Monthly Archives: May 2016
Loveliness. – RRSAHM
Loveliness.
I miss my kids so much. This two weeks is the longest I’ve ever been without them. Not that I’m complaining at all– I’m not. It was so much needed. Relaxation. Rejuvenation. Some time to slow down and reflect on the last six months or so, on what we’ve done and how far we’ve come.
But two weeks without their sweet little voices, their gorgeous faces… towards the end of it, I am craving them. Missing them with such an intensity it takes my breath away and brings tears to my eyes.
We meet my mum, kids in tow, at a Macca’s half way between Melbourne and Sydney. They don’t see me at first, they’re so involved in playing, running around with the bigger kids they’ve met in the restaurant playground. For a minute or two I just watch, marvelling at them. My two little beings who are so much mine, but exist separately to me. I wonder what revelations they’ve had, what little life lessons they’ve learned while I have not been present. I wonder if they actually have grown an inch or two while they’ve been away, or if that’s just the power of seeing them, really seeing them, without the preconceptions that come with being around them all the time.
Then they spot me, and it’s all “Mummy, mummy, mummy!!” and small sweaty bodies throwing themselves at my chest and I don’t have enough arms and can’t squeeze them as close as I would like to. They hang off me– sitting in my lap, playing with my hair, whispering spitty secrets into my ear at a volume that carries far enough so they’re not secrets at all.
And oh my, it’s lovely. I soak them up, my little people, as stories of where they’ve been and what they’ve done burble into the air and fill the space around me. They talk over each other, argumentative in their excitement to tell mummy everything, to fill in the gaps of what I have missed.
Within an hour, they’re driving me insane. The spotlessly clean house is trashed within twenty minutes.
And it doesn’t matter, not even a little bit, not even at all. They are mine and I am theirs and I’m a lucky, lucky woman- I spend my time with the two most special little people in the world.
It’s a blessing and a reprieve from my own dark thoughts. I appreciate them now, more than ever. I suck the loveliness from them, and use it to start rebuilding my self.
Previous post: Re-writes.
Next post: Pentridge Prison.
"What The F*ck…" – RRSAHM
“What The F*ck…”
If you leave my Tiny Train House and turn away from civilization, rather than toward it, you’ll find yourself following an overgrown, rusted train line, the sleepers rotted and filled with termites, an occasional piece of abandoned rail machinery dotted the lines.
Blink, and you’ll miss where the traffic zone changes, signalling the end of TinyTrainTown– it’s easy to fly right through here and barely even recognise it’s a village.
You’ll drive through a few more like that, too- other tiny train towns, little villages with one multipurpose general store that have continued to grin on, if not to thrive….
The train line has been deserted for the better part of fifty years. What was once a bustling area of chook farms and orchards, a wholesale feed company that made constant use of the train line nearby; is now a sleepy grouping of towns made up of a handful of streets, used mostly only by locals as a short cut to the nearby freeway.
So… you’re driving along a bush road at one hundreds click an hour. The scenery is nothing but scrub, and it all looks the same… it’s no wonder people get so lost in the Australian bushland.
And then, suddenly…
“What the f*ck is that!?”
What the f*ck, indeed.
As we can see, there is quite literally nothing on either side of this… oddity… except for road, scrub, more road, and more scrub.
And this…. thing… on the side of the road. (The rules of writing tell us that there is always a better word than “thing”. But in this case… I’ really not so sure.)
You can tell people who aren’t familiar with this road if you happen to be driving behind them when they pass it. Their brake lights will suddenly flash red as the driver pumps down in shock. The more adventurous hit the brakes hard and swing in to check it out in detail.
Not that detail helps much… it is as it appears. A great bid chunk of concrete. On top of another chunk of concrete.
My mum assures me that it is, actually, a sculpture, and apparently it used to have a plaque on it dedicating it to ‘human endurance’.
Human endurance, my butt. After much thinking and theorising over this (Bunny‘s best guess was that it was osme kind of alien spaceship, and thousands of people had driven past and said “What the f*ck is that!?” but no one ever actually stopped to check it out in detail. Plausible) the best I’ve got is… human laziness. And rampant cost effectiveness.
The sculpture/ alien craft/ thing sits in a very close proximity to where the Tiny Train Road intersects the local freeway, and a whole big chunk of earth has been cut out to allow it go through uninterrupted. Which means Tiny Train Road effectively became a bridge…
Held in place with massive concrete struts.
Say there’s a strut- or two- leftover? Being cut or molded or whatever to a custom size means it’s not useful for anything else. And hauling something so heavy back to the CBD or any major township would cost a small fortune.
What do you do with two tonne of concrete so it doesn’t exactly look like industrial littering…?
You make it into a huge, f*ck off ugly sculpture. And sit back and laugh to yourself at the thought of thousand of people driving past it, almost causing rear end accidents, muttering to themselves…
“What the f*ck is that…?”
Leave a Comment
{ 13 comments… read them below or add one }
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June 1, 2012 at 11:49 pm -
A really good laugh!
- May 31, 2012 at 5:37 pm
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Ohhh anonymous, using Google isn't fair! I could have done that myself… where's the fun in that? You are quite cranky today, anon. Have a cuppa.
- May 31, 2012 at 1:16 pm
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10 seconds on Google is all it takes to solve the big mystery:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/7517447@N07/2174691744/in/pool-297283@N25/
- May 30, 2012 at 11:49 pm
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In Australia's fine tradition of 'BIG' stuff, it's 'THE BIG LUMP OF CONCRETE'.
- May 30, 2012 at 10:20 pm
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Bahaha Only in Oz.
- May 30, 2012 at 8:59 pm
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Wanderlust- fantastic!
- May 30, 2012 at 3:20 pm
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I don't know what it is but I promise you it was erected by a man. Ahem.
- May 30, 2012 at 1:03 pm
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That is an isore!! (sp?) But funnily enough, not the first "sculpture" I've seen that is so hideous AND pointless. There's one somewhere in Brisbane, can't remember where. Think maybe near one of the hospitals? And when hubby and I were driving to visit family and stuff I saw this huge bloody thing. Just this big metal thing that was just ugly and quite frankly scary. And upon seeing my disgust, Hubby informed me, that it actually cost the government a couple hundred THOUSAND dollars to build. WTF I thought? Why?????
- May 30, 2012 at 12:32 pm
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I thought it was an axe at first glance.
- May 30, 2012 at 12:18 pm
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Not far from this "beauty" is another "slam the brakes on, thing", the big potato at Robertson. Its just a huge lump of brown, stuck in the middle of town, that resembles a giant poo! And thats whay some locals call it "The Giant Turd"!Gotta love The Highlands!
- May 30, 2012 at 9:20 pm
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It's an effigy to the exclamation point that has lost it's dot!
- May 30, 2012 at 9:02 am
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If you tilt your head to the right and squint it almost looks like a handless, headless Lego-man-like figure stuck in the mud, lifting its left limb up for some friggin' HELP already.
Or not. :p
- May 30, 2012 at 8:43 am
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I don't know, I think it's kind of lovely? I feel a bit like the top block most days, hanging on for all I'm worth
It was the 70s, don't be too hard on the artist 
It wasn't a good decade for anything visual LOL
Previous post: Weltschmerz
Next post: Not Funny.
Dudes Reading Books and Eating CupCakes – RRSAHM
Dudes Reading Books and Eating CupCakes
Howdley doodley,
Ye olde FormSpring account has been muchly quiet of late. Thank you to helpful person who pointed that out, but was optimistic enough to think maybe I was withholding questions until people were bored with me again. Or something. Ah well. It seems Mrs Woog is not the only one who has misplaced her stalker.
Maybe I’ve over-shared a few too many times, perhaps? After all, we’ve discussed nookie, diaphragms and *shhhh* hemorrhoids. I’m thinking there is maybe just not a lot left to know about me.
Whatever. Here’s the button anyway.
Something extremely useful and quite random was transmitted through the FormSpring wire a little while back. A link to a Tumblr I have not seen before. What’s a Tumblr, you ask? Truly, I’m not 100% sure. It’s kind of like a blog, but not. I’ve heard it referred to as being faster than blogs, slower than Twitter, and not a single thing like MySpace (which, as we know, is good). It’s a strange place, Tumblr. It seems you actually have to declare being straight, rather than being gay, if you know what I mean. It’s the reverse of most places In Real Life. I like it.
So far as I can tell, the undisputed queen of the Tumblr world is the mysterious, enigmatic Love Your Chaos. Be fore-warned before you go clicking that link- that one’s a serious time eater.
Anyhum. On with the show. This particular Tumblr is called Hot Guys Reading Books. And it’s exactly what it promises, and no more. Hot guys, well… you know. Reading books. Hot guys like this one.
I’ll pause for a second. Can I get an awwwww yeah?
Righto. Recovering our composure now, ladies, and the gents that are that way inclined. Moving in.
I love this site. As a sweeping assumption, hot guys don’t read books. The Man- he’s a hottie, right? (*snort*)- certainly doesn’t. In fact I’ve only ever dated one guy who did read books, and while having a convo about books with a dude was quite refreshing, he was a mummy’s boy and a bit of a wanker. (Heya Damo.You dirtybigspunknot).
I know, I know, we really shouldn’t be treating men as eye candy pieces of meat hunks o’burning love sex objects. Let’s just say I’m evening up the score, on the InterWebs, and leave it at that, yes?
To redeem myself, we’ll move totally away from that, and look at another species of Tumblr altogether.
It’s called Dudes With Beards Eating CupCakes.
Yeah…. I’m not entirely sure either. Although I do concede there is something… oddly appealing.. about the thought of guys with beards eating cupcakes. It’s kind of like Kettle cooked potato chips dipped in tomato sauce. I don’t know why it’s appealing, It just is.
Or something.
Whatever. I felt the strange desire to submit a picture to this site. Why? I don’t know. The little man who runs the show in my head gets strange ideas sometimes. But, as it turns out, dudes eating cupcakes- with or without beards- are even more difficult to randomly run into than dudes reading books. The Man doesn’t have a beard. And I’m too freaking impatient to wait for him to grow one.
Enter the Chop. Willing, and able, to do just about anything for a cupcake*.
I’ll let you know how we go, mmmkay?
*A side note here- it’s not child blog exploitation if he’s willing, OK?OK. Nothing like that incident with the dress.
Leave a Comment
{ 10 comments… read them below or add one }
- October 5, 2010 at 8:14 pm
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haha I agree with toushka… guys reading = hot! Guys with beards give me visions of Brad Pitt's mankey beard and then getting cupcake crumbs and icing left for 'ron'… yuk!
- October 5, 2010 at 8:01 pm
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As the lover of a bearded man with whom I felt madly in love with after I found out what he was currently reading (Godel Escher and Bach, if you're asking) … I think you just posted on a few of my favourite things.
I do hope they accept your submission
- October 5, 2010 at 1:12 pm
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Mick had a beard last week ( being on a weeks holiday was an excuse not to shave everyday ) but, unfortunately, i have no pictures of him eating cupcakes. Not even a muffin. Sorry Lori…
- October 5, 2010 at 7:42 am
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nothing hotter than a guy who reads and if he's hot to start with then it's double hotness on toast.
Dudes with beards eating cupcakes makes me think of sprinkles stuck in long straggly biker beards… not half as cute as chop - October 5, 2010 at 6:47 am
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So much anticipation in one little face. Schweet!
- October 5, 2010 at 5:32 am
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Hot guys reading books. Nice. Can I have that photographers job? Maybe I'll just start walking around doing that with my days.
- October 5, 2010 at 2:27 am
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Awwwww….way to cute!
- October 5, 2010 at 12:16 am
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The Little Man's goatie looks very much like the one Hubby grew when we were in France in '97. He thought he would look 'tough' so that when we got to Marseille (considered to be a bit dodgy at times) he could frighten people off.
Whether it worked or not, I can't really say, but he certainly didn't look quite as cute as what the little man does with his!
- October 5, 2010 at 12:11 am
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Hahahaha – I LOVE it! That pic is one for his 21st
- October 5, 2010 at 2:49 am
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I think the dude eating the cupcake is way cuter than the dude reading the book! lol
Previous post: A Post To Make You Go “Aww!”
Next post: I Can’t F*cking Shut Up Wednesday.
Hey babe. – RRSAHM
Hey babe.
I get the feeling that writing letters to my dead husband on my blog may creep some people out a little. I’m OK with that.
Heya Tony,
Hey babe. What’s happening? Where the hell are you anyway? I mean, I know, dead. I just wish I knew what your head space was like.
That’s hard. Because I know, especially now, with that dreaded hindsight. how freaking stressed you were about all that stuff going on. Why didn’t you tell me? It was all so fixable. We could have done it together.
You know, I found a fresh packet of cigarettes in the car tonight? Yours, no doubt. I remember you saying, on that last afternoon, “Where are my f**king cigarettes?”
In the car, you goose. Where you always left everything.
But they helped, those cigarettes. because why would someone who was going to kill themselves buy a fresh pack of cigarettes, when they already had some left?
That would sound dumb, to most people. I know you’d get it. I know you’d be relieved, I can almost feel it.
I know, you didn’t really want to do, You were such a freaking smart arse, thought you knew everything. Thought you would have time.
But, my, didn’t you fight. You know how proud I am of that, of you? I told you, in the hospital, I’m sure you heard, one way or another. You lasted 4 days. They didn’t even give you 24 hours when they admitted you.
You fought. Your tried to come back. I know that. because I know you wouldn’t have left me, not rationally, never on purpose.
‘Ab infito, in infintium’. Or something like that. That was what you had, inscribed on your back, for me. Latin, for “From the beginning, to infinity, without end.”
For me.
Damn. This hurts so much, it’s comforting. I keep coming back to it, like playing with a niggly tooth when you were a kid. Or Vegemite on a mouth ulcer. It hurts, but you can’t help it. because it feels so damn good.
For a month now, you see, all I have been able to see is you spitting at me, calling me names. The hate ion your eyes, how much you detested me.
But now? My memories are so full of you, it’s almost like the very weight of them should metamorphosis into something solid, into something real.
You’re so thick in my memories, every day is like walking through a fog of you. Stupid things. Little things.
You played board games with me, remember? You hated them. I get it. Not everyone is into board games like I am. But you played them anyway, just to make me smile.
And you bought me Slurpees.The last one you bought me is still in the freezer, I think. You bought it home, without me asking. Just to make me smile.
Our kids miss you. Like crazy. Chop, of course, especially. He loves you so much. he’s missing his best mate, his daddy, his idol. His measure of what a boy should be, a man should be.
I imagine, wherever you are, you’ve shed some tears over that. So have i.
The night we got engaged, middle of winter, floating in our spa, set to as warm as we get it, me with fish white, round and pregnant belly, that you loved, and would hold and rub at every occasion. And you turned tome and said “I wonder what all the happy people are doing tonight?” And all I could was laugh.
And when we got married. How awesome was that? We said, time and time again, it was the best party we’d ever thrown, the most fun we’d ever had. And you, you didn’t ask for anything, nothing, except for me to wear a veil, so you lift it up. And you told me, alter, that you tried to male it the most romantic moment of my life.
And it was. Right up there with the day we first- not the time you vomited, the one after that. Because I looked at you, and you looked at me, and that was it. Love at second or third sight. Seriously, I looked at you and went “That’s the man I will marry”.
And I know you thought the same. Woman, not man, obviously, but… you know what I mean.
There’s so much I need to say to you, need to tell you. I know you loved me. OK? I think you know that. I think wherever you are, you’re at peace. Kicking yourself with frustration, perhaps, at having left us, but at peace. And with people you love. And all that stress, gone. You worked so freaking hard, almost every day for twenty years. You told me so often how sore your feet and back were. That’s a comfort, I think. To know that you’re not so bloody uncomfortable in your own body anymore.
I’ve been swimming a lot. I love it. The silence, the weightlessness. But I think you can see me. I know you’re with me. I can feel you. Not as strongly now, after the funeral. But I still feel you around.
And that ring. That bleeping gold ring, that cost me a fortune!! And I knew you’d lost it, but I didn’t want to ask. I’d get angry, you’d feel bad.
Nine months, it was missing for. And then, as you no doubt already know, it popped out of the toaster, two days after you died. The toaster. Seriously, babe, you have a warped sense of humour.
Now, I know, you don’t read my blog. But, some days, you made the exception. You left me a comment just two days before you died, remember? About Megan Gale. I do hope there is some cutely pregnant Megan Gale look-alike up there with you, hun, taking care of you till I get there- it’ll be a while. Not sure your Nan would approve, but tell her it’s OK with me, OK?
But I know you’re reading this. I can feel it, feel you right here. And yes, I’m smoking your cigarettes. I know, I should’ve sent some with you. Sorry. But I did give you boxer shorts to change into. And undies to wear under your shorts. I didn’t want you to be uncomfortable. Silly, I know, but true.
I’m guessing you’re OK with me publishing this. If not, the bleeping computer would shut down, or something. And we’ll leave comments on, cause, hey, you’re a bit of a show pony. Just like me.
You were so awesome, you know that? Probably still are. And I loved- still do-every inch of you. From your almost-shaved head (you know I preferred it longer!) to your ugly craggly toes.
You were my best mate. I miss laughing with you, the most. You always made me laugh, without fail, every time. We were such good friends, babe. I’m not only missing my husband. I’m missing my best friend.
OK. I love you. I wish you could let me know, some way, that you’re at peace. You did, I know, you left me a sign when you were going, but I wish we’d organised one for now, for later. Just so I know you’re OK, you’re at peace, not in pain, not hating yourself. Because I don’t hate you. not for one second. A few people have asked me “How can you forgive him for this?”
But there’s nothing to forgive. Everyone does dumb things. But most people are luckier with the consequences, is all.
And I’d forgive you anything, whatever it was. I’ve always told you that.
I’m so sorry. For everything, every bad word, every fight. Every second I didn’t spend with you, that I could have, should have. But I thought we had all the time in the world. And I think you did, too.
Love you. Like the moon and the stars and all that over stuff.
Catch ya on the flip side. Houso.
xoxoxox
Leave a Comment
{ 94 comments… read them below or add one }
- February 10, 2011 at 7:59 am
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The most heart wrenching love letter I have ever read – just beautiful.
Keep finding the courage, you are truly amazing. xx
- February 7, 2011 at 9:43 pm
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Beautiful
- February 7, 2011 at 8:06 pm
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Aahh Lori. What a beautiful love. The tears are rolling down my cheeks. xx
- February 7, 2011 at 7:52 pm
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Geez – hand is still over my mouth in awe at the honesty you write with. It's amazing. And not creepy at all – whatever you gotta do to get through it. There's no rule book. And what a sign – the ring in the toaster? Wow. Wow. Wow.
- February 7, 2011 at 4:59 am
- February 6, 2011 at 4:52 pm
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I LOVE THIS!! <3 <3
- February 6, 2011 at 10:35 am
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Lori, that letter made me cry!
I'm only a newbie to your blog but your honesty keeps drawing me back to read more. You made me think about the "what ifs"…what if this happened to me, what if I was in this kind of situation?…thank-you for putting my life into persepctive and making me appreciate my husband that little bit more I'm so sorry you have to go through all this, but I do appreciate you sharing your personal journey with us all….stay strong! xo - February 6, 2011 at 7:52 pm
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i hope one day i can catch a glimpse of this kind of deep induring love.
- February 6, 2011 at 8:48 am
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That is one of the most beautiful love letters I have ever read.
I loved your Vlog too, your strength and beauty is plain to see Lori. Sending love to you, your kids and Tony. - February 6, 2011 at 4:49 am
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Lots of hugs. Nothing else i can say other than I know that all the sentiments in this letter your husband knows and feels.
- February 6, 2011 at 3:35 am
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Beautiful letter, Lori.
I'm crying over here for you and Tony.
So glad to hear you found the ring. Might that be
the sign you are looking for?Sending you lots of love from Florida.
XOXOXOXO - February 6, 2011 at 3:23 am
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Oh, it's so positive, and full of love! It's beautiful and very moving, Lori.
You say how unlucky Tony was with the consequences to his actions on that day, but you have also just given another glimpse of just how lucky he was and is to have your love – for you to have the love you had for one another. So bittersweet.
I hope that there are many more signs that he gives to provide comfort and reassurance for you.
Much love to you.
- February 6, 2011 at 2:00 am
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You have such amazing insight. I'm so glad that you can see it all for what it was; a terrible tragic mistake. I know it's hard to believe, but it really won't be unbearable forever.
- February 6, 2011 at 1:16 am
- February 5, 2011 at 11:42 pm
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Your letter was beautiful.
And inspiring.
Thank you. - February 5, 2011 at 11:19 pm
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that was beautiful. Nothing creepy at all. You still have so much you didn't get to say, it's only right that you should say them
xxxCate - February 6, 2011 at 9:30 am
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I´ve only just got to your blog Lori. The last month´s entrances are completely heartbreaking. Stay strong and remember the good times.
The ring made an appearance for a reason.
- February 5, 2011 at 10:28 pm
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Such a beautiful love letter Lori. I wish I had the words to say what this has made me feel.
Remember that line from the movie Ghost?
"the love you feel? – you take it with you."
So wherever Tony is, he still loves you. - February 5, 2011 at 10:02 pm
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Hi Lori, I love the way you are remembering and writing to the 'best Tony', the one he really was without the demons, the one who really loved you..deeply and truly. That thing that tries to convince us that we are different and unlovable and worth leaving is a liar…it speaks to many of us…the same lie. Don't believe it…you are loved..wonderfully…just the way you are. Lots of hugz…Carol xox
- February 5, 2011 at 9:35 pm
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so much love to you.
Thanks for posting this… as one of the people who wondered how you could forgive him, reading this I can understand.
thinking of you always xoxoxo - February 5, 2011 at 8:54 pm
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Wow.
Gah, i need to put of emailing you. Doing that now. - February 5, 2011 at 8:04 pm
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♥
♥
♥ - February 5, 2011 at 8:03 pm
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Writting letters is a wonderful way to keep moving on. Its a beautiful letter and you got your sign when you found the ring.
- February 5, 2011 at 7:41 pm
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Beautiful, Lori. With tears and love xo
- February 5, 2011 at 5:56 pm
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:Crying:
I could have written this.
Well actually, most nights I do write my own version on my blog.
It's a need to talk to them again. Just like they'd arrived home after a verrrrry long day at work.
The swimming – I so get that. Alone in your own head-space, floating, free, calm. Swimming really helps me too.
….as does the letter writing.
Those signs are hard to spot, but I've seen them too. Greg made me rainbows. Seriously.
Hugs. - February 5, 2011 at 5:27 pm
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Yeah, okay. Bit creepy. But kinda lovely too. x
- February 5, 2011 at 4:56 pm
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Beautifully expressed. As always.
- February 5, 2011 at 4:48 pm
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Tears in my eyes, punkin. Love you.xxxxx
- February 5, 2011 at 4:34 pm
- February 5, 2011 at 4:22 pm
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This was a really wonderful, lovely read Lori. I love that the ring came out of the toaster, how weird is that! Very cool
Lots of love
- February 5, 2011 at 4:08 pm
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Wow! Absolutely beautiful.
- February 5, 2011 at 3:04 pm
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Beautiful post. Seriously.
- February 5, 2011 at 1:25 pm
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He's listening! Your love for each other is beautiful:)
- February 5, 2011 at 1:16 pm
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This was so sweet. I have written many public (via my blog) letters to my dead best friend. It helped me and I hoped it helped you too.
- February 5, 2011 at 12:56 pm
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I love this Lori … so beautiful and heartfelt.
- February 5, 2011 at 12:49 pm
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Lori, I've been following you for a while now, started a couple of weeks in the Before. You are so very strong, so very eloquent, so loving. I love you without knowing you, and I thank you so much for being so real. Thank you for letting us share in your life.
And don't worry about signs. They tend to come at you when you least expect them, but most need them.
Stay strong.
xoxo - February 5, 2011 at 12:41 pm
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Crying. I write to my brother all the time. It si the best therapy. And they do read, and they do send signs.
- February 5, 2011 at 12:04 pm
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Lori… I am a silent reader and never commented before … the box sits in front of me and I plan to write, but it all seems so inadequate. Nonetheless I have been sending my love and often think of you and hope you are doing as well as you can. I loved this post. I don't think it's creepy. To have found the love, to recognise that Tony was not himself and it was an error in judgement… it's all just further proof (in addition to the vlog) that you are dealing with things amazingly. that comforts me, and more importantly, I hope it does you too
- February 5, 2011 at 11:43 am
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you're amazing. awesome letter. I have nothing to say that hasn't been said. much love. xoxo
- February 5, 2011 at 11:20 am
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Wherever Tony is, he knows. Keep writing these beautiful letters Lori, they are a beautiful tribute to your love. xxx
- February 5, 2011 at 11:02 am
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I have a candle burning on the table today for the mother of my son's girlfriend who killed herself 8 years ago today. Thank you for sharing your story, it's helping me help Ashleigh.
And the ring out of the toaster? what the heck! that's a sign if ever there was one!!
love and hugs deb xx - February 5, 2011 at 10:04 am
- February 5, 2011 at 9:51 am
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Absolutely beautiful xxx
From someone who wrote a letter to her nan telling her about her funeral, No, dont think its creepy at all. You have summed up the relationship you both had and it was beatiful to read, thank you for sharing xxx - February 5, 2011 at 9:50 am
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sending all my hugging/build you up/ make you feel better/help you through this energy i can muster. hug
- February 5, 2011 at 9:46 am
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This is such a beautiful post, Lori. I loved reading it and I know Tony would love it, too. I think you're so right about it just being a mistake, almost an impulse, because Tony would have thought he'd have more time. 4 days of trying to fight his way back to you and the kids is amazing.
The ring as the sign in the toaster? That gave me chills, woman! (in a good way) I love how you are counting so much happiness, all the memories filling you, as you said, they are solid, tangible, can-almost-taste-it things.
I just cannot stress how gorgeous this letter is; I laughed, I cried, it's tremendously moving and beautiful. I hope it was cleansing for you to write it and that you're able to carry a bit of that happiness that shines off you through the weekend.
Much love,
Tara - February 5, 2011 at 9:45 am
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Ah, I loved this post. It made me cry. But a mixture of happy/sad tears. I am glad you do not seem so angry today… of course you have every right to but this seems to be a better mood. A more productive mood. I think being angry will block all the positive energy that is coming your way. From beyond. I pray for you to have peace.
- February 5, 2011 at 9:04 am
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Oh Lori you simply take my breath away. I could feel every inch of your longing, your love. Its so real and raw and I wish with every inch of my heart that you still had your soul mate to hold.
Keep looking for the signs (the ring is an AMAZING one, gave me shivers down the spine) because he will never be far from you, he is drawn too closely with your own spirit to every stray from you. And your children will eternally have a guardian angel to guide them. Not nearly as freakin good as a Daddy who I know we'd all prefer, but still, hope they find peace somehow in that.
I've said it before and will say it again: You are the most inspirational and amazing woman I know!
- February 5, 2011 at 8:52 am
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Oh Lori. It's like, straight from your Soul to his ….. and vice- versa. And we are all standing next to you, mesmerized and haunted by the beauty of your words. xxoo
- February 5, 2011 at 8:46 am
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Beautiful. xxx
- February 5, 2011 at 7:53 am
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I love it, I love how you are writing to him and shared it. He is a goose. AND you are doing amazing, just amazing.
x
Have shared your blog on FB obviously I know this isn't a problem as you blog! - February 5, 2011 at 7:45 am
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Such a beautiful letter of love. Of passion, of friendship. You should be proud Lori. xx
- February 5, 2011 at 7:37 am
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beautifully said
- February 5, 2011 at 7:35 am
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A love letter to the man you love? How can anyone be creeped out by that? I myself think its gorgeous.
Oh, and also – the next time i lose something the first place i'm going to look is the toaster! - February 5, 2011 at 7:33 am
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This is beautiful. I also wrote to my dead husband it helped with healing and grieving. Keep it up.
- February 5, 2011 at 7:19 am
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Oh god, Lori, you're incredible!! Seriously an amazing woman.
And Tony – what a pisser. The toaster!! Love it. Couldn't have been more obvious if he tried. Your sign will come – if he's already pulling tricks like the toaster, goodness knows what he's got up his sleeve.
Much love to you all xxxxxx
- February 5, 2011 at 7:10 am
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Beautiful. Your forgiveness and your love are… awe-inspiring.
- February 5, 2011 at 7:02 am
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That touched me deeply. It made me cry like crazy but it made me smile too. That is love, there. And I really believe he knows.
- February 5, 2011 at 6:55 am
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{{{{ Lori }}}} Well I am bawling like a baby at the moment, and can't really see through the tears so forgive if I miss typos…just sending this to tell you that I don't know you, but I love you. This was beautiful and not in the least creepy. I say "Fuck 'em" if someone can't handle how you cope with things…it's your journey (as crappy as it is) and your blog…do what feels right. I'm so happy that Tony's still with you and watching over you and the kiddos. xoxo
- February 5, 2011 at 5:09 pm
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Wow. Just WOW! Crying reading your words. You have been to hell and back, and have a million reasons to be so angry, and yet this letter shows more love than I've ever read before. So eloquent. So beautiful.
I believe in signs and I believe no one ever really leaves our side. They are at peace. They don't worry about earthly things, but they are there for us. Something tells me the cigarettes and especially the ring was a sign. I mean, how does a ring get into a toaster anyway? He's with you. Always.Hugs!
- February 5, 2011 at 5:30 am
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Thank you.
You know I felt my father with me until my joy shone through my long held grief — and then he went on to wherever we go.
I believe your Tony's spirit (or whatever you might call it) will be there with you … for as long as you need and want… love doesn't dissipate…
XO
P
- February 5, 2011 at 5:22 am
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I'm sneaking a read at your blog while I'm at work and I feel like I've just evesdropped.
So beautiful. - February 5, 2011 at 5:18 am
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Absolutely love this….
'Ab infito, in infintium' – "From the beginning, to infinity, without end."
Beautiful.
Thank you for sharing your letter to Tony. It makes my heart ache to read it, but it shows your strength.
We've never met, but still thinking of you, hoping the best for you.
- February 5, 2011 at 5:11 am
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xoxo
- February 5, 2011 at 4:26 am
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Woah – that is the best love letter I've ever read. Beautiful. Amazing. Pretty speechless, for once! Lots of love to you, Lori xx
- February 5, 2011 at 4:13 am
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Hi Lori,
What an amazing letter you wrote…I am sure Tony is reading it and loving every word.
It's so nice to read your wonderful memories….I really hope you get your sign soon.
Love, Wendy
- February 5, 2011 at 3:59 am
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I feel I shouldn't comment because this is so beautiful and private but I want to tell you that you remain in my thoughts, in my prayers and on my mind.
- February 5, 2011 at 2:56 pm
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Like spiralmumma, I feel a bit like I've blundered in on something so private, so intimate, so very very beautiful, that I'm going to just tiptoe away.
- February 5, 2011 at 3:43 am
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Wow, I'm in tears, at work, hope nobody walks by. I feel like I'm reading something so personal, like a diary of your innermost secrets, or even like a fly on the wall as you talk to him. Thanks so much for sharing, still praying for you.
- February 5, 2011 at 3:31 am
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Oh Lori. Oh Lori…he was your soulmate. I know he was because you just wrote exactly how I love my husband. I don't believe in God or religion, but soulmates…well, how can someone feel like the other half of you and it NOT be something more than just this one life on earth, huh? Tony will always be with you and when it's all over you'll back together.
Of course, I've got nooooo frakking how it works
But it has to. Sniffly love, Sophie xxx
- February 5, 2011 at 3:29 am
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That was beautiful. And I know that he is with you and your kids, watching over you.
- February 5, 2011 at 2:46 am
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Thank you for sharing this with us. We know it's not "for" us.
By the way, I agree with Miss Ruby. That sign you're hoping for? The ring in the toaster, Lori. The ring. He made sure you found it. I have no doubt. He's with you.
- February 5, 2011 at 2:29 am
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gah. now i'm crying.
as for letters to the dead being creepy, not so much.
i knew a woman a long time ago who knew she was dying. she spent her last year making pies and casseroles to put in the three extra large freezers she'd bought.
so her husband would have something to eat.
and a couple of years after she died, sometimes he would bring a pie to a party and someone would say "wow, dick. this is good pie."
and he's say: "thanks. sue made it."
kind of a conversation stopper.
- February 5, 2011 at 2:28 am
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That's beautiful.
And from someone who started her blog as a letter to her dead mother, I don't find it creepy at all.
Honestly, a beautiful talk to your man.
- February 5, 2011 at 2:27 am
- February 5, 2011 at 2:25 am
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Even if he doesn't read your blog, he feels every word. You said it yourself…
- February 5, 2011 at 2:23 am
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Beautiful, Lori. *HUGS*
- February 5, 2011 at 2:21 am
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<3
- February 5, 2011 at 2:10 am
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Beautiful.
xo - February 5, 2011 at 2:07 am
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thinking of you, lori. thank you for sharing this.
- February 5, 2011 at 1:52 am
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That was so incredibly heartfelt. There is no way he didn't feel that…he knows. XOXO
- February 5, 2011 at 1:47 am
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I've been a secret reader for a few weeks now, after stumbling onto your blog and reading your painful journey.. I've always wanted to comment and send some love and prayers, but I didn't feel it was my place as I don't know you. But this letter really made me cry, it was just so beautiful. Even though you're carrying so much pain, your words are so touching and so full of love, for someone who hurt you so much, albeit unintentionally. I hope one day I can be as strong as you, and love others with this much fervour too, despite anything they may've done to me. Good luck on your journey, stay strong. I'm sure your Tony is looking down on you and your babies, and hopefully you'll get your sign soon. Beautiful writing.
Many prayers and love, Lauren – Sydney
- February 5, 2011 at 1:35 am
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Nice one- I could not put words together after I lost my Tarn- keep it Up. TonyF
- February 5, 2011 at 1:35 am
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I meant *everyone* not acetone. Stupid auto correct!
- February 5, 2011 at 1:34 am
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Such a beautiful letter. I hope you get your sign soon. xxx
- February 5, 2011 at 1:33 am
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Oh Lori, beautifully written. The love you guys have is amazing. It's what acetone should have at some point in their lives.
Take care Sweetness. Xoxo
- February 5, 2011 at 1:32 am
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just beautiful lori.
the ring and the toaster – no doubts there at all, it was meant to make its appearance at that moment.
and he can hear you, see you, never forget that.
many hugs – you're doing fabulously lovely lady even if you dont think so yourself – you are
~x~
- February 5, 2011 at 1:21 am
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Beautiful Lori.
- February 5, 2011 at 11:41 am
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Love it Lori.
If you have time, check out http://deardarl.wordpress.com/ if you feel like it xoxo
- February 5, 2011 at 7:52 am
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Lori, some people spend their whole lives searching for the kind of love you and Tony have. The icing on the cake here? Calling him a houso. Yep, I just choked on my coffee!
x - February 5, 2011 at 7:14 am
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Lori,
I have been hugging my own 3 year old daughter tighter and telling my husband "I love you" more often after reading your posts. Thank you for having the courage to continue writing.
- February 5, 2011 at 5:44 am
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Oh, the signs. I love the signs we receive to let us know they are still here, watching, loving, holding us safe.
- February 5, 2011 at 4:35 am
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Thank you for sharing with us. It made me have a very honest conversation with my husband about depression and suicide. Thank you for having the strength.
You have a beautiful soul. Keep up the journey that you have let us join you on.
I hurt so deeply to think of your last day with him and am proud of your ability to still love him so fully, despite all you have endured. - February 5, 2011 at 1:31 am
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I am in awe of you having such a sense of humour, and an ability to write like this after all the stuff you're going through.
That's a great letter. Tony will be kicking himself even more after reading it I hope you get the sign you are needing.
I love your blog Lori, and I hope you keep writing this all down.
Rhi x - February 5, 2011 at 1:30 am
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I feel like I've come across something beautiful and private. Full of heartbreaking passion. Slipping out quietly… Much love to you both xxx
Previous post: So… now what?
Next post: Shooting Stars.
Let's Play "What The Hell Is That?!" – RRSAHM
Let’s Play “What The Hell Is That?!”
Howdly doodly readeroonies,
It’s time for the first-and-possibly-only-ever game of “What The Hell Is That?!” here at RRSAHM.
Object One.
This one’s a multiple choice, mmmkay? Is the following object
a) An after-dinner mint from a cheap and nasty family restaurant?
or
b) A tampon?
*Answer to this one published tomorrow. I know, it’ll keep you up tonight.
Object Two
This is more of a comprehension-style question.
The Man seems to think that these are, in fact, relaxing gel eye-pad thingies. You know the ones. And the Man also seems to think that I stole them from the ooh-la-la ShangriLa hotel where we stayed recently for our first wedding anniversary.
I can positively assure you that I did not pinch them. I promise. I’m not that kinda chick. And they are not freaking relaxing gel eye-pad thingies (Which I wouldn’t have time to use anyway, so why would I steal them, Man, why?? And, secondly, if I pinched them from the hotel, why would they say “Playboy”? And where the hell is my chocolate? No. Wait…. What?). The question is, for the Man’s benefit- What the hell are those?*
*For the answer, please turn your computer monitor upside down. No.. wait.. don’t. Here it is.
** *Ahem*. Evidently, this post has been in the drafts folder for a while. Becausewhen I wrote it, that link took you directly to the page for the identical product as the one in my picture. A page that no longer exists. So I’ve linked the next best thing. Just imagine them branded Playboy. Yep, chicken fillets. And not the eatin’ kind. Be-be-b’jerk!! (And that’s a chicken noise. Obviously.)
Leave a Comment
{ 17 comments… read them below or add one }
- September 26, 2010 at 5:14 am
- September 16, 2010 at 4:06 pm
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I gave you an award! Head over to my site to accept it. Have a great week!
- September 16, 2010 at 2:21 pm
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Heh I know exactly what the first one is & where it comes from LOL!
- September 16, 2010 at 1:38 pm
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I'd say some sort of chewy mint. But not sure..
- September 16, 2010 at 9:20 am
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Damn! Link wasn't working! Now I'll have to bloody google it!
- September 16, 2010 at 9:19 am
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My first thought was tampon, before I read what you had written, but my final guess goes back to the mint. Or nougat or something edible. I hope. I think. Oh dear….
As for number two, I am going for bra fillers of the chicken fillet variety, only less chicken fillet-ey. The only reason I disagree with The Frantic Mother above, is because these are made by Playboy intimates, and I doubt that company has much interest in breastfeeding mamas. And if they do, they shouldn't.
Off now to see if I was right!
- September 16, 2010 at 7:47 am
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Methinks the first one is a cheap after dinner mint – i've never seen a tampon wrapped up like a xmas bon-bon before…
- September 16, 2010 at 4:50 am
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If it's a tampon it wouldn't be in that wrapper, so it has to be a mint. My advice is, don't eat it either way.
- September 16, 2010 at 2:06 pm
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Lori, if you wrapped a tampon in shrink wrap yourself then I am handing you the sick girl crown! Bahahaha
- September 15, 2010 at 11:54 pm
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Well I am hoping it's a tampon, I'd rather a tampon that looked like an after dinner mint than the other way around. Yikes!
- September 16, 2010 at 9:43 am
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It's a lolly! Some girls from school used to get ones like that from the hospital in dif colours, plus if you look close you can see the lines that go the 'other' way
- September 15, 2010 at 10:48 pm
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I tried turning the screen upsidedown but the ever helpful iPhone flipped it around the right way again for me :p. I'm going tampon for the first pic and um…those heat bags you put in the microwave but they're for your boobs? Or..ooo..are they to sit on when you have an..um…haemeroid? (sp?) so you can feel playboy sexy while your buttwarse is in agony! :p
- September 15, 2010 at 10:20 pm
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Hmm. I'm voting for cheap after dinner mint and, as the link is not working but goes to bras and things, chicken fillet boob uplifty things. Why you would steal those from anywhere I have no idea.
- September 15, 2010 at 10:18 pm
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Its a tampon less the stringie
- September 16, 2010 at 5:54 am
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Eww on the first on. I am gonna have to say a mint. On the second one those look like heating packs for breast feeding mamas.
- September 16, 2010 at 12:38 am
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I'm going for tampon on the first one and I have no clue on the second one, unless they contain a thong for a man.
- September 15, 2010 at 10:28 pm
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I'm going to play dumb… it's difficult on a Wednesday extract your foot from your mouth. LOL
AV
Previous post: Three Cheers For Mrs Woog!!
Next post: What the hell is that? It’s FYBF!!
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: Fuck You Too.
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: Fuck You Too.
November 2012 – RRSAHM
November 2012
I tell my mate Auntie Mickey that I’m going urban exploring for the weekend in the mysterious, romantic, somewhat gothic Blue Mountains and she’s almost as excited as I am.
Early Saturday morning we leave the hotel, turn out over the highway and drive for kilometers past roadwork and a few tiny, squashed suburban–style streets. I did say ‘we’… I quite disgusted to report that Dear Brad was my companion, my obligational second warm body in case of danger, on this particular urbexing run. And I’m even more disgusted to tell you that he was actually quite good company– followed all the rules, didn’t whinge, and only once complained about my driving.
Disturbingly, there’s a car parked in front of the two huge gates, which have signs saying ’Private Property, Trespassers Will Be Prosecuted!!’ in three different places, on three differently coloured plastic signs, from three different mobile security companies. Willfully ignoring those, we drive up and around the fence line to what was once, according to the totem-pole signpost, the service entry.
The handful of outbuildings are boring and so common- I have seen all of these, all of this, before. Trees growing feral, curtains torn to shreds by the simple ravages of the weather. Doors broken down for access, windows for fun. Mattresses and old clothes, beer bottles ànd chip packets are strewn around the room like ugly, tasteless confetti. Fires have been set to ward off winter chills– remarkably, kept within the actual fireplaces. Or perhaps not so remarkably- access to a fireplace for heating is like some kind of birth rite in the Mountains.
“Come on, then” I whisper, and we walk down the faded, grassy garden path, past the skeleton of a greenhouse, and around to the back of the mismatched row of buildings that make up the hospital proper.
The winding hospital hallways have been stripped by time, their sterility and their distinct smell only in my mind. It seems to smell and fee slightly cleaner than other places I’ve urbexed of comparable loneliness… but that may just be all in my mind as well. Either way, these hallways are too easy to get lost in- they all look alike, and their patchwork fractures and joins make no sense. My usual reasonable sense of direction is lost, and Dear Brad is still nowhere to be found, nor heard from.
Back into the mains, the rolling, rising pink corridors, past ten or more nondescript, small, empty rooms. Turn a corner and the hallway opens into a massive, cold, carnivorous bathroom that would have reflected far more light than was comfortable when it was sparkling, bleached to a white so intense it shaded on blue. what appears to be a huge hot water tank is suspended from the roof in the centre of the room, the gigantium metal udder of an over-sized industrial water-cow. The
re are three or four smaller, more ’private’ bathrooms, but I get the impression that the main area was for communal bathing, and the pigeon holes cut into the one wall that half-segregates the room confirms that. The movie Girl Interrupted plays black and white against the projector screen of my mind- there’s Winona Ryder, shaving her legs in a tub that sits in the middle of a massive bathroom, lined with other baths for other patients. Whoppi Goldberg in a nurse’s smock, observing matrionously as she shaves, to ensure she doesn’t slit her wrists and bleed the water crimson-red until there’s no substance left in her and she dies.
After that interlude, everything begins to feel just a little ‘Girl, Interrupted’. I remind myself, my inner narrative speaking to me in the same tone I use to assure the Bump that dragons are ‘nonsense’– this was a hospital. Not necessarily once full of psych patients. Walking through the dark hallways I’m creeping myself out, conjuring images of electro–consulsive therapy and seizures and the smell of scorched hair and I tell myself to stop being so bloody melodramatic. But, in all truth, historical accuracy tells me that maybe I’m not being as melodramatic as I’d like to believe.
“You have to go to this hospital!” she bubbles to me, words popping iridescently over the phone, “my mum worked there when we where kids, and we’d go with dad to pick her up. The last time I drove past it was closed, and I’m sure it’s still closed. It was all overgrown, fenced off… and that was ten years ago.”
I love a tip off, a suggestion, someone’s half–memory that’s enough to start me on a search, a hunt fr humanity left behind. Auntie Mickey gives me vague directions– and she’s actually not too far out, her navigational memory having served her well. But, in actual fact, all I had to do was type the name Auntie Mickey thought the hospital was called, along with the phrase ’Blue Mountains’, hit enter… and the Google God took care of the rest.
Early Saturday morning we leave the hotel, turn out over the highway and drive for kilometers past roadwork and a few tiny, squashed suburban–style streets. I did say ‘we’… I quite disgusted to report that Dear Brad was my companion, my obligational second warm body in case of danger, on this particular urbexing run. And I’m even more disgusted to tell you that he was actually quite good company– followed all the rules, didn’t whinge, and only once complained about my driving.
So it’s even more of a pity that he turned out to be a total dick.
Whatever.
If it hadn’t been for the small, white sign we drove past on the right hand curb of the road, almost tucked directly into the scrubby bush behind it, I’m sure one of us would have suggested turning back. ’You Are Now Entering Hospital Land’ says the sign. But beyond the sign, stretching as far as the crest of a hill to our right and a lush, deep green valley to our left, is… nothing. An for another good five hundred meters or so, we see ‘nothing’- save, of course, the dense, head-high scrub that anchored both sides of road, it’s bitumen gradually giving way, chunk by tiny chunk, to dirt and rock.
“Where is it…?” I ask, some kind of wonder in my voice. Who the f*ck builds a hospital all the way out here, anyway? “Have they pulled it down, do you think…?”
I’m in the middle of that sentence when we find what we’re looking for, a few hundred metres further up the road. It’s an eight foot cyclone fence, hemming and constraining overgrown gardens and trees, the peaks of white buildings glancing and peeking over the top of the foliage occasionally, as if they’re excited and unused to visitors, to cars coming along this dusty, quiet old road.
“Nope… I guess not.” answers Dear Brad. Smart arse.
Disturbingly, there’s a car parked in front of the two huge gates, which have signs saying ’Private Property, Trespassers Will Be Prosecuted!!’ in three different places, on three differently coloured plastic signs, from three different mobile security companies. Willfully ignoring those, we drive up and around the fence line to what was once, according to the totem-pole signpost, the service entry.
Evidently, it still is the service entry. The original fence– and the three or four layers of reinforcements that have been strung up against it– are bent and bowed towards the ground on the inside of the compound, making the shimmy-and-drop over the fence that much easier, it’s barbed wire an old tiger with no teeth to bite us and snag our clothes. There’s still broken ankles and a possible case of tetanus to contend with. But Dear Brad and I are obviously not the first people who’ve been here.
I drop my bag containing my camera, first aid kit, torch and more over the fence. Dear Brad laughs at me as I climb, telling me I’ll have to go over now, or leave my camera here- better not get stuck! I poke my tongue out at him and jump the five foot to the ground, daintily dusting off my jeans and tapping my foot impatiently as I wait for him to the same. (“You see, and there it is.” says my mate Kristabelle after Dear Brad proves to be a total douche. “The crutch of things. You need the bloke who will go over the fence first, and hold it down for you on the other side. Not the one who stands there going ‘Uhhhh cannot believe she just did that!‘” And she’s right, of course… most people, I’ve found, usually are.)
The more I go exploring and adventuring, the more I discover that people are, inherently, just so lazy. The slow, human-fed decay of the hospital follows the pattern of every other place I’ve crept through. There’s the main entrance, the spot where most explorers and vandals come in, is always a dump, littered with mess and graffiti and the debris and clutter of human life, debris that seems to build up particularly when those lives have come untethered from themselves.
But the further you trawl, the more footsteps you take… the lesser the damage, the lesser the evidence of such irresponsible human existence. This service entry, littered and soiled with not-caring… it makes even the buildings themselves seem tired, far more worn down than the structures at the front of the hospital, duller and greyer. While the service entry is a savannah of broken plastics and faded prints, the front of the hospital is a lush green jungle set in miniature.
The handful of outbuildings are boring and so common- I have seen all of these, all of this, before. Trees growing feral, curtains torn to shreds by the simple ravages of the weather. Doors broken down for access, windows for fun. Mattresses and old clothes, beer bottles ànd chip packets are strewn around the room like ugly, tasteless confetti. Fires have been set to ward off winter chills– remarkably, kept within the actual fireplaces. Or perhaps not so remarkably- access to a fireplace for heating is like some kind of birth rite in the Mountains.
We slink past a row of oversized roller doors, surely once used for the oversized roofs of ambulances.
“Shhh!!” Dear Brad grabs my
arm and I stop, body frozen, poised and tense, every particle of me prepared to scream in a way that only a woman with severe PTSD knows how. “There’s someone there. Look, the lights on…”
He’s right, of course– as I’ve said, I’m finding most people usually are- there is someone there. A long fluorescent bar glows above the last roller door in the line, almost indistinguishable in the daylight. But in the silence left by the absence of my own footfalls the sound of music, low and cheerful, is audible. There’s bumps and thuds, the general sound of tinkering.
I shrug. Whoever is there, I doubt they’ll be much fussed by us, two explorers just taking photos and not destroying walls. Besides, I have this bizarre feeling that whoever is in that shed wants about as much attention today as we do… none, none at all.
“Come on, then” I whisper, and we walk down the faded, grassy garden path, past the skeleton of a greenhouse, and around to the back of the mismatched row of buildings that make up the hospital proper.
Even here at the rear of the hospital is a maze, a warren of doors and walkways and paths and dead-ends. Judging by the age and placement of the hodge podge set of buildings; the hospital started out as just the one building, a large central structure that was more like a huge house than any modern hospital. From there, it’s been added to, renovated, improved and expanded in the years since it was built. The entire back of the building is disorientating, not seeming to match up with the front- or the inside rooms- at all. The floors appear to be optical illusions, uneven and confusing. It’s once we get inside I realise the floors are uneven and confusing, the warped up and down of them creating a weird feeling like sea sickness.
There’s a door leading into the back of one hospital wing, standing swung open as if its been waiting for us. It’s lock is splintered and still attached to both it’s anchor points, but only by an inch on the holding side, and that inch has swung away from the frame with the door when it was forcibly opened, quite possibly by the force of someone’s foot. Inside, we find another odd trick of the patchwork building– this door opens into a corridor that leads up the main hallway of the hospital. But that’s all the corridor serves as– an entrance, and an exit. A twenty foot long corridor that seems to span nothing, and essentially does nothing except give you that little bit further to walk on the disconcerting wooden floors.
This is a strange place. It seems to have been constructed, rooms and doorways tacked on as though they were stickers, with the builders showing absolutely no regard for the existing fabrication, each of them simply throwing doors and corridors and even whole wings and wards wherever he the urge directed him.
Step from that corridor up onto the main floor of the hospital and the building becomes, at this point, an actual hospital, by nature as well as namesake. While the outbuilding could belong to any large establishment or group housing; inside, the hallways are hospital hallways, unmistakable. Wide and flat with low–grade ramps to connect the decamped split level flooring. Flat wooden handrails run along each of the walls, and the wooden floor is made litigation-friendly with it’s durable, non slip linoleum. The walls of the hospital hallways are a not-quite-pastel pink, a shade I’m assuming the NSW government bought millions of liters of in the mid–70′s for some ridiculously cheap price. It’s the colour scheme of buildings that are still found in the further flung parts of the state, and when I was a kid they were everywhere– growing up in Australia in the 1980′s, anything funded or owned by the community, local government or other light authority was always that same slightly-too-sweet shade of pastel pink.
We roam through the empty, slightly eerie hospital hallways, stealthy and virtually silent. Dear Brad trundles on ahead as I’m adjusting the aperture on my camera, and when I look for him again, glance at the Real World before me instead of the one encased in flat glass of my camera screen… and he’s gone. That’s actually more than OK with me- while Dear Brad easily keeps up easily, he seems to make too much noise, want to move far too quickly, paying no respect to the reverence of the atmosphere, the stillness of the place we are in.
The winding hospital hallways have been stripped by time, their sterility and their distinct smell only in my mind. It seems to smell and fee slightly cleaner than other places I’ve urbexed of comparable loneliness… but that may just be all in my mind as well. Either way, these hallways are too easy to get lost in- they all look alike, and their patchwork fractures and joins make no sense. My usual reasonable sense of direction is lost, and Dear Brad is still nowhere to be found, nor heard from.
I reach the official entryway, the front hallway of the hospital, and it feels as though it’s in the wrong place- for such a sturdy, somewhat stoically designed and built uber-house, the hospital’s extensions mean it is no longer in the centre of the expanded building with it’s mutant wings tipping the scales of symmetry. At the top of the main hall, adjacent to the wood and glass front door, there is a massive memorial board, three thick slabs of marble set in a frame of thick, gleaming wood; and taller than I am, easily. Engraved into the marble slabs are the names of the hospital’s ‘Life Members’. Standing as I am, in a building left to the rot and the rain and the simple scavenging effects of time for so long now; the concept of ‘Life Members’ seems such a strange terminology, an oxymoron. Can you be a life member of a facility that has been closed for years, and left for ruins, with the property soon to be sold off to the highest bidder…? And where have all those Life Members gone… surely, the world hasn’t spun that many times that they would all have passed away already…? But then I think about that in it’s reality and it would seem sadder, somehow, if they were still here.
Back into the mains, the rolling, rising pink corridors, past ten or more nondescript, small, empty rooms. Turn a corner and the hallway opens into a massive, cold, carnivorous bathroom that would have reflected far more light than was comfortable when it was sparkling, bleached to a white so intense it shaded on blue. what appears to be a huge hot water tank is suspended from the roof in the centre of the room, the gigantium metal udder of an over-sized industrial water-cow. The
re are three or four smaller, more ’private’ bathrooms, but I get the impression that the main area was for communal bathing, and the pigeon holes cut into the one wall that half-segregates the room confirms that. The movie Girl Interrupted plays black and white against the projector screen of my mind- there’s Winona Ryder, shaving her legs in a tub that sits in the middle of a massive bathroom, lined with other baths for other patients. Whoppi Goldberg in a nurse’s smock, observing matrionously as she shaves, to ensure she doesn’t slit her wrists and bleed the water crimson-red until there’s no substance left in her and she dies.
After that interlude, everything begins to feel just a little ‘Girl, Interrupted’. I remind myself, my inner narrative speaking to me in the same tone I use to assure the Bump that dragons are ‘nonsense’– this was a hospital. Not necessarily once full of psych patients. Walking through the dark hallways I’m creeping myself out, conjuring images of electro–consulsive therapy and seizures and the smell of scorched hair and I tell myself to stop being so bloody melodramatic. But, in all truth, historical accuracy tells me that maybe I’m not being as melodramatic as I’d like to believe.
Another ward, room after empty room. The rooms are set up in funny little triangles, a bathroom in the middle of every two, curled and angled in on itself so there are no windows and no light. There’s a tiny nurse’s station, push pin holes still visible in the pink-painted cork board on the wall. Fixtures– light fittings, gas heaters, things too difficult for nonindustrial young petty vandals to steal; they remain. Everything else is gone, probably taken long ago.
I leave quietly through the unlocked front door next to that huge slab of engraved marble, latching it behind me as I exit and whispering a small silent goodbye and thank you to whatever souls may still be wandering here. Dear Brad is lulling around the front garden, which is dense and green and– once upon a twenty years ago– would have been divine in spring-time, raucous bouquets of mismatched cottage flowers splayed amongst vibrant broad green lily leaves.
It seems to be that we’re done.. there is not much more to be seen here that’s not simply a visual repeat of itself. Aesthetically, this place is about as atmospheric as urbexing gets– creepy old abandoned hospitals are few and far between. But, weirdly, there’s nothing here– it’s all dark shadows without teeth to snap with. If there was passion enough to leave some imprint of the souls that felt it in it’s wake, like a negative image painting and searing the backs of your eyelids after staring at the sun for too long; then I can’t feel it here, can’t see where it’s still glowing. It’s not a particularly unpleasant realization, knowing that this time there were no threadbare patches in the fabric of reality. It’s more just sad, but somehow lacking even the poignancy of that simple emotion.
It’s such a bizarre little place, all overgrown ugly on what once was beautiful, neglect and dissaray where there once was plump and pleasant order. A patchwork hospital snagged in time, not quite old enough to be vintage or even retro, just at varying points of stale and spoilt. And you find it tucked away, deep in a valley in what’s such an odd place for it to be. The canyons of the Blue Mountains hinterlands, in a place no hospital has it’s business being built.
Check out the full set of photos on Flickr.
***
What…?
Oh.
You were waiting for the bit where I set off a minor security scare. Of course. More urbexing the Mountains next week- stay tuned, jellybeans.
{ 11 comments }
http://annetaintor.com/
It’s guest posting time on RRSAHM again– this guest post is from Gaynor Alder. The first time I met her, we compared Sydney people to Melbourne people and decided Melbourne win’s. Then Gaynor told me I look awesome without make up.
I like her.
***
There was a time I wanted to write this and couldn’t.
There was a time I could have written this but didn’t want to.
Now, I don’t need to write this, but I want to.
Because, every bad relationship starts with promise. And it’s this promise that has too many women cling onto destructive relationships and endure damage that takes far too long to heal.
There’s a time to stay and work it out, and then there’s a time to run a hundred miles in the other direction {even if you are in your favourite pair of heels} before it destroys you.
On our 3rd date, I travelled an hour on public transport to see him. His idea of a warm welcome to convey how excited he was to see me again, was to meet me at the door with a paint brush in his hand and head straight back to the bathroom he was painting.
My response: Are we going to be doing anything today or how about we sit on the back verandah and have a chat?
His response: Well, I’m right in the middle of this now.
What I should have said: As much as I’d love to sit here balancing on this tin of Taubmans whilst pointing out, “oh look honey, you missed a spot’, I didn’t blow dry my hair to sit here and watch paint dry. I’ll be off now. Actually, don’t think I’ll be back again anytime soon. Sorry, very busy washing my hair and all that.
Two weeks after meeting him, he told me that he thought of his best friend as his soul mate.
My response: That’s great you have such a good friendship and I really like the sound of her, but wouldn’t you want me to maybe be your soul mate?
His reaction: Well, you don’t have to be in a relationship with your soul mate you know.
What I should have said: It’s been swell hanging out with you over the past few weeks, and hey, that first date was kinda fun, but I’ll be offski now. Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll go real well with all the other ladies beating a path to your paint tin.
His soul mate’s wedding veil was hung above his bed and he had framed photos of her throughout his bedroom.
My response: Do you think it’s appropriate to have another woman’s wedding veil above your bed?
His reaction: It’s not coming down. That has special memories of dancing with her under it at her wedding and it keeps the light out the window.
What I should have said: I’m thrilled you had such a good time on the dance floor, but fucking take that down. And oh, for that 5cm by 5cm frosted window that is blinding me with the muted sunlight streaming through it from the front semi enclosed verandah – $4.99 a metre for curtain material from Spotlight.
He carried a picture of her in his wallet.
My response: It upsets me that you carry a picture of another woman in your wallet. I get that she is your ‘best friend’ but that isn’t very respectful to me. And I really don’t like the picture of those girls you have on your laptop screen saver.
His reaction: I’m not going to discuss this – the picture of her is staying in my wallet. And that picture on my laptop is art.
What I should have said: Listen up. I’m not going to let you play this mind fuckery, nor am I going to let you turn your disrespectful behaviour around on me under the guise that I’m jealous and insecure.
You either stop trying to erode my self-esteem because you feel not good enough for me and need to level the playing field, or I’ll be finding another man with a better wallet.
And as for the ‘art’ on your laptop, I call it “naked women with their tits out in a pile of tin cans”, but, hey, don’t take my word for it, I’m sure you’d get a mint for it at a Christie’s auction.
Having spent another week on my own with him working 15 hour days and coming home and heading straight to the lounge room to mix music on his decks, whilst promising we’d spend time on the weekend together, surprise, surprise, the weekend never came.
My response: Why don’t you want to spend time with me?
His reaction: I’m doing all of this for you. For us. We’ll spend time together next weekend. And how soon you forget Gaynor. What about that bottle of perfume I bought you?
What I should have said: Thanks for the bottle of perfume. Even I’m amazed at how you managed to pick one that I liked so much considering you wouldn’t even know what colour knickers I ‘m wearing on a daily basis. But I wasn’t aware that you bought it for me so you could excuse your bad behaviour for the next 6 months. I thought you bought it for me because, how novel, you loved me.
And, let’s stop with this needy bullshit. You know I’m not needy, and it’s just you projecting your intimacy issues onto me. If I wanted to spend all my time on my own, then I’d be on my own. What you’re doing is holding me hostage from being in a relationship with someone else. And you can bet your favourite record, that right now there’s someone else out there who’d fall over themselves to spend time with me.
And I don’t know what fucking time zone you’re operating in, but most people I know in relationships sit down and have a meal together more than once every six months.
Most people in relationships I know who live together don’t spend every single night alone in bed, and then have their partner return home from work and go straight to the lounge and stay awake until it’s time to go work to again and then pop another four dexamphetamines and call their girlfriend to come and iron their work shirt.
Most people in relationships I know spend at least some of the weekend together, in fact most I know can’t wait to spend time with each other.
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But, hey, if you’d prefer to spend your weekends bonding with your garden rake and getting the ratio of Dynamic Lifter to water right to make sure your plants don’t die, cleaning out your shed AGAIN, or pulling everything out of the kitchen cupboards and rearranging it at 4am AGAIN, you go right ahead.
And yes, I know you have ADHD, and need to take
12 dexxies a day, but I’d be more inclined to be sympathetic if you didn’t bullshit the psychologist with what you knew he needed to hear so that you could get your drugs cheaper.
And if you didn’t also take 16 of them some days and peddle them out to your friends for cheap thrills, and then spend the last few days of every month coming down. But I guess I should be thrilled, because they’re the only few days of the month that you actually want to come anywhere near me, right?
And by the way, me sitting on the lounge whilst you mix music on the decks isn’t spending time together. Especially when talking to you over the music is seen as a disruption to your concentration.
Telling me he had his mate over on the weekend, and he’d shown him the picture of me in my new bra.
My response: How could you do that to me?
His reaction: It was great photo shopping. And for fuck’s sake, how long are you going to go on about this?
What I should have said: I’ll go on about this as long as I fucking well like. What you just did is grounds for instant dismissal. I’m sure you’ll understand that I don’t have time to call in the carpet cleaners before I pack up my belongings and get the fuck out of here.
After getting out of hospital, I asked if I could have a hug. He had taken the night off work, but I could barely find a spot on the bed to squeeze in with his work and laptop spread all over it, and his speakers had taken up residence next to his bedside.
My response: Roll over quietly to one side of the bed and stifle my tears.
His reaction: What, you want me to just lay here next to you and hold you? I just went to the shops and made you dinner, what more do you want?
What I Should Have Said: You’re an asshole.
This one is a clanger. But I’ll do my best to soften the blow. After returning home from a night out, I walked into the lounge room to discover him playing music to set the ambience, whilst his friend was getting, an ahem, from his girlfriend.
My response: Walk straight out the back door and light up a Marlboro Menthol.
His reaction: To come out the back, laugh and then tell me I was being judgmental.
What I should have said: Fuck you.
And what I did do was leave that very next day. But that of course wasn’t without many Academy Award winning bullshit displays of remorse.
I know you’re all thinking, Alder, how did you last a year? Why did you put up with all that? Why didn’t you kick him to the kerb in your Pradas? Why didn’t you leave sooner?
I agree. On all fronts. But I’m not hard on myself about it, because he got me at a time when I was vulnerable and put more PR spin on his personality than the publicist for Old Spice aftershave making it look cool by putting a man on a horse.
And then he broke me down piece by piece, until I felt worthless and powerless to leave. And of course all of these fine displays of romance were coupled with moments of being great and daily text messages telling me how much he loved me. He was good at that. Words. Promises. Hope. But words aren’t enough, even for a writer.
Now of course I can see our ‘relationship’ was one long broken promise and he was useless, and I deserved a whole lot more. But at the time, I was so broken by his neglect and mental abuse, that not even all the Kings Horses could put me back together again.
But here in lies the lesson dear readers.
No matter how strong you are, no matter how confident you are, no matter how fabulous you are, don’t think you’re immune to falling prey to a dodgy relationship.
Because it’s all too easy to look at someone else’s fine fellow and wonder what the hell such a beautiful woman is doing with such a bozo, but when you find yourself deep in the trenches of a treacherous relationship, it’s harder to leave than you think.
So, learn to spot the warning signs early on. Run sooner, than later. Don’t wait for them to prove to you that they’re as bad as you suspect they are.
But there’s something more important than all these things that I should have said to him. And they are things I should have said to myself. So Gaynor circa 2006, here I am. Sorry I wasn’t there for you back you then, but I’m here now. Promise.
And, pssst, no matter how bad it gets, everything will be okay in the end. More than okay. Mr Worships the Fucking Ground You Walk On will see to that.
***
Gaynor Alder is a Melbourne based writer with a penchant for vintage glamour and all things Parisian. She is the Editor-in-Chief of The Modern Women’s Survival Guide and the Teenage Girl’s Survival Guide, gallivants around the world as a Travel Writer testing the thread count of sheets and the fluffiness of hotel pillows and freelances in public relations.
She started writing The Modern Woman’s Survival Guide, after the umpteenth person told her, you know you should really write a book. Her fingers struggled daily to keep up with the thoughts that desperately wanted to become words on pages, to take centre stage in a book that she knew was going to become the new voice of womankind. Her calling, her destiny, her whatever you want to call it, Gaynor writes because she can’t not write.
{ 3 comments }
Hotel rooms are perfect for suspending reality.
I stayed in the Palais Royale hotel at Katoomba last weekend, thanks to hotels.com and their Welcome Rewards program- it’s like a coffee card, but for accommodation, and the records are held electronically so you can’t just invest in your own novelty hole punch and get free coffee (not that I would do that, of course… really, who does that?). For those out of touch with their Australian geography, Katoomba sits at the top of the New South Wales Blue Mountains, a two hour drive from Sydney. You pass by Katoomba en route to Orange (and Ophir).
It’s a strange place, Katoomba, in a way you can’t quite put your finger on. It’s large, but it seems small. It’s exquisitely isolated– the Mountains roll and spread for countless miles around where the city sits on top a peak. Katoomba is connected by a string of smaller town with names like Wentworth Falls, Leura, Lawson and Lapstone; and they make small black map-dots all the way up and down the single highway linking the Mountains back to the Sydney suburbs via Penrith. These tiny hamlets are no more than ten or fifteen kilometers apart, twenty k’s at the most; each with a tiny train station, a general store, and each seemingly with their own unique draw card, their own tiny tourist attractions to lure travelers, cars loaded with kids and bags, to stop and rest, enjoy the local flavour as they go.
The Mountains were, a hundred years ago when they were first settled, a daunting, long and potentially dangerous journey; a trek that took days, not hours, clumping over cleared dirt rocks rather than eating up fresh, smooth bitumen at a hundred kilometers an hour.
But worth it, I imagine. As much then as it is now.
Katoomba boomed in the early 1900′s, an opulent township for the holidaying wealth of Sydney. It seems the majority of structures here where built at about that time, and very little has been changed since. While everything modern you need is here, somewhere, and it’s home to world-famous tourist attractions such as the Three Sisters and the terrifyingly ancient Scenic Railway (a train carriage does a sheer vertical drop down a rock cliff face); it’s as if time itself has simply meandered by most of Katoomba, not bothering to poke or prod on it’s way. Cafes with names like the Paragon, the Carington and the Niagra reamin in business and in their original art-deco decor. Buildings and brickwork are crusted with slow–growing lichen from the damp, chilled air; and its actually impossible to walk the Main Street without a good dose of daily exercise– the entire town is tiny hills, rolling footpaths and houses on built-up uneven slabs.
And the shopping is freaking awesome. There’s tiny hippy shops, a piercer and, to my delight, one shop that sells nothing but juggling supplies. I count a dozen funky cafes, all which smell divine, and there’s street buskers and a craft market early on the crisp Sunday morning. Op shops and recycled fashion outlets sell genuine vintage clothes and bags and shoes, all reasonably priced and all in gorgeous condition. It’s that isolation again. As in Paradise, material things seem to stick in this place the way people do…. it’s such a long way, back down the Mountain.
The Palais Royale, where I find myself in the king deluxe room 315, is just five hundred metres from the plethora of shops on Main Street, and, truly, just as old as most of them. It was built in the late 1890′s and it feels like old fashioned glamor and warmth, with chandeliers and big soft arm chairs in the lobby. My room’s big and old, and the bed is huge.
I find myself struggling to stay awake mid-afternoon both nights of my stay– I’m just so relaxed, it feels like an impossibility to keep my eyes open. I think the only reason I’m wide awake most of the time is that I’m running on anxious, nervous energy at a rate that I can only sustain for so long. I’m like a rug on Valium, once the pressure’s off.
I’m sprawled on the hotel’s massive bed, reading longform articles on my phone, belly full of chocolate, with bad TV (Antiques Roadshow, for those playing along at home) making comfort-noise in the background, chatting with the peeps on Twitter (as you do) and mulling over my tired relaxation when KateSaysStuff Keep Cate Busy said… well… stuff. This, in fact…
… then this…
And I felt her pain. Because there, ladybugs and jellybeans, lies the crux of it. The reason, I think, that just about every person I know who is the proud owner of one or more small children (and a lot of people without small children) are so freaking tired all the time.
Because there’s always, always, always, something else to be done. Dishes or folding or blogging or email or washing or phone calls or paying bills or more washing or feeding cats or whatever. How do you find a sense of peace, relaxation and accomplishment when your inbox is always near overflowing, when there are always at least three more things you should have done today…?
Evidently, this weekend, I found the answer.
You go to hotels.com, and join the Welcome Rewards program. You check into your hotel. And, out of the 40 hours you send in the hotel, you sleep like a petrified log for 24 of them.
Then you come home, and kid-wrangle until you are on the very verge of some kind of breakdown (again). And lather, rinse, and repeat.
***
Thanks again to hotels.com. In the interest of disclosure, I
was not paid for this post, but I was more than happy to take a few free nights accommodation off their hands.
was not paid for this post, but I was more than happy to take a few free nights accommodation off their hands.
Naturally, being somewhere old and kinda creepy like Katoomba… I went urban exploring. Details, photos and tripping security alarms– coming soon.
***
I dare you to tell me these are not the absolute cutest pair of elves you’ve ever seen. Introducing- Santa Chop and Bumpy Claus.
The kidlets and I- all three of us, family style- are doing the Variety Santa Fun Run this Sunday on behalf of RocketMan Media. All three of us will be dressed as Santa Claus’ (Santa Clau, perhaps? What’s the plural, anyone…?) and the Bumpy thing will probably be wearing her fairy wings.
If you could sponsor us here, I’d very much appreciate it. I cannot promise you we will complete the fun run. And I’m certainly not promising any running. I do promise to record every second of our sweating, tantrum-throwing humiliation on a video blog for you next week. So, if nothing else, you should really donate just for that…
Cheers, jellybeans. See you Monday.
***
ETA- I can’t believe this post was up for 30 hoursbefore someone pointed out I’d used the wrong person’s name. Despite having an image of their name embedded beneath it.
It’s OK… I promise. I won’t hate you, nor will I cry (for long!) if you point out when I do stupid things.
{ 4 comments }
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: Not OK.
There is nothing worse. – RRSAHM
There is nothing worse.
Hey there blogeratti,
I know a lot of you are mummies, and you may just know what I’m talking about. If you break out in a cold sweat and quake at the mention of the words “newborn”, “sleep deprivation”, “reflux” or “colic”, this one’s for you. And, of course, me.
There is nothing harder, in my humble opinion, then being a new mum coping with an unsettled baby and the dreaded effects of chronic sleep deprivation. There is something soul destroying about sleeping only in hour long stretches at a time, every muscle, every cell, every pore aching with exhaustion.
Believe me, I know. My lovely little Chop was awake every hour and a half, for the first six months of his life, right through the night, and only cat napped for half hour stretches during the day.
I have never been so exhausted.
I would cry at the very thought of sleep.
Nothing helped. My exhaustion and total overwhelmed-ness led to severe PND. I was so tired, I was hallucinating.
My heart swelled with anxiety and love and desperation every time I looked at my baby boy.
And my husband tried to reach me through the fog.
Sleep deprivation, post-natal depression, they are terrible things. But was it worth it in the end?
Eventually, yeah, I’d say it was. But it was a long, long, road to here.
Leave a Comment
{ 8 comments… read them below or add one }
- March 19, 2010 at 10:04 pm
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You know my thoughts on this topic *hug*
I does get better, I promise. I won't say how long because we've only just started recovering, but one day it will be better.
- March 19, 2010 at 7:13 am
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this is why sleep deprivation is used as a torture technique! My son was like that too. Everything I read and everyone I talked to said newborns sleep all the time, then when he was born I realized they all lied. I empathize. A weaker person couldn't have made it through it!
- March 19, 2010 at 12:49 am
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Good on you for getting through and out the other side. Lack of sleep is the pits. Little chops is soo cute, thanks for sharing these gorgeous pics.
- March 18, 2010 at 4:02 pm
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I'm lukcy enough to have a baby that sleeps really well so i applaud all the mummas who've had to push through the exhaustion barrier. Cheers to you ladies!
- March 18, 2010 at 3:57 pm
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And hey look, Jill is here. Hi Jill.*waves*
- March 18, 2010 at 3:56 pm
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Story of my life!
Sophie has eczema which makes her skin really itchy makes which makes her NOT sleep through the night which makes me really grumpy. Sigh.
- March 18, 2010 at 3:07 pm
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Shudder. And that is all I have to say.
- March 18, 2010 at 2:21 pm
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Oy. Sleep deprivation. And PND. I remember it like it was yesterday.
And it was awful.
((Hugs to you))
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: The Crappest GiveAway Ever (really, this time)
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: Jeans and Stuff.
Where To Go From Here. – RRSAHM
Where To Go From Here.
When I was a kid, it felt like I owned this town.
From sun up to sun down, aided by my bicycle, with a helmet my mother insisted I wear, but spent most of it’s time hanging over the handle bars, I’d ride and think and daydream.
I knew every tree, every beach, every bank, every wharf. Walking around here now, sometimes it feel like I still do.
My mind is so comforted here, against the backdrop of scenery I’ve known so well, rivers and beaches and tress that formed apart of me. I wonder if somehow it’s simply easier for my brain this way- it doesn’t have to think so much, process so much.
I quite literally know this town like the back of my hand.
The colour here- I have never seen another place like it. The blue of the water, every few seconds as you drive along. The black and brown and deep green of the scrub, with sandhills peeking through. And I can feel it, sand in my shoes, low lying branches catching my legs. The smell of sand and soil and eucalyptus and sunshine.
I remember when I moved away from here, aged thirteen by a month or so- I cried. I missed this place with every heartbeat. The smell, the cold of the place we relocated to…. beautiful in it’s own way, but nothing like my seaside home.
I remember driving with my mum one day, and we came over the rose of a large hill… my whole life until that point, the view over the rise of a hill like that was always the ocean. And that was what I expected to see.
The reality of land, and more land, no water for a good hour or so… it nearly broke my heart.
And now… well, the move here was supposed to be temporary. Three months, six at months.
But I’m seriously starting to wonder.
The thought of moving back to the city, back to the suburbs, comes with a massive knot of anxiety that sits between my diaphragm and my stomach and makes breathing uncomfortable. And I’m starting to wonder what on earth I would want to move back there for, when I can stay here, in Paradise…?
And the more I think about, the more logical it seems. I think part of me- the part that causes with that knot of anxiety, of fear and loneliness and trepidation- is still thinking that somehow,I can slide back into a pale imitation of what my suburban life used to be.
The rest of me knows that just isn’t true. So.. what do I do? Move back to the ‘burbs, which makes me anxious to even consider? Relocate, and start to build a new normal, all over again in six months time?
Or grow roots here, in Paradise, where we walk on the beach every day, and life is simple and slow and relaxed…?
Doesn’t the answer seem obvious…?
Leave a Comment
{ 31 comments… read them below or add one }
- May 11, 2011 at 11:58 am
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You're so lucky to have the choice to do that at the moment Lori.
I grew up with the beach at the end of my street, and didn't really miss until years later when we went on holidays to the seaside and I realised how much I miss the ocean.
I hate how restricted life is in western Sydney.
There's nothing like gazing at the ocean and just thinking.We don't have a choice to move just yet though, as this is where the work is for my husband's industry.
Maybe he'll have a mid-life crisis and we can escape back to the seaside for good.
Stay where you feel right.
Life's too short to be missing something, if you can change it. - May 11, 2011 at 10:29 am
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Reading this post I thought back to your last few days and weeks in the 'burbs. That sense of fear, of being haunted, and even hunted. The sense of being unsafe. The nights you couldn't sleep. The late night tweets from the garage. The places in the once-Purple house you couldn't go, or even look at. The people around you who seemed so sour, judging, hurtful. Disturbia.
And reading your posts now the effects of Paradise on your soul are brilliantly clear. What I read is that you feel safe, calm, cleansed. You feel a certain sense of peace, even when you are hurting. In Paradise, life is simple, and beautiful, in spite of everything. Why would you go anywhere?Don't look back. This is your new journey. If there is somewhere you need to go, the road will open up before you. Love always thepixiechick xoxoxo - May 10, 2011 at 7:35 pm
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Lori,
You don't need to grow roots in paradise, but it is clear you are not yet ready to leave it. Don't push yourself. 6 months, 6 years.. does it really matter how long it will take for you to be ready? The answer does "seem" obvious, but that you cannot commit to it means it isn't.
So stay in paradise as long as you need to. You are on no ones schedule. The burbs aren't going anywhere.
- May 10, 2011 at 7:27 pm
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Oh lovely, Paradise where else would you want to be! xo
- May 10, 2011 at 7:18 pm
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So glad it's so obvious to you:)
- May 10, 2011 at 5:48 pm
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Stay. x
- May 10, 2011 at 4:53 pm
- May 10, 2011 at 11:06 pm
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Home is where you and the children are most content…and now, through my readings here ..that is where you have landed…you followed your heart back to Paradise to heal through familiar and family.. So go with those gifts until.. No until.. You will do and decide what & when & where…. Xxxxx
- May 10, 2011 at 1:00 pm
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Sounds obvious to me. Why decide now? Can it wait til it's no longer an obvious decision but a natural progression? Is there anything really pulling you back to suburbia? The simple life sounds just lovely. And the kids will just want to be wherever you are.
- May 10, 2011 at 12:54 pm
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I think one of the greatest gifts we can give our children is a simple life. I made a decision to move my kids to a little school up the mountain from us not only for it's great curriculum but because it is a mini paradise. Everything slows down a little there. They have a lovely balance up on the mountain. I'd move there in a heartbeat if I could convince hubby to move too. Luckily I'm just a 15 minute drive away each day.
- May 10, 2011 at 11:51 am
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Stay.
I know that knot – the one that cripples your beathing and pains your chest.
Stay.
Embrace the peace of Paradise.
xo
Marianna - May 10, 2011 at 10:42 am
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Paradise seems like Paradise – walks on the beach – a simple life. Definitely, embrace it. xo
- May 10, 2011 at 8:51 am
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It does. It seems far too obvious.
I often feel we complex life far more than we need to. Or that others influences complex it. Really what it comes down to is you do what you need to to survive firstly, because if we don't do that we die. Secondly you do what makes you happiest.
Stay in paradise. No point in coming back to a wasteland. *hugs* - May 10, 2011 at 8:13 am
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Im with them – Paradise. Ive only just moved to my own 1 pub town paradise, and I know deep down I will never leave. If it feels right, it probably is.
xx - May 10, 2011 at 6:05 pm
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Give yourself and your children a gift. Grow some roots in a comforting place.
You all deserve it.
- May 10, 2011 at 7:43 am
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Sometimes 'smalltown hometown' is the best place and sometimes it is restricting and you need to fly but do you need a plan right now? If all is good then stay, when the wings need to fly then fly. There is a time (and place) for every purpose.
- May 10, 2011 at 7:18 am
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sounds like a no brainer to me.
- May 10, 2011 at 7:07 am
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Who says you have to figure it all out today. Just let your life unfold as you continue to heal. Right now, this is where you need to be. x
- May 10, 2011 at 6:58 am
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If it feels right…it's right. Instincts often has the word 'survival' before it for a reason darling: the heart knows.
Love Sophie xxx
- May 10, 2011 at 4:52 am
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Yup – it's obvious.
Paradise is where it's at XXX - May 10, 2011 at 3:07 am
- May 10, 2011 at 2:48 am
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There's no rush is there? No rush to move on?
There may come a time when you feel ready for some other lifestyle….sure…but that doesn't seem to be 'that time' if I'm reading you correctly.
I think we're so programmed to think ahead, make goals…think: what's next? So much so that we forget to live in the present and enjoy each minute of what is happening now.
You'll know if you listen to that voice inside. Sounds like you already do….
- May 10, 2011 at 2:17 am
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I think the answer is obvious. There is no reason that you "have" to live in the suburbs – or that you "have" to live anywhere. If your able to heal where you are – then stay there, wherever it is.
- May 10, 2011 at 1:53 am
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This is the exact sms i sent you last night…
I can't sleep and its 4:30. I have a quote for you though:
"Never make your home in a place. Make a home for yourself inside your own head. You'll find what you need to furnish it – memory, friends you can trust, love of learning, and other such things. That way it will go with you wherever you journey." ~Tad Williams
I wonder in my own narcsictic little way if I subliminally popped these balancing dilemmas into your mental processings?
Aaaaand then, I think that would mean I would have like super crazy amazing mind-mend telepathy that can travel early morning AM time and subvertivley control and influence you thoughts, decision, action and motivations…….soooooo I took a Zanax and had a lie down - May 10, 2011 at 1:21 am
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I can't imagine a single reason to leave Paradise, where life is gentler for you and the children.
You're building a new life, a new 'normal'. What better place to do this than right where you are?
- May 10, 2011 at 12:50 am
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I know that I vote for paradise
- May 10, 2011 at 12:48 am
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The answer is right there, in Paradise!
- May 10, 2011 at 12:46 am
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You call it Paradise. I think the choice is obvious.
- May 10, 2011 at 8:58 am
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Follow your heart. Paradise is just that….Paradise. While you are happy and contented (as you can be at least) stay put. If it turns out that you stay there for years then do that. While it is feeling right and simple and easy why move? If you and the kids are contented there, why uproot yourselves again. Your little patch of Paradise sounds wonderful and somewhere that I myself would just love to live and love to raise my family.
- May 10, 2011 at 7:26 am
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What others have said – Paradise seems so right for now..and somewhere else might be right for later…
- May 10, 2011 at 6:30 am
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Seriously – you choose where is best for you. It does not have to be forever, but it needs to be right for now.
Previous post: Mother’s Day.
Next post: Waking Sleeping Babies.
Pining. – RRSAHM
Pining.
My son checks in with me every few days as the house is packed up and plans for Melbourne are made.
“Daddy can’t come back, can he?”
And the answer is always the same. “No baby, I’m sorry, he can’t”. I remind him that no matter where we are, or how long we wait, people just can’t come back from heaven.
I swallow how much I hate the taste of those words. Not their meaning so much as the look they leave behind. Resigned disappointment on the face of a little boy who knows too much about disappointment already.
***
Driving home one night, we see Venus; a bright pinprick of light protruding low on the horizon. It’s not a star, I explain. But it looks like one. So it’s good for wishing on, anyway.
The Bumpy Thing wishes to be a ballerina. That’s simple enough.
The Chop wishes for his daddy back.
And again, my heart breaks. I attempt to temper my response with understanding the emotion and still give it the reality of the truth.
It’s not fair. Children should have stars for wishing on. More than that, they should be allowed some hope that their wishes could come true.
***
While my son still pines for his father, my daughter’s grief is currently focused on something more childlike. It’s still heartbreaking, but in it’s normality, slightly less so.
The Bumpy Girl… she misses her cat.
It’s been weeks since Dim Sum died. Not a day has gone by without my baby girl telling me she misses him, that she wishes he were still here. She sleeps with a photo of him by her bed. She mourns him with all the ferocity of three year old emotions.
Part of me wonders if this is grief refracted and mirrored. Replacement grief, for something she never really got to feel. A way of dealing with the other things that hurt, using something symbolic and tangible to express the pain she doesn’t know how to otherwise.
But maybe that’s reading too far into it. Maybe it really is just as simple as missing the pet she loved so much.
Either way, there’s little else to do but to treat the symptoms of whatever’s hurting as they appear. I cuddle her and chat with her. I do my best to validate whatever she’s feeling.
And I count down the time until I can get her a kitten.
It’s a shallow, band-aid solution. But this kind of pain may be fixable, where other hurts are clearly not.
Leave a Comment
{ 8 comments… read them below or add one }
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August 15, 2013 at 12:11 pm -
Oh, poor Chop, that is heartbreaking. XXXX
Getting another cat will be good once you’re all settled, a new start, a new family member! -
August 9, 2013 at 7:27 pm -
My son is 3 too, and honestly he would obsess and mourn if he lost he bunch of angry birds and pigs. He loves them as much as any pet. Sooo… I guess I’m saying… it’s OK.
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August 9, 2013 at 5:35 pm -
Funny you should mention the impending purchase of a new kitten, I have been asked numerous times why it is, that if we cant have our old daddy back, we cant just nick down to the local daddy shop and buy a new one??! ……bunnings has most things, but i’m yet to find the new daddy section
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August 9, 2013 at 5:33 pm -
Funny you should mention the impending purchase of a new kitten, I have been asked numerous times why it is, that if we cant have our old daddy back, we cant just nick down to the local daddy shop and buy a new one??! ……bunnings has most things, but i’m yet to find the new daddy section
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August 9, 2013 at 1:02 pm -
I remember wishing on stars, wishing my Dad could be back. I think that was when I realised fairy tale endings were so much BS and stopped believing. In everything.
We got my daughter a cat as an early birthday present, from the RSPCA shelter. It turned out the cat had a congenital illness and died about 8 months later. It was heartbreaking. That was over a year ago, and she still tells me she’s sad some days about Rosie. She’s nearly 8 now. I dont’ know if she’s still affected by losing the cat or if it is the only language she knows how to express being upset. She feels a sadness and she connects it to the cat because that’s what made her feel that way the first time.
I don’t know. It’s all too hard. I would have gotten her a replacement kitten but bub was due the month after the cat died so I figured a new little brother would do at the time.
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August 9, 2013 at 7:28 am -
I think one of the hardest things about raising children is that the older they get, the less they rely on you. But we still want to warp them up in the warm, enveloping innocence they enjoyed as a newborn. Your little ones have faced more than any child should ever have to. The saying goes that ‘time heals all wounds’, but that doesn’t make the road any easier to travel.
Lys recently posted…“The Way” – Fastball
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August 8, 2013 at 11:48 pm -
Wow. sad & beautiful is right.
Ps I dont think a kitten is a band-aid, a friend bought her boy a puppy at the insistence of his psychiatrist. It turned out to be better therapy than the therapyst.
Good luck with the move- you’ll love Melbourne
:0)
Suzy Mac recently posted…Alarming failures of a freaked out mum -
August 8, 2013 at 3:17 pm -
Beautiful. Sad, of course, but beautiful just the same. Good luck with the move x
Previous post: Eating My Feelings.
Next post: Being An Adult.
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: I Am Too Tired To Think of a Tilte For This Post.
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: A Test Post For the Stupid Posessed Commenting System
Is that a cow? – RRSAHM
Is that a cow?
Moo,
Firstly, please excuse the total crapness of the photos. They were taken on my useless mobile phone. As we have already established, I really, really need an iPhone. We can add “blurry bovines” to the list of reasons why.
This is the sorry scene that greeted the Chop-a-lop and I as we attempted to visit our muchly coolness local playground last week.
Yep, that’s a cow.
And so’s this one.
Odd, no? Two cows. Keeping in mind that we live in the leafy Sydney ‘burbs, full of indentical two storey Lego houses split up with occasional enforced green space, and not a dairy farm in sight.
Rumour has it that either these are bovines of the immature variety, who broke free of their moorings to come have a play at our playground with it’s fully slick double slippery dip.
Either that, or they are actually bovines of the teenage variety, who snuck out the night before to undertake recreational activities under the shelter of said fully slick slippery dip, then were a bit too red-eyed to find their way home again.
Whatever. Till the cows come home, as they say.
The funniest part of this whole thing was not so much the cows themselves, but the cavalry that was called in to deal with them. Two cop cars, three council trucks, and various local rubber-neckers (including yours truly, Lori).
Tell you what though, the blog muse is being exceptionally kind this week. That one was just too easy.
Oh, and a very happy FYBF to all the Brenda-worshipees, myself included. If you’re not one, become one- check out number one on the McLinky and join the BlogFlogging conga line.
Leave a Comment
{ 10 comments… read them below or add one }
- July 27, 2011 at 8:37 am
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*LOL* Who would have thought?
When I was in the third grade, a cow literally was walking down the street and made its way into our school playground. The closest dairy farm had to be somewhere in Kentucky, several hours away. The authorities did not handle the situation well. They tranquilized the cow on the playground with hundreds of children watching out the windows, and a girl ended up passing out and had to go home. It was a strange day…
- April 24, 2010 at 12:58 am
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Oh I want an iPhone too. Love how you made two cows at the park such a funny post
- April 23, 2010 at 11:57 pm
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So whose job was it to clean up *after* the cows? The police or the council people? Or parks & rec?
- April 23, 2010 at 11:39 pm
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It doesn`t really compare but I saw half a snake in downtown Tokyo once. I thought I was imagining it but my friend saw it too….
Cows would be cooler though.
Happy FYBF!
- April 23, 2010 at 4:14 pm
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Hi Lori – love that you posted it
btw, there is a dairy farm near us – I'll show you where it runs one day – we know the people who own it. Prob their naughty cows.lol. Last one left in what was once primarily a dairy farming area.
Love that this is the big 'crime' in our 'burb… - April 23, 2010 at 1:27 pm
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Oh and here's the interview: http://ratz-whatcanisay.blogspot.com/2010/04/why-did-you-do-this-lori.html
- April 23, 2010 at 1:15 pm
- April 23, 2010 at 12:06 pm
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Blurry bovine are totally cool for mommy blogging.
- April 23, 2010 at 8:47 am
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Happy FYBF, Lori and WTF you have cows in your park?! No fair!!
- April 23, 2010 at 7:43 am
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I got no beef with them.
Previous post: Shhh…
Next post: Google hates my guts.
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: The Crappest GiveAway Ever (really, this time)
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: So Damn Cool I Need My Own Soundtrack.
A Wiggly Retraction. Laced With Wiggly Guilt. – RRSAHM
A Wiggly Retraction. Laced With Wiggly Guilt.
Aloha,
Not too long ago, I blogged about the Wiggles. The elephantine amongst us may remember it. All of us- well, most of us- agreed that Anthony is indeed the spunkiest Wiggle, if any of them are spunky at all. Which they are not. Whatever.
In that post, I jumped on my Big Red Soapbox about how Sam sucks Wags bones when compared with Greg, the original mellow Yellow Wiggle, the heart and soul of the skivvies.
After some serious deliberation, I would like to retract that sentiment.
A comment on that post, by my very good In Real Life mate Jus, got me to thinking. Sam, proclaims Jus, is actually a much better singer than Greg.
To be honest, I’d never really thought about it.
But, being the blogger with integrity that I am, I decided to do my research. The Chop was absolutely stoked with this development. We watched YouTube clip after YouTube clip, Sam and Greg, Greg and Sam. And that gosh forsaken green dinosaur. I really do hope she gets thorns in her hands foam dinosaur suit paws.
And my conclusion? Jus may just be onto something. Sam is a very good singer. A dancer. A showman.
If you would like proof of that, please enjoy the following clip. Sam at his best. (It’s OK, I don’t really expect you to watch it. Just take my word for it. OK? OK).
Whilst perusing YouTube, another disturbing fact seemed to leap off the browser at me. The ingrained Sam-Hate is everywhere. The majority of the You Tube ‘Most Liked’ comments had to do with how much people yearned for the good old days, when Greg drove the Big Red Car. Without needing L plates.
How would that feel, I ask you, gentle Google reader? To be the the Loser Wiggle. The second third fourth fifth best Wiggle. To be loved even less than Dorothy Just-Shoot-Me-Now The Dinosaur. I don’t want to be seen as being responsible, in any way, for some horrible spiral of depression that ends in Sam walking the plank of the SS FeatherSword, high on a cocktail of yummy yummy yummy yummy fruit sal-AD!
And therefore- Sam does not suck. A retraction.
From a crazy woman who really needs to spend more time in adult company. Like, seriously.
Leave a Comment
{ 14 comments… read them below or add one }
- May 29, 2010 at 12:54 pm
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I guess I'm a Greg softie but Sam does an excellent job and the kiddies love him. Go Wiggles! Btw The Wiggles are coming to Malaysia. I wonder how much those tickets will cost? I remember buying Wiggles tickets at the Sydney Entertainment Centre for $18 and they were in the front. Got to see them back in Sydney on my next trip home!
- May 29, 2010 at 4:53 am
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Wow. I have no idea what you're talking about. Not that you didn't convey the idea perfectly – I just haven't watched the Wiggles. But I AM impressed with your integrity, tenacity, persistence…and wackiness! Love ya!
- May 29, 2010 at 11:51 am
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ANYONE who can keep my children quiet and still for longer than 5 minutes is a god/goddess in my books.
Wiggles aren't number 1 though around here at the moment. Yo Gabba Gabba is and I must admit, I secretly fancy DJ Lance Rock
- May 28, 2010 at 10:15 pm
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Wow, after reading this I am feeling the Sam love, even though I've never watched the wiggles. Must be your integrity shining through.
- May 28, 2010 at 7:26 pm
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I'm a Sam lover.
That is all. - May 28, 2010 at 4:34 pm
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I'm so glad I don't work in childcare – whilst doing my Certificate III in Early Childhood Studies the Wiggles were one thing that drove me nuts. I can't stand any of them! Sorry to those Wiggly Mummies but it is hideous drivel!
- May 28, 2010 at 3:54 pm
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Gosh I haven't watched the wiggles in ages. But good call.
- May 28, 2010 at 2:16 pm
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I adored Greg as the yellow Wiggle. My children outgrew Wiggles before Sam joined, so I am not familiar with him as the Yellow Wiggle, but I am sure that he does a nice job.
- May 28, 2010 at 1:51 pm
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Must admit I was never that fond of Greg, so was not that fussed when Sam came along. Whilst Sam is the better singer (opera trained), I think now I have a soft spot for Greg.
Don't know what the fuss about Anthony is, he creeps me out with those over white teeth.
- May 28, 2010 at 1:25 pm
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Sorry, me impatient. Yes. I like Sam's smile and eyebrows. So there.
- May 28, 2010 at 1:24 pm
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Gah! where did my comment go?
I'll repost then, Hmph.
"Sorry Sam but I am a die-hard Greg fan. Teh original is always the best. If it's any consolation, I like Sam's smile."
- May 28, 2010 at 1:22 pm
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This comment has been removed by the author.
- May 28, 2010 at 12:56 pm
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Ha ha. Poor old Sam, he does get a rough time of it. I'm sure all the cash and the love of Dorothy the Dinosaur is keeping him warm at night.
Did you hear in the gossip rags that he was also denied entry to the VIP party at Ivy after the ARIAs? Apparently the doorman had no idea who he was.
- May 28, 2010 at 12:56 pm
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Now Lori, did you notice my absence of a comment on the Greg is best Wiggles post?
I didn't comment then because I thought to myself "Wait till she see's the "You Make Me Feel Like Dancing" inaugural Sam DVD…..then she'll be a convert……hahahahahah!
Dr KnickerBocker is possibly Charlie's fave Wiggles song of all time. (He was given the DVD for a 3rd birthday pressie nearly 2 years ago…it is still way up there…..amazin')
I have seen the Wiggles live three times…..on each occasion Sam was the big voice in yellow. My kids think of Greg as the intruder, LOL!
Previous post: I think the Interwebs are Following me.
Next post: If I were, I’d be…
A Wiggly Retraction. Laced With Wiggly Guilt. – RRSAHM
A Wiggly Retraction. Laced With Wiggly Guilt.
Aloha,
Not too long ago, I blogged about the Wiggles. The elephantine amongst us may remember it. All of us- well, most of us- agreed that Anthony is indeed the spunkiest Wiggle, if any of them are spunky at all. Which they are not. Whatever.
In that post, I jumped on my Big Red Soapbox about how Sam sucks Wags bones when compared with Greg, the original mellow Yellow Wiggle, the heart and soul of the skivvies.
After some serious deliberation, I would like to retract that sentiment.
A comment on that post, by my very good In Real Life mate Jus, got me to thinking. Sam, proclaims Jus, is actually a much better singer than Greg.
To be honest, I’d never really thought about it.
But, being the blogger with integrity that I am, I decided to do my research. The Chop was absolutely stoked with this development. We watched YouTube clip after YouTube clip, Sam and Greg, Greg and Sam. And that gosh forsaken green dinosaur. I really do hope she gets thorns in her hands foam dinosaur suit paws.
And my conclusion? Jus may just be onto something. Sam is a very good singer. A dancer. A showman.
If you would like proof of that, please enjoy the following clip. Sam at his best. (It’s OK, I don’t really expect you to watch it. Just take my word for it. OK? OK).
Whilst perusing YouTube, another disturbing fact seemed to leap off the browser at me. The ingrained Sam-Hate is everywhere. The majority of the You Tube ‘Most Liked’ comments had to do with how much people yearned for the good old days, when Greg drove the Big Red Car. Without needing L plates.
How would that feel, I ask you, gentle Google reader? To be the the Loser Wiggle. The second third fourth fifth best Wiggle. To be loved even less than Dorothy Just-Shoot-Me-Now The Dinosaur. I don’t want to be seen as being responsible, in any way, for some horrible spiral of depression that ends in Sam walking the plank of the SS FeatherSword, high on a cocktail of yummy yummy yummy yummy fruit sal-AD!
And therefore- Sam does not suck. A retraction.
From a crazy woman who really needs to spend more time in adult company. Like, seriously.
Leave a Comment
{ 14 comments… read them below or add one }
- May 29, 2010 at 12:54 pm
-
I guess I'm a Greg softie but Sam does an excellent job and the kiddies love him. Go Wiggles! Btw The Wiggles are coming to Malaysia. I wonder how much those tickets will cost? I remember buying Wiggles tickets at the Sydney Entertainment Centre for $18 and they were in the front. Got to see them back in Sydney on my next trip home!
- May 29, 2010 at 4:53 am
-
Wow. I have no idea what you're talking about. Not that you didn't convey the idea perfectly – I just haven't watched the Wiggles. But I AM impressed with your integrity, tenacity, persistence…and wackiness! Love ya!
- May 29, 2010 at 11:51 am
-
ANYONE who can keep my children quiet and still for longer than 5 minutes is a god/goddess in my books.
Wiggles aren't number 1 though around here at the moment. Yo Gabba Gabba is and I must admit, I secretly fancy DJ Lance Rock
- May 28, 2010 at 10:15 pm
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Wow, after reading this I am feeling the Sam love, even though I've never watched the wiggles. Must be your integrity shining through.
- May 28, 2010 at 7:26 pm
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I'm a Sam lover.
That is all. - May 28, 2010 at 4:34 pm
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I'm so glad I don't work in childcare – whilst doing my Certificate III in Early Childhood Studies the Wiggles were one thing that drove me nuts. I can't stand any of them! Sorry to those Wiggly Mummies but it is hideous drivel!
- May 28, 2010 at 3:54 pm
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Gosh I haven't watched the wiggles in ages. But good call.
- May 28, 2010 at 2:16 pm
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I adored Greg as the yellow Wiggle. My children outgrew Wiggles before Sam joined, so I am not familiar with him as the Yellow Wiggle, but I am sure that he does a nice job.
- May 28, 2010 at 1:51 pm
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Must admit I was never that fond of Greg, so was not that fussed when Sam came along. Whilst Sam is the better singer (opera trained), I think now I have a soft spot for Greg.
Don't know what the fuss about Anthony is, he creeps me out with those over white teeth.
- May 28, 2010 at 1:25 pm
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Sorry, me impatient. Yes. I like Sam's smile and eyebrows. So there.
- May 28, 2010 at 1:24 pm
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Gah! where did my comment go?
I'll repost then, Hmph.
"Sorry Sam but I am a die-hard Greg fan. Teh original is always the best. If it's any consolation, I like Sam's smile."
- May 28, 2010 at 1:22 pm
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This comment has been removed by the author.
- May 28, 2010 at 12:56 pm
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Ha ha. Poor old Sam, he does get a rough time of it. I'm sure all the cash and the love of Dorothy the Dinosaur is keeping him warm at night.
Did you hear in the gossip rags that he was also denied entry to the VIP party at Ivy after the ARIAs? Apparently the doorman had no idea who he was.
- May 28, 2010 at 12:56 pm
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Now Lori, did you notice my absence of a comment on the Greg is best Wiggles post?
I didn't comment then because I thought to myself "Wait till she see's the "You Make Me Feel Like Dancing" inaugural Sam DVD…..then she'll be a convert……hahahahahah!
Dr KnickerBocker is possibly Charlie's fave Wiggles song of all time. (He was given the DVD for a 3rd birthday pressie nearly 2 years ago…it is still way up there…..amazin')
I have seen the Wiggles live three times…..on each occasion Sam was the big voice in yellow. My kids think of Greg as the intruder, LOL!
Previous post: I think the Interwebs are Following me.
Next post: If I were, I’d be…
All Bets Are Off – RRSAHM
All Bets Are Off
Just to let you all know, this blog may be exceptionally quiet for the next week or so. I know, that’s quite alarming, but it’s a product of my slower-than-dial-up Internet access that I’m running here. Hopefully my broadband will up by next Friday at the latest. Stick with me- I have so much to say, so little 3G reception with which to say it….
All bets are off.
The further I am, psychically, from the place this happened, the more perspective I get.
Wow, this is fucked up.
All of it.
From beginning to right now.
Someone has hacked my husband’s FaceBook page, and changed his relationship status to “It’s complicated.”
Totally true. But fucking creepy, none the less.
My head stretches and twists and shakes itself. It struggles to cope with the reality of events. With the ache of missing my best friend.
With the sense of impending doom, and sweet, selfish relief, that comes with knowing you’re Different.
Because I am- we are, my children and I, different now. Not only ‘different’, changed from the Purple people we were before, but Different in every aspect.
Now, forgive me if this sounds arrogant, self-centered and childish, but I can’t help but feeling that we are outside the normal stratosphere of rules, regulations and expectations.
All bets are off. We have had to deal with this- let the rest of our lives be simple and sunshine and filled with the smell of fresh cut grass and cakes cooking. We deserve that, please.
We deserve comfort and love and pleasure in small things. And it’s difficult for the world to give that sometimes, there never seems to be enough of it. So I will be selfish, and I will make sure we have those things, those little mercies that make surviving this pain easier.
It angers me intolerably when people try to embarrass or shame my three year old son about still having a dummy (pacifier) or not yet being toilet trained. Yes, perhaps three is too old for a dummy, but the Chop is no longer a normal three year old.
He’s a three year old who is grieving deeply for his father, his best mate… and probably his place in the Purple Life too. And if a dummy is what it takes to quell his anxieties, to make this transition a little easier, then so be it. Leave the poor kid alone.
Everyone was so concerned about the violence and ferocity of the chop’s tantrums, in the weeks after Tony died. I was blamed for them, for not being there with him.
The tantrums continue- kicking, screaming fits of fury.
I sit near him, and wait, then I hold my arms open and talk softly to him as the screams become sobs.
What else can I do, what else would I do, when I feel like throwing myself on the ground and screaming just as much as he does?
I’ve been accused of acting like a six year old, of being an irresponsible parent, because I do drop my kids if I get the chance. If I’ve had them, alone, all week, and dealt with the tantrums, the requests, the crying…. The discussions of where Daddy is, and when he’s coming home… then I do run off the first chance I get, as soon as they are settled and comfortable with a responsible relative.
Why the hell wouldn’t I? Why would I want to be an adult, when I have half the chance not to be? Being an adult, dealing with all this- it’s some scary shit.
And, yeah, I know, welcome to the world of being a parent.
Making excuses? You bet your arse I am. I don’t plan to use this as an excuse, or let my kids use it an excuse, for whatever happens, whatever goes wrong in the future.
But right now, while the grief is so fresh, while it’s all still so difficult… I’ll take all I can get. I’ll make life as easy, as sweet, as rich as possible, for myself and my two kidlets, for as long as it takes- until life is a new kind of normal, until the hurt starts to recede again.
If that’s what it takes to cushion the fall.
Leave a Comment
{ 63 comments… read them below or add one }
- April 7, 2011 at 10:11 pm
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…I know who hacked into Tony's FB… I have to say, I thought it was totally thoughtless & thoroughly heartless!! I was amazed, in fact… I'd have thought there would be a lot more understanding for what you are going through Lori…
- April 5, 2011 at 5:58 pm
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Hmmm – seems to me that your kids are safe, fed, clothed and loved. All the parenting boxes ticked, so take what precious minutes you can to put some time into you and stuff those who would say otherwise.
Cannot believe the petty-minded, hateful hacking of the FB page!
- April 5, 2011 at 5:31 am
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You're dealing with a new normal now. And the pacifier? Is not a big deal. You're handling the tantrums lovingly and calmly…and they will fade. Children heal faster than we do in oh so many ways, but they are not immune from pain and mourning. They just are more honest about it, I think. We try to behave in socially acceptable ways, and give ourselves ulcers and anxiety attacks, and so on. It sounds like he is dealing with it, and processing it in an age appropriate way. I'd be very proud of your son.
- April 4, 2011 at 7:18 pm
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Holy crap, what is wrong with people? Seriously Lori, you are one of the most loving, giving, open people I know. And we all do what we can do to make our kids happy. Hell, my daughter still climbs into bed with me most nights (on the weeks I have her). I'm sure I could be judged poorly for that, but it works for us. If you're a good parent, your kids are loved, and safe, and have their needs met, no one has the right to comment or criticise. Honey, you have an army here for you, so call on us whenever you need us. As for the sick fuck who hacked into your late husband's account – he/she seriously needs help.
- April 4, 2011 at 10:17 am
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I have been commenting on and off for a couple of months. You are awesome, and wonderful, and you deserve all the simple pleasures life has to offer. Fuck all of them who judge you. My sweet mother died by suicide two years ago, and I know I will never be the same. Not the same b/c of losing her (I was 34 years old), but esp not the same b/c of suicide. People who have not experienced it, they just don't know. Please GOD, don't let them know — it's terrible. It's like being part of a really dark, sick, secret, totally fucked-up club . . . you will never be the same, but you can TRY and hope and work and wish and pray to be BETTER. A little bit every day . . . Love and best wishes to you.
Erin
- April 4, 2011 at 9:04 am
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What I wouldn't give to have every opportunity to drop the kid and run. Now, I'll quantify that by saying… I have a partner and I have one pretty self-sufficient child. Quite different to what your situation is and I still have that built-in desire to break free for a few hours every so often.
Anyone who judges you for that needs to get over themselves. You know that. Hell, even THEY know that!! It's just a good excuse for "them" to bag you. Why? Because THEY are the miserable ones. Flick it off, babe, like a speck of lint on your shoulder. It's all those comments are worth.
Use this massive tide of support and encouragement you receive here to buoy you over the waves of the ignorant few, Lori. Use it and thrive on it. Nothing astounds me more than the way people – whether they are strangers, shop attendants or people who are taking advantage of their familiarity with you to say what they think – opinionate and judge so quickly. Without properly standing back and looking at why they are opening their mouths to say what they're about to say! Why-why-why???
I am loving how you're sounding. I know you're still in it. Engulfed by it. Surrounded by "it all"… but Lori, can you feel the spiral slowly bringing you up and out? Love love love to you and your dear little children.
- April 3, 2011 at 6:32 pm
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I am the mother of a 3yo – one who lives a perfect purple life – and still whose fragility & tantrums bewilder me… a mother who works so hard & is lucky to shield her & create a pure perfect life far away from harm & danger & heart ache. I cannot begin to comprehend what your Chop has had to process but tantrums, nappies & dummies sound completely reasonable to me. Stand guard, Mama Bear, and ravage anyone who says different. We stand with you. X
- April 4, 2011 at 1:53 am
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I just can't understand where people are getting off saying hurtful judgemental things when you are doing just fine keeping your family together and taking good care of your kids.
I am sure Chop has his own anger to deal with as he grieves and am not at all surprised to hear he is having tantrums. No one has the right to put expectations on how he processes it all.
I did not find your blog until just after Tony died. I've kept up with it since and have also read through a bit of your archives and have mostly followed the rule of 'if you don't know what to say then keep your fool mouth shut'. - April 3, 2011 at 2:32 am
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I have, quite recently, kicked and screamed and cried on the floor. Anxiety and depression.
I'm not comparing my shit to what you're going through – just saying that is hard for most supposedly "well-adjusted" adults to manage life sometimes. Let alone small children and single mothers who have been through what you have.
Your courage inspires me every day.
love, strength, and peace,
Marianna - April 2, 2011 at 10:29 pm
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Perhaps direct the (insert several obscenities here) people to studies that show children with transitional objects (like dummies, blankets, teddies etc) are better adjusted than those that don't have transitional objects as they have things that comfort them.
Hugs to you beautiful woman. xxx
- April 2, 2011 at 8:02 pm
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Wow. All I can say is tears are welling up and I am filled with rage on your behalf. Who the fuck would judge you for needing a break and taking some time for yourself??? Everyone needs that! Single parents expecially need that. And I can only speak as a single parent under much more "normal" circumstances.
- April 2, 2011 at 5:09 pm
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Tell em all to stuff their perspectives and expectations up the proverbial.
Go at your own pace. No one knows your kids better than you, and no one knows better than you what they are going through.
So there!!
- April 2, 2011 at 10:45 am
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To those people that are big jerks, go away.
Your son and his pacifier are just fine. My daughter had hers till she was almost 4. We just slowly weened her from it. Some kids need it longer that others. and hell yes, he need that comfort right now.
Potty training. That to is a kid by kid thing. My granddaughter just starting finally going potty in the toilet and she is 3-1/2. Not to mention, the trauma of what he has gone through, he could have been potty trained and reverted back to not going in the potty. Tell them to shut the fuck up.
And any parent, even if they have a spouse, needs times away from their kids.
You are doing a wonderful job. Know that for every one of the assholes to you, there are 100 that love you and would love to hurt them for you.
- April 2, 2011 at 10:40 am
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The judgemental ones are talking out of their arse. But it hurts when they're people close to you.
You're totally right; all bets are off. You set the pace, you do what you need to do for yourself and your kids.
Hope you've managed to deal with those last boxes, if that meant turning them into new bedside tables or not (hey, it worked for me) xox
- April 2, 2011 at 10:39 am
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You owe no-one an explanation or justification. It's your life and they are your children. Sending love xx
- April 2, 2011 at 9:00 am
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As I say to all parents of multiple children, and I've never meant it more: I give you credit for getting your fucking pants on.
- April 2, 2011 at 8:36 am
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I took a lot of stick from my MotherInLaw about my daughter still having a bottle at bedtime when she was 4-1/2. It worried me and a friend said to me "she won't walk down the aisle with it, let it take it's course", she naturally just sort of stopped it really but at 12 still sleeps with her blanket. 3 is very young. They are still babies. And yes, single motherhood is the hardest damned job. It sent me crazy. You have to get out, you have to get away sometimes. It's not just related to how Tony died, it's a hard job.period. As an aside I noticed when we were last in Perth there were a lot of child counselling services around, holistic things like painting therapy. These just don't exist in the UK but I discussed it at length with one of my friends from Albany way. She used them during her seperation for her kids. I am sure you are already doing all you can, I only mention it as a just in case you hadn't been offered them as a bit of extra support.
- April 2, 2011 at 5:29 am
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It's really sick that anyone would feel the need to change his facebook status. Sick and ridiculous.
In a world where there are so many different ways to parent your child, I think there's really no "right" and "wrong" unless it's going to cause serious physical or emotional harm. And your kids are dealing with enough emotional harm to last them a lifetime, so I say let them have the pacifiers and get to potty training when they're ready. *hugs*
- April 2, 2011 at 5:15 am
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*HUGS*
My son has his soother (pacifier), until after he was three, I remember I would cringe as old ladies would approach us and admonish me for letting, "such a big boy, have a soother, shame on me. Take that thing away from him." But, you know what, he is a happy and well adjusted 9 year old now. - April 2, 2011 at 4:28 am
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Ugh that facebook thing is horrible beyond imagining.
You do whatever you need to do to get through this period – and f anyone who judges. - April 2, 2011 at 4:20 am
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Hi Lori
Just stopping by to leave some love. If people can't help you, why don't they just shut up and keep their thoughts to themselves?
Keep putting one foot in front of the other. xx - April 2, 2011 at 2:53 am
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Amen hon. I just read something in the NYTimes about studies that show the brain processes emotional pain in the exact same area as physical pain. It literally does hurt like hell and you are due some gentleness and peace and joy for healing. And all the haters need to shut the fuck up and get a hobby. Seriously. Hugs!! You are in my prayers.
- April 2, 2011 at 2:52 am
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FWIW, I think it's more than "normal" for Chop to throw tantrums. He's three, he's dealing with a tragedy even most adults have troubles processing. Do others expect him to walk up to you, express his concerns calmly, and then have an adult conversation with you? Fuck them. Everyone grieves differently, and no one can make it easy or "right." You're doing a great job. You need your own private time to grieve or relax or scream and throw a tantrum with no little ears around. XOXO
- April 2, 2011 at 2:30 am
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My pediatrician is great about stuff like that. He says that a lot of parents really stress about weaning their kids off the bottle or off a pacifier by a certain age (usually 18 months and 2 years respectively) but he tells them that "very few children bring a bottle or a pacifier to kindergarten and even fewer bring them to college."
We usually limit the pacifier to when our son is in bed but if he's sick or just seems sad I let him have it. Your son doesn't need any unnecessary changes right now so you let him have that pacifier as long as he needs it.
- April 2, 2011 at 1:02 pm
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YOU know what is best for YOU and YOUR BABIES. Period.
All bets are off. It's your way and if people can't respect that, then it's the highway.
Fuckers.
- April 2, 2011 at 12:57 am
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Everyone's pretty much already said everything I was going to say. Go with your gut, do what is right for you and your kids and bugger "normal" – because you are trying to find and adapt to a new "normal", and you just take your own time doing it, because YOU have to live it.
You really are incredible.
Emma.
- April 2, 2011 at 12:40 am
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sounds like you are in the right place doing exactly all the right things in this most terrible situation you have found yourself in. One foot in front of the other, one step at a time, I hope each day brings you at least something little to smile about x
- April 1, 2011 at 11:45 pm
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Yes, yes, & yes again Lori. Sod 'em. It doesn't matter WHAT you are doing in life, someone will always judge you – particularly women if you're a mother. Chop's not going to be in nappies & sucking his dummy when he's 21 (well, hopefully
), so what does it matter? Who's going to car in five years time if he toilet trained early or late (or has tantrums. A three year old having tantrums? Well gee, THAT'S unusual…. Pfft *rolls eyes*) Bull. Other people seem to think life is a competition to do it all the 'right' way; funnily enough, the 'right' way always seems to correspond incredibly closely to 'their' way….And as for the small pleasures, I couldn't agree more. I read a beautiful saying yesterday: "Zen is to chop wood & carry water." I like that, a lot.
Take care sweet girl,
Sophie xxx(ps. I have my kids two days a week & with my other half on weekends. And they wear me out on those two days. You take breaks whenever you need them. Attend to your own mask first, remember?)
- April 1, 2011 at 11:39 pm
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I think you're doing everything exactly as you need to be. If people can't see that these aren't average tantrums, then they should shove it. How could people not see the connection and the cause of them? I'd throw tanties too if I were you guys!
I think the dummy is really the least of anyone's worries right now. I'm sorry someone hacked Tony's account, that's despicable.
I see something amazing happening in front of me though. You're changing. You're not saying you're a piece of crap, or a terrible person, you're standing up loud and proud and proclaiming that you and your kids deserve a happy, simple life!
And you're right. You do. I'm so proud of you for seeing that you are worthy and deserving of these things.
As for all the judging, just remember, you're the mum, that makes you the expert on your kids.
- April 2, 2011 at 9:57 am
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Who ARE these arseholes who have been giving you such a hard time?
You need some new people in your life, coz those old ones are shithouse! - April 1, 2011 at 10:43 pm
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I don't mean for this to come across the wrong way, so my sincerest apologies if it does.
I am a single parent by completely different circumstances and there is no shame or harm in leaving your children with perfectly capable and no doubt loving adults to get a few moments to yourself. Even without all the other things you and your precious children are going through, even if you ended up here (single parentdom) by very different means, the same must be said. There is no shame or harm in having a break to recharge and find yourself and stop yourself from hitting a wall on the Mummy train.
Better to have a break and be a better parent for it then be completely worn out and at your own breaking point. And no doubt those who dare to judge you for it… haven't walked even half a mile in similar shoes.
Know your limits and continue to take care of you. You are important for yourself.
- April 1, 2011 at 10:43 pm
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If it helps – I had a totally 'normal' (what is normal) upbringing. We didn't move house, we didn't have anything awful happen and both my parents are still around.
I can easily remember loving my dummy. I couldn't give it up. I was almost at school before I succumbed to peer pressure and gave it up. I am ok, It hasn't mattered at all, nothing is damaged by having it for so long.
Nothing matters.
Not really.
Other than doing exactly what you can to make things okay.
If they need some small things to cling onto – then let them cling.
And keep going.
- April 1, 2011 at 10:32 pm
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For what its worth, my DD is 4 in May and still has a dummy. I think it is up to her to decide when it's time to let it go. My kids all throw tantrums at times too – sometimes violent and I choose to cuddle them and soothe them as well.
You are a great mum. The things that I read on here that you do for your kids are amazing. Don't feel that you have to make excuses for needing a break or time away from your kids. We all need that. I think part of being a good mum is knowing when it's time to take a break.
I don't know a lot about greiving but there doesn't seem to be any right or wrong way to do it for you or for your children.
As for your husband's FB page – I can not begin to imagine how much that must sting. What an awful thing for someone to do.
- April 1, 2011 at 10:19 pm
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You should not even need to explain.
Retreat into yourselves and do whatever is required to get to the next day. Simple as that.
xx
- April 1, 2011 at 9:42 pm
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I agree with Melissa, just do what you and you kids need to do to cope. Hugs
- April 1, 2011 at 9:09 pm
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Hi Lori,the nerve of some people telling you how to run your life…& bring up your kiddies,you do whatever it takes to soften the fall,to embrace some normality,do people forget what you have all gone through…what you are still going through!
To hell with the people who can`t offer you comfort & support,a shoulder to cry on.
Our son Brendan passed away 6 years ago,I`am not over it!I don`t think I will ever be over it!…We all grieve in different ways,we all cope differently,we do need time out from our kids,but I know all about the tantrums,crying hitting kicking,shouting waterfalls of tears.
You go girl,tell them to fuck off…just do your best,take one step at a time,hugs gorgeous,live your life now how you please,not for anyone else!big hugs.xx (Susan Thompson) - April 1, 2011 at 9:06 pm
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Just like to say that whoever did that on Facebook is absolutely sick. I've just started reading your blog and its so inspiring
- April 1, 2011 at 9:06 pm
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As someone else said right at the beginning of this page… your'e getting it right!!!
- April 1, 2011 at 8:54 pm
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There is something incredibly freeing about living in All Bets Are Off Land.
I fly to it often. Fuck you, world.
- April 1, 2011 at 8:54 pm
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Amongst all the trauma you've experienced, you've also become a single mum (as you've said before) and we all need time away from the kids – especially single mums! I love it when my ex has the kids for a couple of days and so should you.
Can't believe the fb thing! - April 1, 2011 at 8:41 pm
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You have the right to live outside the rules right now. Who cares about Chop's dummy or the toilet training? Let's get through the big stuff, and the small stuff will take care of itself.
Hugs to you. I've been a terrible blogger of late, and haven't visited you in a while (but have been keeping up to date with your move and life on Instagram). Hope your littlies enjoyed Wiggles and that the move went okay. There is so much going on in your life. Do what you need to do. xx
- April 1, 2011 at 8:39 pm
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My boy (5 at the time)was *exactly* like the chop for months after Greg died.
One of his (idiot) teachers thought it might be a good time to have him assessed for ASD …. which the psych laughed at and said "kid is grieving normally".
But by GOD that kiddo could kick and punch and sob and cry and scream "go away" over and over again until he fell in an exhausted heap. I would hold / cuddle him or just stay with him until he calmed down.
It was heartbreaking.
But.
he got better.
slowly the "tantrums" reduced to when he was triggered by someone.
and bit by bit, at a year out, he is himself again – intelligent, funny, focussed, adorable and *calm*.
The angry child still comes out when he's exceptionally tired, but that's no very often at all now.
So you are doing exactly the right thing for your boy in giving him a way of being able to calm himself down. - April 1, 2011 at 8:38 pm
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My opinion, to whoever is dealing with a great loss (and yours is certainly one of the greatest), is this. Whatever gets you through. Literally, especially in those first months or more. Whatever lets you survive.
My love to you, Lori and to the children. I try not to crowd you – you have so many wonderful people on here. But not a day has gone by since you first posted that frantic message about Tony – that I have nto thought of you. Not a day goes by that I have not taken a moment to reflect on your loss and pray that you get through another day.
xxxx
- April 1, 2011 at 8:37 pm
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How dare anyone judge you! It makes me so darn angry. Tell em all to go fuck themselves. You do what you gotta do and fuck everyone else. Sorry for swearing on your blog but I'm fucking pissed for you right now
- April 1, 2011 at 8:32 pm
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Praying for you honey.
Stuff the haters, they aren't living what you are.
Sending you light and love
x - April 1, 2011 at 8:16 pm
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Look, my 2nd is in Prep and he still sucks his thumbs. My eldest stopped when he turned 5. My 3rd throws massive tantrums every day. I too am damn bloody selfish, and do load my kids off to their grannies whenever I can. It's just what needs to be done to maintain OUR sanity, for the rest of their lives!
- April 1, 2011 at 8:16 pm
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Normal is such a variable thing. My normal tends to blow most people's brains, including that of my family. Your current abnormal is something I hope I enver have to endure. It really isn't any wonder that your child is distraught. It's no wonder that you are. Keep doing whatever you need to get through.
- April 1, 2011 at 8:15 pm
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Hi Lori,
I feel a little like an intruder, I found your page by the blogger awards.
I just wanted to tell you how I read your blog for 3 hour straight after I found it, how your writing and sharing has left a raw space in me that allows me to view my life differently.I feel quite changed by feeling some of your pain through your words, only because you are such a skilled writer and willing to share.
Please please find your peace where you are, do not doubt that you need it… the idea that someone hacked Tonys facebook account is so completely disturbing and I just cannot start to think how someone does that to another person in pain.
I dont believe in god but I wish that you find your peace and new life out of this pain.
tears roll down my cheeks for your son, his loss and his pain.
I know you can rationalise the judgement but please know there are more than you that see this for what it is.K
- April 1, 2011 at 8:10 pm
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I can't believe anyone has anything to say about the dummy or about the tantrums for that matter. Mine still has a bottle at night and she's three in a week and has suffered nothing traumatic – she's just not ready.
For what its worth, I think you're giving him exactly what he needs – as much comfort, love and support as possible at the worst, most confusing, most hideous time in his life.
Years later, he won't remember how old he was when he gave up the dummy, but he will know that he is completely loved.
- April 1, 2011 at 8:09 pm
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Do whatever you need to do to ease the pain, my love.xxxx
- April 1, 2011 at 8:08 pm
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I have a friend who lost her husband to a brain tumour a few years back and her then 4 yr old was the same as the Chop – holding on to his dummy for dear life, even though people berated her for letting him do it. He didnt give it up until he was a litle over 5, and only then because he was too embarrassed to take it to kindy ( thanks to his two older brothers ). Point is, my friend let him have the dummy – he couldnt have his daddy back, so the dummy was the next best comfort option. He's now a perfectly well adjusted 9 yr old – so poo to anyone who tells you things should be different!
- April 1, 2011 at 8:05 pm
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What kind of lowlife hacks into a deceased person's FB account and changes their status? Why would anyone even bother to do that? What would the point be? The world is truly made up of crazy people.
I get sick of people telling me also that my little girl, who turned 3 the day after her grandfather's funeral this year, that she is too big to have a dummy. Why do people worry about crap like that, especially strangers? Perhaps I should be saying back to them 'why do you wear shitty coloured shirts?" But I have manners, so I don't.
Lori, I don't know you from a bar of soap – but all I can offer is that people need to rationalise and point the finger. It helps them make sense of non-sensical events. You are their target, but let's hope it only makes you stronger.
My mum is going through the grieving process as my dad died on Jan 1 – they'd been together 47 years. She is totally lost and having panic attacks. It's going to be a long road to recovery.
When I'm thinking about her, I am often thinking about you and your situation and I hope that the light finds both of you.
- April 1, 2011 at 7:58 pm
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What else can I do, what else would I do, when I feel like throwing myself on the ground and screaming just as much as he does?
That says it all. THAT.SAYS.IT.ALL.
I'd be acting just the way that Chop is and i've twenty four. Those who judge? Can get FUCKED. It is fucked up to lose a parent and at such a young young age? Let him have whatever he needs to cope. You're not turning him into a monster, you are comforting him in the best way you can and anyone who judges? I will happily kick their teeth in for you. - April 1, 2011 at 7:48 pm
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Well said Lori! It's all you can do to cope & everyone deals with grief in their own way. My daughter had a dummy till chops age & didn't toilet train till 3 & a half! So what?? She has had only one accident since so the later the better! Let him be a toddler, plenty of time to be a grown up later!! Hope you get your superfast broadband soon & enjoy your kid free time too! All mums deserve some!
xx - April 1, 2011 at 7:43 pm
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Hope the move has gone well, Lori. So much respect here for how you're coping and surviving and helping your kids through this. xxx
- April 1, 2011 at 7:40 pm
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I thnk you're getting it right, if that's worth anything
- April 1, 2011 at 11:06 pm
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It's very, very hard to make decisions you know are right for you, when everyone around you is telling you that is the wrong things to do.
You know what is your "right decision". Good on you for being strong enough to go with it.
- April 1, 2011 at 10:50 pm
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My youngest son, now almost 7, had a paci until he was four and a half. He only slept with it the last two years, but he had one and it drove my in-law's and mom crazy! Me? Not so much. I looked at it like a blankie- my oldest son, almost 9, still sleeps with his favorite blankie and no one has ever said a word about him doing that. My youngest needed that comfort he got, just like a blankie, from having his paci at night. The only reason we ended up getting rid of it was because our dog got ahold of it and chewed it up and we had no extras. I concocted a long story about sending it to the Happy (his name for the paci) Cleaning Factory at the North Pole for a man named Rufus to fix. It's been there getting fixed for over two years. From time-to-time, when he gets upset, he asks about when it's going to be done getting fixed. LOL. Anyway, my point, after that long drawn out ramble, is that who cares that your child still has a paci- it's a comfort for him and he certainly needs it right now. As for the potty training? Again, who cares? It will happen when he's ready- no rushing.
Take care of yourself and tell everyone who judges you to fuck off.
- April 1, 2011 at 10:46 pm
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These people who judge, and comment, they dont get it.
If it was their husband, wife, brother, sister, mother or father, and they were dealing with what you have to deal with every.single.day, their judgments would stop, because they would somewhat understandNot completely understand, but somewhat – because everyone deals with grief differently. Until they are in your position, they can fuck off.
As for hacking Tony's facebook page – why? How low can you go, honestly?
If I was you, I would delete all of these so called friends, set it all to private and leave it as a place for you that you can look and reflect on whenever you want. Facebook might not mean much to some people, but I'm sure there are happy memories and photos on there.Thinking of you all
Bec x
- April 1, 2011 at 9:01 pm
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I hope there comes a day soon where you do not feel you have to apologise or justify. Seriously. Fuck them. You know I know you and you are amazing.
Love
Mrs Woog xxxx - April 1, 2011 at 7:58 pm
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Run when you can.
Let the wind catch your hair, and run.
No-one who matters will think less of you for needing time out. The kids are grieving. But after you've dealt with their's, you need time to deal with your's. Otherwise, you will be useless to them.
I wish you well, and I don't think you're a bad parent because the Chop has a dummy. He'll be rid of it when he's ready, for now, it helps him cope. That's all anyone could expect you guys to do. Cope as best as you know how xoxoxox - April 1, 2011 at 7:52 pm
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Fuck the haters. Seriously.
You have the right to be human. Guess what?! I think you are doing a damn fine job.
Someone hacking your husband's fb is fucked. I know people say facebook doesn't mean anything but you know what!? It does. If those people have any courage they will change it back then leave it alone. It's not their place.
Also, I sucked my thumb till I was 13 and if I had a dummy I probably would have sucked that instead.
Toilet trained? I wish I could poo and pee wherever I was (in a nappy of course). Why the hell would anyone want to be toilet trained? Especially, when such an upheaval has occurred.
Again, fuck them. You've said it before, no one has the right to judge you until they have lived your life and guess what?! No one can live your life. It's yours alone and you are living it the best you can.
xxx
PS I was totally serious about the toilet training. How many times have you had to go to the toilet and couldn't find any? Annoying to say the least. - April 1, 2011 at 7:47 pm
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For what it's worth, Monster is nearly 4 and still has a dummy, and we only just got him toilet training. Dummies are a comfort thing, like a teddy bear. You wouldn't go up to a kid and just take their teddy off them would you? No, they decide for themselves when to put it down.
I can't believe someone hacked his facebook page! That's just down right dis-fucking-respectful.
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Settling. – RRSAHM
Settling.
My children inevitably settle far quicker than I do. The resilience of small children never ceases to amaze me. They miss their old schools, their house. They miss their Nonna. But they are fine, and that causes me to feel better without even trying.
The Chop starts his new school with the enthusiasm only a five year old boy can muster. His new school is beautiful, and sending him there makes me feel infinitely better. There’s a food garden, and a handful of pet chooks that roam the playground. His teacher goes by first name only, and teaches his students yoga.
My Bumpy girl started her daycare today, and, again, that makes me feel better. I’m in the New House by myself for the first time today.
And all I really want to do is sleep. I’m so tired. Just typing that sentence was enough to start the tears of exhaustion flowing.
This is difficult. It’s money stress and new place stress and general life stress, exasperated.
I know how to do this. Just keep going. Keep getting up, getting dressed, taking my meds. This too shall pass.
Right now, I’m too overwhelmed to keep my head above the waves.
***
It feels selfish, whinging about it. God knows some of you think I do enough of that already. The girl who can not be happy, even when she gets what she wants.
***
We’re close enough that I walk my son to school in the morning, mingling with the dozens of other mothers making their way on foot or bike or by car. Blending in is nice.
My Bump and I walk home, slowly. The air smells of jasmine and eucalypt. It’s the first day of spring in Melbourne.
We stop and smell flowers. We giggle. We skip and jump over cracks. It feels real. I’m closer to my kids already, and we’ve been here less than a week.
I chat to my mate Kristabelle on the phone, sobbing out my silly pains and worries to her. Of everyone I know, Kristabelle’s pep talks are always the ones that hit me deepest.
“A year ago you couldn’t have done this…” She says, and she’s right.
I know, I keep saying this. I have to. It’s become my mantra, a buoy to float on. I can do this.
We will stop and smell the flowers every morning, if that’s what it takes. Somehow… this is all going to be fine.
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{ 7 comments… read them below or add one }
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September 2, 2013 at 8:54 am -
You will all be great just keep going forward, remember if you just want to talk I am only a phone call away.
Love and miss you all so very much.
XOXOXOXOXOXO -
August 30, 2013 at 2:51 pm -
Yep it so will be fine lovely lady. Sending loads of fairy wishes and butterfly kisses your way
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August 30, 2013 at 10:01 am -
Spring will help. Flowers and sunshine always do, a little bit.
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August 29, 2013 at 5:19 pm -
Enjoy your first Melbourne spring. As you settle in, it will all feel better, just remember that it’s normal for all this to take time. Get rid of all the boxes, if you haven’t already, it will make you feel so much better.
Dorothy recently posted…The Coughing Sickness and a Talk -
August 29, 2013 at 5:17 pm -
Dear Lori,
Welcome to Melbourne. I’ve only just stumbled upon your blog. I don’t even know where to start. You’re amazing doesn’t cut it but you are. You are so brave. So very brave. You’ve moved. You’re here. Welcome. I live in Melbourne too. I love it. I hope you will too.
Love Gail
- August 29, 2013 at 1:54 pm
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I don’t know if it will work for you, but I find tackling a small thing and getting it done can help stay focused and not get overwhlemed by everything that needs to be done. It’s something I use at work too when I get to the point I feel like I have so much stuff I can’t possibly ever get anything done.
Of course sometimes my target is super small, like managing to make all the beds. But it’s better than nothing.
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August 29, 2013 at 12:24 pm -
Just keep breathing and when that crazy panic wells up inside you, pace up and down and breathe more. It will be ok. You will be ok. Before long you will thrive and this move will be a distant memory.
Big hugs xx
Kerry recently posted…Snails Anyone?
Single Mums. – RRSAHM
Single Mums.
Attempting to rent out the TinyTrainHouse has been a comedy of small town real estate. I’ve had to work hard not to take it personally. Who wouldn’t want to rent out my beautiful little shack, with it’s sprawling cottage garden and native bushland backdrop…?
Applicants have come and gone, either been rejected or found properties more suited to their needs. My mate Kristabelle has rented the place since I moved to Melbourne. My only complaint with Kristabelle is that she decided to go and fall in love and move out. Given my own way, I would have kept her as custodian of my safe place forever, knowing that the rent would be paid like clockwork and that she would take good care of the little house I still think of as mine.
After the TinyTrainhouse has sat empty for many financially stressful weeks, I get a call from the real estate agent.
“We have a possible tenant! They’re not perfect, though. But we thought we’d run it past you anyway…”
My stomach flips slightly, wondering how desperate the situation has gotten. What kind of person are they suggesting move in? A convicted felon? Someone who will gut the storage space under the floors and fill it with a hydroponic set-up that’s definitely not being used for growing tomatoes?
“She’s a single mum. Three kids.”
I wait for the agent to say more. Something along the lines of “….and she runs a small prostitution business from home.”
But there is no more. That’s it. This woman has a perfect rental record, and all her previous property managers say they would happily rent to her again. After giving up an obscene amount of information on her history and her income, it’s been determined that she can definitely afford the weekly asking price.
It’s just that she’s a single mum. With three kids. All the hesitation I hear in the agent’s voice oozes from that.
I’m too shocked to take a stand over a few hundred kilometres of phone line. I’m too flabbergasted to tell the real estate agent that until a few short months ago I was a single mum myself, and it doesn’t at all mean that she’ll trash the place, or be unable to pay the rent. Most single mums I know are particularly conscious of keeping a roof over their children’s head, making that their first and biggest priority. It’s kind of a vital necessity.
Not that saying any of that would have made much difference. It likely would have fallen on deaf ears, dismissed with an eye roll and a few estate agents and office staff discussing the crazy lady on the phone after we hung up. The best I could do was squeak “That’s fine- please, rent her the house!”
So the TinyTrainHouse has a tenant. It’s a single mum.
I am, not surprisingly, quite okay with that.
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{ 7 comments… read them below or add one }
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July 8, 2014 at 5:07 am -
Mum has been single since 2009 she struggles because 1. Has a mum who has a mental disorder 2. Has an autistic daughter and one who worries too much. I love her so much she sometimes struggles because my father is an asshole so yeah but because im 18 he doesnt have to pay child support which is fine by me its just I would prefer for her to have more $$ in the bank. When I get another job one that pays well I will try pay back some of the $$$ for her.
- July 8, 2014 at 5:08 am
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Probably should have wordered that properly but yh she struggles because shes a single mum and has other problems so yh.
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April 3, 2014 at 2:25 pm -
Amazing points right here. I will be very glad to talk to your posting. Cheers a great deal of and I am having a look in advance to the touch a person. Would you like to generously decrease us a e-mail?
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March 30, 2014 at 8:55 pm -
March 28, 2014 at 2:24 am -
If this one doesn’t work out, I would fire that Real Estate Agent and find another one. Unbelievable.
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March 27, 2014 at 9:36 pm -
And stay I would’ve, but he is pretty amazing xxx
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March 27, 2014 at 12:41 pm -
Oh Wow. I’ll be sure to keep this in mind in case I find myself single. Shocking indeed.
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{ 6 comments… read them below or add one }
A good friend once said to me that sometimes you have to hit rock bottom before you can find your way back up again.
I hope this has been your rockbottom Lori. Best wishes in finding your way back to the surface.
” I wonder what revelations they’ve had, what little life lessons they’ve learned while I have not been present.”
Must be these damn onions I’ve been peeling again!
Such a warm and fuzzy post, this one. Fills me with the feelgoods. The old Lori, back. Yay.
Two weeks is a long time! I think a lot about people I know who do FIFO work and how they’re away from their partners, families, kids, pets…all of that for 2 or 3 or more weeks at a time. I just don’t know how they do it.
Vanessa recently posted…Twitter Chats & Growing Your Readership
“I suck the loveliness from them, and use it to start rebuilding my self.”
It’s not a tear, I must have just poked myself in the eye somehow. I SWEAR!
So glad the holiday was what you needed and just as glad that you have your little pumpkins back!
Whoa, Molly! recently posted…The Draw of the Hometown
My monkey will be a legal adult on Sunday.
I have spent a large portion of the day today getting pictures organized for her to turn into the yearbook staff…baby pictures all the way up to the present.
I am by turns so incredibly proud and sooooo sad at what is slipping away from me (though in truth, that’s been happening for the last couple of years)
Looking at old snap shots, I can SMELL that sweaty-kid-just-off-the-playground smell that she used to have.
Marianne recently posted…Stone soup
D’awww =) Glad you survived playdate!