Monthly Archives: May 2016
This Not My Idea Of A Good Time
This Not My Idea Of A Good Time
It’s easier to tell yourself that things were better, in the past. Or will be better, in the future, when some indeterminate quality is met.
The grass is always greener on the other side of the fence. Life is always better in hindsight. Or foresight. Or if you’re looking from the outside, in.
I can look back, now, at life as it was in the TinyTrainTown, and I can tell myself that things were easier, then. Because I had my family and friends there. Because I wasn’t so stressed about the complexities of life, the things I just can’t seem to do.
If I let it, my mind will repeat those sentiments, over and over. Despite the fact that I know none of them to be true.
But it’s easier, if I do that. Because if I make it a location thing, a circumstantial thing… then I don’t have to do anything to fix it.
The Most Amazing Man reminded me a few days ago that happy is not just a switch you turn on. There’s more to it than that. I have all the tools to do this, to deal with my own head. To skew things so I look at them differently.
And I beat myself up because right now I just… can’t. And I don’t know why.
{ 4 comments }
I think the only bonus to being prone to depression is that you can recognise it quickly when it happens. Even if you don’t want to admit it to yourself. Or to your partner. Or to the people who love you, a thousand kilometres away.
I woke up yesterday morning crying. It’s not just a matter of being tired, of waking up to my daughter six or seven times every night. It’s not just being sick, having gastro, and the sinus infections seep into our house like small, unwanted vermin. It’s not just this Melbourne weather, being cold all the time, and never knowing when it will rain. It’s not just being broke and worried about money. It’s not just missing my mum, missing my friends. It’s not just feeling as though I’m never on top of things, like I’m always behind and disorganised.
It’s all of that… and none of it. It’s this black dog that nips at my heels, that eats happiness as though it’s scraps of food thrown out too early.
I have this whole new life, and it’s supposed to be okay. It’s supposed to be easy.
It’s not easy, and I’m not coping. And I hate myself for feeling like this. I hate myself for hating myself, and then I hate myself some more. The meds reach the outer boundary of their effectiveness- they make it so I’m able to feel nothing at all. But not so much that they can conjure up happiness, not so much that they can shed light on this kind of darkness.
I give up on cleaning the house, give up on showering, stop walking the kids to school and choose the easier option of driving them instead. I cant write. I haven’t been laughing at anything much. My sex drive is non-existent. I don’t bother putting on make up, or wearing anything other than jeans and black t-shirts. I have strange dreams. I wander round in a foggy half state, not thinking about anything much– my consciousness is stuck in past tense, events from years ago swirling through my brain with such thickness nothing new gets through. I am a ghost of myself, haunting my New House that doesn’t really feel like mine at all.
I don’t look forward to anything much, right now. Looking forward to things would mean I’d have to feel something, and I’m not sure I’m capable of feeling anything right now.
I have a doctor’s appointment today. They can’t up my medication any higher than what it currently is… but I’m telling myself that, surely, a good shrink is going to help.
{ 18 comments }
When I was growing up, there was no greater schoolyard sin than that of ‘loving yourself’.
It was used as a taunt. “Errr! You love yourself sooo much!!”.
I think it messed with my head a bit– weren’t you supposed to love yourself, wasn’t that the point? the alternative was to hate yourself. To my ten-year-old self it was a confusing concept.
If I didn’t like myself at all, maybe the bullies would like me. And, really, what right did I have to like myself, if everyone else viewed me as a piece of sh*t?
***
Self esteem is a warped and relative concept. I struggle with it, still, even now, at thirty two years old. How do you love yourself, completely, when even liking yourself is a challenge?
{ 6 comments }
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: The Finger
All This Stuff – RRSAHM
All This Stuff
I’m packing, again, a house full of memories.
Not so many pictures to take down this time, of course- we’re in a rental.
Last time I moved, I culled our belongings. We had so much stuff- a two storey house full, plus a double garage. My husband was a hoarder….
I’ve never been.
The older I’ve gotten, the less attached to material possessions I’ve become. I’m not the type to keep my wedding dress, or the sugar figures form the top of my wedding cake. I haven’t kept my son’s umbilical cord, nor his first hospital blanket.
I keep some things… but only tiny mementos of each event. A tiara from my hen’s night. My wedding ring, and the invites we had printed. My son’s first tiny outfit. My daughter’s tiny hospital band.
But even if I were to lose these things, it wouldn’t be a terrible tragedy. I would mourn the loss of them, but the power in them comes from the memories they invoke.
And memories are not things that are so easily taken away.
So as I pack, again, this time, I’m letting go of even more stuff. We keep only what is beautiful, functional, useful or necessary. Five months we’ve been in this house- if I haven’t looked at, looked for, or thought of an object since we have moved here, it can go.
And I am getting rid of stuff at an alarming rate. Old books and CD’s, out of fashion clothes and unplayed-with toys. Boxes of stale, musty linen that I know I will never use.
It’s a Buddhist concept, isn’t it? Letting go of the attachment to material things, which only bring suffering.
I’m beginning to see the truth in this. Memories, they bring me comfort, but they feel light and comfortable.
All this stuff, it brings thoughts unbidden… it’s just weighing me down.
***
Moving unsettles my soul. Packing drags up memories that I would rather stay hidden.
But sometimes… you find little treasures.
Like this. I’d forgotten about it until it turned up in my son’s room. Unfortunately, I don’t have the date for it… but I can tell you Tony and I found it in the comics section of the Sunday Telegraph, and were shocked into laughter, when I was just 8 weeks pregnant with our first child.
Click to embiggen.
Bizarre, yes? We took it as a sign that things were meant to be.
Maybe we were right.
Maybe not.
Previous post: Lucky.
Next post: Mentally Unhealthy.
The View On Religion, From The After- Part One. – RRSAHM
The View On Religion, From The After- Part One.
I’ve had quite a few people ask me how I feel about religion, now, in the After. I wrote about it in the Before.
I’ll publish the where-I’m-at-with-God bit in the next post. I just thought we needed some background first.
In the Before, I believed in… Something.
In the immediate After… I was willing to believe in anything.
one of the first things I did, the morning After, while Tony was unconscious in the ICU, was to visit our local catholic church, to arrange for a priest to come and perform Last Rites. Why…? Well, Tony was Catholic. Not practicing Catholic, but Catholic enough that our son was baptised. And I remembered, when Tony’s nan was in her last hours, he held her hand and recited the Lord’s Prayer, over and over, to bring her comfort.
I think I wanted to bring the same comfort to him.
The priest attended the hospital, only after checking that it was ‘OK’- I was not Catholic, and while our son was baptised at this church, we weren’t technically part of the parish.
That stung, and still does.. that we had to meet some official requirement,s for prayer to be given.
Despite me asking him to, the priest didn’t wait for me to perform Last Rites. Tony’s mum, and a friend of ours, where there, both baptised Catholics…. I guess that was enough.
That stings too.
I visited the hospital chapel every day while Tony was in the ICU. I have myself to God, to Jesus, to whoever. I cried and sobbed and bargained and prayed and pleaded for my husband’s life.
And, failing that… I prayed for strength, the strength to do this, the strength to walk away, if that was what I had to do.
I guess my prayers were answered, to a point. I had the strength to walk away. But I’m too angry with a higher power to give them credit for that. That was all me.
In contrast to the Catholic priest, the pastor from the church where my children and I attended play group could not have been more comforting. He spoke to me on the phone every day while Tony was in hospital. The last night of Tony’s life, he came and sat with me. Prayed with me, prayed with Tony. He was compassion and love personified when I needed it most and the feeling of that comfort, that soft but strength that emanated from him… I don’t think that will ever leave me.
In the days that followed my husband’s death, the faith I had felt in the hospital flickered and dehydrated and died. The idea of attending church lingered for a while, right until we moved to Paradise, but more for the purpose of teaching my children about the concept of Heaven, of giving them a framework to understand where there father is now.
That idea, along with any lingering scraps of faith, has been washed away by now.
And that’s that. More in the next post….
***
Every day, while my husband was in hospital, I visit the chapel.
The last time is just half an hour before my final meeting with the ICU doctors, the meeting where I will find out my husband’s fate… I already know what it will be.
He will become an organ donor.
Security walks me to the chapel, then stops at the door. I can voices from inside, ten or more, singing or softly chanting in unison.
“Better wait till they’re done” says the guard, and leaves me alone in the hall.
I wait, as long as I can. Maybe two minutes, maybe three. Time is ticking away, and I have to see the doctors soon, and if praying is doing anything then I need to do it now.
Hesitantly, I knock. An older lady, calm in her eyes, she opens the door.
I can barely speak through my tears. I explain, my husband, he is in the ICU, I have my final meeting with doctors soon… I need to pray.
Without a word I am swept into a room of people, most of them elderly, all of them holding rosary beads. They sit me on a lounge, pass me tissues, one woman puts her arms around me while I sob, uncontrolled and uncaring, into her chest.
And they pray. Together, in unison, in English then in Latin. I have no idea what they are saying,but the rising swell of words and tone and faith…. it comforts me. I close my eyes, allow salty hot tears to run from my swollen eyes, feel the exhaustion of the last few days seep in to me, run through me, just for a moment, before I get up and have to face it all again.
I’ve never been in a place of such devout faith, such selfless prayer and love as I was, that day. The power of humanity, or the power of a Higher being… whichever it was, it was divine.
Leave a Comment
{ 19 comments… read them below or add one }
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August 30, 2011 at 12:05 pm -
I don't know how I've never read this before, Lori. That part at the end, in the capel, had me sobbing. It's beautiful and raw and I'm so, so incredibly grateful for those people looking after you.
- August 30, 2011 at 6:38 am
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Very difficult when men of the "cloth" act in that way. stinks in fact. Wrong.
Glad you found something deeper and people were there for you. So personal and meaningful.
Thank you for your willingness to share.
- August 30, 2011 at 5:01 am
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Lori,
As always you write so beautifully.
Your final comment that "I've never been in a place of such devout faith, such selfless prayer and love as I was, that day. The power of humanity, or the power of a Higher being… whichever it was, it was divine."I think that is so true. I don't know if you are much of a reader but at the end of Philip Pullman's trilogy "The Dark Materials" he makes the argument that people being kind and compassionate to each other is as close to divinity as it is possible to get. I am pleased that the universe or a power out there lead you into a situation where you could experience love and comfort.
I'm sorry that the priest behaved in such an uncompassionate manner to you.
Take care of yourself.
Trisha - August 29, 2011 at 10:51 pm
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A beautiful post. There is a lot about faith that is not comforting and some things that are. Take what you need, what helps, disregard what doesn't.
I found my view of everything shifted after my loss. Some things stayed the same, other things got the flick… like the concept that everything happens for a reason… I mean who writes that shit? Not everything happens for a reason. Some shit just is.
xx
- August 29, 2011 at 9:37 pm
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Silly me posted on your "before" post, not this one.. so let me paste from there: "Lori, I am so glad that when things were darkest for you that there were people who shared God's love with you and that it touched you. Praying you will encounter many more people and experience much love on your journey."
- August 29, 2011 at 9:06 pm
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Wow – once again a beautiful, heartbreaking post. I'm so happy you're writing about this. I have so many questions about faith after loss and I'm clinging to your words.
- August 29, 2011 at 5:32 pm
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You made me cry! Your writing is great and as Hemingway said – (you) write hard and clear about what hurts. The image of the prayer group in the church at the end of your post – cried.
Will you write a book soon?
Ann Anon
- August 29, 2011 at 4:49 pm
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Both beautiful posts.
I think the belief in "something" waivers and flickers, it is never lost. Well for some it is, but for me it is changeable.M2Mx
- August 29, 2011 at 2:48 pm
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Lori, I am just glad you found such divine comfort when you needed it most.
- August 29, 2011 at 12:50 pm
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Chairman WOW! Those ladies in the chapel who took you in and comforted you with their prayers, your description just tugged at my heartstrings. I hope you find whatever you're looking for in a church, or religion, but remember that it's not about rituals and traditions, it's about your relationship with the god of your choosing. That is what makes it worth while.
I am a Christian. It's a choice I made a long time ago. (I'm not going to force anyone to convert or try to cram Jesus down your throat, I promise.) I've had my moments where I stopped attending church because of how the pastor or the congregation treated me, but I've found a place that I LOVE going to, where you find that love and the strength you spoke about from the pastor who took the time to sit and talk with you. I've been at it seven years now, and my life isn't easy or perfect, (being a christian isn't easy or perfect, and it definitely isn't for the faint of heart), but I don't know what I would ever do with my church, but more importantly, God.
- August 29, 2011 at 10:02 am
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This post leaves me with goosebumps and will linger in my mind long after I log off here.
Beautifully written. Lori.
- August 29, 2011 at 9:02 am
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Lori, it sounds as though you met the best and worst of Catholicism on this journey… I hope you will remember the deep comfort and power of the rosary and the company of devoted Christians (likely Catholic) whose arms held you on behalf of Jesus, who surely cried with you that day. I also hope you won't forget that His Church is human just as it is divine; full of people who make mistakes – like applying a litmus test to decide which Catholics are good enough to receive sacraments -and whose actions have the power to chase hurting souls away from the beautiful oasis of the Church. Don't let your own anger and the actions of flawed priests keep you from what you felt in the chapel. Jesus has healing for you, has been walking with you through all of this, and loves you desperately.
Anniebird
- August 29, 2011 at 7:24 am
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I believe in some kind of " cosmic order/higher power " type thing, but i certainly dont give it the name God. I was raised Catholic ( my mum, my dad is an agnostic at best ) and attended church until i was 15, at which time i told my mother i was old enough to see through the hypocrisy.
Now? I try to live a good, ethical, moral life but i dont subscribe to any particular dogma. I think we each need to make our own way, believing what we believe, and leave everybody else to do the same…
- August 29, 2011 at 12:16 pm
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Ugh – I'm stabby on your behalf that you were left out that the priest had to "check that it was OK" before coming to Tony's bedside and that you weren't present during the last rites. Really, that kind of snobbery/exclusionism is at the core of my disdain for organized religion.
On the other hand, it was really sweet the way the rosary people prayed with you and let you cry.
I'm in the "spiritual but not religious" category – I've seen too much to be inclined to follow any particular dogma or attend church, but at the same time, I've also seen too much to honestly and truly believe that there is no higher power.
- August 28, 2011 at 11:12 pm
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'that was all me' : have you read Footsteps?
My core faith is constant but my cloak of doubt, distrust and anger at organised religion ebbs and flows. There is great comfort to be had in familiar ritual at times of need and a Rosary group would have great swathes of comfort. It is funny how 'coincidences' and pockets of support happen when we ask for help. I'm interested to read part two too.
- August 28, 2011 at 9:25 pm
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I was brought up Catholic and am now a staunch atheist. When Tricky was in hospital I went to the chapel as a quiet place to be and to think. I felt like such a hypocrite, even though I didn't go to pray.
When my grandfather passed away last week and we surrounded him while the Last Rites were read, the comfort it brought my grandmother, to have a priest there, performing this last ritual, was palpable.
Where ever we find comfort. Religion, smoking, a few drinks, sex. Whatever. The comfort is craved.
Thanks for sharing this x
- August 28, 2011 at 8:41 pm
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Looking forward to the next post Lori – I think faith in God, in Jesus is a personal revelation, one that there are not many words to describe. That is what it's been for me. xo Rach
- August 28, 2011 at 10:52 pm
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Read every sentence twice, you have a rare gift Lori…. Divine even xx
- August 28, 2011 at 8:24 pm
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A beautiful post, Lori.
Previous post: Crowning.
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: Fuck You Too.
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: Fuck You Too.
I Wish I Were You. – RRSAHM
I Wish I Were You.
I know your life is not perfect.
But some days, right now, when I picture the look of shock on your face as you read this blog…. I wish your life were mine.
I’ve read stories before, real stories that happened to real people, and recoiled at the horror of them, and selfishly, ashamedly felt so glad that it was someone’s else’s life, not mine.
I know, there are so many people so far worse off them me…
But I can picture you, right now. I can almost taste the bitter sweetness as you go to home to your partner, your loved ones, and hug them and be so grateful, in reflection of my story, that they are still there to hold.
I had moments like that, with Tony.Where I cherished everything we had, every moment of sweetness. Recognised how divinely lucky I was.
I’m so glad I did.
I wish I was still on your side of the wall, to feel that way.
Take those moments, run with them, if sometimes that is what this blog inspires in you.
I’ll be happy for you, I promise. Every time I hear that, that my writing has had that effect, it takes the sting off my grief, just the tiniest bit. It brings me comfort to know that love is blooming from here, from something so horrible…
Lilies growing from water.
The squelchy mud of this winter, drying into the dust of a summer that hasn’t happened yet.
***
An email, from a reader of mine named Jo….
“Please know that I haven’t stood by staring, but for want of a better word “abided” with you, head bowed respectfully, whispering a prayer for mercy from the universe for you and your bubba’s.”
I’m more than OK with that. Thank you Jo.
Leave a Comment
{ 26 comments… read them below or add one }
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July 6, 2013 at 5:52 pm -
I have got understand quite a few good products in this article. Certainly value bookmarking regarding revisiting. I ponder what amount work you set to develop any such spectacular beneficial web page.
- June 20, 2011 at 11:27 am
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Eeep, Lori! I just read this and blushed and then cried and then blushed again at my terrible sentence structure.
I so needed a reminder to be grateful. Thank you, Lori.
- June 19, 2011 at 6:01 pm
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I'm never sure if I should admit to this, but ever since your tragedy has unfurled, it has made me look at my own life and issues through new eyes. You, and your nightmare is often my yardstick of how I know I should be feeling blessed, instead of feeling sorry for myself… And everytime I think this way I always finish it with "I wish Lori never had to go through this pain." It is beyond unfair.
- June 19, 2011 at 5:14 pm
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Lori, I think about you and your little family so often, and because of you I am FIERCELY grateful for mine. Every afternoon my husband walks through the door is another day I consider myself the luckiest woman in the world, for his very presence.
Because.of.you.
xLL - June 18, 2011 at 7:13 pm
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I am with Jo on this one. xx
- June 18, 2011 at 6:09 pm
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Lori, know that you are held up to the healing power of the universe and joined in heartache by so many who have lost dear ones. May each step we take lead the way to peace.
- June 18, 2011 at 4:56 pm
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Meanwhile, I stand with you shoulder to shoulder on this side of the wall.
It sucks, but we are not alone… - June 18, 2011 at 2:23 pm
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You really are a gorgeous lady. x
- June 18, 2011 at 12:31 pm
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Beautiful, stunning post. And I've had many of the same thoughts myself. Though the monumental tragedy to strike my own life was vastly different to yours, I can still relate to this post so much. You lost a husband, me my first born daughter at birth in completely unfathomable circumstances. I wouldn't wish my life or your life upon anyone, but I do wish things could be different for us both. I'd be lying if I said I hadn't wished this happened to someone else, not me.
I just wish he were here, Lori. Like so many others here, I only started reading in The After. I for one am grateful to have another blogger around who isn't afraid to speak the absolute truth of grief. It is painful, ugly and just fucking awful and there is no point trying to sugar coat any of it or hide away for the sake of common decency. This is what it is. Because of people like you, I feel less alone.
Abiding always.
xo - June 18, 2011 at 9:23 am
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Hello, I just discovered your blog this week, was taken aback at what I had stumbled upon, and I absolutely had to pay attention. See, I do still have my husband, but I'm scared as hell of losing him. He has several health problems. Last September he had double heart bypass surgery and that night his heart stopped 3 times. So I won't just be sitting back and watching, I will be absorbing whatever it is you can impart to me. I'm glad I found you.
- June 18, 2011 at 4:33 pm
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& I quote:
"i feel like jo spoke for all of us, who check here daily, who think about you during our every day lives, who have sobbed while reading your posts and prayed for you. you are a light lori- a beautiful glowing light, and there are thousands of us standing around you, holding hands and just hoping for you. "
This. So perfectly, honestly, utterly how I feel as well.
Well said.
We stand by you, Lori.
- June 18, 2011 at 1:13 am
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Ah, my love. I don't wish for you my life (no one wants it right now!), but I wish for you to find joy and love again. I feel that you will because you live so head on, so without compromise. I don't know how you could not find it. xx
- June 18, 2011 at 11:09 am
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I never know what to say when I read your posts. I don't want to be that "I'm sorry" person who doesn't know what to say and then feels like a complete arsehole for not saying something more to remove the pain you feel, if it were possible, so I just follow, read, absorbe your words, pain, longing, and hide.
If I could trade places with you for 24 hours, to spare you the grief, loneliness, pain you have for one day, I would do it x
- June 18, 2011 at 12:36 am
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Thank you for this.
And for the reminders that in an instant my life could look utterly different. It's 10:30a my time, and I have already complained about three things that are objectively far from complaint worthy. I'm embarrassed about that.
This isn't the first time that I've read your words and been moved to let some things go, to love people a little better. But I think it is the first time I've thanked you for it. (I'm embarrassed about that too.)
Hugs from across the ocean, as always.
- June 17, 2011 at 11:35 pm
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i feel like jo spoke for all of us, who check here daily, who think about you during our every day lives, who have sobbed while reading your posts and prayed for you. you are a light lori- a beautiful glowing light, and there are thousands of us standing around you, holding hands and just hoping for you.
i dont recoil when i read your entries. you make me look at my life and the world in a different way. and i know its accurate to say you have touched and changed my life, just as i know you have so many others. you have done so much good out of so much pain, lori. and for that, i think we all cant help but love you.
i wish so much that this had never happened, to you, to tony, to your babies, to everyone. my heart aches for you. you are in my thoughts, prayers and heart. - June 17, 2011 at 11:15 pm
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Hi Lori,
I have no idea if I have ever commented on any of your posts as normally I write huge long ones and then my stupid computer crashes! Anyway I just wanted to say that I have been reading your blog since "The After" and have also went back and read a lot of "The Before". I wanted to say a few things, the first being I know that you got upset as a lot of your "so called friends" did not think it appropriate what you were writing and saying it showed Tony in a bad light. If they had read the posts properly they would have realised that you were hurting and had to let it out somewhere. In all your posts that you wrote you always explained that the Tony that did this is not the Tony that you knew and loved. He was ill and unfortunately (as we all know) when someone is like that unless they admit they need help there is nothing any of us can do. I appreciated (and I know by reading your comments that most of your readers agree) you putting this out in the open and talking about it from the person who is left behind point of view. I have known a few people who committed suicide and although none of them were close close (and certainly not someone who I loved enough to marry and have children with) it hurt a lot and we all go through the mind set where you think is there anything we could have done. The bottom line is no there wasn't and we shouldn't punish ourselves. The other thing I wanted to say was I think you are very brave to have kept going not just for your childrens sakes but also for your own. Reading your blogs I understand that you have been through mental illness in the past (sorry I have misunderstood what you have written) and having been there myself I know how easy it is to slip back under when the proverbial hits the fan. I hope that you keep being as strong and asking for help if and when required. Keep using your blog as an outlet (remember it is ALWAYS better out than in) and remember that there are a lot of good people out there who do care about you. Even random people like me from Scotland who has never met you and probably never will but check in everyday just to see how you are doing. To finish off I would like to tell you something that my friend told me when my dad died and I was in absolute despair "the pain we are feeling now is the price we pay for all the good times we shared with him. If they weren't so good it wouldn't hurt so much" and it is so true. Take care of yourself and your children and keep writing. Aileen xxx
- June 17, 2011 at 11:11 pm
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Funny you should say that. I read your blog so i don't feel so alone. I always know where you are coming from and it gives me comfort to know that i am not the only person to experience / think these things.
- June 17, 2011 at 10:40 pm
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You don't know how deeply i've ached for you to have him back. Hearing stories of Tony from others, reading your blogs and feeling like I know you.
This is all so deeply fucked up. Not a part of me feels ok about it, feels like there is a "right" in this. I just wish i knew some words that could help you right now, even if it just gives you one hour of peace. - June 17, 2011 at 10:14 pm
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Lori, so much is so trivial in many of our lives. Yes, your blog reminds so many of us of just that. When times have been gut-wrenchingly painful in my journey with my kids – I have wanted others to feel my pain and experience what I have experienced so they could relate. So I can relate.
I pray for you – for you to have peace – and your babes too. I pray for your mind to have peace and joy and this grieving process will come as it should and bring you healing through the waves of sadness. That the tide of sadness will go out, and in will come the tide of peace. xxx - June 17, 2011 at 9:39 pm
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I read every word, but sometimes don't leave a comment because I just feel too much.
- June 17, 2011 at 9:36 pm
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I wish you were, too, so many times. Just for you to have it all back
- June 17, 2011 at 9:10 pm
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Lori, you're devine. You give me goosebumps. You're such a strong woman. An amazing writer, if anyone's story needs to be heard, it's yours. X
- June 17, 2011 at 9:07 pm
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Lori, what an eloquent writer you are. Everything you say packs so much power, not just because of the road you are travelling but because of the way you think it through, the way you say it. I am not standing by staring either…i guess I think that in some small way I honour the love you and Tony share by bearing witness to what you have to say and by offering whatever support I can by being here to comment. So much love to you and your beautiful children xx
- June 17, 2011 at 9:03 pm
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Such beautiful writing, Lori.
I read your blog and don't recoil. Rather, I am drawn because here someone who knows the depths of pain I've been in. Probably knows a lot more. And copes. And it helps me to keep going…
- June 17, 2011 at 11:49 pm
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I know what you mean. Honestly, I'm so grateful for people like you who are brave enough to speak your truth, even if parts of it are raw and ugly. It gives me the courage I need to speak mine, and it helps me not take all that I've been given for granted.
I, too, am 'abiding' here with you, imploring the universe to give you and your babies a better day.
- June 17, 2011 at 9:15 pm
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Dear Lori, Jo has "spoken" from her heart, the words that we all have whispered, so eloquently and accurately. I have wept with you and your babies, wishing that there was something more that could have been done to keep you all safe from this tragedy. I found your blog only a short time ago, so I was not privy to the Before until I had read the After. I have also laughed at yours & Tony's silliness in the Before and know that you carry that with you. You are always in my thoughts. Continue to be strong & remember to allow yourself to be sad when you are. You & your babies will be alright (X)
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Random Ramblings of a SAHM: Fuck You Too.
Lost and Found: One Pair of Shoes, Missing Owner. – RRSAHM
Lost and Found: One Pair of Shoes, Missing Owner.
There’s no place like home,
Aloha, jellybeaners. This is a Lost and Found announcement from the Purple House, bought to you by RRSAHM.
Just recently- well, actually not quite so recently, it was a good two months ago now- my precious little baby Bump turned one. As is the birthday tradition in the Purple House, we threw a big birthday barbecue bash. Lots of guests, lots of food, lots of kids in the spa and sandpit, lots of fun. Also lots of mess to clean up afterward. Two days worth of mess. Overflowing otto bins, sand in every crevice of every cushion on the lounge. Next year, I’m totally doing a PlayMaze Party, where they cater and clean. Not at my house.
As you can see, the Bump had a fabulous time. And that is the most important thing. Right? Right. It’s totally worth it.
*Ahem* Totally.
Moving on. A very peculiar event occurred at the Bump’s first birthday. Or, actually, after the Bump’s first birthday party.
You see, someone left their shoes behind.
Now, that’s odd to begin with. It was summer, it was hot, most people slipped their shoes off… but surely you would notice if you left your shoes behind…eventually?
And when you did notice, you would think you would ask for them back. But so far, nada. Nothing. not a word, from a single party guest.
Therefore, before I deposit them gracefully in the Lifeline second hand clothing bin, I fear it’s only fair to do an official Lost and Found announcement for them, here on my blog. Because… well… where else would I do an official Lost and Found announcement, but here…?
Found
Where: The Purple House.
Belonging to: My best guess is, a guest at the Bump’s first birthday party. Unless we have some kind of shoe fairy, Which would be fabulous, but, like most of my fairies, she is doing a totally crap job. See below.
Description: One pair of very pretty, flat red strappy shoes. Size 9. Which is unfortunately a good two sizes too big for me, or this notice wouldn’t exist because I would have already claimed them.
Claimage: Please call 0410 RRSAHM, or contact me via telekinesis. Or, ya know, send me a message on FaceBook, or something.
So… there you go. Bizarreness. I’m still trying to figure out who could possibly leaves their shoes behind. Bojangles, Auntie Mickey and the Mother of Princess Boofhead are the usual suspects, but they all swear the shoes don’t belong to them.
My life just gets weirder. If anyone can shod (boom tish!) some light on this one, help me out here?
Leave a Comment
{ 11 comments… read them below or add one }
- December 1, 2010 at 1:56 pm
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Hi Lori! Just wondering if you have contact details – specifically email address- available anywhere on the blog?? Was hoping to get in touch with you about a competition I am running
Cheers
Grace x x - November 30, 2010 at 7:59 pm
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Well, I know they're not mine. Way too big and I wasn't at the party either.
They are pretty though. - November 30, 2010 at 4:31 pm
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Do you know what? It never fails to astound me at how many things other families either just don't notice are missing or can't be bothered chasing up. The school Lost and Found is always full of uniforms, books, bags and lunchboxes, most very expensive, but unnamed and unloved. Don't get it really. I put the kids' names on everything, and make sure everything comes home because, like, it's money isn't it? And sometimes precious as well.
- November 30, 2010 at 1:54 pm
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Alas, they're too small for my feet (yes, I was born with canoes on the ends of my legs). Did you ever see that episode of Sex and the City where someone stole Carrie's shoes from a party? It's the reverse!
- November 30, 2010 at 8:00 am
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Maybe the shoes were given as presents to the owner who doesn't like them so owner left them behind at your place so she can claim that she lost them.
(((( Hugs ))))
- November 30, 2010 at 7:10 am
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She is SO cute. (So are the shoes.)
- November 30, 2010 at 6:42 am
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That's funny! Are you absolutely sure there isn't a child stuck down the back of the sofa?? XXX
- November 30, 2010 at 5:02 am
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Damn – Katie stole my joke…
- November 30, 2010 at 1:37 am
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OMG. They're mine. How on earth did they end up in Australia? I better pop over and retrieve them!!
- November 30, 2010 at 12:27 am
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There's one at every party isn't there?! Have you checked your shoe supply – are you sure they didn't just trade up and are now not going to admit to leaving those ones behind?? Just a thought…but then it's very late, so don't expect it to be a brilliant thought
xxxCate - November 30, 2010 at 2:35 am
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Darn, those are too big for me, too!
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Random Ramblings of a SAHM: I suck at being sick.
Being A 'Good Mum' (And Other Righteous BullSh*t). – RRSAHM
Being A ‘Good Mum’ (And Other Righteous BullSh*t).
There’s been a thread of holier-than-thou judgement of my parenting in a few comments left of late.
It’s made me afraid of using my own space in the way that I find most therapeutic– spilling all my secrets into the digital Neverland. I don’t like being afraid. These are comments that pick and pluck at the spot where I am weakest– my own parenting skills, and the way I navigate life with two little people. The possible damage I may be inflicting on my children.
I think it’s the soft spot of all parents. We’re all hyper-aware of the responsibility of raising little people. We know we will be judged. From the moment we reveal we’re carrying a baby, until long after we’ve passed away. Forty years from now, should our child break all social codes and do something terrible; one of the first places people will look for answers will be with us. Where did we fail? In what facet of parental responsibility where we so inept that it can explain what went wrong with our children?
And we are judged on the tiniest, most inconsequential endeavours. It seems so socially acceptable to comment on the parenting of other people and the probable fate of their children; and to do so with such casual study of their situation. There’s a self-justifying benevolence in the social sport of picking apart another mum because she works, or doesn’t; or smacks, or doesn’t; on whether her children are well-behaved and polite, or not. The behaviour of children is seen as an obvious manifestation of their parents child rearing skills, or lack of them. And we seem to encourage ‘keyhole judgements’– taking a tiny slice of a story and attributing it as the rule, when it just may be the exception.
I think, perhaps, that’s one of the elements that digs at me so much, in regard to comments left here lately. The arrogance of assumption of people feeling that because they’ve read my blog, they then have the right or the obligation to comment on my parenting; on the lives of myself, my mum, and my children.
You only know what I tell you here. Judging me on what I choose to share with you is the online equivalent of judging a parent at a local playground after watching them interact with their child for two minutes. It doesn’t give you enough information to make calls like you do, to look down on someone else because they’re not doing it the way you consider to be ‘right’.
I share a lot of my life on these web pages. I write without thinking much about how I’ll be perceived. I tell stories about my children and myself. That leaves me inherently open to judgement… that’s okay. It’s part of the give and take of blogging. People have every right to voice their opinion, particularly when there’s a comment section inviting that very thing.
But this isn’t so much about me, or my ‘emotional state’. This is about the bullsh*t judgements people feel they have a right to make, when you never know enough about a another’s person life to make that call. Whether you’re their best friend or they’re someone you see for thirty seconds in the local supermarket, or because you’ve read what they’ve chosen to share with you.
It’s about how we make parenting, mothering in particular, into some righteous, beautified social test. It’s about the way a mother and her actions are considered wholly objectified public property. It’s about the way women are expected to ‘embrace mothering’ and your children are supposed to be your ‘whole world’. The way mothers are crucified and shamed if they don’t hold up to other people’s ideals of what a ‘good mother’ should be.
It’s about the way we’re not allowed to say what sometimes might be the truth. That you can love your kids desperately, think they are the most awesome little people… and still not like being a mum very much at all.
My kids aren’t a burden. As I’ve said– they are awesome little people, and I’m honoured to be able to spend the bulk of my time with them. But changing dirty nappies, making school lunches, being yelled at, moderating temper tantrums, listening to whinging, and all the other stuff that comes with small children? That’s a burden. I’m not fond of it. Not at all. I don’t have to be.
Don’t get me wrong, there are some bits of parenting that I thoroughly enjoy. Deep conversations and answering questions. Showing my kids new things, taking them places. Watching their face light up with new concepts my new knowledge. I love playing video games or curling up on the lounge watching movies with my son. I love playing with my daughter’s doll-house (sometimes I even let her help) and painting her fingernails. I like doing the fun stuff. But I find the hard stuff really difficult. And there’s nothing wrong with saying that.
I became a mother, not a martyr. Giving birth didn’t provide me with some selfless gene that made me suddenly enjoy being every aspect of raising kids. I’m inherently selfish. Most people are; we just find ways to temper that against the realities of life and the needs of the people we love.
My children are the most important people in my life. They always have been and probably always will be. But I allow myself to have a life, and a personality, outside of being their mum. I’m devoted to them, but I never want them to be responsible for my happiness. I want to teach them that all of us are responsible for finding our own. I’m happy to sacrifice things. But I keep things, too. And I want to teach my children– my daughter especially– that that’s an okay thing to do. Women are expected to give and give and give until there’s nothing left of themselves but a shell that functions, providing for people’s needs. It doesn’t have to be that way.
I’m the first to admit that I find spending time alone a necessity. I’m okay with that. I’m also quite happy to admit that I do spend whole weekends with my boyfriend. I’ve confessed to temporarily running away from my kids and wanting to leave for good. I’ve stated– and I stand by it– that some days I just cannot handle my five and three year old (which I’m fairly sure shocks absolutely no one) and everything falls down in a screaming heap.
Why do any of those things have an influence of the effectiveness of my parenting, anyway? Do you have to spend every second with your kids, to parent well? Or is it that you can’t have other focuses in your life? Do you have to enjoy every aspect of motherhood in order to ‘embrace’ it? Are you allowed to like parenting without being particularly enamoured with the really-little-kid phase of it? Can you love your kids without liking being a parent at all?
I’m predicting that even writing that last paragraph is enough to have me labelled as unfit mother– one who’s probably causing deep, awful emotional agony– in some people’s mental filing system.
Again, I’m (surprisingly) okay with that. If you’re that attached to the concept of martyred parent that it personally offends when someone else doesn’t live up to it… I kind of feel sorry for you.
To the commenter who wrote this one; and anyone who feels the same…
I originally had a few hundred words written here, defending myself and my parenting. Then I decided, f*ck it. I have no obligation to justify myself to anyone.
So all I really want to say is this.
Get f*cked.
And bite me.
Leave a Comment
{ 33 comments… read them below or add one }
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May 17, 2014 at 8:56 am -
Reread this one today and now that I’m closer in my head to being ready to parent (as if you’re ever really ready) I think I need to print this out and save it. Because this–this is what I’m afraid of. That I’ll love my child of course!, but that there will be days that I wonder what I’ve done to my life by having a child. And that people will think that there’s something so terribly wrong with not liking it every single minute. And that I’ll have no one to talk to about it.
Thank you.
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May 2, 2013 at 12:18 pm -
Right On, Lori, there are aspects of parenting that I absolutely hate and when I went to a parenting class when my daughter was teen and I said that I didn’t like her at all right then, the other mothers could only say, “Wish I had the guts to say that.” Well, fucking Hello, it’s hard, they are jerks and there were times when if I could have run away I would have. And balls to anyone who would have given me shit about it.
It’s your blog, be yourself if ya wanna and whoever you care to be if You ain’t who you’re up to this week. Stop by my little place and smell the baby that I get to send home every afternoon. I adore him AND my night’s sleep; they’re quite compatible.
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April 30, 2013 at 5:42 am -
I’m so glad you were able to see right through that commenter. What a hateful person. How dare s/he try to strip you of the pride you feel watching your children succeed. Especially after all you’ve been through. Just dispicable. Lots of love, Lori.
melissa recently posted…Running: a mind/body experience
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April 30, 2013 at 3:03 am -
This post needs to go viral! Everyone needs to read this. The only reason we tear down others as parents is because we feel insecure about our own parenting skills. It is the whole “when you point one finger at someone you have three pointing back at yourself” type thing. So much easier to point out that one thing in others than to recognize and address the three in ourselves.
Bravo, Lori! Keep writing honestly. You are NOT alone in feeling this way
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April 29, 2013 at 3:54 pm -
I absolutely love your blog Lori and particularly this post. A wise person once told me ‘your kids will be screwed up no matter what you do’ and by screwed up I mean have their own issues, idiosyncrasies, behaviours and personality quirks. Like all of us. I think that as long as my children know I love them and accept that I will make mistakes (hopefully they’ll forgve me when they are older!) I’m ok with that. It’s hard to hold belief and faith that you are doing and being exactly what your children need in the face of criticism but I always find that in the end when I can forgive myself it makes me more compassionate towards the critics. Love Elissa.
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April 28, 2013 at 6:52 pm -
The whole reason I haven’t blogged properly in a year or more… I am far too scared to put in writing to my friends and family that I actually detest chunks of my life as a mother. Parents with kids who disabilities…. We are meant to say things like “I wouldn’t change him for $1,000,000.” And “he brings me so much more joy because of his challenges. The little things mean so much more” Fuck. That. I would change him for $2 (not swap him for $2. Just to be clear) and he would bring me a gazillion times more joy if he would sleep more than 2 hours and if he could play by himself. I don’t resent him for being in a wheelchair or being fed through a tube, I resent the wheelchair and the feeding machine though. I detest them and even though we use each on a daily basis, it has not become “normal” or “accepted” to me, it still makes me feel like a nurse and it still screeches “FOREVER” so loudly, I could fall in a heap and cry for a solid 24 hours.
But I am not allowed to say any of that. The fact that we are grateful he is even with us (and truly we are!!!!) that’s meant to take away all those feelings.
Obviously I needed to get that out! Sorry! All I meant to say was: your honesty is refreshing, it’s real and its brave. I am jealous that I don’t feel strong enough to be truthful where people I know could see it …- April 29, 2013 at 4:54 pm
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Totally get that. I hate support groups for parents of kids with disabilities. It’s mostly to force down my throat how amazing and inspiring our kids are. Gah!! It’s bloody hard work. It’s stressful. And it’s turned my life upside down. I too wish he was just like every other “normal” kid. Life is hard enough.
- May 2, 2013 at 12:24 pm
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Thank you, Kazz. I love your honesty. If you are near the SF Bay Area, please email me.
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April 28, 2013 at 4:36 pm -
I love your honesty….It makes me feel normal
I find it hard to believe that anyone with little ones at home has never had a ‘thank goodness I’m not being filmed’ moment! X -
April 27, 2013 at 11:14 pm -
It seems like the old adages, “If you don’t have anything nice to say, then don’t say anything at all,” and, “If you don’t know what you are talking about, keep your fool mouth shut,” have gone right out the window. People being righteous and uppity just for the sake of it need to stuff it where the sun don’t shine. We need to pause and think about our choice of response before we speak, and before we hit send/publish.
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April 27, 2013 at 7:39 pm -
“I love playing with my daughter’s doll-house (sometimes I even let her help)”.
Nuf said xx -
April 27, 2013 at 2:50 pm -
If you can look back on any given moment and say that “I did the best that I could right then” that’s all that matters.
Everybody has sh*t in life, some more than others.
Anybody that feels that the way they are raising their children is perfect, well they are just delusional! As long as your children have a soft place to fall, and no matter how far they fall they know that you love them unconditionally, they will be fine
Hang in there, and keep living your life in a way that suits you and your family. -
April 27, 2013 at 11:34 am -
And to those last two sentences I say – brava. Indeed, go and get fucked…. Not every mother is the same, nor should they be, and to anyone who actually believes in the whole Stepford Wives ideal….you, my friends, are kidding yourselves.
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April 27, 2013 at 7:43 am -
Hi Lori. You are wonderful. Sending love. Xx
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April 27, 2013 at 5:26 am -
Walk in my shoes for a minute, and you’ll see how my shoes feel. Walk in my shoes for a mile, and you’d never judge me again.
You’re awesome Lori.
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April 27, 2013 at 12:17 am -
Well said.
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May 1, 2013 at 3:35 pm -
Hi Lori,
I’ve been an avid reader of your blog since the ‘before’ but I rarely find a chance to comment. Plus, I’m too lazy to sign into my Google account.
But I just wanted to say although I don’t know you, I think you’re an amazing Mum and doing so well with the circumstances you’ve been handed.
You deserve every happiness.
Jess x
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April 27, 2013 at 12:15 am -
I don’t get people who make their kids their entire life. I just don’t understand how that works and what they will do once their children have grown up and created independent lives. There is more to my life than being “[insert child’s name here]‘s mother”. I think that would make me an exceptionally boring mother if all I can give my children is a reflection of their own existence, without adding anything of my own life for them to take on board. I still remember that moment of clarity when I realised my mother was a person, with her own wants, needs and goals in life. She had to raise us on her own, with help sure but no one else is there at 4am when your kids are sick. I didn’t always get on well with Mum growing up, but she did the best should could with what she had at the time, and what more can you ask of any parent?
If someone has the ability to feel blessed while cleaning up vomit at 11pm (my task last night) and then wrangling a disgruntled baby for 2 hours from 4am ( my very early morning), more power to them. Damned if I can. I love my children dearly, but I certainly don’t consider those mundane tasks a joy and a blessing. I generally get through it by thinking ‘well, this age doesn’t last forever, they grow up’.
It’s so very easy to sit back and condemn, rather than get stuck in and support someone without harping on about how that person is doing it wrong. It’s so very easy to spout on about the ‘joys’ of parenting. Really, there’s joy in dealing with a baby with diarrhea? (my week so far).
That’s like saying there’s joy in doing the laundry. It’s a task that has to be done to get to the meaningful fun stuff. Parenting has chores and not everyone loves doing them, that doesn’t mean we don’t enjoy the time after those chores are ended, when the fun stuff happens.
- August 18, 2013 at 9:29 pm
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Drea, I am one of those people who devote my entire life to my children…sadly to the point of feeling guilty if I go out to, and enjoy lunch while they are at school. I am a single mum too, not supported by an ex and my future, when they grow up and move on with their lives, scares me! I may be boring and I may just become a recluse, but for the time being, my life is devoted to them.
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August 20, 2013 at 6:02 pm -
Hey Anon, I think, if you enjoy it, then run with it- as long as it’s your thing, and it makes you happy. I kind of envy you, to be honest. You must be an awesome mum
xx
Lori Dwyer recently posted…This Is Not An Art Blog.
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April 26, 2013 at 11:46 pm -
I love your last two sentences. Hurrah for your post.
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April 26, 2013 at 11:11 pm -
Boo yah!!!!
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April 26, 2013 at 9:41 pm -
When will everyone realise parenting isn’t a one set mould. What works well for one family may not for the other even though apperances may be the same or similar, even if backgrounds may be the same or similar, even when goals are the same or similar.
You know what I ask myself before I give someone’s parenting a second thought? I ask myself “Are those children loved? Do they know they are so special and brilliant and loved? Are they safe?” If I can’t say a definite no to any of those three questions I move the fuck on.
It’s easy to judge when you look in people’s windows, but if you come inside you might just see a different scene entirely.
Miss Pink recently posted…Afternoon Tea -
April 26, 2013 at 5:56 pm -
April 26, 2013 at 4:34 pm -
“I’m devoted to them, but I never want them to be responsible for my happiness.”
That statement alone makes you one hell of a mother, Lori. Not only will they grow up with a happy mom – which in and of itself is priceless – but by following your example they will grow up knowing that they are responsible for their own happiness. That is one of the most empowering and important lessons in life.
I’ll have to admit to judging mothers who hit their kids though. It comes with the territory of being raised by parents who swore by corporeal punishment. I know firsthand the kind of pain and longlasting damage it will cause. I’m convinced there are better ways to raise a child. And if that makes me a righteous cow, then so be it. -
April 26, 2013 at 3:48 pm -
I’m obviously an unfit mother, too, because I hate parenting. I do love my children, but all the parenting crap can go jump. I’d quite happily just take the good bits and let someone else deal with the crap.
Dorothy @ Singular Insanity recently posted…My story – true love -
April 26, 2013 at 12:52 pm -
People are so quick to judge.
I don’t get it. From different perspectives, the way people do anything can seem different to how THEY do it. That doesn’t mean it’s wrong.
I loved the paragraph in which you spoke about mothering and even just being a woman. That notion that women should give and give and mother and hold the family together until there’s nothing left…
It’s wrong. It’s so wrong that so many people think like that. Women should have their families, but not lose themselves in the process. That serves no one, and seems to me would eventually undermine the entire family dynamic.
There’s just so much judgement coming from all sides towards women, and mothers especially.
Though, after being told that “you don’t know what life is really about until you become a mother”, what would I, a ‘barren and selfish’ childless woman, know? Ha!
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April 26, 2013 at 12:27 pm -
Those who criticize the loudest like to think they are part of the perfect parenting brigade but are most likely furthest from it. It frightens them that one day, just one day they will be caught out. You are doing a fine job Lori & I love your refreshing honesty. Xx
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April 26, 2013 at 12:13 pm -
going by today’s standards my mum was a very unfit mother, she shoved me out of the house after breakfast and said “don’t come back till lunch time, or if you’re hurt and you better REALLY be hurt, if you’re thirsty there’s water from the tap” same thing after lunch and then after dinner, where sometimes it would be past 11 when the collective parents realised that us kids were still outside, having fun.
I was raised with benign neglect and I had a bloody wonderful childhood, Mum didn’t feel the need to be with me ALL the time, but i knew she was there if I needed her, I tried to raise my kids the same way and I think I did a bloody good job, I did it on my own after my marriage breakdown and my kids are happy, caring wonderful adults now.
At times I am sure that I got on my mum’s last nerve, because I know damn well that plenty of times my kids got on mine. There were days when I detested my children, I still loved them but boy I didn’t like them much.
If that makes me an unfit mother then all I can say is BITE ME.
boodie recently posted…10 things that made me cry today -
April 26, 2013 at 11:56 am -
You’re an unfit mother. I’m an unfit mother. My mother was an unfit mother. You can kind of label everyone an unfit mother by the different things they they do. They may sit there and spend every minute of everyday with their child and to them thats what matters. But what are they really teaching their children if they are judging other mothers.
NO one can judge anyone.
You are an awesome person by the way. We all need a break. I can’t wait to send my 2 yr old to child care next month. That will mean two days a week I am kid and husband FREE.
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April 26, 2013 at 11:30 am -
Wow, the audacity of some people. All I can deduce from the comments is that whoever left them probably knows you in real life and is just nasty and jealous of your newfound happiness. Somebody who hasn’t let go yet.
I’m pretty sure they are in the minority in their views of you.
Kristy @ The Life She Made recently posted…Cremorne Point Walk -
April 26, 2013 at 10:55 am -
I missed that whole other post. Those comments were disgusting.
I am a mum of a 3 year old and a 5 year old. We are very similar in our kids ages.
I am married to their dad and we share the load. Even then, every single word you wrote here resonated with me. If that makes me a bad mum for anyone else’s standards they can go.to.hell.
It’s a bloody tough gig being a mum – sharing it with your husband even so I have total respect for the single mums who do it. I have one step more for you because you don’t have that respite that comes from either tagging your husband “it” when you need headspace, or sending them for a weekend at dad’s if you’re separated.
You need a village to help raise children in the best of circumstances. You aren’t a marathon runner – you’re a mum. You need breaks so you can be the best mumma you can.
And that comment that took a stab at Neil? Fuck em. You deserve a strong pair of arms to fall into whenever you need to and let him carry you at times. Since when did becoming a single mother mean you have no right to any pleasure in life?
Don’t let them get to you. I’m leaving in 47 days for 5 weeks away from my husband and kids for an overseas trip of a lifetime. It’ll make me a better mum because I’ll be rested and have had a month to focus on me and recharge. If that makes me a crap mum then I’ll take the criticism.
People need to learn to mind their own damn business
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April 26, 2013 at 10:22 am -
The comments on that post are hideous.
There is only one certainty in parenting and that is that we will fuck up our kids. Somehow. Each and every one of us. Whether we neglect or hover, they can gain independence or feel abandoned or feel secure or smothered. There is no instruction manual and those that leave the judging comments have not walked in your shoes and should shut the fuck up.
Much love to you Lori. Keep doing the awesome job you are doing. Your children will one day be in awe of your strength. I know I am.
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Random Ramblings of a SAHM: Fuck You Too.
That's What Ghosts Are. – RRSAHM
That’s What Ghosts Are.
“Not everybody believes in ghosts, but I do. Do you what ghosts are, Trisha?”…”Men and women who can’t get over the past. That’s what ghosts are. Not them…The dead are dead. We bury them, and buried they stay.”
Needful things, Stephen King
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If this is what I’m afraid of letting go, because I’m afraid of forgetting it… then I’ll write it here, the way i do, and have a record of it. Because it being locked in my brain is useless- it hurts too much to touch it. Take a deep breath with me, and enter the Purple Life.. the part I’m afraid of forgetting. It’s nothing special, not at all… it’s just the day-to-dayness, the ordinariness of our Purple Life. The boring bits. That everyone takes for granted. That was so special, the memory feels so much like a soap bubble, that is has to be recorded.
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Our life was so ordinary. I’ve said so many times, the suburb we lived in, the cars we drove, the circumstances of our life.. so blessed ordinary and suburban until the unthinkable happened.
But our day to day… that was ordinary too.
Tony left for work early, he started his day at five am, six am towards the time he died, after his role at work was changed. He’d wake, dress, then pop in to the chop’s bedroom next door to say good morning and take him in a glass of milk.
I’d haul myself out of bed at about seven am, when the Bump started protesting from her cot, and the kids and I would head downstairs for breakfast. We’d throw some clothes on, and get out of the house- playgroup, swimming lessons, playdates with friends. We had so many things to fill our days, little things, things that are boring and inconsequential if you don’t have tiny children to entertain.
We had a community, my kids and I- a mother’s group, a beautiful playgroup. We had friends, and apart from Tony, that is what we all miss most of all.
The kids slept during the day, from midday until Tony got home, at about three o’clock in the afternoon. I’d usually blog, or Tweet,or- if I’m honest, nap- while the kids slept… (and this is where we got, remember, this is where life stopped abruptly on the 6th January, but this post isn’t about that, it’s about something else entirely- a normal life.)
After Tony arrived home from work for the day, life was simple… we’d hangout with our kids. Tony popped out most afternoons, to mates places, to the neighbors for a beer.. but the majority of his time, he spent with us. We’d push the kids in the swing we had in our backyard. We’d swim in our spa. We’d laugh at our kids, and our dog.
We spent most afternoons outside, in the sunshine. In the same place the Bump was born. In the same place Tony hung.
I’d cook us dinner, we’d eat and bath the kids. Watch a DVD with them. Tony and Chop, every night, they’d watch a stupid show called WipeOut, and jump all over the loungeroom.
Chop hasn’t wanted to watch it since Tony died, and I’m glad. I woke, at a friend’s place, two days after Tony died, with that show playing on the TV in the background. It was like waking to a nightmare, one that used to be a dream….
After our children slept…. I guess, that was time for Tony and I. And we never spent enough of that time together… but, hey, we had all the time in the world, didn’t we…?
But we laughed together. and we talked, discussed almost everything, most of the time. We play-fought, teased each other. And laughed some more.
Tony generally went to bed before I did….. when I finished blogging for the night, I’d curl up next to him, and whisper “I love you…” and he’d murmur it back.. no matter how fast asleep he was.
And he always, always gave me a kiss goodbye, before he left in the morning for work.
Weekends, we spent together, the four of us. Tony would go out on a Friday or a Saturday night, but that was OK. Because days were spent at the park, at the duck pond, at the shops, going for a drive to the coast.. anything, really. Markets, we loved markets and we’d visit there often, children and nappy bags and strollers in tow. Tony, carrying one of our kids on his hips or his shoulders, so very proud to be with them.
So very proud to be their dad. So very proud to be my husband, to have me for a wife. So proud of his little family. (What happened…? Oh God, what happened here?)
And time just to us, as husband and wife… we loved it. We had a mutual, self depreciating sense of humour when it came to both our kids and our parenting.. but, despite the fact that most of the life we had together was about creating our family, Tony had the ability to take me out and make me feel like a women- not a mum, not someone who he saw every day in her pj’s, but someone who was special and sexy and someone he was proud to be seen with.
I miss that. I miss him.
The 25th of July- Monday. It would have been our second wedding anniversary.
***
This is what I’m afraid of forgetting.. do you blame me, when it was so good, so lovely… when it was all I ever wanted, and it was so simple…?
***
If going forward sometimes means going back… haven’t I done enough of that?
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: Fuck You Too.
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: Rememories.
BreadHead – RRSAHM
BreadHead
Nom nom nom,
Watch!
As I says, I gots vouchers…
The first seven people Australians to comment with a valid email address will get a $5 Bakers Delight voucher sent their way. The catch is- you have to tell me, in your comment, one of the products that Bakers Delight let me try for nix. Which means you havta watch the video. Ner.
Happy comping! Your time starts…. now!
Leave a Comment
{ 16 comments… read them below or add one }
- December 21, 2010 at 8:38 am
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you already have 7 but great video. I had one of their finger buns for brekky sshhhh
- December 20, 2010 at 10:31 pm
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HAHAHAHA – That was AWESOME and I LOVE lemon tarts! Too funny
- December 20, 2010 at 10:24 pm
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Oooh! I'm too late! Anyway, it's 9.53pm now and my bedtime is 10pm and the video takes 45 minutes to load so I can't watch it anyway, but I'm guessing mince pies? Because it's almost Christmas.
- December 20, 2010 at 4:04 pm
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Heehee. Love the vlog!
- December 20, 2010 at 2:28 pm
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Bummer – you already have 7!
But that's okay because I couldn't watch that video and NOT comment!
Love your work! Especially the last bit!
And Bakers Delight too! They rock!
(I must try their lemon tarts, they DO look good!) - December 20, 2010 at 11:26 am
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Oh Lori – too cute (especially the end part). I'd say you were lucky enough to try the lemon tarts and those delicious fruit mince tarts. OMG. They. Are. The. Best! (Lucky duck). xx
- December 20, 2010 at 9:45 am
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Hahahahaha Love it!
- December 20, 2010 at 9:35 am
- December 20, 2010 at 9:31 am
- December 20, 2010 at 9:18 am
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MMMMMM, Twists. And finger buns. Oh, you only wanted me to pick one?
- December 20, 2010 at 9:04 am
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Love their finger buns! Almost as much as I loved seeing Bump walking – gorgeous
- December 20, 2010 at 8:37 am
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cool ok nom nom nom nom
addy is on my blog ok but im sure you have it from last time we emailed each other lol…
love the flowers in the back prutty as a pic hehehe cute kids as well ,of course they are cute they are yrs blah,blah shuddup already and hit post comment geez! - December 20, 2010 at 8:35 am
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Um yummmm how good are Fruit Mince Tarts?! Only thing better is free fruit mince tarts!
- December 20, 2010 at 8:19 am
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that was sooooo awesome. too bad I live in the wintery US of A.
- December 20, 2010 at 7:17 am
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NOM NOM NOM! I love the stuff from Bakers Delight, even if an ex does work there :p
Email addy is ltoevnetmeen[at]gmail[dot]com (gotta be security concious, sheesh!) and you tried a twist (which kinda looked like someone threw up on it, but yummy anyway, right?)
PS – OMG how cute are the kids toddling in like that?
- December 20, 2010 at 7:14 am
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Ooh, ooh – they let you try their lemon tarts! Which Flynn and i also got to sample at the mall when we did our last grocery shop and they were yuuuuuuuuummy…so if you could gets me a voucher Lori, i'm spending it on lemon tarts!
Oh, and also – your kids are adorable and you are a dag …. in the best way possible of course…
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Random Ramblings of a SAHM: Sedation
Repotted. – RRSAHM
Repotted.
On the days when my kids are driving me absolutely nuts, I escape to my garden.
You know how kids are… There are some days when you’d rather stab yourself in the eye than hear ‘Muuuuuuuuum!’ one more time. Days when your two year old screams at you from the moment she wakes up until lunchtime, for no particular discernible reason except that she can. Days when the sound of them fighting, again, just the second you walk out of the room, literally gives you a tight knot in your diaphragm and you wonder how you will ever do another few years of this.
And that’s when my garden calls, with it’s lush coolness. There is always something to be done out here, and it moves at its own pace– weeds to be pulled, potted plants that must be moved. My entire veggie garden had been attacked by my chickens and I have big plans for an extension and a chicken proof fence. I managed to yield a crop of exactly one ear of corn this summer.
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| The single cob of corn I grew.. but isn’t it lovely? |
But Ethel and Lucy are two happy, brazen chooks. Who now follow me around the yard hoping for cuddles or food scraps. One of them is having some serious hormonal issues and laying massive eggs which, as Twitter predicted, are all double yolkers.
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| Happy lucky double yolk egg |
Yesterday was one of those days, spent in my garden while my children yelled at each other, themselves, at least unfortunate cat, and me. An hour past bedtime and the Bump is screaming again. For no other reason than she can.
The only drawback is I can’t work in my garden at night.
***
As well as Tony’s bonsai, my Man and I owned a scatter of other potted plants– among them, a fire spear that has doubled in size in the five years since we bought it; two fig trees, skinny but as tall as me, cloned from his bonsai but allowed to grow full size; and a frangipani in a pot he bought me on the anniversary of our first year as a couple.
They’ve been dragged with us from Paradise and back again, surviving an up-mountain haul in a truck, the salty cold of the coastal winner and the wettest summer Sydney has seen in 50 years. And all more by good luck than good management– apart from watering them and hitting them with a dose of worm wee from the worm farm every now and then, I’ve ignored them.
Yesterday I repotted the two figs– I have plans for those, and I’ll keep you posted– and the fire spear, which currently has not only a spear but seed pods as well. All three were badly root bound, their nervous system squashed so much there was very little soil left- just massive balls of snarled roots like fibrous tendons, worms crawling between them.
Within loving care I break up the root balls, cut them back, soak them in worm tea filled with nutrients. I plant them in fresh, damp soil and water them liberally. I say a tiny prayer to the god of small things and smile at my husband in the sky.
I don’t know why I care so much about these stupid plants, whether they survive or not… it’s not as if he’ll ever be back to check on them. But they feel fragile and delicate and seemed to sigh with relief as I removed them from their plastic cells.
It’s that need to nurture, to grow, to make something healthy… again, trying to save things now, where I couldn’t Before.
Leave a Comment
{ 10 comments… read them below or add one }
- March 10, 2012 at 4:31 pm
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I think the ear of corn is beautiful! Sure, it may have been your only crop, but you did it. Once you get your chicken proof fence, I think your garden will yield more crops.
I used to have tomato plants that gave me close to one hundred tomatoes, but my problem is that I LOVE fried green tomatoes so much that I barely let any of the tomatoes ripen. (Fried green tomatoes are a staple in our house during the spring and summer as is homemade salsa and pasta salad.)
I think a garden is a wonderful, peaceful idea. Doug and I just moved to a cottage with a huge back yard, and I plan on planting tomatoes again, and a lovely pink dogwood tree. And the makings of a flower box along the front porch will be filled with forget me nots, snap dragons (or touch me nots), blue bells, bleeding hearts, whatever I can find to plant, and be littered with wood chips among the colorful flowers. I can't wait until we have an actual spring. (We're in a false sense of spring right now. We have sixty to seventy degree days and 50 to 30 degree nights.) Cottage life is so amazing. I'm glad I decided to have a go at it. Your posts inspired me, and they're so peaceful. I was such a city folk until now.
I wonder why one of your chickens is laying double yolked eggs? I've never heard of that. Are they still edible?
- February 28, 2012 at 8:16 am
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The garden is my sanctuary as well. Interestingly, now the kids are 5 and 7 and are horrors less and less I spend less time out there. Luckily I have the hundreds of hours spent in the first years of their life setting it up and so can now enjoy it. I figure it will need some more serious work in about 4/5 years as the pre teen years hit.
- February 28, 2012 at 3:14 am
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Plants and chooks sound like a delightful respite!
- February 27, 2012 at 11:22 pm
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Like not throwing out old notepads with their handwriting in them. Nice corn Lori. I promise not to brag about my only successful corn crop with the fifty plus cobs that fed us & friends for ages. I had to hand pick the grubs out of the ears as they grew & ripened, every day. Your repotting technique is scarily like mine. Except I use a fish emulsion solution to soak mine. Or used to when I was a domesticated type :). Hugs & happy stuff Lori xx
- February 27, 2012 at 7:13 pm
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I love double yolkers!! My fave kind of egg.
I think your nurturing of the plants sounds so lovely and healing.
- February 27, 2012 at 12:48 pm
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I am a plant killer although I keep trying. I wish I had more of a green thumb but I think I'm too impatient and forgetful.
- February 27, 2012 at 9:57 am
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I've only recently discovered the paradise that comes with pottering with plants.
And seriously Lori, your writing is just superb. You need to write a book girl – look at this blog, you've already started
- February 27, 2012 at 9:45 am
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You do clever things with plants? I bow before you.
- February 27, 2012 at 9:13 am
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You and I have a lot in common,the need for respite and our love of our garden and chooks. Spent all day in it on Sunday… bliss! x
- February 27, 2012 at 9:07 am
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Why must they scream from the moment they wake some days? I wonder what I did to cause it and like you said, there can be no escaping it sometimes. I'm glad you have found respite in your garden and peace in your plants Lori.
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{ 18 comments… read them below or add one }
All the very, very best as you move into your new home, Lori. May it be filled with love, laughter and yes, beautiful memories.
Sending you and your little loves lots of hugs, love and prayers…
Wowwwww! Get it framed, mate! Get it framed.
Yes, brilliant concept and so totally get you about feeling weighed down. Besides, one can't allow space to let in the new until they shed the old either. Much love to youxxxx
NO WAY!? That's amazing. I don't believe in coincidences either
I only found this blog 4 days ago and it's taken me that long (with repeated breaks due to someone obviously cutting onions nearby…) to get to here.
You are an amazingly strong woman Lori!
Jesus squeezus – now thats a "sign" if ever i saw one!
Im sitting here across the world far away in sweden, reading about your life, thinking I could easily been were you are right now.
I just wanted to say that you are an amazing strong women and I admire your guts and your ability to put one foot in front of the other and just keep on walking.
much love to you and your family
Brilliant comic. It must've felt pretty serendipitous at the time.
I'm of the same opinion when it comes to culling. If you haven't used it in 6 months, bin it.
Good luck with the move x
Purging *stuff* is an amazing & addictive feeling, huh? Hope the new (new) house wraps you all up Lori.
Lots of love
xxx
Wow! That comic! (I wish someone had suggested valium to me,lol).
I don't know why, but I feel that this move is going to be so good for you, Lori. I'm not saying life is suddenly going to be easy. But I do think this is a good step.
Call it a gut feeling. I hope I'm right and the three of you are happy there.
I forgot to share my new blog with you.
Here is the first post.
http://foraminutethereilostmyself.wordpress.com/2011/09/03/yes-i-had-an-affair/
This is more of a private venue for me to scream if I have to. I'm only letting certain people know about this one.
The comic made me laugh hysterically.
I know I can't seem to say this enough, but I do pray for you and yours daily. I'm sorry for your loss, Lori. You're never far from my mind or my heart and I wish there was something more I could do to help. (I would help you move if I could because I show love/care/consideration through acts of service.)
So have a good move. I'll be around as long as my internet continues to work.
That is so amazing! Who woulda thunk?
Good on ya, for managing to let go, of all that 'stuff'. I couldn't.
You know, when I saw you in The Age the other day, after having lurked in RRSAHM for ages now, I thought 'woohoo, and I saw her first, way before she got this famous'.
Woah! That is crazily bizarre!!
Best of luck with the move. I hate moving, but you are absolutely right-it's a great time for purging
Gosh that is amazing! Good luck with the move hun. I'm a massive hoarder – I think it's part of being a teacher!
xx
Oh babe! That comic is amazing. I hope the move is not too awful for you, the last few days before a move are always the worst. I hope the new house brings you the peace and happiness you truly deserve. Many hugs my love.
thepixiechick
I totally get wanting to get rid of as much as you can. I also have a move coming up at the end of the month and I've been purging, purging, purging. I'm so glad I'm no longer the hoarder I was when I was younger.
Also? That comic left me gobsmacked!!
I hope everything goes as smoothly as possible for you.
Get rid of the stuff. And get that comic turned into one of those massive canvas's.
Wowsers, MC & I are gobsmacked at the comic. Call me a fool but I don't believe in coincidences x