows back. It feels liberating an amazing.
I've shaved my head at least 5 times, maybe more? Always because of overwhelming stress and pain, but never for a pain as great as yours. It's ok to do it if you want to. Your face is open, honest and beautiful, you don't need to hide behind your hair. You don't need to be patriarchy pretty because that kind of pretty fades anyway, the beauty under your hair won't fade if you shave it all off. - February 9, 2012 at 10:12 am
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Thank you Lori, for the shout out. As for the cutting.My father was an alcoholic and As a teenager I used to cut myself because it was a form of control. I could control how deep the cut was, how much blood I lost. I could "control the pain" The teachers never noticed the bruises from my dad or turned a blind eye but they always noticed the cuts, and then believed my lies about barbed wire fences and whatever.
So I hear you missy. xxAnd thanks again for the shout out. I am not going totally bald I am having a number 8 which is about an inch long. (eek)
- February 9, 2012 at 8:51 am
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i'm too heavy now to be bald. i need to lose about 40 pounds before that will be a cute look on me again.
someday, i hope….
meantime, here's my video of my hair growing back the first time i got it shaved.
- February 9, 2012 at 4:58 pm
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Shaving my head was one of the most liberating things I have ever done. And I have kept it very short ever since ( as you have seen).
As someone else has alluded to – the European culture of wearing black – so that others know you are in mourning – is very culturally sane. The women and the men do it in Greece and are shown enormous respect during their period of mourning. I wish we had developed some of those same rituals (which must bring some comfort I think) here in Oz.
Love to you.
- February 9, 2012 at 3:20 pm
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I get it. I wish I had the courage to shave my head. I often look in the mirror & think about getting the cutters out & just shaving a strip straight down the middle of my head following the line of my forever parting. This photo of you, this is the first time in a year that you have shown the pain in your heart. Your eyes are full of it & I want to cry & hold you close to my heart.
I had a Harry Potter moment with my DD the other day. I wanted to take a bad memory out of her head & let it go on the wind. Have you read Harry Potter? There is a part where Dumbledore uses his wand to pull silver whisps of memories from his mind and place them into a bowl. "The Pensieve is an object used to review memories. It has the appearance of a shallow stone basin, into which are carved runes and strange symbols. It is filled with a silvery substance that appears to be a cloud-like liquid/gas; the collected memories of people who have siphoned their recollections into it."
I so want to do this for you!
Plant some lovely bright red flowers in your garden. Plant some lovely white daisies in your garden, they're very cheerful flowers. Find yourself a little spot in your garden, all the way down the back, where you can go & sit in the sun or shade & leave the sadness, the hurt, the anger, there. The wind will take it away.
I'm kinda pleased that your photo scared you, it means you are still "here", if you get my drift.
Take care you. I'm always here, so are lots of other people when you need us. (Isn't it wonderful how so many of us speak on behalf of us… gotta love that!)(X)
- February 9, 2012 at 10:32 am
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Myself, I have a fascination with memento mori and the whole Victorian mourning culture.
It would be so much easier on us if there were established rituals and the formal black dress codes to follow.
I get the shaved head and I get why you want people to know — it's just too much pain for one person.
x - February 9, 2012 at 9:43 am
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When your day is long and the night
The night is yours alone
When you're sure you've had enough of this life, well hang on
Don't let yourself go
Everybody cries and everybody hurts sometimesSometimes everything is wrong
Now it's time to sing along
When your day is night alone (hold on, hold on)
If you feel like letting go (hold on)
When you think you've had too much of this life, well hang onEverybody hurts
Take comfort in your friends.
Everybody hurts
Don't throw your hand. Oh, no
Don't throw your hand
If you feel like you're alone, no, no, no, you are not aloneIf you're on your own in this life
The days and nights are long
When you think you've had too much of this life to hang onWell, everybody hurts sometimes
Everybody cries
And everybody hurts sometimes
And everybody hurts sometimes
So, hold on, hold on
Hold on, hold on
Hold on, hold on
(Hold on, hold on)Everybody hurts
You are not aloneLove you Lori x o
Previous post: Haunted
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June 2010 – RRSAHM
June 2010
As promised, it’s sexy guest post time.. take it away Lucy!!
Hello all……..Lucy from Diminishing Lucy here
Scary. To be writing a sexy post to match Lori’s antics………
We don’t get out much, the lovely husband and I.
We have no family nearby; we have three small children, so “hot dates” are a rarity.
But we do have friends who baby sit for us on occasion. The ever lovely Alice & Ben, who we have know for over a decade, who have their own, older children, and who adore our little children. Who happily appear after their respective work days on a Friday, at our house, to have a nursery tea with the kids, to bath them, and to read them stories and put them to bed, so that the lovely husband and I can go out.
So we can go out and pretend that we have a life!
Yay!
So we can go out and watch a movie that isn’t by Mr Disney or Mr Pixar.
So we can go out and eat curry rather than chicken nuggets.
So we can go out and hold each others hands, rather than the much stickier mitts of our children.
So we can skip down the road like bright young things, rather than skipping with a six, four and three year old.
So we can nip out in the two seater Porche rather than the seven seater Captiva.
So we can run out of the house unencumbered with bags of kid crap, with nothing more than a dinky little clutch holding nothing more than a credit card and my mobile. (Which is on silent, so that if there IS a drama, I can cheerfully ignore it.)
But one of the problems that this delightful scenario presents us with is this:
We have spent all evening together. No TV, no blog, no Twitter.
We are loved up.
We have flirted over the poppadoms.
Made eyes over the dahl.
Stroked hands & rubbed thighs whilst watching a rom com.
Gone too long without a bonk………..
So we are hot to trot.
Gagging for it.
Crackling with anticipation and lust.
Desperate to get home and rip each others clothes off and do what grown ups do……….shag the arse off each other……….
But the babysitting situation…..ummmmmm, can you feel the deflation? The cooling of ardour? Dare I say it, the anti-climax?
But wait!
We have the perfect, if slightly ropey solution.
It works.
It is hilarious.
It makes our nights out even riper with anticipation…….
We go parking……..like teenagers.
We have found a spot, with a view. A screw with a view, no less! Hahhaha!
It is not particularly romantic, nor tender coupling. it is not warm, nor sensual.
It is, however, hilarious, fast, knee trembling, naughty, and very very sexy.
It works, for us………..it works very well indeed…..
(Note to self. Must ‘phone and organise a babysitter for sometime soon……………)
{ 17 comments }
Aww, you made it all the way down there? Go on then, here’s the link- the Crappest GiveAway Ever.
{ 12 comments }
Aloha, munchkins,
Quite a while ago now, I mentioned I was thinking of doing the Crappest GiveAway Ever to celebrate my new blog makeover. And then.. erm.. I got lazy. And forgot about it. Whatever.
But I have a new flush of energy. It must be menopause, or not, or something. And the Crappest GiveAway Ever is back.
And, surprisingly, it’s not as crap as you may think.
Here’s the bootie, my lovely ones. The winner takes all.
Yup, that’s right. Those containers are big. Real big. A whole kilo of fruit drop bon bon thingies. A whole kilo of gum balls. And three two big arse lollipops* (The other one went and got itself eaten).
Oh yeah.
I know, jellybeans would have been more fitting, for branding purposes. But my sugar pushing pimp daddy was fresh out.
In the spirit of all things fun-like, I was actually going to do a lolly guessing competition. You know how it goes- y’all guess, and whoever gets closest wins the lollies. But I decided I was too lazy to count the lollies there might be legal issues with that.
So let’s have a pretend-lolly-guessing competition.
Ways to enter the Crappest GiveAway Ever are as follows……
Comment on it. With a guess as to how many lollies are in the jar. Keeping in mind that this will have absolutely no bearing on whether you win or not. I also wanna know, in that comment, what you will do with the leftover lollies when you have eaten so many you feel sick and you’re teeth are falling out of your head.{One entry}
Tweet about it. Link this post and use the hashtag #crappestgiveawayever. And tell me about it in a separate comment. {one entry}
Blog about it. And what lollies are your favorite. And how awesome I am and how much you love me. Again, leave a link too your post in a separate comment. {one entry}
Sleep with me {One entry}Sleep with Wanderlust {One entry}
I’m only half joking about those last two.
And here’s the fine print.
This competition is open to all residents of the World. However… if you happen to be a resident of a country other than Australia, you may receive a prize other than foodstuffs, of equal or greater value, just not so much of a pain in the proverbial to ship, what with customs searching them for cocaine and all. This prize will be just as crap, I promise. If this does happen, the lolly pack will be redrawn until it is won by an Aussie or I am sent bankrupt shipping crap overseas, whichever happens first.
You gots to be a public Follower of this blog to enter. Click the Google box Friend doovy. If you do prefer to remain anonymous and still want to enter, that’s kind of dumb, but I will accept a screen shot of some kind proving you are subscribed to my feed. OK? OK. I really hope no one does that. What a pain in the arse.
Winner will be chosen totally randomly, using random.org, and contacted by email. All of which is good for branding purposes, unlike the non-existent jellybeans.You must leave your email address with your comment. You have 72 hours to reply and claim your prize or your modem will self destruct or a new winner will be chosen.
This competition opens on Monday June 28 2010 (like, now). Entries close 8pm Wednesday 7 July. The winner will be announced via a post on this blog, and emailed on Thursday 8 July.
And there you go. The first ever RRSAHM Crappest GiveAway Ever. Depending on how it’s received, there may be further, even crapper giveaways. I know, you’re all a quiver with excitement. How much do you love me….? Yeah, that’s what I thought.
*Lollipops pictured may have be eaten and replaced with similar lollipops by the time this prize is drawn.
{ 43 comments }
That PTSD's A Bitch. – RRSAHM
That PTSD’s A Bitch.
It’s so difficult to explain to anyone what it’s like inside my head.
It’s difficult to live in here… articulating it is almost impossible. Especially because I just don’t remember, exactly, really, what it was like Before… back when I reacted normally to situations, when I had could do small talk. Before I became this irrational, broken person who pushes people away because she wants someone to love her so badly.
That’s part of the problem, you see. I walk around feeling normal, thinking I’m normal. Imagine someone flat-lining– that flat line is you, it’s us, it’s everyone… its the status quo. It’s the societal norm, acceptable reactions to common social situations.
And I’m the blip. I’m the massive spike that fills the screen with a mountain, a quick up, a quick down… but a peak in the middle that’s spiked and sharp and screams shrilly, drawing the attention of everyone in the room, scaring people and making them jump.
I don’t realize my reactions are irrational until they’ve passed. Sometimes I can see it, in the reflection of myself in the eyes of the people who love me. But when that happens, when I see my mother distressed by my tears that will not stop, or my best mate shaking his head in a hopeless, sad way when there’s nothing he can say to make it better; I don’t understand. I see their reactions, but they don’t compute. They just confuse me, poke me through my panicked fog– why are the looking at me like that? Can’t they see where I’m coming from?
And then, ten minutes later, once my heart rate has slowed and the shaking tears and heaving breaths have calmed and I’m exhausted, just wanting some strong arms to hold me while I curl up and cry… that’s when I get it. That’s when I look back at myself, at what I’ve just done– cried over someone being two hours late, lost my temper over someone who won’t answer their phone, yelled at someone who’s just trying to tell me the rational truth– and I’m slightly horrified. I’m bewildered and I kick myself and I curse my husband’s name and wonder when the fuck this will stop following me, when this will let me be, let me engage in some normal kind of relationships?
My current fascination with how biological factors effect our everyday lives is, I’m sure, partly an effort to understand myself, to put some kind off leash on my rampant swinging emotions. Post traumatic stress disorder is, in it’s essence, being continually stuck in a state of hyper–attention and hyper–awareness. It’s all your primal instincts not only continually switched on, but working overtime… your natural instinct to scope for danger. The fight or flight reflex. An unidentifiable but palpable sense of potential threat all around you, especially in places that are unfamiliar or overload the senses.
I know a handful of bloggers with PTSD, and a few of them attended DPCon’12. Every one of us cried at some point or another over the 48 hours we spent in Melbourne. Crowds are bad– so many people, so much noise, so many voices at so many different emotional pitches that your primal mind finds it difficult to assess possible threat. People invading your sacred personal space, both physically and with huge personalities that can’t take no as an answer. And the noise… I used to love being immersed in a crowd of people, sucking up their energies, tasting the flavors of their souls. Now, in the After… I’m like a newborn, a baby– too much noise and I become agitated for reasons I can’t quite identify and couldn’t articulate, because maybe there’s no words for it, in our language at least. It’s something sparked in that same base, cro-magnum brain stem functions that kept the human species alive every day thousands of years ago.
The reactions– the re-activeness– that PTSD causes people to express, amplified, would have been reasonable thousands of years when an everyday drama really was continually threatening– a panic reaction when being chased by a sabre–toothed tiger is both understandable and rational. Displaying the same reaction in today’s manicured society, conjuring up a panic attack over a bus running late or someone standing you up on a date or taking a wrong turn in your car- not quite so rational, nor as understandable.
But that’s what happens in severe cases of PTSD. The smoke alarm in your brain has been tripped once, extremely, and for a very real, very valid reason. And after that it can be damaged, as if there’s a circuit in there somewhere that is frayed and smells of burning copper, pulled taught against itself and shrieking “Danger! Danger!”, even when there is none.
Give me something, anything, that runs electrons through that smoke alarm section of my brain… and stand back and watch me burn. If I sense abandonment (everyone I love leaves me, everyone runs away eventually); if my mind thinks it see’s a threat to what little I have left; if I am running late or lost; if something I’m looking forward to falls through and I have to start the waiting again, days before the next event or experience I can look forward to to keep me afloat– anticipation being a process I take relish in if it’s veined with excitement, but it needs the conclusively at the end of it to be a full experience; I work on appreciating the anticipation of an event without having that enjoyment hinged on other peoples reliability- and I fall to pieces.
Any of those things, or others– raised voices; a rope; a humid, sticky afternoon; a half heard conversation between strangers involving ‘What a coward, it’s a dogs way out’– and I become someone I think I know… I become that five year old girl in my mind; in essence a child, ruled by base emotions and the most logical laws of cause, effect and consequence.
I panic. My heart thumps, my palms sweat. I pace aimlessly, planning to do something, anything, to keep myself busy, because in a few hours this will pass and I can sleep and tomorrow is a new day and I might not still feel like this, and find myself unable to concentrate, unable to do anything at all except search for some elusive quality that will make everything ‘better’.
I cry, sob with such veracity that my eyes are nothing but tears, the entire saline content of my body pours out through my optic nerves instead of tiny tear ducts. I phone people who I know will push me away so I can flagellate myself harder, hate myself more. Tunnel vision kicks in and my life is a tiny, lonely, suffocating space; I don’t think to call the people who will actually be able to hold me up because I can’t even see them through the fog, they don’t even occur to me…. and I can’t, not too much, not to people who I am not sure love me unconditionally. Because I’ve risked that before, I’ve taken people on their word and trusted them and shown them every broken,
bleeding piece of me… And for their own preservation, they must turn away.
And that’s just the emotional effects. I can separate them, somewhat– I experience them, but I know they’re not rational. Underneath all of that their is that primal, screaming inner reaction… a base function of the brain. That shouldering, sulfur smelling burnt out circuit that shoots panic hormones into my blood stream, raises my adrenaline to levels that most people will only experience a few times in their lifetime… I get them a few times a week. And I can count the physical effects of them– exhaustion, the dehydration, the feeling of being constantly tense and coiled and prepared to fight or fly or run. And it’s so difficult to talk myself through it- how do you talk your body out of a chemical reaction? Mind over matter, harnessing the power of the psyche to control that leftover neanderthal biological panic that is virtually impossible for people who haven’t experienced it to comprehend.
It makes it difficult for me to have close relationships with most people. It makes small talk a near impossibility. It causes me to be disconnected from my children. It burns out my friends and those closest to me. It’s not only exhausting for me, it’s exhausting for other as well… I am an emotional battery drainer, a succubi, a Rogue.
But at least I know that, and I’m working on it. The hyper–awareness that comes with PTSD can have its advantages… I know how I am. I can almost remember how i used to be, and I can see the difference stretched out between the two. It feels weak, like a cop out, but… I’m doing the best I can. This isn’t primary school, this is reality, and the rules are so different here. The best I can do really isn’t enough to tame me so I’m easy again, companionable, good company that will make you laugh and not get too serious. And that’s OK… it has to be. Because I’m trying. Every day, I’m aware of myself. Every day I work so hard to temper those irrational reactions, to speak sense to myself, to keep it flagged in my conscious day to day activity that I might be overreacting here, that this situation may not be the way my mind perceives it.
I’m exhausted. This is difficult work.
And that five year old repeats her request, politely, please– a gold star, and a smiley face stamp. And someone to hold her hand every now and then, to remind her that monsters are imaginary, and they exist only in our minds.
Leave a Comment
{ 19 comments… read them below or add one }
- February 5, 2013 at 4:12 pm
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I understand so much better now….I recognise it in your writing now, i realise for me its not as extreme but its still there. For me it comes when people tell birth stories, i get the anxious tightness in my chest, I am teleported to hospital rooms, curtains and machines, and I start weeping. My heart races whenever my husband takes bub out for a drive- with worry ill never see them again. I get it so much better now lori, the PTSD thing. Fuck I wish I didn’t.
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February 6, 2013 at 12:29 pm -
Oh Andrea
It was only in the After that I realised I had PTSD after my son was born- obviously nothing like now, but it was there. I remember saying to a friend the day after the birth that I felt like I’d been in a ‘traumatic car accident and needed counseling’. I wish someone had picked up on it!
I didn’t address it and it became crippling PND. Are you seeing anyone where you can talk about it as much as you need to? Email me if you like. Massive hugs xxxxxxxx- October 4, 2013 at 5:39 pm
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I wish I had replied to this at the time. I did see s
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October 4, 2013 at 5:54 pm -
I wish I had replied to this way back then. I think I have been slowly emerging from that black hole and the screaming in my head this past 18 months. Mostly it’s sunshine these days, but the chronic sleep deprivation and one bad bad night can send things raw and astray. I find it amazing how sleep or the lack can send you into such an irrational overreacting spin.
The crazy thing about having a prem baby (even a healthy one) is that, even with the warning signs ( sustained weeks in hospital on high alert) is that the hospital doesn’t immediately sort out mental health referrals. You cannot come out of that experience and NOT be at risk. It’s bloody stupid.
And coming out the other end of the PND side of the mess, and having the perspective about “the worst year of my life” ( which is awful to say about the first year of your child’s life) there are some amazing things emerging. About parenting, and values and such.
For one thing it has caused me to seriously reevaluate friendships- I no longer put energy in when it’s not returned. It’s too much like holding your hand over a hot flame, mildly standing around waiting and for some stupid reason expecting to not get burned.
So, the friendship circle has slimmed down, and is full of authentic people. And that’s good.But anyway, I’m glad to be reading about all these lovely changes in your life. It sounds almost like you are in an after the after…
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- April 26, 2012 at 9:34 pm
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Oh Lori there is so so much I want to say to you. Only you. In hushed private whispered tones with that guilty look like a child who broke mothers best vase and after denying it for ages is finally fessing up.
I probably never will.You got the rest?
- April 26, 2012 at 9:32 pm
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This comment has been removed by the author.
- April 26, 2012 at 2:40 am
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It's nice to know that someone else understands and gets it. A safe quiet place to heal. My husband just calls me crazy and drags me to the next triggering event. I now know its up to me to create my safe place. It is impossible but I'm doing it.
- April 26, 2012 at 1:41 am
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PTSD is bloody awful.
I used to LOVE concerts. I used to go to 10-15 concerts a year. Small ones, HUGE ones. I loved them all.
My hubbie and I even went to one in Melbourne (reunion tour of Split Enz) when I was nearly 6 months pregnant with our first child. We loved it!!
But then our first child died. And we cancelled concerts which we had booked (Robbie Williams and U2).
Even now, five years from our first loss, and having lost our two sons as well, we don't do concerts. We loathe crowds. I still get completely panicked if we get accidentally stuck in a crowd somewhere.
We expressly avoid going into town when it's busy. We don't go in when the tourists are out (which is most of the time here in Amsterdam).
Crowds make me feel like I can't breathe. And so I panic. And yell at other people. And want to hit them so that they get out of the way. My hubbie feels the same way.
But to survive PTSD (and maybe recover from it to some extent) sometimes you need to keep yourself in a safe place. Away from the stressers. Even though others don't understand.
Pushing yourself out of your safe zone is no way to deal with PTSD. Living with PTSD is learning to survive with it.
((Hugs)) from someone who knows.
- April 25, 2012 at 10:46 pm
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I haven't been reading this stuff for a while-my thang is work-related and have had lots of assessments by the pros lately to see if I'm for real…
Your words are spot on. Every fibre taut and screaming, ready to run. So much to be wary of. Not much left for the ups and downs of living, is there? Tiring!
Thanks for sharing. Reading this tonight is especially pertinent to me. May you continue your path towards some peace inside xxxxx - April 25, 2012 at 10:21 pm
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I was going to publish my PTSD story today. Now I feel like I'm copying you. Damn you
x - April 25, 2012 at 9:19 pm
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So exhausting. You are doing amazing, though. And I pray that your symptoms lesson and your friends, family and those you come to meet have an abundance of understanding and patience. Keep up the good work, Lori – we're pulling for you. xo
- April 25, 2012 at 9:09 pm
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Keep talking. You'll get there. G.x
- April 25, 2012 at 2:57 pm
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Sometimes I wish I lived closer so I could come & give u a hug *hugs*
you are a brave & beautiful woman. - April 25, 2012 at 1:14 pm
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I have C-PTSD stemming from my parents divorce when I was 11. I feel so weak reading this.
Lori. I've told you so many times but I can never say it enough – the bravery, strength and raw honesty you have shown is inspiring. xx - April 25, 2012 at 1:09 pm
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The new normal sucks but I hope there is a newer normal just around the bend that allows you to kick this one to the curb. Keep trying and take it one day at a time.
Rah rah from Melbourne - April 25, 2012 at 10:12 am
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The main thing here Lori is like you said…you know,you are working on it and you are trying.
Things can only improve with you so aware and working so hard at it.I feel so proud of you x - April 25, 2012 at 9:47 am
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unfortunately there are too many of us who know just what you;re talking about.
take your time and be gentle with yourself, ok?
the new normal sucks.
i'm going to tell you a little story, ok?
a long time ago in another life i was a young schoolteacher with a very angry and misbehaved boy in my class. he did everything he could do to be really obnoxious and make himself hateful.
it we all knew why.
his father had suicided when he was a baby.
and i sat this kid down one day when nobody else was around and i said "look. i know what happened to you and it sucks. you do not need to remind me every day that it suck because i know it and i am never, ever going to forget what happened to you and i would really appreciate it if we could just deal with what's in front of us today and if today you can;t cope that's ok. i will help you best i can but most of all i want you to know that i have not forgotten your pain. ok?"
and he was never meek and mild, but he was sweet to have around and we had that understanding between us.
we developed a new normal.
- April 25, 2012 at 9:35 am
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Oh babe. Don't know what else to say other than I am hearing you. My PTSD is rife lately. And I so get the "exhausted" feeling. And I too, like you, struggle to remember the 'before'. Tell ya what I'd love to get back to it, whatever it was, cause its gotta be fuckloads better than this!
- April 25, 2012 at 11:00 am
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Once again, Lori, you do an excellent job of describing PTSD for you. It sounded A LOT like my husband who, as you know, suffers from combat PTSD. The fact that you're consiously working on it is HUGE. It took my husband a long time to actually give a shit to even try and get better.
It's still a hard road for us, but it has gotten better. And i know it will get better for you too. It won't ever be like it was before, but you'll find a new normal. ((HUGS))
Previous post: SuperMum Returns.
Next post: The Biology of Teens
The Psychology of Phraseology – RRSAHM
The Psychology of Phraseology
Charlie the trauma psych tells me that a lot of psychology is about phrases and words. Things to we take to have meaning, sayings we internalise as our own.
Like ‘post traumatic stress disorder’, I guess. Like ‘flashbacks’. Like ‘widow’. (Flashbacks… I always thought that was just phraseology, another word for an intense memory. I was wrong. A flashback is a whole body experience… it’s knowing where you are, but being unable to stop the movie reel that plays in your mind, that projects images you don’t really want to see just a foot or two in front of your eyes. It’s smell and touch and temperature… it’s the feel of glycerin on your lips, the same greasy softness you felt months ago, left over from where you kissed the corners of his eyes, the glycerin they’d used to lubricate them… it’s feeling that, as if it were real, as if you could touch it, taste it, and being unable to stop.)
There are new sayings I’ve picked up, from my trauma pysch, sayings that ring like clear dew on a fresh morning in my mind. Phrases such as “Authentic living.” There’ll be much more on that one later, I assure you…
Phrases like “post traumatic growth”. because, according to Charlie, that is what I’m doing.
Is it possible, to grow from this? To experience a trauma like this, and have it leave you not a better person, or a happier one, but one that’s more in touch with yourself, your core, your strength?
I think that’s possible. i think it has to be. I look at myself… I look how far I’ve come. From the hysterical creature who roamed the halls of her Purple House, with sleeping tablets and trauma battling it out in the early hours of the morning. I look at he person who moved in here, to the cottage in Paradise, who sat outside every night and cried to the stars…. I’m so different now. I’m growing. I’m tortured and anxious and insecure, my self esteem has taken a beating… but I’m still here. I’m still standing.
And, ironically, I’m much less afraid now, of life, of the world, than I ever have been before. After what I’ve done, what I’ve had to do.. the rest is bullshit. Day to day life doesn’t freak me out much anymore. I know that there are far worse things that can happen.
(But… and there’s always a but… what if that’s an illusion too? What if the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do pales in comparison to what the future holds…? I can’t imagine worse, I don’t want imagine worse… but, as they say, God punishes us for what we cannot imagine. What a terrifying fucking thought.)
Disclaimer: Certain links in this post are non-affiliated with the blog, and placed with the express permission of the author.
Leave a Comment
{ 25 comments… read them below or add one }
- August 27, 2011 at 9:09 am
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This post made me remember the quote "we are the sky, the rest is weather" did you teach me that one? I don't believe God punishes, I just think shit happen sometimes and by the time we find out why it is too late to share the reason. XXX
- August 8, 2011 at 7:33 pm
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Yes and yes. i absolutely believe that. I heard someone talking about losing their husband to cancer the other day. She described it as the most enriching experience of their lives. From my experiences in the past 4 months I believe in that.
Your situation of course is different, and it is difficult to glean much positivity to what has happened. But I do believe you will grow in ways you didn't think possible, or ever needed to , before. You have already grown.
The link i think is that out of trauma can come enlightenment.M2Mx
- August 8, 2011 at 12:24 pm
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I love that… "Post-traumatic Growth!" Wow! It's a wonderful turn of a phrase. A positive way to move ahead. As well instead of "falling apart"… you are "falling together"… Giving yourself a break… you don't have to let this take you down the rabbit hole into hell!
- August 5, 2011 at 7:25 pm
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Lori, not sure if you truly believe that God punishes, but the God I know loves and cares.
Perhaps in one of those moments when you're sitting out under the stars, just ask God, if he's real, to make himself known to you. Ask him for comfort, as he really does care.
- August 4, 2011 at 11:47 pm
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I think there is growth that has to occur from a situation like this.
Flashbacks…that's an interesting way of putting them, a whole body experience. My memories of EVERYTHING are so vivid that perhaps they are all flashbacks.
As always, you're in my thoughts and prayers today, love.
- August 4, 2011 at 4:55 pm
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You can do anything, Lori:) We're all so proud of you
- August 4, 2011 at 2:24 pm
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I remember a time where I was constantly frozen … in the midst of flashbacks… the smell, the sound, the place, the feeling… And believed at the time that it was never going to end.
I agree with easypeasykids, from my own experience, the power of them starts to dissipate, and while you don't forget, you learn to stay in your body, and in the moment your in.
The journey of PTSD is a bloody hard slog… as much as you may question at times what the hell am I doing?? … you are doing brilliantly in exceptional circumstances.
sending you love and light Lori
x - August 4, 2011 at 1:47 pm
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Oh Lori…..
I only discovered your blog today and have barely scratched the surface of your recent experiences. Sometimes words just don't seem enough. At the end of your post, you welcome comments by saying 'Leave Some Love'.
And that's what I want to send out to you and your precious ones today, and everyday. No words for now, just Love. xxxx - August 4, 2011 at 9:46 pm
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Wow, I never realized flashbacks were so… so real. That must be awful. I, too, wish I could promise you that the worst is behind you, that nothing else could possibly happen. All I can do is pray. Sending light and love…
- August 3, 2011 at 8:55 pm
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I wish I could say that you have had your quota of "bad stuff" and that the rest of your life would be winning lotto tickets and surprise parties – but it wouldn't be true. I imagine your life will have ups and downs, just like anyone else – but you will have a spine of steel, and serious muscles to get you through. You are strong, you are good. And that's the truth. Lots of love.
- August 3, 2011 at 8:49 pm
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Hugs Lori. You're doing fine. I'm pleased to read this, how far you've come.
and the others are right. God does not punish. - August 3, 2011 at 8:12 pm
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Do you think that you are less afraid or it's that you're more reckless?
Just me being curious due to my own personal feelings and experiences. (And tell me to fuck off if i've upset you. It's not meant mean, it's meant as a genuine question.) - August 3, 2011 at 7:40 pm
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I would hate to imagine would could possibly be worse than what you've already endure Lori – however, should the " worse " ever come, i'm sure the strength you are gathering now should hold you in good stead….
- August 3, 2011 at 7:35 pm
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Oh, Lori, please don't doubt yourself. It isn't an illusion. This probably IS the hardest thing you'll ever do. Don't let 'them' undermine your confidence that you WILL feel better; that the flashbacks WILL fade; that you WILL progress towards recovery; and that every day will be less and less traumatic. No-one is punishing you; you didn't do anything that you should feel 'punishable' about. Shit happens (sorry) BUT so does magic – just concentrate on finding it in any way that you can. Just look for it in your kids, in theses posts, in all the people who love you; and stay strong. I know you can do it xxxx
- August 3, 2011 at 6:54 pm
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I could give you a Mars Bar… xxx
- August 3, 2011 at 6:52 pm
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Hi Lori – I pop in now and again to see how you're doing and the progress, if I can call it that – and not meant at all in a patronising way…. the progress you've made in these months is GIGANTIC! When it happened to you I had no idea how anyone could go through a husband's suicide and keep living. In the same way as people asked me "How on earth do you do it?" when my youngest was so very ill for the first year of his life. But we do because we have to. And you are doing it with aplomb, lady! Don't worry about the future. No point whatsoever. Find the tiny bits of good in your days and build them up into a mountain of good instead. Carpe Diem. xxx
- August 3, 2011 at 6:46 pm
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"They" say WRONG! The Bible urges us: “Humble yourselves, therefore, under the mighty hand of God, that he may exalt you in due time; while you throw all your anxiety upon him, because he cares for you.”—1 Pet. 5:6, 7
xx - August 4, 2011 at 4:14 am
- August 4, 2011 at 4:13 am
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- August 3, 2011 at 4:56 pm
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I don't believe in a punitive God. Just get that out of your head.
I've had some pretty strong flashbacks to the night my husband's heart stopped 3 times. It literally takes my breath away.
It really effing sucks! There's no 2 ways about it.
You're doing the work. Just keep it up.
- August 3, 2011 at 4:38 pm
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I hear what you're saying…Your triggers may still be there but more manageable.
Its called progression.
*BEEG HUGGLEZ*
- August 3, 2011 at 4:07 pm
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Sweetie, it is, it really is. I came back from my visit with my shrink today (and I also see a psychologist and do other counselling stuff). There have been several events in my life which caused PTSD, and at first, the memories/flashbacks were unrelenting. As you say you can see, feel, taste what occured before to fuck you up. They even come in your dreams.
But gradually, as you deal with the baggage, the flashbacks, the horror, becomes easier to deal with.
They do fade.
Doesn't mean you'll forget it, but you are more able to cope with it.
My psychiatrist took a look back at his notes from when he saw me in Jan 2009 (this was a different one to previous events). I am now a completely different woman to the one he saw back then.
I was broken then, and although I'm not completely together, the superglue is holding together nicely.
Day by day, step by step, you will get there.
The key is dealing with it before it completely does your head in.
And it seems you are. - August 3, 2011 at 4:04 pm
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You said, " they say, God punishes us for what we cannot imagine. What a terrifying fucking thought.”
Whoa !~! Can we back this convo up to the part about “they”? That’s the terrifying part-they don’t always know whereof they speak.
Also-this punitive god of whom they speak-does not exist any more than some old aunt stuffed in the attic telling you how to behave. You know what’s right and wrong and you follow you brilliant mind. Let the weak ones depend on some guy in the sky !~!
I hate to see you get caught up in the fantasies of a confused populas.
- August 3, 2011 at 3:43 pm
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Lori, the flasbacks do finally relent, I know from personal experience, they eventually become a sudden quick flash that you can deal with in a better way.I'd love to say it all eventually diasppears but traumatic events unfortunately suck big time, and do mess about with our brains. Surround yourself with peolpe that love you and I know from your posts how may people simply adore you and unlike me who can't talk about the trauma, you are helping so many. Big hugs Nx
- August 4, 2011 at 1:23 am
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Is it possible, to grow from this? To experience a trauma like this, and have it leave you not a better person, or a happier one, but one that's more in touch with yourself, your core, your strength?
YES. YES. YES.
You can do hard things. The hardest things possible. You are doing them.
YOU ARE DOING THEM.
Previous post: Run, Run, As Fast As You Can….
Next post: F*ck.
Three Cheers For Mrs Woog!! – RRSAHM
Three Cheers For Mrs Woog!!
Hip hip hooray!!
We all know Mrs Woog, right? Sure we do. She makes the most of the mundane every day over at Woogsworld. She has a thing for high fashion, vodka, ballet flats, and has somehow coerced her husband into bringing her a cup of tea in bed every morning. I get the distinct impression she must be really good in bed. She is funny as all get out, has a remarkable flair for blogging, a severe distaste for Tupperware, and I am just dieing to know what she looks like.
Anyhoo. Being the marketing genius that she is, she sent me a t-shirt. Because I am an idiot. It’s not entirely my fault. Who can honestly say that, at first glance, this post doesn’t make it look like she’s giving away a holiday to Thailand…?
Whatever. I love being stupid, it gets me free stuff.
And here is I, modeling my free stuff*. I’m doing my best sexy trout pout pose here. I know, it’s hot. I’ll tell the Man you said so. Because he looked at me and went “What the f*ck are you doing?”
“I’m being sexy. Show me the photo…. that’s useless. You can’t see the logo. And turn the flash off. I look shiny.”
“What the hell is that? Now you can’t see my head. And it’s all blurry. You’re really not very good at this, are you…?”
“Hurry up and take the damn….. argh!”
“What the f*ck did you do that for? I wasn’t ready!! OK, take one from the back. But get my head in it.”
Man: “Turn you head around further.”
“Do I look like a freaking Barbie doll? My head only goes so far.”
And that’s probably the best shot we got. The Man is f*cking hopeless muchly crap at taking photos useless at following directions probably not reading this anyway very helpful. Thank you, Man.
Oh, and speaking of her Royal Woogness, guess who’s quitting smoking, with me, on October 9th…? Oh yes. Just as soon as she returns from her seven nights in Phuket that she is keeping for herself instead of giving away (selfish bitch), Mrs Woog and I are getting narky, cranky, stabby and nicotine-free together. Stay tuned.
*Please excuse the hair. It’s the result of a home dye job gone wrong. When the hairdye box says “Dark chocolate brown”, do not believe it. It actually means skanky two-tone almost-but-not-quite-black. OK? OK. You have been warned.
Leave a Comment
{ 18 comments… read them below or add one }
- September 15, 2010 at 9:00 pm
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Awesome freebie Lori and I totally can see your sexy pout! It's time to eBay a tripod and remote Lori! The mans camera skills havd gotta bd retired!
. Great post - September 15, 2010 at 6:50 pm
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Ok, I'm sorry to be the one to break this to you, but you and The Man *probably* shouldn't give up your day jobs to go in to the modelling business. Ya hear what I'm sayin'?
Having said that: you are hot.
- September 15, 2010 at 3:30 pm
- September 15, 2010 at 2:19 pm
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Awesome! I gotta bunch of post-it's from Sawhole. I think I'm going to stick them all over my body and take a picture of that.
Oh, and Woog gets coffee delivered to her in bed, not tea.
Sheesh!! I should get my own t-shirt for knowing that bit of Woog trivia.
- September 15, 2010 at 2:13 pm
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Very artistic shots. Natch! Hehe.
- September 15, 2010 at 2:03 pm
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OOhhh I didn't realise you were just as funny as Mrs Woog!! The good news is, I stumbled across your blog today. The bad news is, I also have a useless photographing husband…
- September 15, 2010 at 9:39 am
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You're going to hate me for this, but that first photo doesn't look anything like you, it looks more like a certain Aussie in a gaol in Indonesia…
*ahem* nothing to see here.
- September 15, 2010 at 7:09 am
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I have one of those husbands who are freaking useless at taking photos too.
I'm with you on the hair dye thing,I attempted mine and had to make a beeline for the hairdresser to fix the mess I made Lol. - September 15, 2010 at 3:10 am
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nice freebie – I can't help but think I should go and check out Kim at allconsuming though
- September 15, 2010 at 11:15 am
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Shirt looks fab!
And don't worry about your hair! I am living with a home dye job gone wrong too!
I ruined my blonde hair and now it just looks feral and pooey! ha ha
x - September 15, 2010 at 12:52 am
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Cool t-shirt! Cute photos!
- September 15, 2010 at 10:26 am
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Lori – that was the smallest size we have! and it is swimming on you. grrrrrrrrr
Love you
Mrs Woog
xo - September 14, 2010 at 10:38 pm
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Mrs Woog and Lori are my gurus.
- September 14, 2010 at 10:08 pm
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I got one too! But my boobs are way bigger than yours so instead of saying Woogsworld mine says W o o g s w o r l d
- September 15, 2010 at 6:03 am
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Awesomeeee!
Manchild is another one of the "What the f*ck are you doing?" approach. I just tell him that he doesn't understand art! Hahahaha
- September 15, 2010 at 6:02 am
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This comment has been removed by the author.
- September 14, 2010 at 11:04 pm
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Oh! and congrats on the decision to quit smoking. Good luck.
- September 14, 2010 at 11:03 pm
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I'm impressed! lol
Previous post: Stumbling Along
Next post: Let’s Play “What The Hell Is That?!”
Recharging. – RRSAHM
Recharging.
 |
Pepsi Next is the new breed of cola. Pepsi Next has naturally less sugar*, it’s sweetened naturally with stevia and, of course, has the great cola taste you love. |
***
Some days it feels as though the city sucks at my soul.
I love people… but there are so many of them here, so close together. There is humanity next to us, in front of us, behind us. We live in a small, relatively quiet block between two busy roads. I find myself wondering how long it’s been since I’ve been more than a few hundred metres away from another person. It’s as though I can feel other people’s consciousness intruding on me. Sucking the vitality from here.
I miss my TinyTrainHouse, where it was almost always quiet. Where the silence was so complete I could hear every bird call from the dense bush behind me. Where dusk brought in the high pitched hum of cicadas and the echoey galump of frogs. The laughter of kookaburras. The squawks of cockatoos.
Here dusk brings people noises. Voices and dishes clanging against each other, with spikes of laughter railing through them. It brings a more intense hum to the constant background din of traffic. On still nights, sitting in my backyard waiting for the cool change to come through, I can hear the occasional deep frequency of a train on the tracks a few hundred metres away, and the dinging warming signal that the traffic gates are closing.
I don’t notice how much I miss the bush and the wide open spaces until I see them again. Until I spot a rolling hill dotted with trees, or sit on the back porch of The Farm and listen to the night sounds. It’s then that the muscles in my back relax and I feel myself expanding from the inside out. It’s then that I relaise how much I need it.
***
With the Most Amazing Man so into his bushwalking, getting out of the city and into the bush is a semi-regular activity. I love the Dandenongs. It’s lush and green and dense. Some of the eucalypts are five feet wide and must have been there for hundreds of years. I love the fernery and the leaf litter, the tiny creeks and the waterfalls.
It’s hot and sweltering the day we visit Olinda Falls. While Melbourne is colder than Sydney, it’s also hotter. The sun has a bite to it that makes it feel as though you’re a few hundred metres too close to the sun. It’s a dry, stark heat. Some afternoons it feels as though the world will implode from the pressure of all that hot air.
It’s only 450 metres to the Falls. The Bump falls over every fifty metres or so. The sweat is running of us and we seem to move from patch of shade to patch of shade. The quality of the sun on your skin is more a searing fry than a baking slow roast.
Olinda Falls is a gentle, bubbling rock slope with falls that are shallow and graded enough that you can get right up close to them. If you stay up creek of the small foot bridge, you don’t have to worry about being swept away. The water is no more than a few inches deep.
We sit in the shade provided by the canopy above us. The kids and I remove our shoes and sit, our feet in the freezing water, feeling our body temperature drop by rapid degrees.
The kidlets giggle and splash. The Most Amazing Man snaps photos. And I feel my soul recharge, sipping the lush vitality from the bush around me.
***
This post is part of a Nuffnang native advertising series.
Pepsi Next is the new breed of cola. Pepsi Next has naturally less sugar*, it’s sweetened naturally with stevia and, of course, has the great cola taste you love.
*30% less sugar than regular Pepsi. Sweetened naturally with stevia
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{ 2 comments… read them below or add one }
- February 12, 2014 at 8:45 am
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We are having another ice storm here in Alabama tonight…I almost envy you the searing heat!
Marianne recently posted…Hare-y Situation -
February 11, 2014 at 11:29 pm -
Lori, You need to visit Steavenson Falls, 82meters high & gorgeous all the way!
Also in the Dandenongs through the Black Spur. Nxt trip- promis me you’ll take the kidlets & TMAM.
Xx
Suzy Mac recently posted…The Stinky Pact
Previous post: Messed Up.
Next post: The News.
The Most Amazing Man In The Universe. – RRSAHM
The Most Amazing Man In The Universe.
After almost two weeks of being so sick it feels like some kind of overly dramatic, wretched, eternal agony; I feel as though I’m aching for warmth. A half–drowned kitten calling for its mother.
“Please come,” I beg The Most Amazing Man In The Universe. “Please, please, please… I need you”.
And, because he’s amazing, he does come– a mercy dash 800 km’s across the country to cuddle and sook his crying, whinging girlfriend. He goes grocery shopping for me. Tidies my house. Fixes me food and makes me hot tea. And, bless him, The Most Amazing Man In The Universe stays with me- and my children- for almost a whole week.
The first few days are like an undignified baptism by fire.
I’d underestimated how very difficult this was going to be.
My children are feral. Not one hundred percent well themselves, with the weather just drizzling enough to keep them inside; they scream and fight and bicker. They’re rude to me, to The Most Amazing Man, to each other. They argue in a way I’ve never seen before. And I drown, helplessly, trying to figure out what the f*ck is going on here and how in God’s name I can fix this. My children are not used to sharing me. The Most Amazing Man in the Universe is not used to sharing a house with kids and cats and a bird and the slightly confused, chaotic, always–running–lateness of it all.
Let’s call it an extreme learning curve. For everyone involved.
I am used to the company, demands and presence of small children, The Most Amazing Man is not. I remember with some kind of horror how long it took me to get used to it myself. How badly shaken I was realising, after my son was born, that this was life now– my time was not my own. I may never sleep again in stretches of longer than a few hours. I remember the somewhat soul-sucking depletion that suddenly sharing space with small, noisy little beings enforces on you.
And I know it stresses him out, my Amazing Man who’s so calm and quiet and appealingly zen. Liking kids is one thing… getting a brief glimpse into what life would actually be like living with them must be completely and terrifyingly different.
I wait for him to run, to leave, to take the freedom I have lost and do what I can only in my most unacceptable, secret fantasies. How could I hold that against him, when reality speaks for itself– the unencumbered lifestyle of someone without kids, without responsibilities like this.
But, because he is Amazing… he doesn’t run. He doesn’t leave. He doesn’t go anywhere. He loves me still…more, perhaps. My children decide to actually behave themselves for twenty four blissful hours before The Most Amazing Man In The universe is due to fly away.
“I promise, this is what it’s usually like… it’s pleasant” Chaotic, still, but I think The Most Amazing Man knows that already. I want what I’ve said to be true, and he looks like he wants to believe me.
He leaves, and the house feels empty without him.
The cats miss him, desperately. And so do I. But it’s nice to miss someone, and know they’ll come back again. It’s nice to know that he’s missing me, too.
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{ 10 comments… read them below or add one }
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August 2, 2013 at 12:28 am -
I’ve missed so much here… how did you meet him? Wow. I’m so happy for you!!!! Somehow I’ve not kept up and this brings joy to my heart!!!
- August 5, 2013 at 4:02 pm
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Hey Anne,
I met him on Twitter.. of course xx
Lori Dwyer recently posted…Backyard Graffiti.
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April 19, 2013 at 5:44 am -
This has made me smile. I wish you nothing but happiness. Its the most all consuming feeling knowing that someone loves you and is thinking of you as you are of them…it makes you feel as though you can do anything..anything.
As some one who has a husband who is away for six months of the year…absence does make the heart grow fonder..
Enjoy.
Deb -
April 18, 2013 at 11:00 pm -
That’s beautiful Lori & amazing & i’m really
glad you have found someone new to love & someone to love you. My hubby has been gone almost 10 years & sadly I’m still all by myself with my three kids…now 17,13 & 11. My angel hasn’t yet decided to send anyone to keep me company. And yes…my kids keep me totally busy…lucky for me I have them, as hard as it is doing it all on my own, all the time. Enjoy this special man that has come to you…I wish you all the happiness together. Good luck with it all. -
April 18, 2013 at 6:04 pm -
You deserve every happiness with Mr AmazIng.
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April 17, 2013 at 2:11 pm -
Nawwwwwww <3 <3
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April 17, 2013 at 11:32 am -
This is so beautiful.
- April 17, 2013 at 11:07 am
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Oh, Lori… He indeed sounds amazing.
Whoa, Molly! recently posted…Some Shrinkage May Occur-
April 17, 2013 at 2:56 pm -
I felt really happy reading that!
He sounds like a keeper -
April 17, 2013 at 5:27 pm -
Keeper is definitely the right word
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Previous post: For Rachel.
Next post: That’s Love.
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: Fuck You Too.
The ICU Again – RRSAHM
The ICU Again
If you follow me on Twitter, you may have seen me panicking slightly over the weekend. My Gran, who I’ve written about before here, was admitted to the Intensive Care Unit of her local hospital– the same hospital I spent my last four days with my husband in.
The same ICU. The same nurses. Different bed… but only by one, and that’s all I can think when I walk in– thank goodness she is in a different bed, thank god because I know it’s ridiculous, but I couldn’t do it if she were in that first bed, second bay on the left….
But she’s not. Second bed, third bay… almost the same view of the elevated nurses station in the centre of the ward, but not quite.
Same waiting room. Quiet laughter this time, very few tears, no screaming arguments where blame is thrown and I get a security escort to my mate’s car because the nurses are worried someone will be waiting for me… (and I’d forgotten, mercifully, all about that until the nurse who called the guard mentions it to my mum… that what she remembers most about me, and she is still concerned, even now, with how I am coping.)
Flimsy hospital gown on and in that moment, with it swishing it against my feet, my mind flashes to a woman, (me) unable to stop crying, feeling ridiculous as she talks to her husband the same way she always has, (“I’ll be back in five minutes, babe… I promise.”) even though she knows by now he can’t hear her…
What could have become a rolling wave of a flashback ceases instantly… later, I’ll cry for her, for that woman. But there’s a wall there, a membrane (blocked heart chakra) up against her pain… because she doesn’t exist anymore, and I view her simple sweetness with sad amazement… she was such a lovely, gentle person. (”You’re just… harder” says my mum, not unkindly, and because I ask, “that’s the main difference I see with you… you’re just not as soft anymore, with the kids. But you have to be… You can’t afford to get hurt…” And that feels just like a tragedy, when you’re even afraid to love your own children because your basis of love has been knocked clean away from you.)
It’s suggested I don’t go, but the idea of not going doesn’t occur to me… actually, I think it does, and at one point on the horrible long drive in there for the first time, not knowing how I will react to the hospital ward that I still see in my nightmares, the five year old in my head begins screaming hysterically “What are you doing, Lori? What are we doing?? The ICU, the ICU! Why would you do this to me, to us?!”; and there’s nothing I can do for her but let her hide her eyes, hands clamped over her ears, snuggled into her favorite blanket while what’s left of me is brave.
And I feel brave, a little bit, especially when I discover how easy this is… but then I realize it’s only easy compared to last time, anything would be easy compared to that. My gran, she’s conscious, not ventilated, and that helps- a lot, more than I care to admit because I don’t like to imagine that, someone I love with a machine breathing into their chest cavity for them…
I know, she told me last time she was hospitalized, that my gran suffers from anxiety, especially late at night in hospital when she’s lonely, and I know the only ease for that type of anxiety is company.
And I know how much it hurts when people deny you that company because they’re afraid… even when you understand, it still hurts. And as I said, this is different, so different, leaving the world at eighty to be with your husband who you’ve longed for for almost thirty years, having lived most of that life happy and independent… That’s a different thing to leaving the way Tony did.
My Gran, she’s all kinds of awesome. She’s funny and tough and down to earth, with common sense and practicality. She’s never had a license but never asked much for help either– like most of the women of her generation, she seems to clad in war–issue steel.
She turned eighty last Christmas Day (I was about eighteen when i discovered she only got one present as a child, not two, and since then I’ve made a point of two presents, two cards, every year.) At her eightieth birthday party she danced and drank and was surrounded by the people who loved her… a week later she was ill, and she hasn’t really recovered since.
After being resus’ed on Thursday afternoon, she was transferred to the ICU. My mum and uncle gave the order for Do Not Resus and medication is for comfort only… I was expecting to say goodbye over the weekend.
I have seriously underestimated my gran. As of last night she’s sitting up in bed, talking, and managed to score a TV so she could catch up on Dancing With The Stars.
I wish I could say that was as promising as it sounds… it’s not. With her heart functioning at less than the percent, we’re just playing the waiting game… I’m not sure how I’ll deal with that, anymore than I knew how I would handle this.
I have a habit of underestimating myself, and the stoic voice in my mind will tell me, if I let it, that here is nothing brave about this– visiting your grandmother in hospital is simply maintaining the status quo. I think I know better, and I keep capsules of compliments to swallow later, in case I forget.
The nurse I remember most from Tony’s last nights, the same one who told me I must have had the most beautiful dream, because I was smiling in my sleep; she remembers me, too. I remember her saying to me at the time what a good job I was doing, and I remember wondering what she’d seen to be able to classify someone as doing a bad job… I think it spoke to my testament that I could have been so angry, if I’d wanted to- I could have stayed away from the hospital completely and not held his hand and told him I forgave him, I still loved him.
The nurse reiterates that again to my mum this time around– that I did a good job, did what needed to be done and let my husband go in peace… I was brave. And she still thinks I’m brave now, all the nurses do, just to be able to walk into the ICU makes me brave.
And that makes things better… some acknowledgment from a witness who’s outside my emotional whirlpool that I’m not being overly–dramatic, and this really was distressing by all parameters.
But so far, so good… typing this out, I’m actually slightly amazed at myself. But when it comes down to it, the ICU is just another geographical location… just a place, just a spot on a hospital map, with no more significance than that.
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{ 20 comments… read them below or add one }
- June 20, 2012 at 8:15 pm
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I hope that your Gran is comfortable. Your love for her shows so much in this post. Good on you for keeping her company. I hope that thinking back, you can see why we think you are so strong. Thinking of you and your family.
- June 19, 2012 at 8:35 am
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Blame – always directed at the wrong time and to the wrong people. I imagine what you where blamed for is the same typ eof blame that was directed at my husabnd when his first wife was killed. I cannot believe that anyone, let alone family can do this to you (and in my hubbys case – him) at the time that it least needs to be done or heard. In hubbys case the blame was misdirected as was yours. My thoughts are with you always as I have followed your life since then due to link via naother page at the time.
- June 19, 2012 at 7:54 am
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Lori.
I think you did great. I'm hoping and praying that your nightmares are gone. I also hope that you are able to see that ICU can be a place where people say hello again – its not always for goodbyes. I know that in your Gran's case you will say goodbye, and I hope you both get to express your love for each other before you do.
Xx rah rah - June 18, 2012 at 9:52 pm
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These situations are rarely easy but in your case it must be almost surreal… wishing you love light and strength Lori.
- June 18, 2012 at 9:37 pm
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I completely missed this. I am sorry.
I think, even at 80 it is hard. It's still hard to say goodbye, but there is a part of you that finds it more acceptable. We are born, we have a childhood, fall in love, then again with our children, we raise them, grow older whilst doing so, and well, you move on and make way for the next generation.
It's still hard though. Still hurts. Still isn't fair. - June 18, 2012 at 8:51 pm
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Oh yes, so brave. So honest and insightful, as always. Glad your gran pulled through.
- June 18, 2012 at 3:06 pm
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My heart aches for you and your little ones. I feel your hurt and pain, and wish so desperately to soothe it. May God hold you in the palm of his hand. You strong, brave, beautiful, GOOD woman. He loved you so x x x
- June 18, 2012 at 1:06 pm
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Keep putting one foot out there followed by the other and day by day you strengthen. Inspiration, model, inimitable yet igniting us to be better than we have been, encourager. You are al of these to me and to many others I suspect.
- June 18, 2012 at 1:02 pm
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To me you are the epitome of bravery and strength. I know for a fact that I could never be as strong as you have been. You inspire me everyday. xxxx
- June 18, 2012 at 12:34 pm
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You are so very brave. I've been lurking around here for a while (and if you ever get on to Saskatchewan, Canada, look me up for a cuppa) and you. are. brave.
You also have a grace about you, and a heart that still seems a mile deep, and I am so glad for you that these nurses who bore witness to those days validate your bravery and pain.
I wish you peace and happiness, and for your Gran, too.
- June 18, 2012 at 12:20 pm
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wow i never knew you where escorted out of the icu
i never knew much when it happened only i had to take my husband to see his best freind it must have been really hard to go back there remember if you eva mean me im only a phone call away hugs xoxox kirri - June 18, 2012 at 12:11 pm
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Your Gran has hung on because she needed to show you how strong you are now.You are amazing.
Your understanding and comforting her through her anxiety is beautiful.
That line 'I know how much it hurts when people deny you that company because they are afraid' is so touching.So very true.
May your Gran be in peace and feel the love you are giving.xx - June 18, 2012 at 12:06 pm
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Lori, it is more then just geographical. I know, I've been to the ICU too. <3
- June 18, 2012 at 11:37 am
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I thought I had it hard visiting my mentor in the same palliative care centre my grandfather passed in… perspective. I now have it.
- June 18, 2012 at 11:09 am
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What strength you had to summon to be able to go there again, your Gran is very fortunate she has so much love around her.
My Grandma will be 93 this October, and we live in different states. I do cherish each time I go 'home' to visit because I get to spend valuable time with her.
- June 18, 2012 at 10:20 am
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I understand (as much as my life-experience allows me to) and trust me, you are brave! xx
- June 18, 2012 at 10:17 am
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Such a beautiful and inspiring post Lori – Thank you…
- June 18, 2012 at 12:27 pm
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It is so much more than bravery. It is about committment & love & just being there. The little hospital my Dad died in; so many people just abandoned to die alone. The staff say you're brave; you're one of the few who is willing, who wants to stay and just be with your loved one. Keep going, each person passes differently. I hope you will be with your Gran at that special moment… if only to see that it is different & that it is a beautiful time. Love always honey (X)
- June 18, 2012 at 12:17 pm
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That was a pretty amazing thing you did, lori. I remember having to go back to the emergency treatment room where my son and I were taken after he died, and that was just a freaky experience. It felt like a big white clanging space in my head, and I couldn't focus well on anything else.
The trauma you went through was so much more horrific in so many ways, and as another survivor, I'm just so proud of you.
x - June 18, 2012 at 8:45 am
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You Lori amaze and inspire me, the strength you have is unwavering. Yes at times you may crumble it is just another example of your humanity, I know when your children are older they will be proud of you, as we all are. Xoxo
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Lori Gets A Nose Job. – RRSAHM
Lori Gets A Nose Job.
Sometimes, for o other reason than the opportunity presenting itself, I do ridiculous things. Like having my nostrils waxed in a very pubic place, filming it and putting it on YouTube. Enjoy.
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{ 6 comments… read them below or add one }
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February 27, 2013 at 1:08 am -
Few years ago, at a former workplace, I had to put out for display all the brochures and posters about things the council had going on.
Best one was regarding an upcoming bus trip for the elderly, which was on the PUBIC HOLIDAY. In larger font than every other bit of text on the flyer.
Still cracks me up now, when I think about it…especially in conjunction with the reaction of the target audience.
- February 26, 2013 at 10:06 pm
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Cannot *stop* laughing. Typo.. stays :p x
Lori Dwyer recently posted…Lori Gets A Nose Job. - February 26, 2013 at 9:59 pm
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Ok Lori, how many other friends would tell you pubicly that you had a very ‘interesting’ typo on your blog
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February 26, 2013 at 5:42 pm -
I love the leggings – they are absolutely gorgeous.
The worse I will do is a mustache wax…my nose hairs can stay in my nose.
Trisha recently posted…Spirituality: An open letter from God -
February 26, 2013 at 3:04 pm -
Looking good there. I think the nose wax wand is the new must have accessory. Did I tell you I did Mr Blacks nose a couple of weeks ago? Hilar.
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February 26, 2013 at 2:24 pm -
Ouch! I lol’d at the typo the most though…think you meant public place
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Next post: A Prayer For My Daughter.
Shopping Centre Rides Are The Devil Incarnate – RRSAHM
Shopping Centre Rides Are The Devil Incarnate
Dum dum de dum,
Mothers of small children, avert your eyes from what you about to be assaulted with.
Shopping centre rides. In all their gaudy, colorful, covetable glory. They look innocent and friendly, don’t they? Don’t be so easily fooled.
How I hate them.
Our local shops has a total of six coin operated rides. Four different cars and two carousels, cunningly interspersed between the Woolies and the green grocers at regular intervals to insure maximum nagging effectiveness.
If you don’t have small children, I doubt you even understand how prevalent these bleeping things are. I never got it, pre-children. I never remember going on one as a kid. I remember seeing them, but never sitting on one. Certainly never actually wasting money in them. And that was back in the day when rides were 20 cents, not two bucks. I guess my mum must have laid the rules down early, bless her sensible cotton socks.
If only I had been so sensible.
The novelty of them sucked me in at first. So cute, popping your one year old on a big plastic telephone with Jemima from PlaySchool and snapping a picture on your mobile phone, to send to your husband at work with a message saying “Aww- big boy!!”.
I didn’t put money in, of course. The ride actually moving would scare the little one or he’d fall off or something.
And besides, I didn’t want to start that habit. It’s OK to let the kids sit on them, but no coinage. You may even resort to using a parenting white lie- “If the lights are on, the machine’s not working”. Because the lights are always on on these things, flashing and sparkling. They remind me of poker machines. By the time your child is old enough to work out that you are, in fact, lying, they will be too big for the rides anyway, and way too cool, lest their friends from school see them. So everybody wins.
I took the path more commonly traveled.
In an endeavor to get five minutes peace in which to partake in a coffee and a donut with my mummy friends, we plonked our three toddler on a ride, lined up our coins on the table like we were at a seedy pool hall, and got gossiping. the kids went round and round and round, dazzled by the lights and the tinkly music (just like being at your local RSL!). It was mummy heaven.
We created a monster.
OK, that’s a slight exaggeration. The Chop is pretty darn good. But he does love his shopping centre rides, and will happily choose a ride over a donut, a coloring book, or a sheet of stickers. It’s just that now he knows that money makes the ride go round, sitting on one for a few seconds just ain’t good enough.
All of this, I can totally live with. $2 is a very small price to pay for a big smile and a well behaved little man at the shops. Even the lights and the noises, in the fashion of problem gambler chic, I can make my conscious ignore if I try really, really hard.
It’s the subliminal messages that bother me.
Have you noticed…? Next time you let your kids ride one of these things (if you happen to be a big sucker like me, and insert shrapnel on request) listen very closely to the droning, android voice that chimes in at the end of the ride, when the music’s finished. In all likelihood it is saying
“Maybe next time you come to the shops Mummy will let you have another ride!!”
Yes, really. Disturbing much?
I’m seriously considering starting a political party, or a petition,or a FaceBook group, or something hardcore like that. Shopping center rides are the devil incarnate, and they must be stopped.
Who’s with me?
Leave a Comment
{ 18 comments… read them below or add one }
- October 25, 2013 at 1:25 am
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u r full of crap
- November 30, 2012 at 11:28 am
- July 17, 2010 at 6:34 pm
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Where's the petition page? Am totally signing it!!
- July 17, 2010 at 10:23 am
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Small price to pay for a little peace, I say. On a bad day I could bribe my three to behave in the store by the promise of a go-round on one of them when we were through. They were 50 cents then. If they were $2 I wouldn't have been able to afford it.
- July 16, 2010 at 6:54 pm
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Oh yes. But the two things that most ire me.
1) the rides are rubbish. i know i'm not 4, but surely they're underwhelming for a 4 yr old?
2) they're even more rubbish when you put the money in and nothing happens. And that seems to happen rather a lot. - July 16, 2010 at 11:06 am
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My most frequent response is sorry I have no money, but my little angel is getting wise to that now. Yes you have Mum the round money is what you need she tells me.
Karen
- July 16, 2010 at 10:28 am
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TOTALLY agree. I hate them and avoid them at all costs. In a worse case scenario I have told my children that the ride is broken or that I have no money. Funnily enough, it has worked so far
- July 16, 2010 at 9:58 am
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I get sucked in every time. I have 3 grandbabies that live in the same state. Ok why do I sound like I'm defending myself?
- July 16, 2010 at 1:57 am
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Luckily, we don't have those where I shop. It's the candy and gumball machines that drive my kids nuts. I just say no (usually).
- July 16, 2010 at 12:55 am
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Ugh, I used to walk miles out of my way and backtrack like a lunatic to try and avoid those things. Drove me bonkers!
- July 15, 2010 at 11:55 pm
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These are less evil though, than the grabbidy-grab machines…….
- July 15, 2010 at 10:31 pm
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I hate those things! My kids can never remember where they put their shoes, but they remember where every one of those dreaded rides are in the stores!
Right now they're content with "Mommy doesn't have any money on her", but I'm not sure how much longer I can keep up with that excuse.
- July 15, 2010 at 10:22 pm
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Another who was sucked in and now has to try and avoid them like the plague but they are everywhere and Ash can spot them from so far away! Arrrrhhhh!
- July 15, 2010 at 9:37 pm
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You jump aboard my jeggings bandwagon and i'll be part of your evil shopping centre ride campaign. Deal?
- July 15, 2010 at 9:35 pm
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Oh I hear ya! Every time J sees one now she says "money?" LOL!!
I've notice something really scary happening at the moment…. They are putting up little playgrounds just outside supermarkets. At two close to us they have done it & of course you can't walk past them without hearing, "one lide pease mummy?" It's not good when you're in a hurry.
- July 15, 2010 at 9:27 pm
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I can't stop laughing! We already got sucked in early. Down with the machines!!!
- July 16, 2010 at 12:51 am
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Too funny! You can only hope the ride becomes uncool soon! lol
- July 15, 2010 at 9:57 pm
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I am SO with you on this. Bloody machines.
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The Chop Does Big School- Part Two. – RRSAHM
The Chop Does Big School- Part Two.
I’m pleased to report– my little man absolutely rocked his first day at big school.
He looked so cute and handsome and sweet in his new uniform, with his backpack almost as big as he is. And he couldn’t wait to go– the first thing the Chop does after getting out of bed each morning is to put on his school uniform. Which he then refuses to get out of until bath time that night. I think having a massive crush in his new teacher helps immensely. (”She’s much prettier than you, Mum– she’s super pretty!!” and I can’t stop laughing. If nothing else, at least the child has good taste.)
And, as predicted– neither he nor I cried. In fact, all I could do was laugh when my gorgeous little boy turned around and said, as the tiny newbies began to line up two by two “Bye Mum!! You’re going now, right?”
Right, kid. Have fun.
And fun he had. In fact, the Chop truly, undoubtedly loves school. And I am completely loving the fug of absolute exhaustion a day at school brings to his endlessly inquisitive little mind.
***
For the three weeks before Big School begins, the Bump goes off to daycare all by herself of a Wednesday morning, and the Chop and I spend those last few weeks together, soaking up each others company and enjoying what will be much more a rarity from here on in– just the two of us, my son and I, the duo we used to be before his little sister came along, before the world shifted on it’s head.
I’m always so proud of my little boy– he’s a pleasure to take out and about, friendly and sociable, generally well behaved and with manners so lovely I’m not even sure where he learnt them. We get a Wednesday lunchtime invite to a Sandwich Masterclass hosted by GLAD and it seems like a perfect day’s distraction, especially for a child who was already so excited about school starting in a week’s time he could’ve popped.
And he was on his best, most charming behavior. Especially when he discovered we were making sandwiches that looked like Angry Birds (the favorite iGame of the iChild). I’m sad to say that having lunch in the shape of a cranky winged entity did not entice the Chop (who is just as fussy as I am) to eat anything more exotic than he normally would have.
But we certainly had fun making it. And, given the residual interest in the ‘cool sandwiches!’ after I posted our creation on IG, I’d thought I’d share the basic construction method with you all.
The Chop’s Very Angry Sandwiches
Step One: Choose your bread. (Somehow, my son has discovered white bread. I’m not sure how this happened, and am leaning toward blaming his grandparents).
Step Two: Using either large circular cookie cutters or a large, round glass; cut yourself two bread–circles.
Step Three: Take one of these circles and, using the same instrument, cut and arc midway through the bread– this will be the front of your Angry Bird.
Step Four: Choose your filling. Something round–ish (think salami or ham) works well. If your chosen filling is not round (cheese slices, for example), employ your cutting tool again.
Step Five: Using small dabs of butter to make bits stick, apply two circles of cheese for eyes, them two sultanas to make sure those eyes are looking at you.
Step Six: Again securing with butter, make some fierce angry eyebrows out of your bread crust.
Step Seven: Make a beak. We used half a cherry tomato.
Step Eight: A bird needs a nest. We got all creative with alfalfa and grated carrot.
Step Nine: Have your child make an adorable ’angry’ face to go with their angry sandwich.
Step Ten: Watch your child pull the sandwich apart and only eat the ingredients listed in bold anyway. That’d be- bread, cheese, butter and sultanas. Just, yes.
***
A huge thanks to GLAD for having us, and for bringing this post your way. To make Back To School infinitely easier, I’ve got a GLAD Back To School Pack to give away to one of you people. It contains 3 x GLAD Baking Sheets, 3 x GLAD Snap Lock reseal sandwich bags (pack of 50), 3 x GLAD Snap Lock Mini sandwich bags (60 pack), 3 x pack of 12 animal wraps, 3 x sandwich cutters and 6 x edible markers (yes- they are textas that write on food. How damn cool).
To win, fill in the entry form and tell me– what’s for lunch? Yours or your kidlets? Answer that pleases me in whatever way at the time of drawing the competition wins. And you just never know what pleases me, really. Entries close midnight AEST Friday 8th February and the winner will be contacted by email soon after. My decision is The Final Word and no arguing, please.
And that’s that. So far, both the Chop and I are surviving Big School. But of course, that could change at anytime any day this week, from 9am to 3 pm.
I’ll keep you posted.
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{ 7 comments… read them below or add one }
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February 7, 2013 at 3:29 pm -
Love his artistic sandwich skills!
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February 6, 2013 at 2:02 pm -
Love this post!
Cute little girl. It is good to let your kids participate in the preparations of their snakcs. Atlest, they’ll learn and also get the chance to choose what they love to eat. - February 4, 2013 at 11:17 pm
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Agree, about the massive grin, at the whole prospect, of him, taking such big steps in his little life. You know, it’s funny this, I almost feel as if I know him, having ‘watched’ him being shepherded thru such tumultuous times, by you, each saga and celebration chronicled for the webosphere in such colourful and textured detail.
Something struck me, the other day, when you said that one continues having a relationship, one-sided as it is, even after your spouse has gone, as T did. Do you know, in a not dissimilar way, an anonymous reader of a blog also has a unilateral relationship with someone, and it’s a bit of a weird interaction. Intimate details revealed, highs and lows related, but yet no reciprocity, no interaction, takes place.
– whatever,
Hey, after all is said and done, you’re still way cool…
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February 4, 2013 at 7:35 pm -
Lunch… What’s that? Oh yeah, it’s the meal I used to have before life got so busy.
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February 4, 2013 at 4:23 pm -
This is not an entry – I have a mad hate for single use plastics- long story but I am curious about there edible markers. Where can one buy them??
Xxx loved the post btw.
Rah rah -
February 4, 2013 at 4:23 pm -
Reading this, sitting here with a mahoosive grin plastered on my face
So proud of you both!!! (Tantrums & tiaras could be in your future – you have been warned lol)
xxxx
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Food on the Un-Foodie Blog. – RRSAHM
Food on the Un-Foodie Blog.
This post is sponsored by Nuffnang, mmmkay?
I’ve heard them say- I’m not sure who, exactly, just the ever present ‘them’- that kids develop their father’s eating habits, more than their mothers.
In my house, that’s only half true.
The Chop, due to turn four at the end of this year, is just as fussy as they come. Like me. He doesn’t eat much of anything at all. He used to, back in the puree’d solids days. I carefully followed the Guidelines- provided by a different category of ‘Them’ altogether and introduced vegies, then fruit, then meat. I cooked all his meals individually, spoon fed him for as long as possible..
And he still exists on naught but sandwiches, fruit, sultanas and biscuits. I know.
The Bump, on the other hand, takes very much after her Daddy. She eats anything and everything she can get her hands on. Nom nom. If I was to theorise, I’d say that a bit of that has to do with how I fed her- instead of individually cooked meals, she just ate directly off our plates. Whatever we were eating- spaghetti bol, a roast, beef strogonoff… whatever we ate, the Bump would dig in too.
Hence, she’s a very…erm… robust little darling. I’ll resist the urge to call he a garbage disposal, shall I? It makes me quite a happy camper, the variety of foods she eats, even if I’m not that adventurous myself. We try to have red meat at least three times a week- not so easy now there’s no Man to cook for. But it’s packed full of iron, B vitamins, omega 3′s, protein and lots of other awesome stuff.
Anyway. Since Tony’s death, I really haven’t cooked much. I don’t eat much, especially at the moment, and the Chop refuses anything except a jam sandwich for dinner. So, given the chance to try some kid-friendly, packed full of goodness and nutrients, iron recipes from the Red Meat People I certainly wasn’t going to turn it down…
Here’s the recipe….
Beef & vegetable skewers
Serves: 4
Preparation time: 15 mins
Cooking time: 8 mins
Ingredients:
500g beef rump, cut into 2cm pieces
2 zucchini, cut into 1cm slices
1 yellow capsicum, cut into 2cm pieces
16 cherry tomatoes
3 tsp olive oil
¾ cup natural yoghurt
1 tsp ground cumin
Method
1. Toss beef and vegetables in oil. Thread
onto 8 bamboo skewers (Cut off sharp
ends with scissors after threading).
2. Heat a large non-stick frying pan or bbq. Cook skewers for 6-8 mins over
medium heat, turning occasionally. Place skewers on a warm plate and
loosely cover with foil. Rest the skewers for 5 mins.
3. Combine yoghurt and ground cumin. Serve with skewers
Here’s me making a mess…
Here’s where I remind me to take my advice at your own risk- as we’ve established before, this is definitely not a foodie blog. I enter these posts as evidence, your Honour.
And here’s the end result.
The Bump, loving it, having a munching good time…
And the Chop. Eating a jam sandwich.
Ah well. Worth a try.
Leave a Comment
{ 27 comments… read them below or add one }
- June 17, 2011 at 8:28 pm
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Replace the jam with vegemite and you have my 4yo daughter… Every night!
Those skewers look delish!
- June 15, 2011 at 11:20 pm
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Ha ha…! Cute as. My kids ate quite fussy as was I as a kid. I ate…just a lot of the same stuff!
- June 16, 2011 at 3:14 am
- June 15, 2011 at 11:22 am
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GORGEOUS with the jam sandwich!
- June 15, 2011 at 8:59 pm
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Yum those kebabs looked perfect! Good work on the cooking front.
Bump looks like she is enjoying them, as for Jam Sandwich Man he he he cheeky monkey. - June 15, 2011 at 7:22 am
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made me feel hungry! The jam sandwich phase will pass, it'll probably turn into a peanut butter phase! Away I guarantee the point where he stops eating jam will be exactly the point you've bought a zillion jars that were on special offer
- June 15, 2011 at 7:22 am
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made me feel hungry! The jam sandwich phase will pass, it'll probably turn into a peanut butter phase! Away I guarantee the point where he stops eating jam will be exactly the point you've bought a zillion jars that were on special offer
- June 15, 2011 at 3:48 pm
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So lovely to see Bump and Chop's smiling and cheeky faces. Jam sandwiches remind me of being little, my Mum used to make them open with a layer of cream on top. Yum!
- June 15, 2011 at 5:13 am
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Looks delish! I fail dismally at every turn with my boys – 9 year old is a jam sam eater whenever he can, 6 year old would eat nothing but yoghurts by the gallon if I bought enough. I'm no yummy mummy but the boys are far from fading away! They all get there in the end. Good job Lori! xxx
- June 15, 2011 at 5:12 am
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Oh my goodness, they are so cute!
Both of my children a picky eaters, but they come by it honestly, taking after me that way! - June 15, 2011 at 1:39 am
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LOL at your son! That would've been my son too! Went through a dreadful meat hating stage, he's just been slowly coming out of it in the past year.
- June 15, 2011 at 9:28 am
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Feeding kids I think is the worst part of parenting lol. Mine all like different things which when it is going in 6 different directions it can drive you mad lol.
All we can do is try! I am starting to go through my huge recipe collection and taking a bit of hit and miss with whether they will like it or not. I just try to always have some kind of potato with the meal so I know they will at least eat that lol.
I love the pics of Bump and Chop, just too cute!!
- June 14, 2011 at 10:20 pm
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I love that … Chomp's jam sandwich is the punchline! Too cute.
- June 14, 2011 at 8:46 pm
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Well there goes my theory of anything served on a stick being devoured by children. I make fruit kebabs all the time for parties and they're the first thing eaten… cleanses the palate for the salt and vinegar chips.
- June 14, 2011 at 8:44 pm
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too funny! My oldest lives on cereal and applesauce so I can totally relate
way to go – non-foodie or not, it looks good - June 14, 2011 at 8:18 pm
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The skewers look so yummy! And so do your kids. I could just eat them up, they're so gorgeous.
Does the Chop vary the type of jam or stick with only one flavour?My kids ate pretty much anything when they were little. With the exception of peas for child #3 and pumpkin for child #4.
I remember my firstborn at six months when her dummy accidentally got dunked in my curry (she was on my lap) then she put it in her mouth and loved it. Sweet curry, not too hot. - June 14, 2011 at 8:02 pm
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awwww lovely bolus photo (seriously! I love face-pulling photos best of all)
- June 14, 2011 at 7:59 pm
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What a happy post! ♥ the one of Chop showing his mooshy jammy sarmy. Your babies are good enough to nibble on – they're so adorable!!
Remember to come and enter Caption my Freak Photo Competition for a laugh.
- June 14, 2011 at 7:34 pm
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Those pics are soooo cute. Food looks good too. Might give it a try for dinner tomorrow.
- June 14, 2011 at 6:59 pm
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It has taken me all day to have the time to sit down quietly and read this. And how the pictures at the end make it all worth it! The Chop and Bump are just darling.
- June 14, 2011 at 3:25 pm
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Nice work!
We discovered a little tip on a recent trip to Borneo for a wedding.
Put it on a bloody stick and he'll eat the lot!!
Go the skewers!
- June 14, 2011 at 1:41 pm
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Haha!!! Gorgeous shots! Yes, our one year olds scoff anything! ANYTHING you put in front of them. Our 2 year old won't even eat a jam sandwich if she's having a "day", will eat spag bol one day and refuse it and literally tell me it's "poo, stinky" the next day and so on. *sigh*
Yum, those skewers look delicious though! - June 14, 2011 at 1:39 pm
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I don't like to cook particularly, plus I am super fussy. I hate vegies and love meat. Daughter 1 (12) eats anything and will eat as much if not more then me since she was about 7. Daughter 2 (10) is as fussy as me although I try very hard to discourage this. Daughter 3 (8) is a vegetarian by her choice for ethical reasons but eats most things other then meat! I don't know how any of this happened!
Your kids are gorgeous. You are obviously doing a great job regardless of food preferences
I am going to give the recipe a try! - June 14, 2011 at 10:29 pm
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That actually sounds really yummy – I might try it! And have I ever told you that I think your kids are absolutely gorgeous? If not, let me just say that I think your kids are absolutely gorgeous.
- June 14, 2011 at 12:09 pm
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Awe…so nice to see your kiddos again and hear about what's going on in your life.
- June 14, 2011 at 12:04 pm
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Hi Lori-love, can you get Chop to eat applesauce ? One can go a long time on grain-ish bread, jam, apples or sauce, and will he drink milk ?
Bump lives up to her name, too with that mouthful of veggies !~! How adorable are they both, already.
- June 14, 2011 at 11:50 am
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Nawwww! Gorgoues kids you have there Lori!
My 3 year old daughter would eat honey sandwhiches for dinner if I let her.
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Random Ramblings of a SAHM: A Test Post For the Stupid Posessed Commenting System
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: RUOK?
Needy – RRSAHM
Needy
Things feel patently unfair.
It’s nothing, of course…. just a cold, I’m just a bit sick. The doctor says acute bronchitis, which may have developed into pneumonia if I hadn’t come in when I did.
In my life Before, being sick sucked. Because that’s just what it does. Being sick for over a week would have sucked more. But I think I would have managed OK. (I work not to romanticize things. My mother reminds me, succinctly, that even if Tony was here, he did not make a good nurse, could be impatient and frustrated when I was sick… crying that if he were here, he would take care of me, that smacks of rose colored glasses and wishing-things-were).
But now, in the After, everything, anything… it’s all feels disgustingly unfair.
I finally get to meet Mr Enigma, and it’s… such a relief. I stand on my front lawn and hold him, lips pressed into the skin of his neck, feeling my body relax for the first time in months. It feels like coming home.
Maybe that’s partly to blame for what came next. You know the feeling… you’ve been working so hard, looking forward to your holidays so much. As soon as your released from your mundane workplace duties your body revolts, protests, shuts down, collapses in a slump of illness and fever. All the germs, the illness, the exhaustion… everything your body has been pushing back so hard over the last few months comes simmering to the surface, and you find yourself sick. As sick as you’ve ever been.
The first week with Mr Enigma, time passes in a blur of sweating sleeps and fevers, green mucus and Ventolin inhalers. My body is racked with pain. Unable to take care of my kids, I call in the cavalry, and it is five night before I’m well enough to have them home again. (I want my mother. Of all the things he took from me, the five year old inside weeps for my mother most of all. Because now I need her in a different way- when I am sick, I don’t call her to comfort me, but to take my children, protect those most vulnerable first. I want my mother for me again, but time is scarce and what she has goes to my kids.)
And all through this, the Enigma, he stays. He brings me soup and cold facewashers for my head. He takes me to the doctors, rubs my shoulders, kisses my skin where it aches. He is amazing, and I start to wonder if this is why I am sick- that holiday relief, my body feeling safe and allowing itself to be vulnerable.
As I said, it’s patently unfair. I don’t want to begin a relationship this way. This isn’t how things are supposed to go. He is supposed to come and go, we should miss each other, be excited to see each other… it feels like me being so sick, him having to take care of me… that first week or so of sweetness has been lost. I hate being so needy, all the time. I hate crying, screaming, ranting at the universe…. and still nothing changes, I feel no better, and that chasm of need- physical, emotional, mental… it doesn’t close up any. As the months go by, and more and resources are thrown into, that chasm just gets bigger and wider and greedier, and it swallows more and more.
But that’s just grief, is it not? It exhausts you. Almost twelve months later the physical reaction to it is still enough to cripple me, bring me to my knees. It’s just grief. And the way it takes, and takes, and takes.
It’s nothing, after all. Just the flu, a cold… a grief sickness, still, a fever I just cannot shake.
***
Those of us left over by suicide… we’re a strange bunch. Strong and brave and beautiful, with an understanding of the world that few people want.
A reader of mine, named Liz… she wrote me an email recently. There was one line in it that grabbed me…
“I understand suicide.”
And she does. She understands, as well as I do, and she is doing something with that knowledge. Raising money, raising awareness, speaking out, being brave, and encouraging others to do the same.
And on top of all that, she is quite literally running marathons.
Please read this post, and support her if you can.
Leave a Comment
{ 9 comments… read them below or add one }
- December 13, 2011 at 6:47 am
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Oh hun, there is no 'right' way to start a relationship so be vulnerable and let your body get rid of all that negative stuff however it needs to
xxx - December 5, 2011 at 7:46 pm
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I'm so glad that Enigma took care of you, Lori. He must really care.
I hope you're on the mend now.
- December 2, 2011 at 10:49 am
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Not meaning to upset anyone…
I just read some figures last might from Qld about the number of deaths in the state of under 18 year olds. Out of the 465 kids in that list.. 21 commited suicide.. the majority of those were native australian children.
Today, I feel empty for all the families of the kids on that list.
Apart from raising awareness of the precursers.. what else can be done?
- December 2, 2011 at 12:44 am
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Ugh – so sorry you are sick. hope you are better soon. I know what you mean about wishing someone would take care of you – sounds like you've been given a lovely gift by Mr. Enigma, even tho it isn't exactly the gift you were hoping for – I hope you are better soon
- December 2, 2011 at 12:38 am
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Ugh…that is unfair. BUT….in 6 months maybe you'll look back and go…yeah…if it wasn't for that then…>insert something wonderful here<
Hope you feel magical again soon!
x - December 1, 2011 at 11:00 pm
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Get well chick – he sounds pretty special xx
- December 1, 2011 at 8:23 pm
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You're right on two things:
#1 Being sick absolutely sucks big ones.
#2 And being sick and needy is no way to start off a relationship.
However, if Mr Enigma is willing to kick things off like that, then maybe he's someone just a little bit special… - December 1, 2011 at 9:27 am
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Hey chook if he can hold your hand & stick it out when you're sick then he's a pretty special guy. You will have your sweet times together, I know it xxx
- December 1, 2011 at 8:45 am
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Eww. I hope you are feeling better soon.
Maybe grief is an incurable disease of it's own? It affects you physically, and certainly mentally. It's not a short lived virus, but instead a deep long battle like cancer that eats away at you from in the inside.I am happy that you've had Mr Enigma there caring for you. What a bloke to hang around through that huh?!
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Random Ramblings of a SAHM: Not OK.
Google hates my guts. – RRSAHM
Google hates my guts.
Dear Mr Google,
I’m not sure what I have done wrong. But it appears that you do not like me very much at the present moment. You have been systematically kicking me off the Follow list of all my favorite blogs. Like Sarah’s, Brenda’s, Kristin’s and Yankee Lori’s.
Why is this? I demand an explanation. I demand satisfaction. Is it because I steal images from your cache? Is it because I use your search engine auto correct skills when I am too lazy to figure out how to spell long word myself? Is it because I ask you stupid questions, like “Does a Southerly wind blow from the North or the South?”.
I suppose it could be any number of those things. Whatever. You hate me. That’s OK. I don’t like you very much either.
The Man and I have a theory about you, Mr Google. One day, a few millenia down the beaten track, you will be worshiped. As. A. God. The Google God. The God of information. Worshiped at strange alters that become bigger and flatter as generations pass.
The Google God is a vengeful God.
Whatever. You still make me cranky, Mr Google. God or no. You, and this bloody baby that has not stopped screaming ALL FREAKING DAY.
Ner.
Yours in whaddya-mean-that-image-is-copyright-protected?
Lori@RRSAHM.
Amen.
P.S. Seriously super sorry to anyone who has been kicked of my Follow list, or to anyone who Mr Google has made me de-Follow. Bastard. I think I’ve re-Followed everyone. If I missed you, please let me know. Thanking you berry much.
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{ 8 comments… read them below or add one }
- April 26, 2010 at 5:09 pm
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Maybe it's actually a google GodDESS and she's just jealous of your awesome posts and your awesome life. Well, except for the screaming baby. Hmmm, makes Brenda's solution sound pretty good, eh?
- April 24, 2010 at 10:34 am
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That explains so much! The fluctuating follower numbers (that totally made me whine to the man)… the disappearance of blogs I followed.
And Dr. Google is killing me.
I love the FSP Google pic you absconded.
- April 24, 2010 at 8:05 am
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I just had a mental image of the Google God looking like that huge flying brain in " Futurama "… if anyone else actually watches that show.
- April 24, 2010 at 7:45 am
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You have to offer your first-born to The GoogleMeister, Lori. That is the only way. Truth!
- April 24, 2010 at 3:48 am
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Google has already ascended. All Hail Google!
Really, hasn't Google done more for you than your run-of-the-mill smiter?
- April 24, 2010 at 2:58 am
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Hmmm, maybe I can blame Google God too…although not really. It was me cos I'm some sort of dork. I was trying out new templates and rearranging and completely lost a couple. I wondered why you had stopped rambling…..
- April 24, 2010 at 2:22 am
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Bows to the GOOGLE GOD. Well what can we do LORI? Love it and hate it… all the best. I guess we have to live with this. And don't worry you are still following me…
- April 24, 2010 at 12:56 am
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Oh so brave to post this for the Google God to see
I always use the Google auto correct to figure out how to spell words too
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{ 9 comments… read them below or add one }
OMG
I *so* want this. Like, really. How on earth do I get these delectable delights?
Close enough for me but better
Aww man, how do I get them at my house??
Nothing sexier than a man cleaning your house! ‘Can I come home and wash your dishes’ is such a winning pick-up line!
Oh that actually sounds better than sex right now. I’d love to have a clean house!
Lori recently posted…Keepin’ Calm and Fraggin’ On
Oh yeah! Get those bits of fluff under the couch! Faster, deeper! haha
Sheri Bomb recently posted…It’s Time To Brooch The Subject
Oh, baby. A clean house really gets my engine revving.
Ha!
(No, but really. The foreplay could be my special man or lady friend doing the dishes, or mopping the floors. By the time it’s done? READY TO GO!)
Whoa, Molly! recently posted…Don’t Forget To Read!
This made me bahaha out loud. I just got this vision of you being… And doing the shimmy….
Spag recently posted…Happy Mess
Sounds like my idea of a fantasy come true!
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