Monthly Archives: May 2016
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: Washed Away.
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: Not OK.
Because I Love Them. – RRSAHM
Because I Love Them.
There were so many mums who understood this post, when I published it last week. Just when I get to the point where I feel alone, like some kind of emotional oddity… people speak, and they prove me wrong.
It’s common, it seems, if you have experienced grief or trauma at any level– if you suffer PTSD, if you’re grieving someone who you loved dearly, someone who an integral part of your day to day life, a flowing force in your existence… you disconnect.
If you are one of the people lucky enough to have children, you notice it sharply, fiercely, especially when you view it in contrast to what you felt in your Before. (Anyone in this category, I think we all have a Before… a time when the world was lighter and easier, a time when we asked ourselves “How on earth do they do it?” instead of feeling the dull thud of knowledge “I know exactly how they do it.. they have no other choice.”). Because children are tiny mirrors, and they reflect yourself back at you in your purest form… no social niceties to soften the sting of unhappiness.
Just as I said last time– I know. I remember how I would have felt in my Before, reading this… slightly amazed and saddened, wanting to disbelieve it. Not quite sure how it could happen, but being very sure it would never happen to me, no matter what the situation… how could the love I feel for my children change in any way, no matter the proceeding circumstances?
It does change… it just… does. And it’s not something you see immediately, it’s not something you feel happening. With intense and sudden grief and trauma, there is no time to feel anything… you’re numb for months; and when you finally start to tingle with the pins and needles of real life again you have been molded, slightly; yourself but warped, and those around you might be able to see the difference… but you can’t.
So I know how some of you might feel, reading this. And I know I’m different with my children now, than what I was in the Before. I get that. And I understand that intense love that you feel, the emotion that causes the slight bewilderment you’re feeling as you read this. But only because I remember it… not because I feel it now.
I love my children. I would, quite literally, die for them. I remember telling my nan once, in the Before, that the difference between my love for my children and my husband could defined in a nanosecond. If either of them– kids, or Man– happened to be in sudden danger of the dramatic kind, and throwing myself in the path of an oncoming vehicle would save them; then there was only a split instance of difference in my love for them.
With my husband… I would have stopped, just for a moment, and thought about it. I would have done it anyway, thrown myself into the path of danger for him, no question.. but pure instinct would have made me stop for a moment, would have made the action I was about to take a choice.
If it were my children, there would be no half hesitation, no time for pause. My instinct would not stop me to ask me questions– it would throw me into the traffic without pause, without deliberation… in a heartbeat. There would be no choice in the matter (nor would I want one.).
And I still love my children that way. I still, instinctively, protect them and watch for them. I check on them before I go to bed, I know their favorite foods and bad habits ans shoe sizes.
But I rarely miss them. I would rather spend my time alone, or with my friends. I no longer hold off on doing the grocery shopping until I’m with my kids, because they make it more fun, I rush to do it without them because it’s easier.
The tiny things that were once minor irritations and paled in comparison to the pure enjoyment of being in the company of my offspring are now exasperating, annoying to the point where I am a snappy, cranky person. I try not to be… sometimes it’s difficult.
Don’t underestimate me here, or any other parent who happens to feel them same. My children are still very much loved. I tell them how wonderful they are, how I’m proud of them. They are fed and read to and clothed and warm. All their needs– including the need for a kiss and a cuddle when they desire– are met.
But I guess you could say– and forgive me for cliched corniness, but it really is solid truth– my heart isn’t it.
I explain all this to my psychologist and, as I do when I talk to her, I take a step back and realize that maybe I need to let up– my God, I am doing OK here. Some days I’m even doing well. I tell her all of this, I explain this disconnection, and she assures me that it’s normal, that it’s OK, that it’s understandable. And, of course, she makes me see that’s it’s not only children I feel this way with… it’s most things. Every emotional connection I had– and, if I’m honest, experiencing most emotions at all, except those that are truly intense enough to take my breath away– are pale imitations of what they used to be, a sepia toned picture that was once bursting with color.
It’s the enjoyment that’s missing, my shrink tells me. The enjoyment– the joy. I am living, and sometimes– more and more– I am content; but I rarely find joy in anything…. sadly, my children included.
As I’ve mentioned here before- I’m aware that my children are aware of this, and it will effect them, even if it is somewhere (the id?) that is so primal they may never be able to access it or know exactly why they themselves are over emotional, or co-dependent, or cold, or unable to commit. And that sucks, that’s fucked, and I know it, I own it, every day…but that’s life. And life’s a bitch.
The best I can do is keep working at it, keep melting the ice that sits around that intense joy and love that I know is still there, somewhere. And have some faith that one day I’ll be able to reach in and touch that source of it, replenish my enjoyment in the people around me whenever I desire. And I can have hope that when my children are older– so much older, old enough to know how heartbreaking being an adult can be– that they’ll know that I tried. I fought. I’m still trying.
It occurred to me today, as I was burying my four year old’s legs in sand on the beach, that I lived here in Paradise for six months, and we were at the beach almost every day. And it never once occurred to me to build a sandcastle with my kids…. and if it did, and I acted on it, then I have no memory of it.
Today we built castles, we examined rock pools, we wrote our names in the sand… we had fun. Together. Just the three of us.
I must be getting better, slowly. There’s proof of that, real, physical proof, in the castles we left behind on the beach.
I love my children with everything I’ve got…. They are a balm to the pain. They are my soul, my cells, my existence… my world revolves around them.
And that’s the reason I’m still going, still trying to melt that obscuring cloudy ice inside. Because I love t
hem. Because the mother they had is gone, and she’s not coming back.
But they have this one, still. And she’s doing the best she can.
Previous post: Kidspot Ford Territory Top 50: Feel The Difference
Next post: The Brow Wax.
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: The Crappest GiveAway Ever (really, this time)
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: Washed Away.
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: No good deed goes unpunished.
The RRSAHM Guide To Healthy Living (Yes, Really) – RRSAHM
The RRSAHM Guide To Healthy Living (Yes, Really)
The Quit family series
highlights how smoking can impact your family and is made possible by
Quit Victoria. Smoking doesn’t
have to kill you to have an enormous impact on you and your family.
You CAN Quit. Make an appointment with your GP or meet Mick to learn more.
***
Forgetting the whole Will Lori Or Won’t Lori Actually Get Her Act Into Gear And Quit Smoking discussion… let’s talk about health. Not marathon running or extreme bikram yoga, but general day to day well being.
The body is resilient, but that’s often because we ignore it.
There are simple principles, I think, to staying healthy, and if I’m honest I’m far better at teaching them to my children than I am at applying them to myself. I know what I should be doing… I just don’t always get there.
Anyway. Moving on. As I said, simple principles. Simple every day things that become more and more difficult the faster and more convenient our lives are…
Sunshine and Fresh Air. Because a dose of Vitamin D and a couple of lungfuls of oxygen do wonders for energy levels and moods.
Water. We are all water babies here in the TinyTrainHouse. Juice is a treat, and soft drink a bigger one, and I just don’t have cordial in the fridge at all. The kidlets drink water by half litre bottle, sometimes two a day. And I try, desperately, to do the same… and generally fail.
Exercise. Heh. You can check out the results of my disastrous attempt at taking up jogging in a vlog post coming soon. Until then, allow me to reassure you I am not talking about running marathons. Exercise is easy. Get off thy bum. Do stuff. It does your happy-head a world of good. And it makes for exhausted, sleepy children. Which, as we know, is the mission most days anyway.
Everything in moderation... and nothing to excess. Again, this is a case of me not practicing what I preach. I observe and envy my son’s sense of delayed gratification, his ability to identify so easily the point to stop something before it becomes too much… I’m still learning how to do this.
Eat. This seems to be the best time to answer the question posed here a few days ago by so many of you- what do I actually eat? Wellll… bread stuff, like bread (obviously), biscuits, crackers and toast; dairy like yoghurt and cheese; lots of fruit; occasional steak or chicken; erm… chips; pizza; any kind of pasta with a tomato based sauce… and I think that’s about it. My son, being a fussy eater like me, he’s not too much of a problem. With my daughter, who will eat anything not nailed down, I cook special meals just for her and (probably quite rudely, but, hey, can’t win all the time) encourage her to taste off the plates of others when we’re out and about. I my not eat a wide variety of foods, but I do try to eat healthily… especially when my kids are actually awake and watching. And I encourage them to do the same. To stop us all munching on the junk we’d rather be eating, I have a fool proof method… I just don’t buy it. If we only have healthy options here- especially for snacks, then there’s really not that much of a choice.
So there you have it, jellybeans. Lori’s guide to healthy living. But really, don’t take my word for it… as we’ve discussed, my body is frayed at the edges and near ready to fall apart. So maybe I’m not the best person to ask.
***
Sponsored Series by Nuffnang
The Quit family series highlights how
smoking can impact your family and is made possible by Quit Victoria. Smoking doesn’t have
to kill you to have an enormous impact on you and your family. You CAN
Quit. Make an appointment with your GP or meet Mick to learn more.
smoking can impact your family and is made possible by Quit Victoria. Smoking doesn’t have
to kill you to have an enormous impact on you and your family. You CAN
Quit. Make an appointment with your GP or meet Mick to learn more.
Leave a Comment
{ 7 comments… read them below or add one }
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November 18, 2011 at 8:27 pm -
excuse me Anonymous??? Did you just mean to Lori??? DID YOU??
Well I have some news for you. You are a COWARD insulting someone and not even leaving your name. If you read this blog then surely you know what this woman has been through and continues to go through every single day? Is it any wonder she has even more difficulty trying to give up smoking? You are mean and lacking in empathy, you are just plain RUDE.
Take a good long look at yourself.
Infuriating!! - November 17, 2011 at 3:13 am
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I so hear you on the "I can teach this stuff, I just can't always do it" front. Good luck, lady!
Cxx
- November 16, 2011 at 11:43 pm
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What the hell is up with anonymous commenter #1? WTF? Go piss off, douche.
Good post, Lori and I hope you were well compensated – I think we're all working towards living as healthy as we can (with all our vices clamoring for attention). Keep up the good work. - November 16, 2011 at 8:50 pm
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Your heart is in the right place, Lori.
Changing our habits isn't hard. It's the sticking to the change that's hard.
But you go girl!
Mrs. C - November 16, 2011 at 2:12 pm
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Well done Lori for making the choice to quit
It's hard from what I've seen. Hubby is quitting over Christmas – the same time we'll be knocking out walls in our home. One sledge hammer and one man with nicotine withdrawl – the walls will be gone in 10 minutes 
And Anonymous – your comment is unnecessary and rude. Go away.
- November 16, 2011 at 12:34 pm
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Lori
You are one switched on cookie, sounds like you and the kids will do just fine.
Love
Kimmie
xxx - November 16, 2011 at 10:09 am
Previous post: The Medium, Part Two
Next post: *Guest Post* Resilience 101 – How to fall, and get up again….
Seamless. – RRSAHM
Seamless.
This post comfortably bought to you by the brand new Berlei Dig Free Tights
The unexpected consequence of feeling relatively happy and contented of late is that I’ve put on about 10 kilos in a matter of weeks.
It’s not that putting on weight is a bad thing. It was probably much needed- I was beginning to look like a lollipop. I’m making some attempt to eat properly. I feel healthy. In fact, I feel pretty awesome. It was only the fact that suddenly none of my jeans fit me properly anymore that alerted me to the fact I’d put on weight at all.
That. And one of my best mates asking, unprompted, “When did you get so fat?” (Thanks a lot, Bunny. I’m sure he meant it in the nicest possible way).
And my mum off-handedly mentioning “My, Lori, you’ve put on some weight!”. She must have seen the shock on my face, because she followed that up with “It’s not a bad thing. It’s just that all your clothes are too small now, and that makes it quite noticeable…” (And thanks for that, Mum. Again, I’m sure it was meant in the nicest possible way). My mum was telling the truth- most of my pants, skirts and tights are now a size or two too small. I can only just fit into most of them. And most days that leaves me quite uncomfortable, with big red pressure marks imprinted on to the skin of my stomach.
Looking all preeeeeeetty and dressed up.
So being contacted to review the new Berlei Dig-Free Tights was timely. And certainly sweetened by the fact that Berlei seems to understand that my chances of feeling ‘sexy’ are grossly impeded by life in general- they offered me an all-expenses paid super-glam night out so I could give the tights a better test run than what they would have gotten doing the school pick up in them, or something.
Deciding to take full advantage of this, I booked a room for myself and The Most Amazing Man In The Universe at the Shangri-La hotel in Sydney. I love lush hotels, especially this one, sweeping views of the Harbour and the Opera House. We sat on the padded seats in the huge hotel room’s windows and watch balloons, released from tiny people somewhere below us, float up into the late afternoon atmosphere, high above the city skyline.
We go to a Japanese restaurant for dinner and I actually find something I eat and it’s amazing. We wander through the city streets and end up back at the hotel where we watch movies and order room service. The balloons are replaced by fireworks off in the distance, maybe from the huge cruise ship that’s just departed the harbour. Just watching them feels like taking part in some saccharine cliche but it’s lovely, all the same. The whole night was lovely, a pocket of air in the tumbling rapid that is life at the moment.
The view from the hotel room- ignore the rain. We did.
And the Berlei’s? They were pretty lovely, too. I was actually imagining restrictive tummy sucking undergarments- I’m not sure why- and that was totally unappealing, especially considering I was quite looking forward to dressing up all pretty, and feeling comfortable in something other than tracksuit pants. Turns out, I was pleasantly surprised. These are normal stockings, not tummy-tuckers; beautifully made with no front seam and a ‘smoothing’ waistband – it sits flush with your hips and waist so you can still wear tights without them being so tight that they create lumps and bumps under your clothes. They’re also tough- they survived not only the night out, but also the next day, without a single ladder, tear or hole.
Having said all that, opaque tights are not generally appropriate for the school pick up, running around after small children or hanging out washing. So I’m back to wearing one of my various pairs of a-little-too-tight, a-bit-too-small jeans.
Quite clearly, if I’m planning to keep up this contented vibe I’ve got going on… I need to invest in some new clothes for winter.
In keeping with the new policy on sponsored posts… to be quite honest, the offer of a night out valued at $500 was just far too good to pass up. Thanks Berlei.
***
Because I had such a good time, it’s only fair that you should have some fun too.
Berlei is giving you the chance to win…
*A restaurant dinner for two in your nearest capital city
*One night’s hotel accommodation
*Limo transfers between the restaurant and hotel
To be in the draw to win this one, leave a comment on this blog post answering the question…
‘Share how you make yourself feel like a ‘desirable woman’?”
This competition is open for three weeks from the date of this post. One overall winner chosen from all blogs participating. Check out the full T’s and C’s here….
Berlei Comp Terms and Conditions.
Leave a Comment
{ 46 comments… read them below or add one }
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October 14, 2013 at 4:16 pm -
You are really looking pretty and dressed up.Thanks for sharing wonderful post.
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May 21, 2013 at 8:17 pm -
Whenever I wear feminine, beautiful underwear, I always feel desirable!
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May 21, 2013 at 5:43 pm -
Well, I always feel desirable when I dress up nice, maybe show off a bit of cleavage, and I also walk with confident poise and flirt with my husband
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May 21, 2013 at 2:31 pm -
To feel like a desirable women is to love yourself and believe in yourself. I look in the mirror every morning, and tell myself I love what I see and others love me too. The result, a beautiful confident women.
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May 21, 2013 at 11:50 am -
It’s date night with hubby – it’s time to look hot!
Must look desirable… if I haven’t forgot!
I kick off my slippers and reach for my heels
MUMMY YOU STINK! my two year old squeals
I swap eau de nappies for some Chanel no. 5
Take off my glasses (hope hubby will drive!)
Wipe off the play-doh from my best dress
Only time to shave 1 leg – hope it will still impress!
My hairs in a birds nest, I’ll put on a hat
It’s now time to leave – where ARE my keys at?! -
May 21, 2013 at 10:02 am -
High heeled boots, a spray of Chanel No. 5 on my neck, fresh breath… Now I feel desirable!
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May 21, 2013 at 7:05 am -
Every night when hubby (of 23years) walks through the door with “that” look in his eyes. Little does he know it has taken quite a bit of time, war paint and posture control to achieve that “casual” you caught me needing you position. I desire a hero and he desires a damsel WIN, WIN.
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May 20, 2013 at 5:54 pm -
For me it’s putting on my favourite ‘Little Black Dress’ that makes me feel like I’m a desirable woman but one big drawback of late is the unfortunate feeling that my tights and my waist aren’t in agreement ! If Berlei’s Dig Free Tights live up to their expectations my LBD will be hitting the town big-time !
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May 14, 2013 at 10:56 pm -
I become desirable after a few(or many) wines! At least I think I am desirable!
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May 14, 2013 at 9:23 pm -
It’s just like fishing: if you select the right Berlei, they’ll be eating out of the palm of your hand! Now that makes you feel like a desirable woman!
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May 13, 2013 at 11:35 pm -
I like to smile and give eye contact with people, from the supermarket to the bank. The response is amazing, it makes me feel so desirable that I’m making other people feel good and they always smile at me in return.
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May 11, 2013 at 11:36 am -
I get dressed in drag
See here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g0fmM6kEzSA -
May 11, 2013 at 8:08 am -
NOW A ‘NANNY’ AT AGE 61, I HAVE LEARNT OVER THE YEARS TO NOT ‘COMPARE’ YOURSELF TO ANYONE! YOU ARE “YOU”, NO MATTER YOUR APPEARANCE. WE ALL CHANGE SHAPE OVER THE YEARS, WHETHER DUE TO PREGNANCY, CHANGES IN FAMILY LIFE, GRIEF OR WHATEVER. EXERCISE, EAT HEALTHY FOODS AND TRY TO HAVE AS LESS STRESS AS IS POSSIBLE. IT’S A KILLER. YOUR MIRROR WILL EXCHANGE MANY DIFFERENT VIEWS OVER THE YEARS, BUT WHAT REMAINS ‘UNSEEN’ IN THAT VIEW IS A UNIQUE HEART.WHAT YOU VALUE AND GIVE OUT TO OTHERS DEPICTS WHO YOU REALLY ARE. JUST GIVE THANKS FOR ALL YOU HAVE AND LIVE A HAPPY, HEALTHY LIFE.
- May 11, 2013 at 8:21 am
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Sorry for the ‘caps’…! Bad habit!
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May 10, 2013 at 9:05 pm -
‘Share how you make yourself feel like a ‘desirable woman’?”
By being confident no matter what body shape you are, every woman can feel like a desirable woman by having some self confidence. The best way is to look in the mirror and quote out loud an affirmation or stick it to the mirror to continue to remind yourself that its the inner beauty thats most important, not the stereotypical fabricated visions. We are Beautiful no matter what they say, words can’t bring us down! Christina Aguilera is very right with her lyrics. Its just a matter of more women believing in themselves.
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May 10, 2013 at 10:29 am -
I’m definately of the not fond of my body category, however, a cute new hair do, or just plain swapping the thongs – of the feet variety – for ballet flats makes me feel more girly.. that and finally getting a shower that’s longer than the 2 mins the baby will let me put her down is a winner too! Lemme put that in poetry:
I’ve not had my baby for long,
My body feels all kinds of wrong,
On my feet I forever were thongs,
& it’s too cold now for sarongs (what I’m running out of material … it was sarong or bong :P)
SO swap those shoes for ballet flats,
and I start feeling all that!
Toss in a great new do!
& Suddenly the house I strut through! Did I mention I have a 3 month old and I DESPERATELY need some suck it in tights?
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May 10, 2013 at 4:21 am -
I ignore the self-doubt and force myself to act in a confident manner. It’s amazing how, when you behave confidently, people see you that way and you start to see yourself reflected back in the same light… In romantic moments with my Husband, I act as though I am confident and self-assured, as if I KNOW that I am a sexy, vibrant woman and that confidence appeals to him GREATLY, which in turn makes me so much more relaxed in my desirability! In social situations, I try to compliment other people in a genuine fashion as often as I can and I find that comes back to me, too. It is lovely to receive compliments and nothing much feels better. Except the hugs and cuddles of four gorgeous children who remind me that the ‘few’ added kilos, stretch marks and ‘laugh’ lines are all so very worth it…
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May 9, 2013 at 4:28 pm -
Gosh Lori,
I think that you being happy and feeling healthy is all that matters. I think KMart have $6 jeans. And I think it’s the season for weight gain- six kg have crept on me since Easter.I don’t know how to make myself feel a desirable woman. I’ve been in hiding for a bit, and trying to find where I fit in in the world. But if I had to think about it, I would start with a nice hot uninterrupted shower. Some “landscaping”. Body lotion. A nice dress, Lippy, heels.
I would then close my eyes and breathe. … I think that if I got the chance to spend some time on myself then I might feel desirable? I dunno. Clearly I’m failing at this one.I should have just stuck with what I was going to say: which is that I’m glad to come back to your blog as read that you are feeling happy and healthy. It warms my heart.
Xx rah rah
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May 8, 2013 at 12:23 am -
If you had asked me a week ago I would’ve said ‘Nothing, I feel like a big fat frump’! But I read some body acceptance articles, decided I wasn’t too fat to wear my favourite wedges instead of boring flats, and the second they were done, I felt sexy for the first time in gosh, I don’t know how long.
Professor appreciated the change. (twice!)
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May 7, 2013 at 6:56 pm -
My darling husband desires me, and that is worth so much! If I put in a bit more effort the effects are ten-fold! A couple of years ago I made a pact to wear more of what is in my wardrobe, and put on the lippy and liner on a nearly daily basis. I feel better being more together, even for the school run! Oh, and we love a lot of kisses!!
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May 7, 2013 at 5:38 pm -
Spur of the moment is the secret to make me feel desirable. Just decide ‘now’, put on something pretty, pour a glass of wine and relax. Not over thinking and no pressure.
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May 7, 2013 at 5:17 pm -
You look great, younger, happy! xxxx
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May 7, 2013 at 5:05 pm -
I’m a single mother studying a full time dual diploma and working part time. Opportunities to get dressed up and to make myself feel desirable are few and far between. But those slim chances I get my preparation starts the night before. I wash my hair, scrub my skin till it shines and lather on the moisturiser. I rarely wear make up these days so the time spent before I go out is meticulously applying makeup, a sexy smokey eye and plump nude lip. Wardrobe choice, something comfortable, but always showing off my curves and boobs, because if you have it flaunt it. My hair often quiffed back in a funky style and finally a scotch for a little Dutch courage. I don’t get out much for some one in their late 20s, but then again I’m cash poor and a mother of an 8yo. But when I do, a babysitter is booked for the night. I pamper, prepare and primp till I feel like a fox
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May 7, 2013 at 4:48 pm -
To make myself feel desirable all I have to do is to put on some good underwear, a dress and stand in front of my husband. He goes week at the knees. Suffice to say, that is all I need
Becc recently posted…Every last morsel
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May 7, 2013 at 4:27 pm -
After 15 years with a mentally and on occasion physically abusive alcoholic husband, who took his own life two years ago and left me alone with 4 children, it certainly took a toll on my esteem and feeling desirable, but it took a very special male friend to come along and tell me I was beautiful on a constant basis that I finally could look in the mirror and like the person looking back at me, now I know there’s no stopping me I hold my head high, a positive attitude and walk with a wiggle in my step and if it happens to turn heads, then Im happy to of been noticed.
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May 7, 2013 at 4:21 pm -
How do I make myself feel like a desirable woman? I had to think about this…it’s been awhile since I have felt much of anything (good ol’ anxiety). But I can imagine…
It would begin with me running the shower as hot as I can stand it, I don’t have to share with little people today. I would scrub the paint from my hands and wash my hair twice. I would defuzz and lather myself in something that doesn’t have ‘no more tears’ plastered on it. I would light a lovely candle before covering myself with moisturiser I have dug out of our vanity from behind the nappies. I would wear my wedding perfume underneath a non maternity bra, I might even dig out some semi matching undies. I would straighten my hair and put on something cute. Then the last thing I would do is look in the mirror and tell myself that I am beautiful, because I know that I am, and all the goobie covered clothes and bad mum hair doesn’t change that.
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May 7, 2013 at 1:09 pm -
I love giving myself a pamper session. I nice hot long shower or bath with plenty of bubbles or pretty smelling shower gel, a hair treatment, a shave and all that jazz. Then when I get out I’ll slather myself in lush moisturiser, skin treatments and yummy smelling goodies before treating myself to a mani/pedi. It’s all the little details like smooth skin, silky hair, neat nails and smelling nice that make me feel desirable. Throwing on some sexy lengerie also helps!
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May 7, 2013 at 8:34 am -
It’s funny because before having children I never thought about the how, I was a woman and was pretty sure that to some (ok maybe just a very small few) I was considered desirable.
Then I had my son and became a mum. It took me a long time to realise that I could be both a mum and a woman.
Now I take time to do the things I need to to feel like a desirable woman. I wear bright lipstick everywhere, especially places where it’s not appropriate (day care pick ups) I wear stockings and dresses nearly everyday. I don’t do it for anyone else, just me. It’s what I need to remind me that I am more than only a mum.
And yes, sometimes on my very best days I feel like the desirable woman I once took for granted.
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May 5, 2013 at 10:08 pm -
From the second I got pregnant I found it nearly impossible to feel desirable. After all.. theres morning sickness, weight gain, leaky boobs, BIRTH (oh my, did a head just really pop outta there?!), even more leaky boobs, squishy tummy and .. Well, the list goes on. Finally when our son was 13 months old, I decided I’d had enough of being the ‘tootiredandhaventlookedinthemirrorindays’ woman and went out and got me some sexy lingerie. I was skeptical at first but WOW when I put it on, I suddenly became a sex goddess! The tummy was tucked away, the boobs were pushed back north after holidaying south for so long.. and wow, those stockings just hid any evidence of unshaven legs. It didn’t even matter about the hair or makeup..all attention was drawn elsewhere!
Hubby’s reaction was not at all disappointing and I felt more desirable than I ever had. These days it still works a charm.. Granted, it probably only comes out once a year on valentines day..(hey- it’s quite an effort getting it on!) But the wonderful, empowering, sexy desirability it gives me sustains me the other 364 days of the year - May 5, 2013 at 9:49 pm
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From the second I got pregnant, I found it pretty much impossible to feel desirable! Finally when my son was 13 months
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May 4, 2013 at 5:35 pm -
I feel like a desirable woman when I can wear trackie daks, or a onesie, and not have to worry about my appearance. If somebody loves you they should find you desirable no matter what you do, say or wear!
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May 2, 2013 at 11:38 am -
Lori, can I just say you look gorgeous in that pic! And really, really happy
- May 2, 2013 at 11:45 am
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(lol…I’d probably better add that I’m not entering the competition, in case anyone thinks I’m trying to influence the judges!
)
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May 1, 2013 at 11:54 pm -
I have to confess that I don’t feel very desired at all these days, so I’m not quite sure how I go about making myself feel “like a desirable woman” anymore
I feel I’m stuck in a rut of being the one to put in 110% effort for little or no effort in return. My husband has never been one for caressing my legs, so shaving is just personal preference; ditto sexy lingerie. Perfume makes him sneeze. Aargh!! I need help! Maybe a night away is the key…. -
May 1, 2013 at 9:31 pm -
I feel like a desirable woman when I dress up and go to a bar on my own, my husband arrives shortly after ….pretending not to know me. He approaches and introduces himself, we flirt, he offers to buy me a drink…I accept and order a decadent cocktail….then on to a romantic dinner….and then I go home with him!
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May 1, 2013 at 1:47 pm -
What makes me feel desirable is a combination of how I feel about myself, along with how I am presented. maybe a new outfit or a hair dressing appointment will help and if my man is showing me some love.
Theres nothing beter than feeling desirable and its not something I take for granted as its something I dont feel often enough. Never have, always compare myself to all those beauty queens and glamours which Im not. Im just your everyday kinda gal.
Hope your feeling beautiful Miss Lori and life being kind to you -
May 1, 2013 at 1:40 pm -
Red lipstick wins every time!
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May 1, 2013 at 8:15 am -
The best way to make me feel like a desirable women? By dressing myself in red! Red always lifts my mood and makes me feel confident and sexy. So does yoga…. So maybe if I combined a yoga session followed by wearing a red dress on a date with my hubby I’d be the ultimate desirable woman!
Amy@New Adventures recently posted…Its Just….A Little Crush -
April 30, 2013 at 11:24 pm -
The only way I can feel like a desirable woman is feeling good about being me; reflecting on the things I really like about myself, feeling acceptance of the things I don’t like so much (an ongoing challenge) and feeling empowered to keep on my journey. Sounds a bit schmaltzy perhaps! But when I’m in such a place – wow, watch out world.
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April 30, 2013 at 7:26 pm -
I’ve recently lost 15kg, so feeling brilliant!
I make sure I am up to date with the beauty regime, hot shower, hop into ultra comfy clothes and then go somewhere wonderful with my husband! He can make me feel desirable in track suit pants! -
April 30, 2013 at 7:12 pm -
Having a nice, long, uninterrupted shower with time to wash my hair, scrub my skin and de-fuzz areas that are often neglected in the 2-minute-showers-incase-toddler-wakes-up of daily mummyhood. Getting dressed into clothes that actually fit me since losing 25kg of pregnancy weight with a dash of make-up and a hint of pretty smelling stuff. Topped off with a freshly brushed hair and a pair of only-slightly-high heels, that’s how I make myself feel desirable. Look good, feel good and be confident!
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April 30, 2013 at 4:40 pm -
Making myself feel like a desirable woman is entirely up to how I feel on the inside, being surrounded by people who love me for me, all in good cheer, and how I feel on the outside. I want to feel comfortable but pretty, my hair freshly done and co-operating, skin half decent, and not having one of those days where looking at food seems to make me bloat, because feeling like I look good directly affects my mood. It makes me feel desirable and not yuck, a bit like stocking lines do.
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April 30, 2013 at 4:06 pm -
I have been trying to lose weight to feel better about myself and to feel healthier. It’s a long road ahead. But I have found that the simple act of getting a haircut (which isn’t such a ‘simple’ act with two kids and trying to find the time to get out and get a haircut. hence my hair was down to my butt instead of at my shoulders!) makes such a difference to how you feel about yourself
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April 30, 2013 at 2:28 pm -
Wow Lori, what a wonderful time you had! I love Sydney in the rain. It can be tricky to feel desirable with little ones, but for me it usually involves a hot shower – without children- painting my toe nails an outrageously bright colour and spritzing on some perfume. Add a bit of lippy and that’s the best I’ll be for quite some time to come!
Hails recently posted…Getting out and about, or more accurately, how to buckle and unbuckle three children into and out of their carseats without hurting yourself or them… -
April 30, 2013 at 10:30 am -
For me it is so important to love myself first. If I take some time to celebrate my body, by getting a haircut, having a relaxing massage or going on a shopping trip for a new outfit, it is amazing how much better I feel about it on the inside, which in turn shows on the outside.
Lys recently posted…“If You’re Gone” – Matchbox 20-
May 18, 2013 at 9:10 pm -
I put on my deepest shade of red lipstick and smile. No man, especially & specifically my husband can ever resist not smiling back and even more so when I bite my bottom lip signalling a ‘come hither,’ look.
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Previous post: The Sticks.
Next post: My Son Has Been Kidnapped and Replaced With Some Kind of Alien.
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: For Any Mother Who May Pass This Way (Nothing funny about this post, folks)
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: The Crappest Give Away Ever!!
The Weilder of Magic Sticky Tape. – RRSAHM
The Weilder of Magic Sticky Tape.
Hi there,
Wielding a roll of sticky tape, I mended a picture book for my son tonight.
Not a momentous event, not at all, in the eyes of an adult. But through the eyes of a toddler, a different thing entirely.
This book, sitting in pieces in front of me on the floor, was called Chick. It was my son’s favorite, and almost un-fixable, despite my best efforts. A pop up book, sadly ripped and torn, it had been languishing on a high shelf for weeks now. Every few nights, my son would ask “Chick?” Only to have me reply “It’s broken”. An attempt to teach him the gravity of his actions, this indulged child who does not cry when something breaks but chimes that we can “Buy a new one at the shop”.
The first time Chick was ripped, I repaired him, giving my two and a half year old the benefit of the doubt- it was obvious from his distress, that this had been an act of curiosity, not malice. And for the manufacturers to hide a small, paper chicken within the pop up egg, one that could only be properly seen if the book was destroyed, well, was that not tempting the chubby hands of a child to explore, to leave torn shreds of colored cardboard in their wake?
The second time Chick was ripped, the cardboard confetti was accompanied by a cheeky smile and the tiny thunder of size 6 feet running as he heard me coming.
And so, Chick sat, requested but unread.
Chick happened to be repaired tonight in the haphazard way of the outskirts of my discipline- I had never meant to carry this punishment on for so long. I had simply forgotten to take Chick downstairs. It just so happened that today, I spotted him as I was leaving my son’s room. And the sticky tape was already out, waiting patiently on the kitchen bench to be utilized or returned to it’s home, littered with the debris of old craft projects and random balls of Blu-Tac.
My son sat and watched, grave, serous, as I taped the pieces of his prized possession back together.
In the constricted world of a toddler, parents are god-like. We are the rule-makers, the harbingers of both rewards and punishment. My son thinks my husband a hero because he can fix the CD players where the “Wiggles stuck!!”. He considers me a champion because I can, with sticky tape and sheer determination, craft a three dimensional egg from the tattered strips of his misbehavior.
Almost.
My son carried the newly repaired Chick up to bed tonight, the book tucked under his chubby arm, dwarfing his torso, banging his knees and making stair climbing difficult. We sat on the bed, as we do every night, my feet resting on the floor while his dangled and swung a rhythm off the edge. He opened his book, eager to read the story he had been missing and asking for.
As he turned the first page, I saw the shock of Chick’s imperfection startle him, the long dark eyelashes that frame his blue eyes swept upward. He paused, looking at the imperfect egg, unsure of the parameters here. I had done my best, but parts of this puzzle were missing, and even a mother can only repair what is there.
“It was broken, remember? Mummy fixed it the best she could.”
He nodded, confused. The second page, the bright yellow bird peeking up and down and the page moved back and forth, cheered him and he eased into the story with his sleepy enthusiasm. On Chick’s second run, he again paused, moved his fingers briefly over the roughness of the edges of the tape, then turned the page without pausing over the first page of the story.
A toddlers epiphany, a lesson learnt, is an astounding and pensive thing to watch.
Tonight, my son learnt that what is broken cannot always be fixed, even by his mother and her sticky tape. He learnt that mummy is not magic, and she cannot always rebuild things exactly the way they were before.
He learnt the consequences of his actions. I doubt the book will be torn again.
In the tiny part that likes to practice melodramatic parenting, I feel cruel, as if I have started a domino effect of disappointment in his life that will not cease. All of us have to learn to live with disappointment, with things that change and shift, with the ramifications of what we have done, do we not? Yet this feels like such a harsh lesson for a young child to learn.
Please don’t misinterpret me here. I’m not berating myself over something a simple as a ripped pop up book, a materiel object that has no real permanence. But a part of me is mourning the first sliver that has been shaved from my child’s image of his mother as his God- invincible, in control, a fixer of broken things. A wielder of magic sticky tape.
All of us learn, eventually, that magic is scarce, and that sometimes things fall apart so badly no one can repair them. It’s a part of growing up. This is the first barren life lesson I have born witness to my child taking in. And there will only be more to witness from here.
Leave a Comment
{ 10 comments… read them below or add one }
- July 17, 2010 at 10:37 am
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Oh Lori, this was so beautiful. And the thoughtful awe-struck little face of your Chop was just precious. This is one of those stories that he's probably too young to be able to look back on and remember, but that you'll have tucked away in your mommy files to tell him at just the right time.
- July 16, 2010 at 1:29 pm
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Excellent post! My son is ten and I still hate when he has to feel the sting of disappointment.
- July 15, 2010 at 11:26 am
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I loved this… I think that we must learn how to handle disappointment with grace in order to survive and thrive in life. However, I spend many days wishing I could shield my children just a little longer. The worst days are when it's me that I wish I could shield them from. {sigh}
Wow, I'm melancholy tonight. - July 14, 2010 at 2:10 pm
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Beautiful post. As parents we hurt when our babies hurt, but we know we have to let them hurt. If we don't they don't grow. I love the way you wrote this. xx
- July 14, 2010 at 12:46 pm
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Growing up sucks.=(
- July 14, 2010 at 9:16 am
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You did the right thing by telling him that you could only fix him as good as you could. You are a great mom.
- July 14, 2010 at 8:16 am
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Beautiful post Lori and a good moment to capture in time. I understand what you mean about this first lesson, it's heartbreaking isn't it. I hope Chick lives a long worn out life now xo
- July 14, 2010 at 1:35 pm
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I loved this post. Fantastic. My husband and I are also fixers of things but my 3 year old son knows most of my limitations. Dad, however, can fix anything. Luckily for my son, I believe that's true too.
- July 14, 2010 at 1:01 pm
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What a great, thoughtful Mom you are!
- July 14, 2010 at 12:46 pm
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It is great when the kids think mothers are capable of anything. My then three year old once said to me – "move the sun it is in my eyes" and she actually thought I could.
For the record she thought I did as I turned the corner,,,,
Previous post: Purple House Garage sale.
Next post: What’s With The Narky? (A Hippy Love and Peace Post)
The Weilder of Magic Sticky Tape. – RRSAHM
The Weilder of Magic Sticky Tape.
Hi there,
Wielding a roll of sticky tape, I mended a picture book for my son tonight.
Not a momentous event, not at all, in the eyes of an adult. But through the eyes of a toddler, a different thing entirely.
This book, sitting in pieces in front of me on the floor, was called Chick. It was my son’s favorite, and almost un-fixable, despite my best efforts. A pop up book, sadly ripped and torn, it had been languishing on a high shelf for weeks now. Every few nights, my son would ask “Chick?” Only to have me reply “It’s broken”. An attempt to teach him the gravity of his actions, this indulged child who does not cry when something breaks but chimes that we can “Buy a new one at the shop”.
The first time Chick was ripped, I repaired him, giving my two and a half year old the benefit of the doubt- it was obvious from his distress, that this had been an act of curiosity, not malice. And for the manufacturers to hide a small, paper chicken within the pop up egg, one that could only be properly seen if the book was destroyed, well, was that not tempting the chubby hands of a child to explore, to leave torn shreds of colored cardboard in their wake?
The second time Chick was ripped, the cardboard confetti was accompanied by a cheeky smile and the tiny thunder of size 6 feet running as he heard me coming.
And so, Chick sat, requested but unread.
Chick happened to be repaired tonight in the haphazard way of the outskirts of my discipline- I had never meant to carry this punishment on for so long. I had simply forgotten to take Chick downstairs. It just so happened that today, I spotted him as I was leaving my son’s room. And the sticky tape was already out, waiting patiently on the kitchen bench to be utilized or returned to it’s home, littered with the debris of old craft projects and random balls of Blu-Tac.
My son sat and watched, grave, serous, as I taped the pieces of his prized possession back together.
In the constricted world of a toddler, parents are god-like. We are the rule-makers, the harbingers of both rewards and punishment. My son thinks my husband a hero because he can fix the CD players where the “Wiggles stuck!!”. He considers me a champion because I can, with sticky tape and sheer determination, craft a three dimensional egg from the tattered strips of his misbehavior.
Almost.
My son carried the newly repaired Chick up to bed tonight, the book tucked under his chubby arm, dwarfing his torso, banging his knees and making stair climbing difficult. We sat on the bed, as we do every night, my feet resting on the floor while his dangled and swung a rhythm off the edge. He opened his book, eager to read the story he had been missing and asking for.
As he turned the first page, I saw the shock of Chick’s imperfection startle him, the long dark eyelashes that frame his blue eyes swept upward. He paused, looking at the imperfect egg, unsure of the parameters here. I had done my best, but parts of this puzzle were missing, and even a mother can only repair what is there.
“It was broken, remember? Mummy fixed it the best she could.”
He nodded, confused. The second page, the bright yellow bird peeking up and down and the page moved back and forth, cheered him and he eased into the story with his sleepy enthusiasm. On Chick’s second run, he again paused, moved his fingers briefly over the roughness of the edges of the tape, then turned the page without pausing over the first page of the story.
A toddlers epiphany, a lesson learnt, is an astounding and pensive thing to watch.
Tonight, my son learnt that what is broken cannot always be fixed, even by his mother and her sticky tape. He learnt that mummy is not magic, and she cannot always rebuild things exactly the way they were before.
He learnt the consequences of his actions. I doubt the book will be torn again.
In the tiny part that likes to practice melodramatic parenting, I feel cruel, as if I have started a domino effect of disappointment in his life that will not cease. All of us have to learn to live with disappointment, with things that change and shift, with the ramifications of what we have done, do we not? Yet this feels like such a harsh lesson for a young child to learn.
Please don’t misinterpret me here. I’m not berating myself over something a simple as a ripped pop up book, a materiel object that has no real permanence. But a part of me is mourning the first sliver that has been shaved from my child’s image of his mother as his God- invincible, in control, a fixer of broken things. A wielder of magic sticky tape.
All of us learn, eventually, that magic is scarce, and that sometimes things fall apart so badly no one can repair them. It’s a part of growing up. This is the first barren life lesson I have born witness to my child taking in. And there will only be more to witness from here.
Leave a Comment
{ 10 comments… read them below or add one }
- July 17, 2010 at 10:37 am
-
Oh Lori, this was so beautiful. And the thoughtful awe-struck little face of your Chop was just precious. This is one of those stories that he's probably too young to be able to look back on and remember, but that you'll have tucked away in your mommy files to tell him at just the right time.
- July 16, 2010 at 1:29 pm
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Excellent post! My son is ten and I still hate when he has to feel the sting of disappointment.
- July 15, 2010 at 11:26 am
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I loved this… I think that we must learn how to handle disappointment with grace in order to survive and thrive in life. However, I spend many days wishing I could shield my children just a little longer. The worst days are when it's me that I wish I could shield them from. {sigh}
Wow, I'm melancholy tonight. - July 14, 2010 at 2:10 pm
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Beautiful post. As parents we hurt when our babies hurt, but we know we have to let them hurt. If we don't they don't grow. I love the way you wrote this. xx
- July 14, 2010 at 12:46 pm
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Growing up sucks.=(
- July 14, 2010 at 9:16 am
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You did the right thing by telling him that you could only fix him as good as you could. You are a great mom.
- July 14, 2010 at 8:16 am
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Beautiful post Lori and a good moment to capture in time. I understand what you mean about this first lesson, it's heartbreaking isn't it. I hope Chick lives a long worn out life now xo
- July 14, 2010 at 1:35 pm
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I loved this post. Fantastic. My husband and I are also fixers of things but my 3 year old son knows most of my limitations. Dad, however, can fix anything. Luckily for my son, I believe that's true too.
- July 14, 2010 at 1:01 pm
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What a great, thoughtful Mom you are!
- July 14, 2010 at 12:46 pm
-
It is great when the kids think mothers are capable of anything. My then three year old once said to me – "move the sun it is in my eyes" and she actually thought I could.
For the record she thought I did as I turned the corner,,,,
Previous post: Purple House Garage sale.
Next post: What’s With The Narky? (A Hippy Love and Peace Post)
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: Nanna Naps
The Tragic Afflication of Trike Envy – RRSAHM
The Tragic Afflication of Trike Envy
Vroom vroom,
First up, don’t be hatin’- this post is sponsored by The Mother Media. Ohhh yeah.
Now. We’ve all heard about men- including mine- and their car envy. They salivate over the gruntier, snazzier, cooler cars of other men. They covet.
I think I’ve discovered the motherhood equivalent.
It’s called trike envy. And up until this week, it was a terrible affliction of mine.
Once your little angel grows out of their pram, the Yummy Mummies of the Leafy Sydney Burbs generally graduate their toddlers to tricycles to wheel around the suburb, the playground, wherever.
Too cool for pre-school.
When the Chop reached his first birthday, I was well and truly onto this. But- and here’s where I made my big mistake- I asked childless relative to purchase one for us.
Which resulted in Massive Safety Fail. And a cheap, plastic dinky trike with a handle stuck precariously in its backside. And a child who was not quite big enough, but wanted to ride it like a big kid anyway.
Cue- feet caught in pedal, a skinned knee, and more than one full topple onto concrete back yard surface- ouch.
Cue- Bandaid.
Cue- Lori’s massive trike envy.
I have a few friends- more than a few, actually- who have a Smart-Trike. These things are the deluxe edition of any tricycle. And they can be used from just ten months old. So even before we were blessed with the dinky Trike of Doom, I was pushing the Chop in a stroller, whil
e his best mate Peta Rabbit cruised beside him in one of these….
And who do you think was having more fun….?
Anyway. You can imagine my jumping round and la di da di ness when The Mother Media and Smart-Trike offered me one of the stylish new Smart-Trike Zoo 3in1 to review. Oh, yes, please. The poor Chop is a bit too old for it now, but the Bump is just 15 months. The perfect age to start pimpin’ her trike ride.
So. The Smart-Trike Zoo is a three-in-one model. Which means, as you can see in the picture above, it converts as your little one gets older and more stable. It has straps and a comfy, squishy arm rest doovie for when they’re really little, the arm rests and handle at the back come off as they older. There are not only pedals, but little pegs for little ones to sit their adorable little feet on, that fold in as they get bigger and even more I-can-do-it-myself,-Mum.
The mum’s eye view.
The Smart-Trike Zoo 3in1 has a drink holder and a phone attached to play with (Not a real one, obviously. Although the next generation of kids that come along, that may not be so far fetched. And I’m not entirely sure I should be encouraging drinking and driving, or talking on the phone and driving, but, ya know, whatever.) It has a sun shade that flips back and forward for maximum UV protection. And a bag for alllll the mum stuff you have to take with you every freaking time you leave the house. Plus, it comes in four unique animal print designs the kids will love – Frog, Butterfly, Ladybug and Gallah!
And, oh my, the handle. Smart-Trike says it’s a “telescopic five position steering system with different height settings”. I say- the ease of pushing this thing is freaking amazing. It steers like a dream. Turns on dime.
As you can see, the Bump thinks it’s just marvelous.
One very happy Bump!!
The Smart-Trike is the awesomest in safety, comfort for bubs, easiness for mum and dad, and a totally stylish ride. The Bump is now one of the cool kids in a way the Chop and his poor old Tricycle of Doom never was. Not that that matters of course. To anyone but me.
Trike envy, be damned. All the Yummy Mummies be wantin’ one of these.
You know you want one of these ….the bestest Christmas present going, or what? For between $179.00 and $189.99, the Smart-Trike Zoo 3in1 is well worth your moneys. You can check out the Smart-Trike in all its retail mightiness here.
I have received the above product for free courtesy of Smart-Trike. Love your work, Smart-Trike!
Leave a Comment
{ 17 comments… read them below or add one }
- December 13, 2010 at 8:42 pm
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I'm totally with you, I've wanted one of these for a LONG time
- December 9, 2010 at 2:46 pm
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Glad I'm not the only one who has trike lust/envy! Gorgeous photo of your gorgeous one!
- December 9, 2010 at 2:29 pm
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My little man was given one for his 1st b'day, after he went green with envy over his cousin's cool super trike, when he was only 7 months old. Far too cool for the likes of a pram since then!
- December 9, 2010 at 11:40 am
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Awesome! Is super cool AND free – now I have trike envy
- December 9, 2010 at 11:26 am
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Very, very, VERY cute!!!
- December 9, 2010 at 8:49 am
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They should make them in man size
- December 9, 2010 at 2:50 am
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The Smart Trike has even given me trike envy and the Bump obviously loves it. By the way I tagged you on my blog: give me your best Bleats (or ask Mrs Winterpepper)
- December 8, 2010 at 11:02 pm
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I've seen different versions of these around Adelaide and have to say I don't really like them. Even if I did still have babies instead of grown ups, I think I'd just keep the kid in the nifty little umbrella stroller and then buy a trike when the kid was old enough.
- December 8, 2010 at 10:09 pm
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That is SO awesome!! Hmmmm….the trike we bought for my eldest has a broken parent handle…which does mean we would be justified in buying a new trike – even though we didn't use the old one very much….
Now to work out which Xmas presents to take back! (Or come up with another good excuse to get one!)
- December 8, 2010 at 8:11 pm
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That looks awesome! And Bump is too cute! Why is it that there's always cool stuff brought out after my babes are too old for them?!
- December 8, 2010 at 6:48 pm
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Gorgeous! We've been eyeing them off and I think a relative may have purchased one for Christmas….
- December 8, 2010 at 6:40 pm
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OMG – sooo have trike envy. Poor Meerkat…she's third…she has NO chance on me getting her one
But it is sooo cool! xxxCate - December 8, 2010 at 5:30 pm
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Oh duuude, how fricken cool is that. I totally want one – is it wrong to procreate so I can buy a smarTrike?
- December 8, 2010 at 5:05 pm
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Love it!
- December 8, 2010 at 4:49 pm
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Oh yeah! If only the Toddler wasn't almost 24 months. But you know I'm totally nabbing one of these for the next one! Woohoo for Trike Envy! (The Guru is still battling Man-Xmas-Light-Envy…I don't think it helps he chose this week to quit smoking…)
- December 8, 2010 at 4:29 pm
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WOOHOO! That is all! And look it's sponsored by TMM. Excuse me while I'll be all smug in my little TMM corner over here.; )
How cuteh is the bump!
- December 9, 2010 at 2:27 am
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How cute! Even my grandkids are out-growing trikes, now.
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Next post: ‘Tis The Season To Be Blog Flogging.
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A while ago- so long ago, actually, that I can’t find the comment to link back to- a reader asked my opinion on this article written by Jesse Fink.
It’s been published over at The Modern Women’s Survival Guide. Catch you there.
{ 2 comments }
I know a lot of regular RRSAHM readers remember Darrell, who is employed by DFAT, a department of Australia’s Federal Government located in the ACT. I know you remember, because occasionally people still ask me how he’s doing how things have worked out. And for every one person who asks, there is probably another ten people who are wondering.
I never know what to tell people, I am never sure how to answer that question. Because Darrell is OK. In all reality, Darrell is doing a kick–arse job of taking care of himself and recovering from a chronic illness. He’s also attempting to return to work.
Still ‘attempting’… months and months after initially liaising with CommCare and his superiors and management at DFAT. Having been copied in a lot of Darrell’s correspondence with his union, CommCare, his superiors and various media representatives, I am confident that the verb ‘attempting’ is the most appropriate word to use. From the evidence I’ve seen, Darrell has made every effort to return to the ‘exceptionally performing’ employee he consistently was before he applied for, and took, medical leave. Or challenged the status quo and spoke up against bullying and stand over tactics within his workplace, and was awarded compensation for what has happened to him.
There’s just so much going on here… I’m not even sure where to begin.
Among other issues, there’s the ongoing problem of DFAT failing to provide a workplace that’s safe and secure and caters to an illness that was, in the view of CommCare, exasperated by the sufferer’s work conditions in the first place.
Then there was, a few months ago now, a bizarre incident where three anonymous workmates of Darrell’s reported seeing ‘Anti–Islamic’ content on Darrell’s FaceBook page. It took weeks before Darrell could even pinpoint the source of the offending content– a comment he had left on a media file that someone else in his timeline had posted. Given FaceBook’s random and confusing sharing settings, the comment posted publicly on Darrell’s feed.
But they must have been looking awfully closely. A few days after the complaint was made, I personally went back through six months of Darrell’s FaceBook feed. And I could not find the comment in question. (Which, by the way, had definitely not been deleted, especially at that time. And a discussion about our civil liberties, or BookFace sharing setting and what to do with them, is just too much for my slightly exhausted brain right now. Feel free to discuss amongst yourselves in the comments.)
A month or so after disciplinary action was effected for that offense, Darrell’s supervisors requested a meeting with him. In which they told him that other staff were worried that, because he suffered depression, he may ‘become violent in the workplace’.
Again, I don’t even know where to start with that. I’m so disgusted at that level of stigmatization and stereotyping that I’m ashamed. It feels akin to sitting in the Government Inquiry Into Workplace Bullying and feeling sick, wholly saddened by the crass uncaring quality of those responsible for taking care of us.
If this was, honestly, a valid concern held by Darrell’s workmates about a man who has never shown any violent tendencies, nor has any history of violence whatsoever; then one would imagine that the ideal course of action would actually be some training in mental health and supporting a fellow employee returning to work after an illness. Ideally, you would hope that management would use such an obvious display of ignorance and intolerance to educate their staff and promote safety and harmony within the work environment.
Not order their employee into a meeting where he has no union representation and use claims such as these as just another reason to break him down, make him feel like sh*t and make returning to work full time just that little bit more difficult.
Tuesday night, as the state burnt like a huge, dry box of RedHead matches; I got a text from Darrell to tell me this…
“… Had my performance review today. Basically told that because I had (sic) depression and was at work I can only get a satisfactory rating. If at work your (sic) expected to be 100 per cent healthy… Kind of hard when you first get depression as you don’t know it’s happening, etc.”
And I responded with a whole string of swear words. Because, honestly, what the hell is that? Why, in light of such an excellent employment history, is an unavoidable illness that could happen to anyone at anytime being used to create a disadvantage against an honest, hard working man who just wants to return to the job they’ve lived and breathed for over ten years now?
If it were cancer, or MS, or a bad case of the chicken pox… would the outcome be the same?
I doubt it.
To compound all of that is the wall of all–consuming silence that seems to eat Darrell’s story before it gets too big, before it goes too far. I watched it roll over, like a big fat cloud on a sunny day, obscuring the last post I published concerning DFAT and Darrell.
I watched thousands of people hit the page, but so few share it on their social medias. I watched traffic from the ACT go up by over 200% as people searched for the story that many of them already knew… there are so many government employees who have been there themselves, only in different departments, playing different roles.
And I watched various media outlets I once considered to have some balls ignore me– in one case, actually block me on Twitter after I pinged them a single time– when I tried to pull their attention toward Darrell’s story. I witnessed one reporter who actually is gutsy take me on, allowed me to tell my story; but told me in honesty it would be near worth her job to discuss Darrell’s story on air. I watched as private messages of support came in from people too apprehensive to publicly promote what I’d written, lest it effect their own employment. I took a phone call from another blogger, also employed in a government role, who recommended I take down the post lest I be accused of ‘whistle blowing’.
To be very clear- ‘whistle blowing’ is exactly what I’m trying to do here. It’s what Darrell has, in a way, been attempting to do for months. Forget your inquiry into Workplace Bullying… it is a widely held opinion that government departments are, by far, the very worst place for bullying and stand over tactics to flourish and pulse.
Even the process of writing this post is frustrating. I want to scream words at my computer screen, make someone with a voice bigger than mine listen and take note and be brave.
I’ve watched, sadly, as Darrell has searchd for someone, some publication, some media outlet– someone– to tell his story. I read an email a few months ago now that almost reached out and caressed me with it’s opaque vulgarity.
This email contained an exchange between Darrell and a journalist at a large–ish newspaper who had become interested in his story. The first email was bubbly and enthusiastic, an air of indignation regarding Darrell’s treatment almost glowing from the edges of the journo’s words.
After a period of silence on the newspaper’s side, Darrell had responded. A follow up– I haven’t heard anything from you, what goes on?
The reply was everything
that’s wrong here, every infuriating back–down that’s every happened in every school fight against bullies who are big and strong and use that to their advantage. It was apologetic but defensive, and summed up pretty much said…
“I’ve talked to my editor. We agreed that, perhaps, you shouldn’t pursue this story any further. It could lead to very unpleasant ramifications for your job. You have a family to think of.”
What utter lay–down–and–be–a–doormat–to–the–world crap that is. It’s fairly obvious, to Darrell and anyone else playing this game, that future advancement in this job is not going to happen. The journalists who have said ‘no’ to this story aren’t worried about Darrell…. they’re worried about themselves.
Darrell has not got a lot left to lose.
Really, this is getting beyond the point of being ‘unfair’ or even ‘hard luck’. This is inhumane. This is torture.
I am worried about Darrell. Because he is a friend of mine, and every time I hear his voice there is just that little bit more desolation in the middle of it. And his mum is worried about him, too. Her name is Aaimi, and she is lovely. She sent me an email just before Christmas that said this…
“So tell me Lori, what can I do? Stand naked on the steps of Parliament house with banners stating that “ Bullying in the work place is not tolerated”. Well maybe not to that extreme , particularly if the body of Michelin man is not a good look!!!! But seriously Lori, what can I do, apart from being his mother and giving him the love and support that we do. Me be there is something I can do that would not be acceptable for Darrell to do. How can we speak out and make our voices heard Lori? I am passed sitting here on my hands doing nothing ! There must be something more as his mother I can do.”
Read that without your heart breaking for a mother screaming tears of frustration for her child. And sit on your hands and do nothing.
I fucking dare you.
I am pissed off. I’m angry and it scares me that at our highest level of government, in a country that’s apparently so free and democratic, this kind of thing can happen, repeatedly. In deathly silence.
So let this be a challenge to you all… be you man, or mouse? Will you share this post, help me spread the word?
I am not a journalist… I’m just a blogger who writes pretty things occasionally. I don’t understand all the elements here. This needs someone who does. This needs to be picked up, and this story told. So that the right people will listen, and be forced to act.
A challenge, an open invitation to journalists and media outlets, both ‘mainstream’ and ‘social’…
Do any of you have the guts to try and ensure that this story gets told?
Are any of you brave enough to take this on?
For those of us who don’t have that kind of voice, but think that those who do should use it… there’s a petition here. Show some love.
{ 13 comments }
After skydiving, canyoning and trapeze lessons, I decided that January might the month to chill out and relax a bit and entice RedBalloon into giving me a totally different mission for the month.
A make up course in the Sydney CBD sounded just about perfect. Especially because it came with $95- the full cost of the course– reimbursed in Napoleon Perdis product.
Win.
Despite doing my usual half–an–hour late thing, Claire The Make-Up Chick was very lovely and didn’t seem to mind much at all. She sat me down, let me relax, gave me some facial wipes for cleansing, asked me what in particular I wanted to learn today (”Uhhhhh…. Stuff….?”) and we got started. (”Let me know if you want to have a go at doing any of this yourself, rather than me applying it,” says Claire The Make Up Chick sunnily, and I think no thanks, I’ll just sit here and be pampered, if that’s ok with you…)
And I spend the next hour indulging in girls, fun things. Like learning to put on makeup so I look like an adult not a teenager on their way to a party. To mix yellow bases with beige–concealers to reflect light from underneath eyes. Which brushes go with what substances.
The best thing about this one was the non–intimidation factor. I rate ‘attending a make up course’ right up there ‘going to a snooty hairdresser’ in terms of uncomfortability and having–to–make–small–talk–edness. I almost always leave encounters such as that one feeling just a little bit not–cool–enough, and very much like sixteen year old Lori.
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| Before and After. |
I’m happy to report that this time, I felt more like a normal person and less like a pin-head after this experience. Claire The Make Up Chick inquired as to how I normally did things when doing my own make up at home and I answered as honestly as my self–consciousness would allow, confessing to sins such as spreading concealer with my fingertips and applying lipstick straight from the tube. Claire The Make Up Chick didn’t make me feel like an idiot at all. She actually presented the whole concept of ‘making yourself up’ as completely accessible for everyone– something along the lines of less is more, but paint should be fun and not too much fuss.
I got my ninety five bucks reimbursed on NP Primer (which is a cult product for a reason, evidently. This stuff is amazing and I could quite easily wear it every day without irritating my skin) and a pressed powder compact that I discovered, to my pleasure, is malleable enough to use with the finest of fan brushes and doesn’t cake into laughter lines in order to make me look older, and possibly sadder, than I already am.
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| The Face Sheet. |
Claire also filled out a ‘Face Sheet’ for me, with all the techniques and colors and names of the products she’d just used to make me look all glamorous. There was no pressure to purchase any of this stuff. But the Face Sheet is now pinned to the top of my bedroom mirror, and it’s almost a ridiculously practical guide to have it on hand for future reference.
And, of course; I left the funky, stripy, black and white and gold storefront an hour later with a full, gorgeous face of makeup…
And nowhere to go except pick my kids up from daycare.
As you do.
Whatever. I adore make up. I love making myself up. I take immense pleasure in sitting cross-legged in front of a large mirror in my bedroom, the morning sun creating perfect lighting from every angle, my brush set unrolled in front of me, applying colors with feather touches and sweeping the density of each hue away again so only shadows of colors remain. I can easily sit like that, entranced in some sort of divine meditative state, for forty five minutes or more. I get lost in it (and, really, romanticism aside, this practice can quite possibly be held responsible for that fore-mentioned chronic lateness issue I’ve got going on here). I take a comfort, a steadiness, in the process and ritual of it.
There’s something enchanting about wearing a mask every day, when most people have no idea it’s there at all.
***
Thanks to the team at Digital Parents
Collective for inviting
me to be a part of the RedBalloon Experience Program. Stay tuned- more awesomeness over the next few months. As
always, all opinions are my own (because no one else would want them…?) however the experiences are
complimentary.
And, to assist you even further, there’s a special offer for RRSAHM readers- Spend $129 or more on any RedBalloon experience, and receive $30 off.
To redeem: Visit www.redballoon.com.au and enter the promo code
REDMUM06 at the checkout to receive your discount.
Terms and Conditions: Offer valid until 31/12/13. Promotional Code can
only be used once per person. All purchases are subject to Red Balloon T’s and C’s.
{ 3 comments }
I wear make up like a mask.
I love it, the craft and artistry of it. When I was a child I dreamed of being a special effects make up artist, a mortician, a beautician and a nail technician. That was, of course, not even a considerable option– I was ‘smart’, and had to ‘make the most of that talent’. A university degree wasn’t required to be a make up artist, so, in patriarchal eyes, that was never, ever going to be a suitable occupation for a prodigal daughter.
I don’t think running away to the circus to be a clown was on the game plan either, really. But that’s the way things turned out. And in that ‘immature’ occupation, I found that intense satisfaction that comes with playing with colors and shades on faces, rekindled and begging to be quenched.
I became, overnight, a ‘professional’ clown, fairy and face painter. For the first three or so months of my new job I was awful to the point of feeling a stomach churning sense of sympathy and regret for my pint-sized party guests as they left the fairy’s face painting chair with a childlike rendition of a butterfly, or a pussy cat, or the eternally popular SpiderMan, slapped onto their face in the most precise way my nervous hands could manage. Which was, in all honesty, not very precise at all.
But somewhere along those first few months, clowning morphed from weekend cash–in–hand to a full time, phone answering, party booking occupation. Being the soapy mind-sponge I am, I began to take in the material around me– magic tutorials; balloon bending instructions; tomes of face painting leaflets written by faux–fairies all around the world; and skinny yellow readers written for people with a evading age of twelve that, nonetheless, gave lessons on juggling, story telling… and clown paint.
Osmosis by fascination.
It took six months to develop a paint and a face that was my own, that belonged to Lilly. The features were mine but exaggerated, playful, large smudges in primary colors. Happy yellow stars on smiling cheeks. Cornflower Blue crosses wiped from across eyes. A tiny dot of a red nose, a geisha–style love heart over my lips.
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| Lori, clown- circa 2005. |
And long black eyelashes extended from the corner of each eye, a traditional sign of shock for mimes, femininity for speaking performers.
My costume and make up was malleable, and came in graded layers of formality. Being a clown-chameleon is essential when you consider the humid heat of Australian party season and the simple pain–in–the–arseness of costuming up to complete formal attire– a wig, a white face, and all the literal bells and whistles that went along with my babydoll smock, oversized bloomers and humongous shoes– three of four times a day, three or four days a week. For a parade or a formal function, a gig where a clown’s purpose is simply to provide color and movement, a full regalia was almost always necessary. But the closer your potential for direct interaction with the public, the less of a masquerade you become. A too–muchness about you tends to make a clown unapproachable and potentially terrifying to most small children and any clown–phobic adults. So you loose the wig and instead construct high, bunched pony tails stuffed with flowers. You make yourself up only with brightly hued, long lasting crayons, leaving out the layer of white grease paint used to make your face a blank canvas, with it’s smeary un-washability and distinctive, nostalgic smell.
As I developed my own mask, my face painting gradually improved, too.
Learning to make tiny chubby faces resemble cartoon heroes, small animals and ethereal butterflies wasn’t so much akin to shaping balloons (everything is just a dog, with parts shortened or elongated); or feeling a magic trick suddenly ‘work’ with the sound of an audible ‘clack’ deep in your psyche (practice, practice, patter, practice. Over and over until you watch yourself in the mirror and your motions are so fluid that to you, the trick the obvious and vulgar– that’s when it becomes smooth enough to fool people. The magician’s oxymoron, the perfect misdirection– trick yourself into believing you are doing nothing at all, and let your audience visualize their own illusions from the vapors of your actions). Face painting is a talent built and learned slowly, patiently. You gather knowledge on what to use, how to use it, how to elicit the trust of the little people sitting before you. There’s all those social skills that make or break a performer– when to back off, when to launch for laughter, how to adjust your body language to mirror your audience, how to make big kids feel cool enough to play along with the little ones by suggesting a camaraderie, some kind of secret adult role that frees them to play like a child. (‘Play like a child…’ And that’s a beautiful thing. It occurs as I’m writing this, that eventually you do that for the last time ever. Do you remember the last time you were a child, before you grew up completely…? Was it with the permission of someone else, someone older, doing you a favor you never even thought about…?)
All those social restraints and rules are so relevant when you’re sitting, a head lower than most of the children standing around you, hot and slightly flustered and losing track of who’s next in line. Being a face painter in a busy venue often feels like being in the eye if the storm– a calm renaissant absorbed in colors and brushes and paint stains on your fingers; while a seething mass of excitement shuffles and drones around you. I find a day spent face painting peaceful and purposeful. I enjoy being trapped in a bubble of self–silence and concentration, speaking only to ask what my next earnest, innocent canvas would like to be transformed into today, maybe inquiring as to what their favorite colors are if the hues of the chosen design are interchangeable. Children are sweet in their intense concentration while having paint applied to their skin. Something about that earnest look reminds you that, in the world of a little person, wearing a mask for a few hours is a Very Big Deal indeed.
The whole point of face painting is not just to paint, but to make. To change structure and depth. Use light colors to accentuate, dark shades to deepen. Ovals of black paint to extend or widen nostrils for dogs, cats and bunny rabbits. Lines that extend from ears, along the hollow of jawbones, and over the chin and upper lip; then dot that crescent with sharp, white licks of the brush for teeth to make sharks and crocodiles. Your tiniest, skinniest brush tracing the newly formed, natural wrinkle lines on skin to accentuate them and draw age onto youthful faces. Paint the lips of little girl’s ruby red to enhance the entranced expression on their face when you flip the mirror
their way on your mini-project’s completion.
All tricks and glamors, designed to fool the eyes.
And adult make up, it’s much the same. Light make bigger, dark makes smaller. Sharp lines always look unnatural. Skin infections are wholly transferable. You’re always putting make up not onto skin, but into what is already on that skin– for perfection, a palette must be clean.
The point of wearing make up is to look like you’re not wearing any make up at all, and so few women achieve that illusion. While clown paint and face paint are just that– paint– the point of adult make up is still to wear a mask… just not to let anyone else know you’re doing it.
To be continued…
{ 4 comments }
Not Easy Being Green – RRSAHM
Not Easy Being Green
Hey lovely ones,
Given my recent push towards sustainability and genereally being a big nanna, I was absolutley thrilled to receive an invite to the Organic and Green Expo, held last weekend at Darling Harbour.
I was even more thrilled to take a day off from my kidlets to be able to go.
And super extra thrilled when I rocked up to discover I had a real, official-like media pass to stab myself with pin on.
I bought my very enthused best mate Auntie Mickey with me. The first thing we discovered was that wine tasting was $5 a glass.
I don’t drink, so I didn’t bother me. And given Mickey’s past experiences with wine, it was probably for the best.
She comforted herself with this very cute pig we found in the petting zoo.
Anyway. The amount of product to be found here was mind boggling. Everything from wash balls (which I’ve raved about before), to cocount sugar (which I will totally bake a cake with soon), to vegan lollies and delectable chocolate.
This guy was selling coconut oil. His selling point was that he uses it his own skin. Unless he is 103, I’m not sure that’s the best marketing technique.
I purchased myself quite a few charcoal bamboo products. I love bamboo. These sunnies- want. Will have, as soon as they are available.
I am now the proud owner of charcoal bamboo air freshener sticks, and Black Beauty revitalising powder.
Yes, I have been using this stuff to clean my teeth. And scrub my face. Not as gross as it sounds, and quite effective.
Product of the day for me was this find…. Jack and Jill all natural, flavoured kids toothpaste. It has no crap in it and comes in flavours like strawberry, banana, blueberry and raspberry. And it tastes delllllllicious.
As an added bonus, Jack and Jill toothbrushes are made of corn starch, and therefore fully compostible. My worm farm is going to love them.
I decided to purchase some of the fore mentioned toothpaste for the Chop, who, at almost four, just does not like mint. Mint anything. The purchase was an act of parental responsibility, really.
The only downside of the Organic and Green Expo was the lack of… well… green. While I found one stand dedicated to permaculture, it was a bit lame and I was looked down on for not having my own chooks. Heh. There was not a compost bin, a worm farm, a punnet of seedlings in sight. Never mind say, a cloth nappy or a moon cup. Most of the stalls were product, product and more product. (Isn’t consumerism supposed to be the anti-thesis of sustainability, forgetting what I said about those sunglasses?)
That being said, a lovely time was had by all, and I discovered some interesting new products to play with.
But next year, please… more worms.
Leave a Comment
{ 10 comments… read them below or add one }
- August 17, 2011 at 9:20 pm
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the coconut guy what a crack up!!
- August 17, 2011 at 7:45 am
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Love coconut oil its such a staple – have used it as moisturiser before but my dressing gown gets a weird smell after a few applications(!) Its REALLY good to cook with (although doesn't look that appetising initially) really good with pancakes.
Ha, yeah, target the green people with lots of things to buy to make being green easier. Expo's are never not like that though, I thought. Although seminars can be good for info.
Sounds like it was for the fully-fledged live-off-the-grid people rather than a spectrum towards consumers who just chuck everything out without thinking etc - August 16, 2011 at 8:48 pm
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I do love you Lori, but worms are yucky.
Yes, yes I know – I'm a wimp.
Love those sunglasses! - August 16, 2011 at 8:45 pm
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heh…same thing happened to me re. a garden show. a lot of product that very loosely had to do with gardens…*sigh*
- August 16, 2011 at 1:38 pm
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Want. Those. Sunnies.
And you've just reminded me to get a worm farm going.
But yeah… where were the seedlings, the compost, theAs for to coconut oil guy, he better be 103, and he better not be trying to do his fly up in that pic!
- August 16, 2011 at 7:36 am
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I reckon I would by more green stuff if it was actually advertised as 'not having any crap in it'. I wonder if they would be allowed to do it! I think banana flavoured toothpaste would make me hungry. I sort of like the 'I can't eat right now becuase anything will taste crap because I've just brushed my teeth' diet, I can't imagine chop worries about that!!
- August 16, 2011 at 3:37 am
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Those sunglasses are the business! I'm chuffed to bits about them! You looked amazing in them. And the Jack & Jill toothpaste sounds yummy.
Sounds like you had a lovely time. I pray for you more wonderful days, Lori.
- August 16, 2011 at 12:35 am
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I need to know more about that toothpaste. Alexander vomits and gags every single time he brushes his teeth. Which makes me gag. Which has left Samuel TERRIFIED of brushing his teeth.
NEED.
- August 15, 2011 at 9:38 pm
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I was meant to go, but didn't organise it. Too much else on this weekend!
- August 16, 2011 at 1:37 am
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What on earth is that coconut oil guy doing??? He looks like he's unbuttoning his fly. Did you get him all excited, Lori? You little sexpot you!
Previous post: Exhaustion.
Next post: The Dummies Guide to MindFrame.
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: Muse Wars- Challenge Eight
And the award for the Lazy Cow goes to .. – RRSAHM
And the award for the Lazy Cow goes to ..
Lori!!
Because I have been super slack and have a whole swagload that I have been neglecting.
Sorry. The thought of doing all those links was giving me a headache. So I left it. Then I got more awards. And, as happens with chronic procrastination, the whole thing became one big difficult mess that I pretended was not there.
And now I’m swallowing my medicine, untangling and getting on with business. Before I start, if I’ve forgotten anyone or their awards, please let me know and I’ll rectify the situation. Promise. Sorry. Slack cow.
Now, before we begin, some observations…
Observation Number One:I’d love to know who to credit for the creation of all these awards. Jen touched on the Kreativ Blogger one here. But if anyone wants to come forward and take their kudos for the rest of them, please do.
Observation Number Two: Some Blog awards seem to share themselves far more generously than others. The Beautiful Blogger is, perhaps, the tart of the blogging world. She’s fancy and loose and everywhere. At the other end of the scale appears to be the Blogie (where is he hiding?) and MadMother’s Tell It Like It Is Award. Elusive, mysterious creatures they are. And all the more prestigious for their stand-off-ish-ness. A bit lite Cate Blanchett.
Observation Number Three: Ummmm. Dammit, I had something else to go here. My short term memory is shot to hell. There you go, drugs. Don’t do kids. Or something.
Whatever.
OK, so here we go… I got the Beautiful Blogger Award and the Kreativ Blogger Award from the gorgeous Ratz over at What Can I Say!
And the Meandering MadMother also thinks I’m beautiful…
And Kristy from Pampers and Pinot: Adventures in Modern Housewifery (how cool a blog name is that?) has also given me the Beautiful Blogger and the Lovely Blog Award. (And how pretty is the Lovely Blog Award?)
Also, the Sunshine Commenter Award from the lovely Jen, of the big fingers and tiny iPhone.
Wowsers! I am also pretty sure that someone else gave me the Sunshine Commenter Award too, but arsed if I can find it. Sorry.
Sooo… rules are…
-Thank and link to the person who gave it to you.
-Tell 7 things about yourself.
-Identify recipients.
-Let those people know that they received an award.
Big thanks to Kristy, MM, Jen and Ratz!
Ummm… seven things about me. I’ll make it quick, I promise.
I pick my nose when no one is looking. *Ahem* Did I really just say that?
I can, if I choose, bite my toenails.
I’m allergic to egg.
And penicillin.
I was a serious pot head as a teenager.
I am not a morning person.
Some days I make faces at the traffic lights if they turn red for me. And I poke my tongue out at bus drivers who drive too slowly. Cranky bitch.
OK, enough of that.
I will actually confess I cheated here and deleted the number of recipients the awards go to. Because they all said different numbers. So I’ll go with what I like. Recipients, please choose an award, or take all of them. Especially if they are ones you don’t have on your walls yet.
The usual suspects are….
Sarah at Just Me. Cause I’m her biggest fan.
Lucy @ Diminishing Lucy. Cause she’s a spunk.
Thea @ Do I really Wanna Blog? I love her honesty.
…Mrs P! @ A Study in Contradictions. I just love her blog. Light hearted, but just deep enough.
Amy @ New Adventures In Dreamworld. A Brilliant writer and yoga Nazi.
Lady B @ Mummy Time. Who probably already has all of these, if
she does awards at all. How many Followers do you need before you don’t care about awards anymore?
Jen @ Jemikaan. One of my all time favorite bloggers.
Phew. I need a drink.
Leave a Comment
{ 10 comments… read them below or add one }
- April 14, 2010 at 6:50 am
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Wow! Look at you with all your shiny awards. Congrats!
- April 13, 2010 at 9:47 am
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Don't worry Kristy and Lori, I was a teen pot head too…I think we turned out ok, (except for the short-term memory problems huh!)Lol maybe we should start a support club, it'd be lots of fun (if we could all remember to go!lol!).
Thanks for thinking of me lovey!
- April 13, 2010 at 8:11 am
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Thanks for the shout out! I'm not the only one that was a teen pot head, huh? Yay!
- April 12, 2010 at 9:49 pm
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Bwahahahaha I can't believe you have us all admitting we pick our noses… Oh wait, did I just admit it too?! Shhhhh.
Thank you gorgeous girl *mwa*
- April 12, 2010 at 6:12 pm
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Me too…. (in my case, to drown my sorrows *sob*)!!
- April 12, 2010 at 3:13 pm
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Well….. OUR LUCKY day! Plus i also pick my nose when no one is watching. Whoosh! That's a relief….
- April 12, 2010 at 2:34 pm
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i have a tonne i need to accept and just keep forgetting or cant find the link. im horrible at it.
- April 12, 2010 at 2:16 pm
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Ta muchly for the award. I think i'm going to knick off with the Beautiful Blogger award because a) i'm beautiful ( ahem ) and b) i dont have that one yet….
- April 12, 2010 at 2:14 pm
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You called an award a tart – I love it! And how nice is Brenda that she has a gazillion followers and gets to bugger off to China and still thanks the little people for awards?? oh, and #5 of the random facts about you explains a thing or two.
Seiously, though, congrats! - April 12, 2010 at 1:57 pm
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Awwww. Thanks munchkins. I love love Bloggy Awards. I don't care what the other big snobbish bloggers think of them but I LOVE them a lot. So there.
And *ahem* I pick my nose too. So there again!
Previous post: You Can Say What Now?!
Next post: Sorry, no one home today…
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: Running Away Again.
Life Books – RRSAHM
Life Books
“You’re a writer,” says the Doctor, “but you never use a pen and paper. You see the irony in that, right?”
He’s absolutely correct. The few times I am silly enough to write in long hand, I can’t be bothered typing it up– it never makes into my blog, but I feel the therapy in writing it all the same.
It wasn’t always like this… I thought I had stopped writing for big chunks of time in my life, between high school and beginning this blog. I had– but those stretches of time weren’t as long and barren of expression as I had imagined for myself.
Long periods of silence… peppered by notebooks. Spiral notebooks, most of them– I still love a spiral notebook, and I’m not sure why; other notebooks fancier and far more expensive. It seems an odd paradox that itches at me as I look at them– the more I had spent on the book, the less I had written in it; and I can imagine my younger self trying to incite the magic of pen on paper without motivation or cultivation through the purchase of something for that purpose, never quite managing to allay the apathy or business or unwillingness to write.
I still have my notebooks- almost all of them, I think. I can’t remember ever throwing one out, but goodness knows I’ve probably misplaced one or two over the years– fourteen years, in fact, the oldest notebook I can find is dated 1997, and therefore written by my sixteen year old self.
These diaries, they’re staring to yellow, just slightly at the edges of their paper– when did I become that old, that my belongings actually look antique? In my mind they feel like books, full to bursting with someone elses mind; but I treat them with far more reverence than your average paperback.
I believe books– especially those hearty paperback novels that suck you into their covers and make you a glutton, eating them whole and returning to the real world hours later, glazed and slightly dulled by the story that’s still unfolding in your mind– are meant to be tattered and dog eared. They are meant to be shared, lent to people, donated to charities, borrowed from libraries, thrown pell mell into bags and have their spines cracked on commuter trains. You can tell how good a book is by how thumbed the cover is– or whether it still has its cover at all.
My books, my years of notepads, they feel ready to bubble and overflow with their contents. But they are not casual, to be lent or shared or tossed about. Some sit on my bookshelf, those used most recently– though even they date back to before the birth of my son, four years ago. The rest are kept hidden in two cardboard boxes, carefully stacked on my top wardrobe shelf. I get those boxes down very rarely, and when I do I lose myself for hours.
Is there anything more melodramatic and pensive and naively hopeful than the diary of a teenage girl?
There are pages of streams of consciousness, and I read them back now and wonder who the person who wrote them was– I know her handwriting, even her writing style to a point; but how did she believe what she did about herself? How was she so insecure for so long? I want to hug her. I want to tell her, if she could meet herself at thirty years of age, the age I am now, she would think she was one of the coolest people in the entire world.
There are lists in my notebooks, both profound and mundane. There are quotes from movies, songs, friends, books. Occasionally I’d try to sketch, and always failed miserably; but some of the multi–media collages I made in my early twenties were pretty freaking awesome.
There are letters I wrote and never meant to send. And poetry…so much poetry, so much of it utter crap; but every now and then I find one that I enjoy the lilt of, the jagged half rhythm of my fractured sentences.
As I’ve blogged before, Tony’s handwriting is on the back one of them. Another, a plain spiral a5 pad from my last two years at high school, contains the occasional scrawl of a friend of mine. I lent the notepad I was currently filling, one side of the pages only, to her. I trusted her with it– we weren’t the closest of friends; but she was, out all the girls I knew, one of the only ones who was, like me, a bit of a darkling.
I got the book back to find her comments littered through it; her thoughts and opinions written in messy, loopy scrawl across where I documented my life, no matter how small, and my disappointments, no matter how insignificant.
Nothing is insignificant as a teenager. Nothing is insignificant when you feel insecure. I remember feeling abused, as I I were naked and someone had scrawled their objections along my legs in lipstick. Until I begun this blog– were comments are always welcome, and rarely feel like an intrusion– I think that was the one and only time I let someone see so far inside of me.
Notepads, diaries, books, spiraled and bound. 23 that I can count in total. They begin in 1997, and I watch myself hop, skip and leap through the years after. There’s a huge gap where I had my children– while I have the functional family notebook we used (that of the Chinese take out order), actual ’writing’ is only evident in the first smattered pages of another. But, hey, again– some of it, not so bad. Not so bad at all.
And I’m not done yet, despite what the Doctor may imply. I have a notebook I’m filling right now. It’s black with Mickey Mouse on the front. And it’s another one of those ’functional’ rather than creative notebooks– all the creativity in me ends up right here, on RRSAHM. And that’s a good place for it to be.
There is something so inherently satisfying in writing in script, filling page after page, running your hand lightly over the paper to feel the tiny, uneven indents left by the pressure of hand on pen.
I know it’s not just me– it seems as bloggers, tech geeks and grown up girls who still feel sixteen; we all cling to those basic tools of communication– a pencil and a notebook. Preferably one that looks funky and is going to last quite some time– while I may revere them once they’re no longer used, my resident notebook seems to cop it hard while it’s in service.
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{ 32 comments… read them below or add one }
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- June 6, 2012 at 2:41 pm
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Many of lifes greatest pleasures have been experienced snuggling between satiny sheets – of paper. When travelling overseas I've made a ritual of seeking out special books. Some of my favourites are books bought in Kathmandu of handmade paper with wood block printed covers and cloth ties. From New York city a book of exquisite thick cartridge paper begging to absorb any medium I want to slaver it with – water colour, collage, pen and ink, crayons, oil pastels…
For each journey one book becomes a visual diary and others are collected to take home and remain blank to be fondled affectionately until the time comes that I succumb to the need to illustrate a new journey.
Nowadays I live in a small bush town and its been years since I travelled overseas so my collection of blank books is dwindling. We don't have a shop here catering to paper fantasies! So my hankering to collect and dive into the satiny sheets is limited to the occasional city trip.
- June 5, 2012 at 8:44 pm
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I spent ages writing a long (very funny, obviously) comment, and then my browser ate it. But that's ok because I have more notebooks than I know what to do with already. xx
- June 5, 2012 at 12:24 pm
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Im a notebook and pen kinda gal. I ADORE Typo and think Smiggle is just too cute. My hubby constantly asks me everytime I buy a new pen, "dont you have enough pens at home?" the answer is always a No!
- June 4, 2012 at 8:41 pm
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- June 4, 2012 at 8:39 pm
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I write list after list, I have 3 notebooks going at once! I love to jot down thoughts, ideas and plans! I have journals for my babies many actually! I gaze into stationary shops from the outside way too afraid of what may happen if I enter! I confess I am an addict…..a stationary addict and I'll never quit!
- June 4, 2012 at 5:36 pm
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I am a greylead person…There would be hundreds in my house, Mostly blunt but I love them. I buy them all the time plus I am forever going to the shops with my shopping list and then realising I forgot a pencilso I buy a new one……When I do remember to pack them they always match my outfit!!!
- June 4, 2012 at 3:17 pm
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Hi my name is Sarah and i have a stationary problem…. Seriously I don't think people realise how amazing the feel, smell, and potential uses of brand new shiny stationary is, almost every time(no every time) I walk into a shop I feel the need to stand in from of the bright writing, colouring, never ending possibility isle that contains stationary, only to remember… Oh yeah your a hairdresser you only use a pencil to write in your appointments what could you possibly use this for?!?! That thought only lasts a whole of 10 seconds before I grab something and spend the time walking to the check out justifying my purchase… But have no fear I am a child's best friend always handy with endless coloured crayons and pens but awesome smiley face rubbers! And I must say I am one of the most organised hairdressers diary in hand ready to write any event in a flash
- June 3, 2012 at 9:40 pm
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Stationary is like a type of foreplay. I slowly and purposefully look at it colourfully laid out along shelves and racks. I run my fingers across it, adoringly feeling the textures, the paper stock, the weight of the card. I allow my eyes to feast upon the colours, dancing in my heart. Blues and purples tickle my excitable fancy while black is sophisticated and strong and bold. I collect pieces like secret toys to hide under your bed. Each one hidden until it is needed, so as not to reveal just how bad my problem is. And pens.. and pencils… and sharpeners. Each on fulfilling a purpose, but doing it as sexily as possible. Ahhhhh… I think I need a cold shower..
- June 3, 2012 at 10:22 am
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Glad it is not just me that keeps notebooks.I have them dating back to when I was 15. I can't throw them out. No matter how many times I have moved, they get packed up and moved too. There is something carthetic about the physical act of putting pen to paper…
There are big gaps in my notebooks too, and then notebooks where I have spewed my heart and soul onto their pages, they plot the ups and downs of my journey through this thing we call life. Reading back on them cause me to often feel two things simultaneously, dismay that often I have repeated the same acts of insanity, and triumph that I have adapted and overcome so many things…Would you believe Lori, that there are a couple of notebooks in amongst your piles that I have too – the covers stood out the like signposts
- June 2, 2012 at 5:54 pm
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Oh stationery, how I love thee. I cannot choose my favorite as one cannot admit to a favorite child, I love it all. How can you love a new notebook without loving a new pen to form the words on it's wonderful page? I have boxes of old notebooks in my garage with pages of self-pitying prose written in my favorite fountain pen. If I ever had a favorite it was the onion skin paper I would buy to write long long letters to my friends when overseas. I would be beside myself if I won this prize and my 7 year old is developing the same obsession. We will fight over it!
- June 1, 2012 at 11:45 pm
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Oh I love Smiggle!! Ooh, and Officeworks! I just adore browsing all the different stationery items, trying to justify my need to buy ALL of it. My personal weakness (this week anyway) is coloured pens. Specifically, pink and purple.
- June 1, 2012 at 10:13 pm
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As a journo you would think I would get sick of things like pens and notebooks since I have to deal with them so much. Not true. If anything, I think it makes my obsession worse because I'm forced to use non-fun stationary – standard spiral notebooks and company issued pens (I have however forced them to order Pilot pens, since they're the only pens I can make work all day, every day).
Once I get home though, watch out! I'm a big pen girl. Love pens. Different colours (both ink and the appearance), different sizes, different styles. Normal ink, glitter ink, scented ink, it's all fun. My main pen at home is an oversied pink Smiggle pen my future sister-in-law bought me that has two different colours and a pacer/pencil section. She also got me a giant eraser to go with it.
Of course, if you have pens, you need notebooks. I tend to use colour themes a lot – certain colours mean certain things. I wish I could put more inspirational thoughts in them, but sometimes I just can't!
I'm also a huge fan of post-it notes. Love them! Different colours, different sizes, different shapes. I have no less than 12 different kinds of post-its. Awesome.
- June 1, 2012 at 9:45 pm
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The Officeworks catalogue is totally my porn.
I browse the Typo website almost daily and drool and dream.
I used to be extremely excited about starting school because it meant new stationery.
I've actually thought about starting a uni course so I can buy new stationery.
I use good old notebook and pen for all of my blogging planning and the occasional writing.
I actually haven't looked in Smiggle before. Hello new obsession!!
I still have my diary from when I was in primary school. It's hilarious to read now. I actually remember when I wrote in it that I wasn't being dramatic enough so I put in extra strong feelings and worries. I think I even pretended that the diary was writing back to me because I hadn't written in it in awhile. Yeah, I was a pretty sad child. - June 1, 2012 at 9:06 pm
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I havnt gone in a smiggle store yet … I can't trust myself to!! Pity I can't add a picture here to show you my notebook collection of different shapes and sizes. I was shocked when I moved house to find out just how many notebooks I personally own (37 not to mention the ones I cover and sell
there's no smiggle store here which is a good and bad thing – I save money but have no outlet for stationary therapy. I also have five pencil cases full of pens, and two pen jars … But none of it smiggle! I need a cool new notebook to make me feel better and keep track of all the meds Im now on for pain control and what time to take them :-/ - June 1, 2012 at 9:06 pm
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I havnt gone in a smiggle store yet … I can't trust myself to!! Pity I can't add a picture here to show you my notebook collection of different shapes and sizes. I was shocked when I moved house to find out just how many notebooks I personally own (37 not to mention the ones I cover and sell
there's no smiggle store here which is a good and bad thing – I save money but have no outlet for stationary therapy. I also have five pencil cases full of pens, and two pen jars … But none of it smiggle! I need a cool new notebook to make me feel better and keep track of all the meds Im now on for pain control and what time to take them :-/ - June 1, 2012 at 8:28 pm
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Oooh stationery excites me….sad I know.
As a teacher, I get to buy all kinds of funky pens & notebooks and declare "it's all for work….all part of the job….for the kids!" but really I just get a little buzz out of a pretty diary, a funky fury pen & an array of colours to jazz up my desk!
This giveaway ROCKS!!!
x
scissorspaperrockdesigns@gmail.com
http://blog.scissorspaperrockdesigns.com.au/ - June 1, 2012 at 7:47 pm
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as every good teacher will attest to, I have a stationary habit that is insatiable. smiggle/Officeworks/newsagents etc is my happy place. Even while grocery shopping in woolies I will linger at the stationary section.
so. good.
my personal faves…. pens, textas especially. Sharpies are THE BOMB.
- June 1, 2012 at 1:43 pm
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My husband bought me a label maker for my birthday. That is how much I love stationary.
The first thing I thought when I enrolled in my uni course? "Oh, yay! I get to buy stationary!"
I could spend hours pawing over notebooks full of lined paper, little address book size through to A4 size. I love finding just the right one for what it's needed for. I love hand writing my notes and assignments first, even though I know it would save time just to type them.
I still write hand written notes and post them via 'snail mail'. We don't have a Smiggle store here. Only what our post office keeps.
Paper, pens of all shapes and sizes, erasers, staplers, hole punchers.
I love stationary!
- June 1, 2012 at 12:56 pm
- June 1, 2012 at 11:14 am
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the pen is merely a tool for the soul, a blank page a canvas for a dream to unfold, each moment has a humble beginning
in our legacy we do not toil over, swoon and fall in love with the USB of history, it is its pages, the real pages of our history that we fall in love with
we may live in our cyber existance, but my soul lives in the pages of my writing, the words i write with my always sharp pencil
a notebook and a pencil, as essential as my coffee and phone
- June 1, 2012 at 11:10 am
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Hi Lori,
When you first said "stationery fantasy" I thought that sounded… well, a bit odd. Then I remembered oil pastels. I LOVE these messy, smudgey rainbow creativity sticks. My parents never allowed us to have them at home (Blu-Tack was also banned due to many instances of carpet-smooshing) so I could only use them at school. Nothing increases the appeal of an object to a child more than forbidding it.
Smiggle has awesome products. I can go and browse in their stores for hours with all the little knick-knacks they have!
alyssa.winkler@yahoo.comLys
- June 1, 2012 at 10:44 am
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Hi Lori,
I would love to win the stationary packs. Im not sure this will amuse you or win, but here's my story all the same.After I was married for three years I purged a lot of my diaries, it was a hard decision but I found they grabbed me back into being that insecure child. I kept a diary since I was seven (I'm 33) so u can magine there were a few. One thing I did keep was an old box full of peorry, song lyrics, some written by me and others. I kept my favourite diary, which was a lime green spiral notebook. It was one I had when I was 21. I cut photos and stickers and made a pretty funky looking collage. I found it amusing that I burnt (thats how much it hurt me to read them that I had to burn them) pretty diaries and kept the rugged green loud notebook.
It sits on my bookshelf.
Since then I have the utmost respect for notebooks and am no longer scared to buy ones I think are funky. My latest notebook is a Victoria's Secret one, it has graffiti all over it and it is a multi functional one- I write important lists in there but it also has a journal of important kids milestones- the last was toilet training Sebastian. The funny side of it.
I suppose I'm a notebook junkie…
Spagsy@gmail.com - June 1, 2012 at 10:09 am
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I'm a stationary addict! If I'm really stressed, all I need is a trip to Office works. lol. I have notebooks that stretch right back to high school, full of writing, stories, poems and angst. I suffered an anxiety disorder a few years back, and I am sure journalling it all is what kept me sane.
I love spiral notebooks as well, but my favourite notebooks ever were ones I bought on a trip to the Philippines when I was 18. I'm not sure what standard they were printed to, but the lines were differently spaced, I can't remember now whether they were wider or narrower, but whatever they were, it suited my handwriting style to a T. I had the clichéd moment of wishing I'd bought dozens, but as I'm now 40 and haven't been back to the Philippines since, I've had to make peace with that one! LOL. I haunt the Asian style stationary shops on occasion, still on a quest.
- June 1, 2012 at 10:06 am
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I could lose hours, nay DAYS, and hundreds and thousands of cash in stationary stores like Smiggle. I remember the first time I saw a Smiggle store.. (I'm ashamed to admit) gave me a rush like meeting my now hubby.. you know what new romance kinda rush.. but for stationary.
I LOVE pens, all colours and shades and types, a note books.. SPIRAL in particular too!
And yet I've never been a journal-er. I've tried many times and only ever got a few pages, and somehow using beautiful books for work seems a waste. but there's something lovely about writing in a beautiful notebook. Even if its just to record meeting minutes or shopping lists :-). So, to communicate my LOVE of stationary .. here's a poem
An Ode to stationary
Smiggle, Typo, my heart soars,
Even walking through 'Office works' doors,
A grand pen, a pencil case and a spirally book,
A perfect little container for every nook,
Stationary, I love thee, let me count they ways,
You make my life sunny, on those boring working days! - June 1, 2012 at 10:03 am
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I am unlikely to amuse or confuse you BUT I find myself terribly amusing… Does that count? I have a love affair with all things stationary. I am misunderstood in my home, where my obsession with purxhsing a new notepd for a new 'reason' is met with dumfounded confusion (But the one you bought last week has barely been touched!) Ummm yes, but that's for lists, I want one for ideas this week… They do not get it. If only he knew that I once spent my last $120 on a pen because it was going to help me write the masterpiece I just knew needed and deserved a special pen to be written with… I think that notebook may still be empty and the pen as loved as it is, never fulfilled its purpose, but I am certain it wrote many many lists!
- June 1, 2012 at 9:49 am
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Many years ago when a rather large office supply store first openedin the Melbourne CBd two co-workers and I snuck out during the work day to check it out. We were gone 2.5 hours. 2.5 hours oohing and ahhing over felt tip,pens (me), notepads and all the other paraphernalia. I love a good pen, always have, always well. It doesn't have to look pretty, but it does have to feel nice!
So, 2.5 hours later we slink backminto desks trying to look like we had been in a meeting to be greeted by our boss who wanted to know where we had all been. Sadly, the rather thick stationary catalogues in our hands gave us away. He was flabbergasted. "Why didn't you invite me?, you know I'm a stationary nerd!"
- June 1, 2012 at 9:36 am
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Hi Pearl, Oops!!! Dates updated- so sorry about that! Giveaway is still open, for sure
xx - June 1, 2012 at 9:11 am
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Hi Lori – can you clarify for me if the entries are still open as I'm a little confused over the dates!? If you talked about this first on facebook or twitter I wouldn't know about it as I don't do either of them. I'd love to compete for this giveaway! I'm a notebook junkie too, but fill them with mostly with my art and only a little text. I'm more comfortable with pictures rather than words…
- June 1, 2012 at 10:08 am
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I have a weakness for perfectly sharpened, top quality coloured pencils. Pencils of every shade kept in beautiful wooden boxes. As a primary school teacher, I would use this as my excuse to purchase and colour. Then of course there's the yearly top up of the supply cupboard…ahhhh…office works catalogue….coloured paper….crayons…pens….
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hippy stuff
hippy stuff
My daughter loves birds. She always has done, since she was tiny.
Her aunt bought her a budgerigar a few months ago; a pretty, sweet, pale blue bird that had been hand-fed but not hand-raised. While comfortable enough with people, you can’t touch it.
The bird’s name is Star. Star is most definitely a male bird. But my Bump steadfastly refuses to accept this. “No, mummy. Star is a girl birdie!!!” So Star has been given official pronoun status.
As much as my daughter adores her bird– she sings and chats to him, enquires about his day and if he’s “okay”, hugs his cage to say goodnight– there’s something about keeping a bird in a cage that feels shameful and sad.
Star.
My dad kept birds when I was a teenager– I remember feeding tiny ugly baby birds with a spoon, their spiky quill feathers just sprouting and their beaks huge compared to their scrawny bodies. But that felt different. Those birds were either outside, together, in conjoined cages, or hand raised and kept inside as companions; almost flightless but free to roam by foot, or on a human shoulder– for hours each day.
They say Leonardo DaVinci made a habit of buying caged birds and releasing them back into the wild.
I don’t think breaking my daughter’s heart like that is an option here. And Star seems happy enough. He chatters away to himself, plays in his cage. He sings and squeaks. He’s taken to imitating the sound on rubber-soled shoes walking on our vinyl floor.
But occasionally, during the day when I move his cage to sit it in the sun streaming through the lounge room windows, Star will hear the calls of native birds in the gum trees outside. And he’ll respond, loudly and furtively.
The sound gives me a funny pang of hurting somewhere deep in my guts. It makes me ask questions about myself.
{ 12 comments }
We seem to have so much… stuff.
It’s been almost two years since we first moved into the TinyTrainHouse. Which means, really, it’s been two years since we had a big clean-stuff-out session. And in that time, our material possessions have multiplied; as though someone added water or fed them after midnight or did something equally irresponsible.
Practical, beautiful, functional, necessary. I’m out of practice at culling things. But we have a long way to move, and the less we take with us, the better.
The main problem is that it’s no longer just my stuff. My children are now old enough that their possessions seem to truly belong to them now. The grown far more attached to material things than they were two years ago- I think that’s just a sad consequence of growing up.
Making the decision of what comes with us and what gets left behind- recycled, re-use, redistributed, or just plain thrown out- no longer feels as though it’s entirely up to me.
It would be good, indeed, to break my children’s (hearts) belligerent hold on possessions, on owning things. To teach them that all this stuff is just that… stuff. That it’s not worth being so attached to.
At the same time, I don’t want to force them to give up anything. I know my weakness- I think it’s every mother’s weakness, really, and compounded when you’ve watched your kids lose more than what any child should have to.
I don’t like to see pain in my children’s eyes. Even if that pain is connected to something that’s not worth anything much.
I’d never make them give up any possessions they truly adore. It’s just junk, really, that we’re cleaning out. But you have so little that you’re in control of, as a kid. Wanting to control what you do have is probably quite normal. And they’re about to be picked up and unceremoniously dumped out of their comfort zone anyway…
I don’t know. If anyone has any advice for getting little kids to part with ‘stuff’ that’s just stuff… please feel free to share.
{ 23 comments }
Seven months in, and spending time with The Most Amazing Man In The Universe is still awesome.
It happens as often as we can squeeze a visit in, which is surprisingly quite a lot for two people who live so far away from one another. We’re both seasoned interstate travelers by now, and know every shortcut, bathroom, and dodgy food kiosk in both Sydney and Melbourne airports.
I go to him, and soak up my time in Melbourne, scarcely able to believe I’ll be living there soon.
More often- flying North on the weekend being much cheaper in flights than a trip South- he flies up to see me, and spends the weekend with my kids and I. A lot of the time we don’t even do that much. We just hang out.
But I think both of us are hyper-aware of the fact that, in another few months, the time we get to spend together as just the two of us, doing whatever we like, will be severely limited by the presence of two little people and very few babysitters.
So we make the most of what we’ve got. We spend whole weekends wrapped up blissfully in each other, the outside world fading away to an unobtrusive hum, any problems firmly placed on the backburner of life’s cooktop until we absolutely have to deal with them again.
No doubt, it’s going to suck a lot when the realisation hits that we have to do Real Life together, too, not just the fun parts. And that the fun parts might no longer be as secular and bubbled in happiness as they are right now.
But we melt into one another like butter. We revel in loving, in being in love. It’s nice to feel like a good person, and to see that feeling reflected in the person you’re with.
The Most Amazing Man in the Universe is good for me, and the effects of that are evident. I smoke less, drink more water. I eat healthier than I ever have in my life- while I can’t see myself emulating his vegetarianism anytime soon, he encourages me to take care of myself. And takes care of me, for me, when I refuse.
I’m not naive enough to think it will always be this blissful. But we’ve both come from places that allow us to see this awesomeness for what it is. Neither of us take the other one for granted.
And that, if nothing else… that’s a very good place to start.
{ 17 comments }
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: Not OK.
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: Another New House In Paradise….
Who is this Ed Harvey person? Does he make clothes? – RRSAHM
Who is this Ed Harvey person? Does he make clothes?
Hey y’all,
It’s official, and it’s something I need to accept. I am, at the ripe old age of 28, old, out of touch and over the hill.
At least, that’s the verdict of the Man’s 15 year old niece, who is slightly horrified that i don’t own anything, knock off or kosher, branded Ed Hardy. Nor do i covet it. Although I will concede that the nappy bag is pretty cool…. if rather orange.
And I do know it’s Ed Hardy, not Harvey, but I’ll admit I had to Google that to double check. I own Converse and Doc’s, but I’ve owned them since the last time they were in fashion. I listen to the J’s, but the last time I went to a festival The Living End and Something For Kate were head lining. I have no idea what a a ‘lud’ is. But I do have some concept that an emo involves boys with makeup.
As i said to the man’s niece, *cue old, withered voice here*, back in my day, I was given some sage advice by my bestie’s mum- “Never date a guy with longer hair or bigger boobs than you”. I think we might need to update that for today’s youth- never date a boy with longer hair, bigger boobs, or heavier eyeliner than you. Just to be on the safe side.
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{ 3 comments… read them below or add one }
- February 21, 2010 at 7:20 pm
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Personally I would rather be considered old and out of touch than be seen in anything Ed Hardy. It's the most gaudy, overpriced, cheaply made stuff on the market in my opinion. The guy's clearly a marketing genius though – why would anyone pay $160 for a tshirt?
- February 21, 2010 at 7:15 pm
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My step son just spent $160 – yes ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTY DOLLARS on an Ed Hardy T-shirt.
It had gold writing on it…but I still don't get it.
- February 20, 2010 at 2:03 pm
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Maybe add "or more streaks in his hair" to the list too. I don't know who Ed Hardy is either, and if I had to guess, would have said the second half of Laurel and Hardy (comedy duo from the 40's or 50's – don't know if they were on TV in Australia, but they were big in US) But, love the bling on the bag!
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{ 20 comments… read them below or add one }
Your shrink is totally right – the enjoyment is missing. I miss my kids every single day. And the joy from Before is gone. Completely. I think it died with my kids. And with the arrival of the PTSD.
Such an amazingly powerful post. Beautiful, clear and true.
It takes so much courage to write an honest post about some aspects of being a parent.
Thank You for your bravery, thank you for your trust, and thank you for your blog.
One of my faves.
Lori you are doing an amazing job! You are living each day and whether you know it or not you are finding a little bit of joy in each day …
I am glad that you are slowly finding a way through the fog …
C xxx
sweet sweet Lori.
It is hard. Because they are a reflection of ourselves and we so so so want to isolate ourselves from the horror we see. The pain they mirror back, the hollowness but the love we want to give is there too.
We do what we can. It is hard. It will always be hard. But it will get easier. Better. Simpler.
Slowly. Surely.
Until then – we fumble as best we can.
Don't be so hard on yourself Lori! From the outside, looking in – you're doing such an amazing job. I heard David Bowie interviewed once, talking about himself as a parent… "your parents fuck you up" he said "it's their job…"
I suspect all parents disconnect at some stage, not just the ones who have been through something as dreadful as you…
The best thing? Your kids will one day be able to read this – and KNOW how hard you tried. XXXOOO
I don't know what I have, PTSD, depression, anxiety…shit, I could be bi-polar for all I know. I just know that it is hard for me usually to see the joy in my kids. I have to really try hard to see it. They aren't extremely annoying or obnoxious…they just have needs, all the time, and it's just me that knows how to fill them. Special needs kids drain the ever-loving life out of you until one day you realize that you tend to your kids like a job…an unpaid one. Rarely do I notice the achievements, the special moments anymore. But they are there, and when I see them, they are acknowledged. Just hang on…one day it will happen. You are doing a great job Lori!
i have teared up reading this.
the inner joy will come back, its still only been a short time since the before.
virtual hug to you
We can see it happening before our eyes, Lori. You're on the right path:)
Lori, it makes sense (if that's possible) to me-I don't know a damn thing about disconnection personally-but it makes sense.
Cheers Sarah
You're doing a great job. They have a mum who loves them no matter what. The other stuff will slot back into place over time. But you know that.
OH God I understand I understand I understand. When you plan the perfect family, the perfect life, you have the perfect baby…. then it's not. I had a before. But my after is forever. My child will never be normal and people always say "it could be worse you know". Fuck them. I understand. You do what you have to, what a good mum does. And look at others in their natural blissful ignorant happiness and resent them, hate them even. They will never know. And you will never ever have what they have, it's been stolen from you. Lori, I know. OK I have a husband. But your children are normal. We all have our stuff. And I understand.
That's one of the most painfully honest things I have ever read. Thank you for sharing it. It's not just you.
Kids are so much more resilant and forgiving than we give them credit. They will understand Lori. They will love you the harder for trying so hard.
When my Jordan was born we approached the daycare next to the hospital for help as I wasn't able to take my two and half year old into the icu (he was just too wild). They took him and applied for something from the government… families in crisis that kind of thing. I would be very surprised if you didn't qualify for some free childcare. Even one day a week works miracles. If you want to talk more about it, email me.
Oh Lori. I am pretty sure that most of us who have two young kids prefer not to take them grocery shopping! And if I can get away from mine I do relish time alone, time with my friends, just a bit of headspace. It's not easy being a mum, and in your case, not just a single parent but a sole parent, quite alone with the responsibilities, triumphs and sorrows of parenthood. But having seen you with your kids recently, you are wonderful with them. When I take my two kids out, I am conscious that I look harried and fishwifey, carting my wriggling son and shouting at my daughter to try to keep her from escaping. You are calm and confident, conscious of their needs, making sure they are having fun and your day works for all three of you. You have found your groove with them on your own. And I think when we suffer a tragedy, lose someone dear to our hearts, it's only natural that we build a wall, encase ourselves in ice, even against those we love so much, just because we wouldn't survive that hurt again. It will melt in time.
Our passions are the true phoenixes, when the old one is burnt out, a new one rises from its ashes.
-Johann von Goethe
I can absolutely relate. I prayed for my son and went through infertility for years and it makes me feel so guilty that now I have times when it's all I can do to get through to nap time and I would give ANYTHING for someone to come take him for the day so I could just crawl back in bed. He is very loved and cared for and his needs are met, but inside sometimes I'm screaming. Some days there are extra naps because I need that break not because he's tired. And I hate it and hate myself but I also know that I am doing the absolute best that I possibly can. Although that doesn't help. At all. You're definitely not alone.
Since PTSD rose its ugly head in my life I have constantly grieved the loss of the mother that I think my children deserve…
But something strange has happened. Without me having anything to do with it, my two eldest children 13 and 16, the two that have been on the ride the longest, have expressed separately, and publicly, their opinions about me. And it wasn't what I expected, or believed that they thought. My Son wrote for school to a question Who was his idol? His answer, My mum. She is amazing. My daughter, well I'll just copy and paste what she said…
"Dear mum:
Well. You're my idol. I hope that one day I will be as amazing as you.
I am so glad that you chose me to be your daughter, even through the bad and horrible times, I'm still proud to call you my mum.
Our relationship is so special, we don't have the same relationship that most mothers and daughters have. You're my friend. We talk about things that friends would talk about!
You are there for not only me but people I love and care about. You will go out of your way to help someone that is in need. I love that about you.
I miss you every second of everyday Mum.
I'm so proud to call you my Mumma "
I cried big fat tears when I read that.
I guess what I'm trying to say Lori, is that even though your babies may not have the childhood that you imagined in the "before", the one they are having right now may just surprise you.
Light and Love xoxo
Oh Lori the mum they had may be gone but the one that is coming back as that cloudy ice melts can only be a stronger one with a brighter light shining from within.
She will have come from a place that can only make her more amazing to them as she will be so proud of herself for how far she has come and how many people she has helped along her journey.
She will be their beacon of light and love and hope.You are doing it.That cloud is going to be melted away by that incredible warmth inside your soul.Shine on beautiful lady x
Oh lori, this made me tear up. My husband has severe PTSD from the war in Iraq and sometimes I get so mad at him because he takes the joy out of things. Having you explain it, even though he has explained it to me already, was really quite something. IT could have been my husband writing this post instead of you. I pray that both you and my husband, and anyone suffering with PTSD, once again finds the colors in their lives.