Monthly Archives: May 2016
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: The Things We Do For Our Kids…
February 2012 – RRSAHM
February 2012
Years and years ago, when I was about sixteen, my cousin nearly drowned in our aunt’s backyard pool. I was in the pool with her, just a few feet away.
My cousin was only very young, maybe five or six years old. It was hot and, along with various family members of different degrees if separation, we were enjoying the cool, slightly salty water. I was the oldest amongst ‘the kids’ and kept to myself, floating and daydreaming at the deeper end of the pool while the younger ones splashed in the shallows. The shallow end of the pool was deceptive– rather than sloping down in a gentle gradient, there was a large step about four foot across that served as a knee high wading pool, before it dropped very sharply into water that was more than five foot deep.
I don’t remember how it happened. I’m not sure if I even saw the moment she stepped or slipped out of her depth. All I know is that suddenly, just four feet away across the sparkling blue water, the only thing clearly visible was my cousin’s hat, floating on the surface, calmly and peacefully… not at all betraying the fact that my cousin was now thirty centimeters under the water beneath it, struggling furiously to break herself back up, clawing in the direction of oxygen.
I froze. Dumbstruck. So horrified and shocked by what was in front of me that I could not move to save her.
I don’t know who screamed her name– “Bianca!!!”– but I’m almost sure it wasn’t me. Her mum ‘left’ the closed in patio area, maybe three meters away… I don’t know the right word to use there. It’s not ‘ran’ or ‘sprinted’, even ‘flew’ isn’t quite accurate enough. There isn’t an adjective for it, and there needs to be– the parental act of moving faster than you thought possible, of instinct producing springing steps that cover meters at a time. When you’re not even aware that you’ve reacted until you’ve done so.
Bianca’s mum dove, a long straight line in denim and white that I can still see shooting through sunlight and past the poolside greenery. She grabbed her daughter, pulled her from the pool and hit her square across the back; her hair and clothes dripping, her eyes wide with a steely panic.
My cousin’s tiny body curled into itself and flung open again. She gagged and vomited liters of water out onto the clay tiles, where it dried almost instantly in the bake of the sun.
She was fine– scared and shaking, but none the worse for what happened. There was an occasional nervous, relieved laughter amongst the adults; the kind of laughter that is almost eerie because it’s so very close to the hysterical screaming that would have echoed around that patio should Bianca’s mum had not been so damn quick.
For years afterwards I felt the kind of shame that makes you blush pink when you think of the event, even when you’re all alone and you’re the only one who knows about it. I was only metres away and could have helped her, literally within the space of a second. I know now it’s not an entirely uncommon thing to happen, but even discovering that fact wasn’t enough to silence the voice in my mind.
Because what would happen one day when I had children of my own..? Would I even been quick enough to do what Bianca’s mum had done, to jump in fully clothed and grab my child? Or would I hesitate at the edge of cold water for just that second too long?
To be continued…
{ 17 comments }
“Haven’t I been brave?” asks that scared, tired five year old girl in my mind, her eyes huge and blue and so clear you can see right through to her soul’ holding a flannel blanket that smells vaguely of my mother and still holds some of her warmth’ “Haven’t I been so very, very brave? Don’t I deserve a gold star now? Don’t I get someone to hold my hand?”
***
The short answer is- no.
Life is unfair. And bad things happen to good people, all the time.
Being brave doesn’t guarantee you’ll be rewarded in any way. It just means you feel better about yourself. You can say, ‘I’ve been brave’. ‘I’ve been strong.’ And that is the coldest, most horrible blessed relief.
Life is patently unfair. Babies die, husbands die, whole families starve. And, as they say, even worse things happen at sea.
Life sucks.And then you die too.
***
Sometimes I wonder what happens here, to this blog. Everyone else moves on from this much faster than I do. How much can you write about grief? How may times can I say “It hurts, it hurts, it hurts!” before the world world is sick of hearing it? No one likes self indulgence.
But this is my heart, my soul… the only thing that provides me with any kind of self esteem. What would I do without it?
***
“Surely” I ask my mate Bunny, “surely, knowing what I’ve been through, he wouldn’t deliberately hurt me?”
Bunny thinks about this, weighs culture and age and gender against the simple principles of humanity, and divides them by the argument that is unfurling around me.
“I doubt it. You wouldn’t think so. Most blokes have more balls than that.”
As it turns out, we were wrong.
Life sucks.
And then you die.
{ 19 comments }
On the days when my kids are driving me absolutely nuts, I escape to my garden.
You know how kids are… There are some days when you’d rather stab yourself in the eye than hear ‘Muuuuuuuuum!’ one more time. Days when your two year old screams at you from the moment she wakes up until lunchtime, for no particular discernible reason except that she can. Days when the sound of them fighting, again, just the second you walk out of the room, literally gives you a tight knot in your diaphragm and you wonder how you will ever do another few years of this.
And that’s when my garden calls, with it’s lush coolness. There is always something to be done out here, and it moves at its own pace– weeds to be pulled, potted plants that must be moved. My entire veggie garden had been attacked by my chickens and I have big plans for an extension and a chicken proof fence. I managed to yield a crop of exactly one ear of corn this summer.
 |
| The single cob of corn I grew.. but isn’t it lovely? |
But Ethel and Lucy are two happy, brazen chooks. Who now follow me around the yard hoping for cuddles or food scraps. One of them is having some serious hormonal issues and laying massive eggs which, as Twitter predicted, are all double yolkers.
 |
| Happy lucky double yolk egg |
Yesterday was one of those days, spent in my garden while my children yelled at each other, themselves, at least unfortunate cat, and me. An hour past bedtime and the Bump is screaming again. For no other reason than she can.
The only drawback is I can’t work in my garden at night.
***
As well as Tony’s bonsai, my Man and I owned a scatter of other potted plants– among them, a fire spear that has doubled in size in the five years since we bought it; two fig trees, skinny but as tall as me, cloned from his bonsai but allowed to grow full size; and a frangipani in a pot he bought me on the anniversary of our first year as a couple.
They’ve been dragged with us from Paradise and back again, surviving an up-mountain haul in a truck, the salty cold of the coastal winner and the wettest summer Sydney has seen in 50 years. And all more by good luck than good management– apart from watering them and hitting them with a dose of worm wee from the worm farm every now and then, I’ve ignored them.
Yesterday I repotted the two figs– I have plans for those, and I’ll keep you posted– and the fire spear, which currently has not only a spear but seed pods as well. All three were badly root bound, their nervous system squashed so much there was very little soil left- just massive balls of snarled roots like fibrous tendons, worms crawling between them.
Within loving care I break up the root balls, cut them back, soak them in worm tea filled with nutrients. I plant them in fresh, damp soil and water them liberally. I say a tiny prayer to the god of small things and smile at my husband in the sky.
I don’t know why I care so much about these stupid plants, whether they survive or not… it’s not as if he’ll ever be back to check on them. But they feel fragile and delicate and seemed to sigh with relief as I removed them from their plastic cells.
It’s that need to nurture, to grow, to make something healthy… again, trying to save things now, where I couldn’t Before.
{ 10 comments }
station house
station house
I find myself occasionally feeling as though I have to defend my decision to live contentedly here in TinyTrainTown– in the sticks. Semi–rural. Bush. ‘All the way out here’.
Each and every courier, tradesman or journo who’s ever come to the TinyTrainHouse comments on how far away it is from anywhere. How very small the town is. How they’ve never even heard of TinyTrainTown before. The tradies who get lost on the way here are always the most disparaging, their good humor eaten up by un-curbed roads that seem to stretch forever and all kind of look the same.
“How did you come to live out here…?” People are generally mystified as to why anyone would want to live where I do. I stare back at them, equally bemused, amazed that they’re unable to see what I see.
I guess it’s true, it might seem slightly isolated. TinyTrainTown is at least an hour and half drive from Sydney. We’re fifteen minutes from the nearest service station or major supermarket, probably forty minutes from any larger stores or services.
The road into town is eight kilometers of scrub and barely used train tracks. The population tops about 700 people (and that seems an over-estimate, really). As I’ve heard said, TinyTrainTown is so small it ‘doesn’t even have a pub!’
The town is not particularly quaint or pretty. It’s so nondescript that you could literally drive through it and not realise you’d been here. The mobile reception is nonexistent, and even the land-line home phone and ADSL internet crackles and drops out terribly if it happens to be raining. Or windy. Or, you know, Wednesday. Whenever.
But that’s the worst of it. The tarnished view of the penny, the dark side of the moon. There’s always more to things than that. And if nothing else, I tend to be an optimist.
It’s quiet here, peaceful. There is no din of constant traffic, no continual thrum of people. I like that. When I was little, growing up in Paradise, it was so quiet at night you could hear the rumbling boom of thunderstorms far out at sea. I remember, as a child, staying at a relative’s house in the middle of the city suburbs and being unable to sleep for the never ending noise coming from the streets outside. The cars. The horns. Music. People. It’s never quiet, not really. You get used to it, I know that. But I’ve grown accustomed to the silence again. The only thing that desecrates it is the occasional passing car.
While the town itself is nothing much to look at, the scrubby eucalyptus bushland of the national parks that surround it are soul-soothingly pleasant. A thousand different shades of green. There are parrots and cockatoos, possums and sugar gliders. Sandstone caves and tiny creeks. Snakes and spiders, too, of course; but I don’t think any kid is really that much worse off for having a basic knowledge of them (‘basic’ rather than ‘intimate’ being the key wording here).
People know people, in TinyTrainTown. While I’m never really been a rah-rah-community-spirit kind of person and I tend to keep to myself, I know my neighbors by first name and the local shopkeepers by sight.
We actually do have shops here, though they’re as easy as anything else in the town to miss. Three of them, in fact- a fish and chip shop; a small supermarket; and post office/newsagent/grocery/DVD hire. All the shops are overpriced and sell short-dated stock at the tills, but you can still get all the basics you need.
We walk to the shops, most days, when we’re not in a hurry and the weather’s favorable. Some days we walk home from daycare and school. The round trip never takes longer than half an hour by foot, no more than four minutes by car. If it takes longer than two minutes to drive there… it’s probably not in TinyTrainTown.
It’s safe here. It feel secure. It feels like a wholesome place to bring up small children. And most of the time, it’s just a nice place to be.
None of this seems to sway anyone’s opinion. “Yeah but, love… it’s just so far away!”
I find the only answer anyone gets is in the language everyone seems to understand.
“Uhhhh… The house prices are cheap. Three bedroom house, big backyard…”
And that makes logical sense to most incredulous tradesman who’ve made the hour trek to TinyTrainTown. It’s easier to see the appeal in that; in choosing between a tiny flat or a huge mortgage an hour closer to the city, or having a house of my own and dealing with the occasional inconvenience of living ‘all the way out here’.
I made the right choice– I rarely ever doubt that. It’s just other people, I find, that take some convincing.
{ 8 comments }
The Story of Groucho Claus- A Xmas Carol. Part Two. – RRSAHM
The Story of Groucho Claus- A Xmas Carol. Part Two.
Continued from yesterday… the story of Groucho Claus, part two.
Many a man who didn’t love his magic and have such a burning desire to impress people, to see that shot of disbelief on their face when their eyelids shoot up almost impeccably, trying to hide their surprise that you fooled them, their ‘how did you do that’ expression?; many without that passion would have refused outright to play Santa. There are no tricks to hide behind with Santa. There is no magic apart from what you create with your presence. Santa doesn’t do balloon animals or play games. The best he gives out before his big run is lollipops, and even these are discarded momentarily, eclipsed by the awe of being in Santa’s presence- a big man, tall and fat, who knows everything you do, and lives a house with hundreds of toys… it’s only when Santa walks away and the bubble pops and reality comes back that children remember sugared treats and coloring books.
Groucho loved his magic, and he wanted to perform. It’s one of those things, a repertoire with an audience… it’s a little like riding a bike. You either get it, or you don’t. And it may just work out that one minute you won’t get it, you’ll be all flying pedals and scabbed knees and training wheels… and the next day you have it and it yours for life, that freedom, that exhilaration.
A rush like no other.
You knew, you could see it in him, that Groucho knew that. That he was forming the framework in his mind, all the little bits of coordination needed to peddle and steer and concentrate all at once… he could see how it worked. He could feel he was just on the edge of getting it, just on the very brim of spilling into a comfort zone like no other.
But playing Santa, that didn’t really help Groucho’s situation at all.
While this fledgling magician was physically well suited to Santa, being a big guy with a deep voice, he was only young and that lack of confidence showed through every cheaply woven fiber of his stifling Santa suit. And there was another problem, which probably wouldn’t have been a problem except for the fact that Groucho didn’t quite feel comfortable in Santa’s big black boots to start with.
This fledgling magician cum Santa Claus was dark skinned. Not quite what I guess some people would call ‘black’, that deep chocolate colour, but a darker than olive skin that turns a greeny yellow in winter when there’s no sunlight to nourish the melatonin. I’m not sure what Groucho’s heritage or background was- it never came up, and I never felt the need to ask- but his dark skin attracted the unwanted attention of children who were themselves on the cusp of the Santa-disbelieving age, and looking for anything to prove themselves correct. (Eleven year old boys are the worst for it… it doesn’t matter if the beard and belly are real, it wouldn’t matter if the man could fly, reindeer or no reindeer- eleven year old boys would still be caterwauling how he’s “Not the real Santa” to any other child willing to listen, sometimes even leading to acts of violence against Santa’s fake, moth eaten beard and devastated tears from terrified pre-schoolers.)
Kids are scary creatures. Give them an inch, and they will take a mile. Show weakness and they will devour you whole. Show them confidence, an answer to every possible question, and a presence bigger than they are, and they will reward you by suspending disbelief for a few minutes, a couple of hours at the most- they will play your games, work with your stories… never doubt you for a second because they don’t want to doubt you, they don’t want this magic to end any more than the performer themselves does when they’re in the silver gossamer of the middle of the web.
But show your pint sized party guests any weakness- a chink in the fairy sparkles, so to speak, and they will lose their faith- often, you can see the moment it happens, when a very fleeting cloud of disappointment is replaced with that petulant “I knew it” expression. It makes you work harder for your money. It also makes you feel kind of dirty, crushing tiny dreams and hope that almost existed. These kids almost believed you to be a fairy, an elf, a princess, truly magic. “Not tricks,” as one little boy who watched a magic show reiterated to his father, “real magic!“
A misplaced whisper, a bumpy uneven belly, a luke warm “Merry Christmas!”- all of these show children, who can see through almost anything, you are definitively NOT real. And you will pay for that, whether those kids end up with their names on Santa’s Naughty List or not.
For the better part of November and and the first week or two of December, Groucho struggled through gig after gig as a dark, sweaty Santa. No consideration was given by the agency I worked for the heat of the Australian summer- costumes were made of thick, heavy material and the ‘Aussie Santa’ in a traditional coat, beard, and hat, teamed with boardshorts, sunglasses and thongs (flip flops, people, not undies) that other agencies offered was never considered as an option, and may not have been that popular anyway. People like their Santa’s as traditional as possible… and there is not much to be said that is rational about a drunk, obese peeping Tom who time travels and shape shifts anyway, so what difference does his attire make to seasonal believability?
Being fairly tiny and with enough performing confidence to cover a small multitude of Santa mishaps, I often played the candy cane carrying elf to Groucho’s bad Santa. Think of Santa’s lowly paid helpers as security detail- in case any feral children actually did reef off Santa’s beard, it was the elf’s job to either distract the assembled crowd with magic and copious amounts of sugar; or beat off hordes of small children with their waist high candy canes. Depending on what the situation required.
The second weekend of December in that particular year; long before I had children and far before The Purple Life; I was again elfing with Groucho Claus. There was a feeling that had been floating around the office for days now- Groucho was, quite possibly, on his last performing gig, festive season or not. One more dud job, one more complaint about a lacklustre Santa or a clown who couldn’t control the kids and he was as good as unemployed. It wasn’t something anyone wanted to see happen, even the boss, who had the compassion of a black widow spider. One less performer meant one more headache, one more new staff member for her to hire. Groucho was a nice guy, and damn good with his cards. But it takes more than that, to pull something like this off… I think that’s the story in life, a lot of the time.
That second weekend in December, all those years ago, that Santa and this particular elf were booked to do a four hour ‘roaming’ spot for a street parade in a major suburb of Sydney. It was one of the jobs that you live for as a clown… it was genuine good fun and didn’t feel like work at all. A ‘roaming’ job is just that- you roam through the crowd and interact with people. As Santa and an elf, it was relatively easy- smile, photo, hand shake, “What would you like for Christmas, little one?” (never distinguish male children from female children in your spoken endearments, you’d be surprised how often you get it wrong), reward brave child with a candy cane, “Ho ho ho! Merry Christmas!”. The order of events sometimes changed, and there wasn’t always a photo requested; but that was a round abouts the routine, approximately 40 times an hour, seeing goodness only knows how many children in a shift.
This particular street parade was, for lack of a better word… splendid. Fabulous. Beautiful. None of those words quite seem to do it justice. It was billed and promoted as a non-secular holiday celebrat
ion, with the main street of the suburb- which was, not too many years ago, renown for it’s drug problem more than anything else- closed off to traffic. The entertainment ranged from rides to face painters, stilt walkers to jugglers, live shows to promo trucks spilling with free promo gear. There were stalls selling balloons, showbags, all kinds of novelties and every kind of food you can imagine- pizza, sausage sandwiches, Dutch pancakes, Chinese cooked on the spot, gozleme and churros. As promised, there was no particular religious theme, and because of that- maybe in spite of it- the whole multicultural community was in attendance; a heady blend of language and colour, music and scents.
Indian women in decadent saris sat with daughters dressed in the same perched on their laps. The local refugee advocacy group had a stall set up next to a booth promoting awareness of the local Jewish community. Afrikaans dance groups performed directly after the local Christian school’s choir sung carols.
And everyone just got along.
It was beautiful.
In the midst of all this electric laughter, families with strollers, elderly couples holding hands with their grandchildren, even a pair of Buddhist monks in saffron robes… amongst all that excitement, there was still a place for Santa. In fact, amongst all that energy, everyone, young and old, of every nationality; they all had a soft spot for Santa.
Muslim mothers in veils handed tiny boys and girls into Santa’s big hands. Asian couples who could only speak a few words of English beamed as their children squealed in delight at Santa telling them he would visit their house soon, just a few weeks now. Two men with thick European accents, pipes in their mouths and their faces carved with the lines of a thousand stories, posed and mocked for the camera, throwing their arms around a slightly bewildered Santa.
But Santa was only slightly bewildered. Because at some point during those four hours, something in Groucho had changed.
We had been so busy, and the day went so quickly, I didn’t even notice exactly when it happened. I know when I noticed that I noticed it, though. At one point in the flickering slideshow of faces, there had been a little Asian girl in a beautiful red dress who shyly and slowly approached Santa with her parents urging her on; dipping her toes in the pool of spectators surrounding Santa, and, when she was sure the water was warm, gradually inching her way closer and closer. Groucho saw her, and leaned forward to take her hand, crouching down to meet her at her eye level and chatting to her softly.
I don’t know if you’ve ever noticed, but most Santas wear thin white cotton gloves. It was a sensory memory that took me back, made me realise the power Santa has with small children, all over again. Watching that scene take place, live in front of me… I remembered that feeling. The sensory emotion, a skin memory, of being a tiny child who still fervently believed. I remember the feeling of slipping my hand- which must have been quite small, but of course it never felt that way to me- into the soft but firm, warm, white cotton glove of a man playing Santa. The power in it. As a child, Santa is a veritable god.
After watching this tiny girl have a mirror experience to the one I’d had so many years before, I took a closer look- a few seconds in between the bedlam of crowds of children and festively cheerful adults. Something had shifted over the last few hours- Groucho had just got it.
Fueled by nothing more significant than a change of mindset and the intravenous shot of confidence that comes with it, this man-child had gone from a guy in a suit with a shabby beard to the real live Santa Claus. He walked with authority. He ‘Ho ho ho’-ed loudly. He met people’s eyes and stood tall. He talked to people, words running from his lips as his mind mulled the important things- who was next in line for a greeting, whether the crowd was building up too much while they waited- the hallmark sign of a performer who’s mouth can work independently of their mind, and do a good job of it.
Did the colour of his skin have anything at all to do with it…? Maybe. I don’t really know. Am I considered racist for even discussing it? Possibly. I don’t know if the chicken or the egg came first… if no one mentioned that Santa was the ‘wrong colour’ because we were surrounded by people of every shade, tone and background and no one cared in the least, and that phenomenon contributed to Groucho finding the outspoken entertainer within; or if it was a matter of that outspoken entertainer being a bigger presence than either his skin colour or his substandard costume. In truth, it probably doesn’t matter either way. That ‘click’ sound was as loud with Groucho as with anyone else I saw- from that Santa gig forward, the seed of confidence seemed to stick firmly, and he just watered it as necessary to help it grow.
I wish I had a better ending to this story… that Groucho is now a household name, someone you know and admire. I don’t have an ending like that. I don’t know what happened to Groucho, whether he still performs his magic professionally or as a hobby, whether he chose to don the Santa suit again the following year.
All I know is that for a moment there, for a day, he was the very embodiment of Santa Claus… and that was an incredible thing to watch. And if people say Santa is just a myth, a figment of the imagination… well. After the magic that was Groucho Claus, I think I can say differently.
Previous post: The Story of Groucho Claus- A Xmas Carol. Part One.
Next post: Retro RRSAHM- Lori Meets Abby Cabaddy
Search: label/StationHouse
Search: label/StationHouse
I find myself occasionally feeling as though I have to defend my decision to live contentedly here in TinyTrainTown– in the sticks. Semi–rural. Bush. ‘All the way out here’.
Each and every courier, tradesman or journo who’s ever come to the TinyTrainHouse comments on how far away it is from anywhere. How very small the town is. How they’ve never even heard of TinyTrainTown before. The tradies who get lost on the way here are always the most disparaging, their good humor eaten up by un-curbed roads that seem to stretch forever and all kind of look the same.
“How did you come to live out here…?” People are generally mystified as to why anyone would want to live where I do. I stare back at them, equally bemused, amazed that they’re unable to see what I see.
I guess it’s true, it might seem slightly isolated. TinyTrainTown is at least an hour and half drive from Sydney. We’re fifteen minutes from the nearest service station or major supermarket, probably forty minutes from any larger stores or services.
The road into town is eight kilometers of scrub and barely used train tracks. The population tops about 700 people (and that seems an over-estimate, really). As I’ve heard said, TinyTrainTown is so small it ‘doesn’t even have a pub!’
The town is not particularly quaint or pretty. It’s so nondescript that you could literally drive through it and not realise you’d been here. The mobile reception is nonexistent, and even the land-line home phone and ADSL internet crackles and drops out terribly if it happens to be raining. Or windy. Or, you know, Wednesday. Whenever.
But that’s the worst of it. The tarnished view of the penny, the dark side of the moon. There’s always more to things than that. And if nothing else, I tend to be an optimist.
It’s quiet here, peaceful. There is no din of constant traffic, no continual thrum of people. I like that. When I was little, growing up in Paradise, it was so quiet at night you could hear the rumbling boom of thunderstorms far out at sea. I remember, as a child, staying at a relative’s house in the middle of the city suburbs and being unable to sleep for the never ending noise coming from the streets outside. The cars. The horns. Music. People. It’s never quiet, not really. You get used to it, I know that. But I’ve grown accustomed to the silence again. The only thing that desecrates it is the occasional passing car.
While the town itself is nothing much to look at, the scrubby eucalyptus bushland of the national parks that surround it are soul-soothingly pleasant. A thousand different shades of green. There are parrots and cockatoos, possums and sugar gliders. Sandstone caves and tiny creeks. Snakes and spiders, too, of course; but I don’t think any kid is really that much worse off for having a basic knowledge of them (‘basic’ rather than ‘intimate’ being the key wording here).
People know people, in TinyTrainTown. While I’m never really been a rah-rah-community-spirit kind of person and I tend to keep to myself, I know my neighbors by first name and the local shopkeepers by sight.
We actually do have shops here, though they’re as easy as anything else in the town to miss. Three of them, in fact- a fish and chip shop; a small supermarket; and post office/newsagent/grocery/DVD hire. All the shops are overpriced and sell short-dated stock at the tills, but you can still get all the basics you need.
We walk to the shops, most days, when we’re not in a hurry and the weather’s favorable. Some days we walk home from daycare and school. The round trip never takes longer than half an hour by foot, no more than four minutes by car. If it takes longer than two minutes to drive there… it’s probably not in TinyTrainTown.
It’s safe here. It feel secure. It feels like a wholesome place to bring up small children. And most of the time, it’s just a nice place to be.
None of this seems to sway anyone’s opinion. “Yeah but, love… it’s just so far away!”
I find the only answer anyone gets is in the language everyone seems to understand.
“Uhhhh… The house prices are cheap. Three bedroom house, big backyard…”
And that makes logical sense to most incredulous tradesman who’ve made the hour trek to TinyTrainTown. It’s easier to see the appeal in that; in choosing between a tiny flat or a huge mortgage an hour closer to the city, or having a house of my own and dealing with the occasional inconvenience of living ‘all the way out here’.
I made the right choice– I rarely ever doubt that. It’s just other people, I find, that take some convincing.
{ 8 comments }
Annnnd… this*. I’m never sure if it’s the chicken or the egg that comes first– if I get depressed because I let that procrastination take over, or if that procrastination taking over is a symptom of the beginnings of depression.
But they feed each other. Depression, anxiety and their concubine, apathy; they get together have a big ol’ ménage a trios in my mind and I’m the one left feeling exhausted and spent and seedy.
‘Your inbox will never be empty’, they like to say; and I’m fairly sure that was said back when an inbox was an actual box, as in ‘a tray on your desk’, rather than a folder in your email account. There will always be things to be done on your list of Things To Do. The key to it all is to give yourself a finishing time, a point in the day where you have done enough and can relax…
Which, in theory, is just fine.
My problem is that things seem to linger and stay on my list of Things To Do for longer than is reasonably necessary. I go to bed each night with the Things To Do list written, with the very best of intentions… Only to find the next day slips through my fingers like sand, like silicon; and I’m left repeating the whole process again.
I have a phone call on my list of things to be done that has been there, either transferred from list to list (both digital and papered in notebooks) for almost a year now. Roughly 360 days of saying “I will do that, tomorrow”. Roughly 360 days of beating myself up just slightly.
‘Clean the gross gunky stuff off the top of my kitchen shelves’– that one’s been on the list for eighteen months. Since I moved into this house.
‘Sow new buttons on Chop’s school shirts‘ is currently entering its seventh week of inbox loitering. ‘Make dentist appointment’ is cruising at three weeks.
It’s not as though any of these tasks are particularly important or life changing or ominous. They’re not even difficult. It’s just that even beginning them seems so many kinds of momentous. So I follow the steps of the dance of the chronic procrastinator and write lists, ignore them, rewrite them then ignore them some more.
They begin to feel as though they pile up on my soul as well as my lists, like the constant ebbing pressure of knowing I need to do them is eating big ulcerated holes in my mind.
It’s on those occasions that I’ve found it best to instate Anti Procrastination Day, FlyLady style. And take the veritable, bitching bull by the horns. Stop thinking too much about things and do things instead.
I’ve taken to calling them, in my mind, ‘karma blockers’, those annoying tasks and Must–Be-Done’s. Because it very much feels as though that is exactly what they are– they force up huge blocks in the way of the flow of life. They disrupt energy, negate change. And it’s impossible to invoke a sense of lightness when something makes you feel so heavy.
I like to imagine myself as some kind of video game heroine, doing great big round kicks and Matrix-style slow jumps through the air while I explode the things on my Things To Do list, kicking butt over one thing after another, growing stronger and gaining some kind of reward– life points, maybe, or just general good karma. And I walk around for days afterwards feeling alive, feeling good. Feeling like a mother f*cking adult.
I hate the feeling of things left over, of tasks left behind, gathering dust. The permanence of them annoy me– I can manage to cross a dozen things off my Things To Do list in a day, but none of them will be important. I think the rationale behind that thinking is as simplistic as it seems– I tend to do the easiest tasks first, the ones easy to cross off. I think we all do, maybe.
So the easier things slide off the list, daily, and only the karma–blockers remain.
***
It’s Anti–procrastination Day here in the TinyTrainHouse today. I have done six million loads of washing and am about to vacuum the goddamn floor.
Like the responsible adult I am.
*I have, evidently, been spending far too much time on Reddit lately. More on that, soon.
{ 12 comments }
I have had two teenage girls staying with me for most of the last week. Long story, short… everyone needs a safe place. Especially if they’re only just eighteen and come from a somewhat dysfunctional place, through no fault of their own.
They’re both gorgeous kids and I love them dearly. At the same time, they are driving me fucking insane. Partly because I am so damn jealous. Not of the being a teenager thing– that sucked, as we’ve already established. I’m more jealous of the sleeping like lazy pussy cats whenever they so desire.
Half their luck.
Anyway. I’m definitely getting an education in a million teenage things. Like ‘mint’ songs (cue rolling eyes and assertions of “Mad song, Auntie Lori. Lets just leave it at that.” What was I saying, about how I used to be cool…?). And ‘inboxing’ as a verb. And the very nasty side of Chat Roulette.
Not to mention the unholy mess that is teenagers on Facebook. The amount of communication that goes on with these girls and the people they know– as well as the people they don’t know– is terrifying. Facebook is like an extension of themselves. The look on their faces when I told them to lay off the wifi for an hour or so was priceless– I could almost see the seething anxiety it was causing them.
The more people communicate, I guess, the more open we become and the more we talk, and the thinner the boundaries of what is silent and taboo become.
But watching all that honesty and openness infiltrate the lives of girls who I’m tempted to view as still just babies at that age… it’s overwhelming and scary and I’m afraid for them, and for the millions of other kids out there growing up right now. I’m not positive, of course, but I think I may even be more fearful for the teenagers of 2013 than I ever will be for my own children.
Because this is all growing so fast. Our technology eats us in great belching bites– we are too smart for our ethics and morals. This flood of information, of communication… it seems unending right now. I can’t help but wonder if we will reach a place where the tidal wave of new stuff starts to slow and we can find some still waters.
Things are going to be very different, of course– they always are, after a flood. But the basic landscape of humanity… I’d like to think that will remain, underpinning whatever else comes.
It’s just that it’s all so new right now. Boundaries haven’t been tested, rules haven’t been made. There’s no sense of privacy or self–preservation and ’the worst that can happen’ hasn’t been established as yet.
I like to think that by the time my own kids hit that age, we’ll all have more experience at dealing with this new-found flood of information. I like to imagine that, in ten years time, this technology will be so mainstream that we’ll have no other option but to assimilate a whole new set of morals and ethics, ones that take into account what we do online and how accessible other people’s private information is to us. Maybe what we’ve lost in terms of privacy, we’ll begin to gain back again.
Or maybe not. I don’t know. I do know, having seen it first hand over the last few days, that an Internet connection is no longer an option for teenagers, but a necessity. I think I believe that social consequences should be factored into the decisions we make regarding our children’s overall well-being And, I think, that long term denial of Internet access to a teenage girl would be the equivalent to a small social death. Without anyone but the outcast in question to mourn it.
In a society where children are sadly sexualised and puberty is beginning younger and younger, the thought of giving sixteen year old girls that kind of access to everything is terrifying.
***
Ironically, having two Teen Princesses In Waiting as house-guests for the week made me appreciate my own little darlings that much more once they had left. A three year old and a five year old are blissful, compared to a seventeen and eighteen year old. They actually don’t make as much mess. They take up less room. They are heaps more fun.
And they actually talk, like, to me. One of the princesses actually sent me a message on Facebook to ask if she could borrow my hairspray. While we were in the same room.
“Yay!”, says the Chop after arriving home from Big School on Friday to a clean house, quiet and peaceful with just the two of us. “We have our house back!”
And I think- indeed. It’s amazing how far we’ve come. And how much it feels like a home, with just the three of us there.
{ 3 comments }
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: May 2011
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: Possible Indicators That You Have PMS And Everyone Should Clear Out and Go To Hell
$25, Well Spent. – RRSAHM
$25, Well Spent.
For fear of being stabbed to death with pitchfork tongues, caught in the midst of a mid-90′s radio stoush that has somehow spilled over onto the interwebs*; today’s crap sponsored post that I was handsomely rewarded for has been moved to later this week. Or something. No one paid me to do this one- sadly enough, I come up with this kind of crap all by myself.
Think $5 will get you next to nothing in this day and age…? Think again.
*No idea what I’m talking about…? Me either, really. You can start with this article on mummy bloggers having nothing to fear, maybe, read between the lines and work back from there.
And you still may have no idea what the f*ck is going on.
The Aussie blogosphere is a very strange place to be at the moment. Roll with the punches.
Leave a Comment
{ 10 comments… read them below or add one }
-
July 5, 2012 at 12:16 pm -
Just checked out fiverr. So many crazy random things. Love it!
- July 3, 2012 at 12:24 pm
-
Lori- this is actually entertaining! I don't know why I am so surprised, but wow…didn't you just MAKE MY DAY! You're fricken orwa-sum
- July 3, 2012 at 3:33 pm
-
Love it. Super fun post darls. Smile on my dial. x
- July 2, 2012 at 11:23 pm
-
Brilliant.
- July 2, 2012 at 10:01 pm
-
Long time reader of your blog but first comment, and holy fuck what a great post; fivver is mind blowing. New favorite site. Thanks Lori!
Xx - July 2, 2012 at 6:53 pm
-
I love the sound of this website! What a great idea.
- July 2, 2012 at 3:40 pm
-
I've never heard of fiverr.com but how awesome! I'll definitely be checking it out. Thanks for sharing
- July 2, 2012 at 3:03 pm
-
Wow! I love that water colour painting clip! God, there are some creative people out there.
The dude in the banana suit? Random, or WHAT ??! - July 2, 2012 at 1:33 pm
-
Love this post
- July 2, 2012 at 12:46 pm
-
I want the banana suit dude.
I totally cracked up at the accent. Lawri is freeking awesum
Previous post: Purr
Next post: Dreams and Random Neurons
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: Fuck You Too.
99 Things – RRSAHM
99 Things
Good evening all,
I love games. Sarah and Lucy are playing, so I want to play too.
The idea is- here is a list of 99 things you could have done. Copy, paste, bold the ones you have done, and post. Ta-da!
1. Started your own blog (thanks Sarah)
2. Slept under the stars
3. Played in a band
4. Visited Hawaii
5. Watched a meteor shower
6. Given more than you can afford to charity
7. Been to DisneyWorld
8. Climbed a mountain
9. Held a praying mantis
10. Sang a solo (badly)
11. Bungee jumped
12. Visited Paris
13. Watched a lightning storm
14. Taught yourself an art from scratch (magic)
15. Adopted a child
16. Had food poisoning
17. Walked to the top of the Statue of Liberty
18. Grown your own vegetables
19. Seen the Mona Lisa in France
20. Slept on an overnight train
21. Had a pillow fight
22. Hitch hiked
23. Taken a sick day when you’re not ill (*ahem**cough)
24. Built a snow fort
25. Held a lamb
26. Gone skinny dipping
27. Run a Marathon
28. Ridden in a gondola in Venice
29. Seen a total eclipse (a lunar eclipse)
30. Watched a sunrise or sunset
31. Hit a home run
32. Been on a cruise
33. Seen Niagara Falls in person
34. Visited the birthplace of your ancestors
35. Seen an Amish community
36. Taught yourself a new language (Auslan)
37. Had enough money to be truly satisfied (right now! I’m easy pleased)
38. Seen the Leaning Tower of Pisa in person
39. Gone rock climbing
40. Seen Michelangelo’s David
41. Sung karaoke (badly)
42. Seen Old Faithful geyser erupt
43. Bought a stranger a meal at a restaurant
44. Visited Africa
45. Walked on a beach by moonlight
46. Been transported in an ambulance (many a time)
47. Had your portrait painted (does a caricature count?)
48. Gone deep sea fishing
50. Been to the top of the Eiffel Tower in Paris
51. Gone scuba diving or snorkeling
52. Kissed in the rain
53. Played in the mud
54. Gone to a drive-in theater
55. Been in a movie
56. Visited the Great Wall of China
57. Started a business (Gooba and Lilly- Cool Kid’s Parties)
58. Taken a martial arts class
59. Visited Russia
60. Served at a soup kitchen
61. Sold Girl Scout Cookies (Girl guide cookies- I’m an Aussie)
62. Gone whale watching
63. Got flowers for no reason
64. Donated blood, platelets or plasma
65. Gone sky diving
66. Visited a Nazi Concentration Camp
67. Bounced a check
68. Flown in a helicopter
69. Saved a favorite childhood toy (Katrina, my Cabbage patch Doll. She lives at my mum’s).
70. Visited the Lincoln Memorial
71. Eaten Caviar
72. Pieced a quilt
73. Stood in Times Square
74. Toured the Everglades
75. Been fired from a job
76. Seen the Changing of the Guards in London
77. Broken a bone (Toes. Many of them. And my right arm, twice)
78. Been a passenger on a motorcycle
79. Seen the Grand Canyon in person
80. Published a book
81. Visited the Vatican
82. Bought a brand new car
83. Walked in Jerusalem
84. Had your picture in the newspaper
85. Kissed a stranger at midnight on New Year’s Eve (Hi, Mark!)
86. Visited the White House
87. Killed and prepared an animal for eating
88. Had chickenpox
89. Saved someone’s life
90. Sat on a jury
91. Met someone famous (too many too list. Most exciting probably Hilary Duff or Nicole Kidman. Least exciting- Stephanie MacIntosh).
92. Joined a book club
93. Got a tattoo (Jiminy Cricket on my shoulder)
94. Had a baby (had two)
95. Seen the Alamo in person
96. Swam in the Great Salt Lake
97. Been involved in a law suit
98. Owned a cell phone
99. Been stung by a bee
Leave a Comment
{ 4 comments… read them below or add one }
-
May 14, 2014 at 6:27 am - March 8, 2010 at 2:58 pm
-
Just saw your comment on my 99…oh yes, whale watching was that bad. You have to read this…
http://smiths-life-and-times.blogspot.com/2009/10/were-whales-worth-it-depends-who-you.html
I toned it down because 'Grandma' was going to be reading. lol - March 8, 2010 at 8:45 am
-
Definately caricatures count! I wanna see. I love them.
- March 7, 2010 at 11:17 pm
-
What a great game – I wish I had time to play!
Previous post: The Things I’d Tell You- Writing Challenge.
Next post: Avatar Travesties
The World's Fussiest Eater… At A Top Seafood Reaturant – RRSAHM
The World’s Fussiest Eater… At A Top Seafood Reaturant
As we know from my Internet dating fail, I am a very picky eater. So dining at the Flying Fish in Pyrmont- apparently that’s a very big deal- was totally wasted on me. Enjoy.
I think I mentioned a giveaway, right…? This one is a super special one, open only to jellybeans who subscribe to the RRSAHM fortnightly newsletter– all the best stuff, guaranteed spam free. Next issue goes out Friday February 3rd- giveaway included.
Leave a Comment
{ 9 comments… read them below or add one }
-
January 26, 2012 at 7:58 am -
I eat some seafood, but there is no way I would have touched that. ICK!
- January 25, 2012 at 7:42 am
-
Ha, am exactly the same – fussy, and won't touch seafood, and for some reason it sounds like its a really unusual choice, goes like this: No thanks, I don't eat fish. Are you a vegetarian? No, I love meat, I'm like a reverse vegetarian, I eat meat but I don't eat fish. Ok, what about prawns/crab/octopus then? no. I do't eat anything that comes from the sea (apart from fishfingers and prawn cocktail flavour crisps – does that make me a hypocrite?)
Foam? wtf? I would have been there on the desserts with you, and the wine
- January 25, 2012 at 3:38 am
-
Don't feel bad. I looked up the menu online and there is nothing I would eat at the restaurant either. Where is the appetizers, where are salads?
- January 24, 2012 at 3:58 pm
-
Ok, now, I like seafood – but honestly- none of that looked good. Also, at the beginning, I could see up your nose. Don't worry – no boogies!
- January 24, 2012 at 1:55 pm
-
Eeeek. You should have told me. I would have asked them to give you something less fancy.; )
But hey, thanks for coming.xx
- January 24, 2012 at 12:02 pm
-
You are so brave haha if that was my hubby he would of been vomitting by the 2nd course (just the smell), he cant even open a can of catfood without heaving haha.
It looked like somewhere I would enjoy however:D
- January 24, 2012 at 10:37 am
-
I think i shall move to Sydney lol you guys have all the fun .Dessert looked really divine *sigh*
- January 24, 2012 at 10:13 am
-
I sat next to Eden at this lunch. She ate all of the raw fish stuff. Not a fan. I am now getting my fishy goodness from that Omega Fish Oil.
The dessert WAS TO DIE FOR!
- January 24, 2012 at 8:40 am
-
Maccas run!
It's a bit like going to a wedding. Usually the fod is far too fancy and just yuck. We do the maccas run on the way home.I'm not a big seafood eater. Tempura fish sounded nice, but those eggs made me squirm.
Previous post: A Big Deal.
Next post: The Catalogue of Loss
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: Possible Indicators That You Have PMS And Everyone Should Clear Out and Go To Hell
Running Away Again. – RRSAHM
Running Away Again.
I’m attending Nuffnang Blogopolis in Melbourne at the end of this month.
I leave in a week. I hate flying– though I did it once, not long ago- I’m making a roadtrip of it with a a friend we’ll call Bunny, and being met in Melbourne by my bestie Emma.
I cannot wait. It’s that itching, annoying anticipation, where you wish you could fast forward time, or just sleep through the next few days.
In the Before, I rememeber thinking I couldn’t- wouldn’t want to- go away on holiday and leave my children for that long, I just woulsdn’t enjoy it.
Things are different now.
I am so exhausted, so weighed down and frazzled… I need a break.
Some time to be Lori, instead of Mum. In the Before, Mum was all I wanted to be, the majority of the time.
But being Mum wasn’t so painful, Before.
So, I’m going to run away, again…but I know the deal this time. You can never run far enough.
I am so looking forward to having a lightness of the soul for a few days. To have to answer to no one but myself, organise no one but myself.
Eat what I like, stay up as late as I late, sleep in as late as I like.
It’s almost like being a teenager all over agin- finding identity, pushing boundaries. taking risks.
Searching for new experiences to prove to yourself you are alive, and part of the revolving planet.
***
I am Jack’s total lack of surprise.
I watched Fight Club last night. It’s always been one of my favourite movies.
Even more so now. I kind of understand more, I think.
The volume on everything else being turned down, once something happens that alters your perspective so dramatically. Seeing the trivialities and unimportance of everyone’s day to day life.
The freedom that comes with no longer being afraid to die.
Anarchy, the sweetness of it.
None of this shit is important.
You know that, right?
Leave a Comment
{ 16 comments… read them below or add one }
- July 21, 2011 at 9:45 pm
-
Babe, have you thought of it as taking some well deserved time out instead of thinking of it as running away? You deserve this, not for any other reason than that you have earnt this. Have a fabulous time and drink for me, yes? x
- July 20, 2011 at 11:11 pm
-
life-
42?
If you drove to melb, you could drop in for coffee, but I reckon you will have hands full and really really busy there! have fun - July 20, 2011 at 10:26 pm
-
Oh I can totally relate to this post, and I am not laboring under the enormous difficulties that you are.
It is SO good to run away for a bit. I come back a much better mama for my time away. I wish (as I am sure you do) that I could do it more often, and that I didn't feel any guilt when I did it
Enjoy!!!! - July 20, 2011 at 9:23 pm
-
You're actually so awesome, that I subconsciously find myself wondering what beer you like so I can stock up, even though you probably aren't dropping by Perth any time soon.
*SIGH*
Here's to you girl… *raises glass*
Slainte!
PS – Fight Club speaks to my soul.
- July 20, 2011 at 8:52 pm
-
I have to watch Fight Club every year or so… for my soul.
HIS NAME IS ROBERT PAULSON. - July 20, 2011 at 8:20 pm
-
oh yay you ARE coming. hurrah. oh I love fight club. so much.
- July 20, 2011 at 8:15 pm
-
I hope you have a great time away just for you. You deserve it. I cant wait to hear all about it too
xo - July 20, 2011 at 5:50 pm
-
Enjoy I so wanted to go but health wouldn't allow maybe next yr hey have fun having me time it's important
- July 20, 2011 at 11:09 pm
-
Enjoy your time away! I can totally understand that you need a break, and I'm glad you've got it. Just have some fun!
- July 20, 2011 at 11:52 am
-
Hope you enjoy 'Lori-time', sounds like lots of friends are waiting for you! xx
- July 20, 2011 at 10:20 am
-
I Cant wait to run away with you….. Going on our Melbourne adventure gives me a bit of a chubby.
Can Not Wait xxx - July 20, 2011 at 9:28 am
-
Oh my Lordy. Lori I need to watch Fight Club again.
I get this post so much. In a really warped way, Daves cancer set me free from Life. I see it all differently now. It is so exhilarating. And exhausting.
My teenager will say hi to your teenager at Blogopolis. xxoo
- July 20, 2011 at 9:00 am
-
I can relate to so much of what you describe in this beautiful post…the itch of looking forward to something (counting sleeps etc & wishing for the ff button)…feeling frazzled and desperately wanting to escape mummyland for a while…and that awful disconnected feeling of watching & listening to others go on about trivial meaningless shit while you're submerged in another (painful) sea.
I have no idea what its like though to walk in your shoes. I read your blog and am inspired by the way you are coping with the hand you've been dealt. You are an amazing chick Lori. Sending you lots of love and hope you have a completely fantastic escape to Melbourne that refreshes you in the way you need.
- July 20, 2011 at 5:02 am
-
Yup – I know that…. it's the remembering that this shit is unimportant that is the problem
Have a great time XXX - July 20, 2011 at 4:10 am
-
But if it is ALL weather, what is the sky? I reckon when I know that one, things will start to make sense. Enjoy your time to be you x
- July 20, 2011 at 12:11 am
-
Oh yeh, I know it.
I wrote a paper at uni on The Meaning of Life for 2nd year Philosophy. I still hold true what I wrote then. It is all meaningless. Nothing matters.
I was very depressed after I wrote it. Deep existential angsty depression. Now I find it almost liberating. The small irritating whatever that you could be stressing over: meaningless. Move on.
I hope the week speeds up and you get to live out the weekend as Lori in style. As you deserve.
Previous post: Washed Away.
Next post: Jeans and Stuff.
The Muse Wars- Round Four – RRSAHM
The Muse Wars- Round Four
Welcome to the final Muse Wars for 2012- Round Four. Batter uuuupppp…
If you haven’t come across it before, the Muse Wars is a flash fiction, short story game we play for fun. Your mission- take the image below and write something, anything. Publish and submit your link below.
Too easy.
|
The Muse Wars, Round Two- What You Need To Know
The object of the game is- write a piece of fiction (poetry, short story, song, shopping list, whatever) taking your inspiration from the picture above. (Feel free to copy and paste it into your post.)
The experts say modern attention spans last 1000 words, maximum (keep that in mind). Past experience has taught us that it’s easier to play the game if you don’t read other people’s stories first- but the choice is yours.
Publish your piece, return to this post and add your link to list below.
The linky list is open from now until Friday, 23rd of November; and if we have fun we’ll play this game with a new image every month.
Share the love– read other entries, leave a comment; grab the button below and paste it somewhere on your blog. If you like, you can have the entire linky list on your blog too.
If you don’t have a blog, you can certainly still play! Either email your story to me for publication on RRSAHM, or you can upload your story here, copy the link and add it the list. And please don’t be shy- email me if you need help with any of the techy stuff.
Anyone can play The Muse Wars and all entries are welcome.
‘);
If you’d like to add the linky list to your post, grab the code from here.
Cheers, jellybeans- my own short story coming soon…
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: Another New House In Paradise….
Lulu. – RRSAHM
Lulu.
Once upon a parenting forum, in the time of the Before (a long, long time ago), I knew a woman named Lulu.
Actually, Lulu wasn’t her real name, just her screen name. But that’s what everyone on this forum knew her as– Lulu. And everyone on this forum knew her– she was a site moderator and unapologetic alpha-female. Lots of bloggers knew her as well. Her blog, Unperfect Life, is still here. She buried her sister just days before she died herself.
Lulu passed away, suddenly and unexpectedly, just a few days after Tony died. I remember one late afternoon out the front of my purple–becoming–orange house, Fairie Sarie telling me that Lulu had died and being unable to articulate anything except “Our Lulu? From the forum Lulu?”
What resulted was just the queerest feeling– one of those sliding door anomalies, where things are shifting just beneath your surface in a whole other life. In that other life, this news gutted me. It was monumental.
In this life, I was stunned but not even surprised. The whole world had turned upside down. Of course there were going to other be casualties, other losses just as great as my own.
Lulu’s avatar- know this isn’t how she actually looked… but it’s how I see her in my mind, still.
I’m not even sure why I’m writing this post. Only that I think of Lulu– a woman I never even met In Real Life– often. I hope her kids are doing okay without their most awesome, amazing mother. Bizarrely, I credit Lulu with teaching me so many things about child-raising, so many things about life in general. About standing up for yourself and believing in your own opinion. About having compassion and empathy and a sense of humour. About treating our children they way they deserve to be treated– like the little people they are.
Lulu was, online, an absolute force of nature, and I can only imagine she would have been the same In Real Life. She was funny and honest and wise in that cool-auntie way that some women have about them.
When I look back on it, try to verbalise it or write it down, the most important lesson I learned from Lulu sounds silly and simple. It’s more an attitude than a ritual. And I still put it into practice sometimes now, five years after I ‘met’ her for the first time.
Some days, its both useful and practical to vacuum the house in a tiara.
Why?
Because you are a motherfucking princess.
And why the hell not.
Leave a Comment
{ 7 comments… read them below or add one }
-
March 30, 2013 at 8:44 am -
I’m still haunted by her death as well. That one week in January…all the deaths, all the little children left behind. I think it’s even harder to accept when someone who is such a force of nature, whose life energy is so strong, is suddenly gone. It just doesn’t seem possible. But of, just because something is inconceivable, doesn’t mean it isn’t possible. x
Wanderlust recently posted…Short break
-
March 21, 2013 at 11:56 pm -
The oddest things remind me of lulu. Vibrators, Bach flower essences, having a teenage daughter…
I still haven’t got my head wrapped round that she’s gone. She was larger then life.
Vicky recently posted…Affirmation art doodles -
March 21, 2013 at 5:37 pm -
Funny, I thought of her yesterday when I read your post about lotions and potions. I miss her still and think of her often. Such an amazing chick.
-
March 21, 2013 at 2:44 pm -
Gorgeous IRL as online, with a very endearing vulnerability in the flesh. And she would have bled for you, if possible, for your pain, honey. One in a squillion, that chick. A true ‘ripple effect’.
She loved ya, mate xxx
Mayaness recently posted…I rode a Grand Prix schoolmaster! -
March 21, 2013 at 2:17 pm -
I did not know this Lulu of whom you speak, and yet I cry for her and I wonder like you do of her IRL family. I have my Lulus and I hope I will always, but she sounded awesome. I will also remember forever to vacuum in a tiara somedays. Thanks for sharing your thoughts and feelings xo
Sandra recently posted…World Down Syndrome Day -
March 20, 2013 at 12:55 am -
Just reading the title was enough to make me tear up, because I knew who it was going to be about. I never really spoke to Lulu much, but she’s definitely made an impact on my life too.
I remember trying to come up with something comforting to say to her when her sister died, and failing. Then everything happened over here on your blog with Tony and it was pushed aside while I tried to think of what to say to you… And what, a day later?, she died. I wish I could have told her how much I respected her. How much I strive to be like her in my parenting. I wish she could have been my birth-door bitch. I feel like I’ve discovered more about her since she left than I ever knew while she was here.
The post on my blog from the day she left just says “fark”… What else can you say?
Tenielle recently posted…Today’s news. -
March 19, 2013 at 8:10 pm -
I often think about Lulu and have a chuckle to myself about things we laughed about. Sometimes I will see an ‘inside joke’ between her and I and I’ll want to message her and tell her about like we use to do. I totally get what you mean, when you talk about finding out about her death. I was speechless. I remember calling Vicky and all I could say was “Lucy’s dead” ….. and she, like me, was just speechless. It was so surreal.
Previous post: Why ‘Goddess’ was the worst movie I’ve ever seen.
Next post: Absolutley Terrified.
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: Soul Cancer.
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: F*ck.
Secret Widow Files, Part One- Sex. – RRSAHM
Secret Widow Files, Part One- Sex.
From the Secret Widow Files.
Hmmm.. to blog, or not to blog, about this one?
To blog, I think, but with a disclaimer.
As we’ve discussed, really, dead people don’t feel or think anything.
If this post is going to bother you- it concerns activities that took place after Tony passed away that a good, respectable, grieving widow probably should not admit to- please don’t read it.
I was so deeply in shock After what happened with, after he died. Nothing felt real- in fact, the world was totally surreal. I was so caught deep inside my own mind- I felt like I watching the world through a thick, murky pane of glass, while I lived in the past. While I lived the last half hour of Tony’s conscious life, again and again. While I live the 100 hours in the ICU one hundred times.
Numb. The only thing I could feel was pain so deep within my soul I felt like biting myself, tearing at my hair.
Whole body experiences- anything with a bit of a rush- they were the only things that could break through the fog. I’ve said before, I used to cut myself, just to feel something, just to watch it bleed.
Cutting myself didn’t even appeal. It wasn’t enough, not enough close to enough, to break that all consuming, all surrounding pane of glass.
Much more than that was needed. Swimming was good, the break over cold water over my head, the crack of it as it passed my ears. The exertion of muscles working against liquid gravity.
Piercings were good. A pain, intense and deep, on the outside. Something to focus on, to draw the pain away from the inside, just for the tiniest bit.
And sex was good.
I won’t go into detail, except to say it was anonymous enough, safe enough, and helped. And I closed my eyes and pretended it was husband and the illusion was destroyed by an unfamiliar weight, an unfamiliar scent.
They say sex is an antidote to death- if you want proof of life, what better way is there? If you want to feel, deeply, something other than pain.. what better way is there?
Judge, if you dare. Beyond caring. I know- it’s damn disrespectful. Whatever. The funniest thing about that phenomena I talked about- how a dead person would feel about a situation, a moot point if ever there was one- is that the dead person’s feelings seem to take preference over those of living.
Really- it’s all about getting through. Respectful, or otherwise. This is truth.
Leave a Comment
{ 63 comments… read them below or add one }
- September 6, 2011 at 11:34 am
-
Your honesty is so fucking inspiring. I am drawn to people who say what others don't dare to. It's brave to be able to write the words that everyone else is too scared to, and I admire bravey.
Sex one way that someone in greif or pain or numbness can feel like they are alive. And something that makes you feel alive (done safely and with mindfulness) is something good.
- July 19, 2011 at 8:25 pm
-
1, What phonakins said.
2, for chrisssakes, who are they to judge anyway. - July 15, 2011 at 2:40 pm
-
Respectful bow to you, dear Lori. I'm struck again that you write what so many would not (they may do but they would not write). And the confirmation and the self-acceptance are a beautiful gift for you to give anonymous and nameless others on this blog space, so that they may too find it within themselves. xxxx
- July 12, 2011 at 3:14 pm
-
Dearest Lori,
I know this sounds nuts, but when my hubby left our family suddenly whilst I was still crazy in love with him, it felt like part of me had died and I went through, am still going through, a grieving process not unlike your own. Everything you say resonates in my heart. Every behaviour you exhibit, I have been there, Im still there at times. I step forward and then, Wham! and I fall back again. I feel like you're putting my story into words on your blog. I cry with you almost every day. I only found your blog a few weeks ago and I cant stop reading. I havent gone back 'before' yet cos I dont feel ready to laugh with your previous blogs. The pain of awareness of what you have lost would be all the harder cos I know I will feel like Im losing my life all over again too. Please dont stop being my voice. I need you to speak my pain too. - July 11, 2011 at 1:12 pm
-
You are so brave and so honest. Katy is right. xxx
- July 11, 2011 at 6:22 am
-
Do what you need to do. Pun intended. Tony would want you to be okay, whatever that looks like.
- July 10, 2011 at 11:07 pm
-
I have been reading you for a while now on recommendation from a friend. I really had to comment and say ….. thank you. Thank you for your honesty. If more people could be this honest, life would be better all around.
I wish you only the best Lori and know there are many people out here supporting you and being very grateful you are in this world. - July 10, 2011 at 10:17 am
-
God, you weren't committing adultery, so why should there be judgment? None here, you do what you need to get through, as long as you keep yourself safe, I see no harm. Much more fun then swimming I bet too…
- July 10, 2011 at 5:55 am
-
I have to pipe up and vouch that Lori is/was (whatever) safe. Same goes for the kidlets. As a IRL friend I know that they are always priority No. 1.
"Judgie-wudgie was a bear
Judgie-wudgie had no hair" Remember that old rhyme?
And "don't judge a man until you have walked a mile in his shoes. That way you are a mile away, and you have his shoes!" - July 9, 2011 at 11:34 pm
-
You keep showing me things I never thought of, perspectives I'm just realising. Can't say more, but you've made me understand a lot more, about myself, about others in your situation. Thankyou. X
- July 9, 2011 at 10:43 pm
-
Hey as long as it's safe – physically and emotionally – for you, and safe for your kids, go for it.
Sex can be like an itch you have to scratch. Like cutting, it releases endorphins. Having sex after a loss like this is quite normal.
Honey, you do what you need to get through this.
As long as you're safe, and you're looking after yourself, that's okay.
As long as it's not destructive, it's okay.
And if ever you need help, you ask, okay? xo - July 9, 2011 at 9:37 pm
-
I bet that was hard to write. I hope this doesn't sound contrived or something, but you did what you needed to do! You weren't cheating because he was gone. Better than cutting really. and the fact you had presence of mind to make it anonymous and *SAFE* means you knew what you where doing and knew (hoped?) it would make the pain go away, even for a moment. Thanks for sharing. xxoo
- July 9, 2011 at 7:45 pm
-
Shine on.
- July 9, 2011 at 2:45 pm
-
I love your honesty, Lori. No judgement here. You do what you need to, to get through xx
- July 9, 2011 at 2:12 pm
-
I read a book a few years ago called something like "diary of a promiscuous widow"…this young lady nursed her husband thru cancer then when he died she went crazy with sex for a year…and was very judged…but it really explores why she did it/how it helped/how she felt during that awful time. I don't know what the psychs say but I gather it's a very common/very silent/very normal thing. Good on you in your honesty and courage.
- July 9, 2011 at 2:12 pm
-
It is just awesome how you are able to share this experience in writing. Hopefully that brings you some comfort. The biggest thing I learned about any emotional hardship/crisis is that you need to love yourself through it. Sounds like you are doing just that.
- July 9, 2011 at 2:10 pm
-
Whatever gets you through.
For what its worth, I get this. There is something about sex in grief… it is the anti-death… When you touch death so closely you need to feel alive and nothing achieves that as much as sex.
So yeah, I get this. No judgement. In fact I heartily approve.
- July 9, 2011 at 10:36 am
-
I adore your honesty and think nobody has the right to judge. All you need to foucs on is you and your babies and what ever feels right for you!
- July 9, 2011 at 9:41 am
-
You are such a brave woman. Good on you for blogging about it.
- July 9, 2011 at 1:32 am
-
I admire your frankness and honesty and certainly don't judge you for doing what you needed to get through this dark time.
- July 8, 2011 at 11:36 pm
-
You are alive, my dear, and you connected with another living being in a way that reinforced that you are… alive. You are alive. Can we say it again? You are alive. And as Toni said, the key word you used was "safe." If it was safe, then more power to you. No one has the right to judge you, particularly not for that, by any means!
Much love to you.
- July 8, 2011 at 11:20 pm
-
No judgment here. I can't get over how much I never considered the mootness of the dead persons feelings. I can't imagine having been in your shoes so I can't possibly judge you for what you did to get through the pain. Keep writing…your honesty is much needed in this world.
- July 8, 2011 at 9:56 pm
-
The way I see it, is widow or not, we're all sexual beings. And you were single, so you've done nothing wrong.
You survived that hell, and that is something to be proud of
- July 8, 2011 at 9:50 pm
-
Someone, I don't remember who, or on which post, commented on a post months ago that there was some research saying that young widows tend to have sex with a number of partners after losing their husbands. So it sounds to me like what you went through is normal in the sense of what the fuck is normal in this situation…. To me anything that got you through, that sustainednyou and kept you here, alive and still you, was what you needed and was therefore a good thing. If people want to judge you, well, you know, fuck 'em.
- July 8, 2011 at 9:10 pm
-
Carry on, my love. I'm selfish and want to see your light in this world for a long time to come. You're right – what better way to prove life than to allow someone to light your fire? I am most definitely a glass house, no stone throwing from here ;)xxx
- July 8, 2011 at 8:59 pm
-
Sex is a wonderful thing and people should beless uptight aboout it all
- July 8, 2011 at 8:35 pm
-
No one should have the right to judge you until they have walked a mile in your shoes. As is the consensus, whatever it takes to help you survive… And you should yet again be applauded for such honesty – imagine how many people you are helping by writing these…
- July 8, 2011 at 7:48 pm
-
Your honesty still really amazes me. No judgement, what ever gets you through another day.
- July 8, 2011 at 7:46 pm
-
No judging to be done.
- July 8, 2011 at 6:23 pm
-
So glad it helped you. That’s all that matters-what helps you.
- July 8, 2011 at 6:09 pm
-
sex is beautiful. and its the best feeling to know that someone wants you, that you are attractive.(;
- July 8, 2011 at 5:39 pm
-
No judgement here. Dare say if a man did it after what you went through, it would just be seen as evidence of his desperate pain, no betrayal.
- July 8, 2011 at 5:12 pm
-
One day at a time, one step at a time, one hour at a time…. and whatever helps you get through every one of them moments through every day while you are working through this. Then that is the right thing.
I know alot of people who would say "that bitch!". The people that are too wrapped up in what 'should' be the way one gets through each moment after such an emotional full on moment in their life.
It helped you get through. And that's what matters.
xxx
- July 8, 2011 at 4:18 pm
-
Everyone works through grief in their own way and no-one has a right to judge anyone else.
- July 8, 2011 at 4:14 pm
-
My opinion, not that it matters in the slightest, is that he was gone so you had to do whatever you needed to to keep you here. I'm glad it was something safe & not cutting.
Love you chicken xxx
- July 8, 2011 at 4:01 pm
-
Hey Lori – c'est moi. You know your antithesis. After I stumbled upon your After, I clung to my husband, a big 6'4" man, with a heart of gold. We have made love nearly every night since I 'met' you & Tony. It doesn't matter who gives you the warmth & the feeling of being human; we need to feel human & we need to feel outside of our own heads… for a little while at least… we need to feel… (X)
- July 9, 2011 at 1:56 am
-
It is the truth and you are brave for sharing.
- July 8, 2011 at 3:24 pm
-
I don't think there is anyone out there who has the right to judge. If you needed to do it, you just needed to do it. Period.
Lots of love,
Wendy
- July 8, 2011 at 3:11 pm
-
Zero judgement. 10/10 respect to you. Honesty is hard to come by these days, and I admire you for that.
If it helps and you're safe, what else matters? - July 8, 2011 at 2:43 pm
-
life is for the living, so fuck anyone who judges you for doing what you need to do to get through an impossible situation.
- July 8, 2011 at 2:17 pm
-
As always, I love your honesty, Lori xxx
- July 8, 2011 at 2:16 pm
-
No judgement required. Your life. Your right to get through it as best you can. xx
- July 8, 2011 at 1:56 pm
-
As God Golly Miss Holly said, there is no right or wrong way to get through the trauma you have suffered, to navigate the grief. There is just your way, your path. If it helped YOU, even just a little bit, that is all that matters.
- July 8, 2011 at 1:55 pm
-
I have been following you for a while now and never commented… I just sit in awe of this amazing honesty and realism you put into your blog.
I felt I needed to comment now, because this post really hit me in so many ways.
Thank you for putting your entire self out there, and never second guess your healing process, for it is truly an individual road to travel.
xoxoxo Jessica - July 8, 2011 at 1:39 pm
-
Everyone takes death differently.
We all agree on this.I agree on your stance, and it is how I deal with my own grief. The dead? Even if they do feel like some believe, there is no way of you knowing what they're feeling. So why assume? Why live your life doing "what he would have wanted" because really…it's what you presume he would want and it may not be the actual case.
I've said it to you many times, and it still applies here. You do what you need to help you right here and right now.
If sex helps with the pain, even for 10minutes, who is anyone to judge you for your escape? - July 8, 2011 at 1:35 pm
-
I am certain that you are not the only person in the world that has turned to sex in an effort to feel something, anything, after a death.
Certainly no judgement here . . . only a deep respect for your total honesty.
Jenn - July 8, 2011 at 1:34 pm
-
you are only human after all.
xx - July 8, 2011 at 1:03 pm
-
you just need to do whatever it is that will help you get through this. No one has the right to judge you! Fuck the haters, Lori. You're spectacular. You're being honest, which is better than not saying anything and pretending everything is okay. Xx
- July 8, 2011 at 12:58 pm
-
the last sentence, really. self preservation, you know?
- July 8, 2011 at 12:43 pm
-
nope, no judgment here. Like you say, whatever gets you through. Loving your writing
- July 8, 2011 at 12:41 pm
-
In complete agreement with Katy Xx
- July 8, 2011 at 12:39 pm
-
Totally understand. Hugs.
- July 8, 2011 at 12:38 pm
-
Until someone has walked in your shoes Lori they have no right to judge.
We smugly think we know exactly how we would feel and react in situations we have never faced but methinks in reality we have no idea.
- July 8, 2011 at 12:33 pm
-
Never. I would never judge. Grief is a giant hulking asshole and your grief is…well…more. Not exactly more.
Maybe you know what I mean.
And you're surviving, even though surviving is sometimes an asshole, too.
- July 8, 2011 at 12:26 pm
-
You probably will get people who judge you on this one, but I agreer with Katy. Whatever gets/got you through so long as it isn't harming anyone.
- July 8, 2011 at 12:24 pm
-
I'm a big believer in whatever gets you through the night. Your honesty is beautiful x
- July 8, 2011 at 9:38 pm
-
All I can say is I'm very glad you chose sex rather than cutting yourself. You needed to do something to feel better, to feel alive. It makes perfect sense to me, as odd as that might sound. Anyways, no judgement here, hun.
- July 8, 2011 at 1:27 pm
-
Wonderful post. Read it twice. Goosebumps. x
- July 8, 2011 at 1:25 pm
-
Your honesty is divine, Lori. There is no right, wrong, should or supposed to here – You just need to surrender to the primal instincts that get you through the darkness x
- July 8, 2011 at 1:11 pm
-
Until someone has lived your life, they cannot judge.
If they do – then they can FUCK OFF xoxoxox - July 8, 2011 at 1:04 pm
-
"SAFE" is the only part of that that 'matters' — and only because in a weird I-read-your-blog-and-feel-I-know-you kind of way, I feel very protective of you.
Sex-after-death is certainly not uncommon, and if it gave you even a few minutes of peace, we'll call it good enough.
I love your honesty. XX - July 8, 2011 at 1:04 pm
-
Exactly exactly what Katy said.
- July 8, 2011 at 12:29 pm
-
What Katy said.
xxx
Previous post: Guess What’s Coming…?
Next post: 181.
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: Giant.
Just Another Blogger – RRSAHM
Just Another Blogger
I was interviewed by the Today show last week. It aired Tuesday morning, and both recording it and watching it back were awesome fun. The Chop is slightly in love with Syliva the reporter, which is understandable- she was gorgeous. But very tall. I felt like a midget. You can view the Today Show piece here.
I’ve done a fair few media bits and pieces, especially over the last twelve months. This was different though. Different, in a lovely kind of way. It wasn’t so much an interview with ‘the woman who talks about suicide’ or the ‘mum blogger whose husband died’. It was an interview with the Lori, who writes a blog called the Random Ramblings of a SAHM.
Just another blogger, telling her story, talking about random bits and pieces. And a bit of that story is that my husband passed away.
I got a comment a few weeks ago, here on my blog, that said “Lori, I have only just started following your blog and I had NO IDEA about your past”. That was pretty freaking awesome. Meg read my blog and didn’t know straight away.
Doesn’t seem like much, I know. But it means a great big deal. Some days I feel as if I’m drowning in myself, in what happened to me, in what I carry with me. Some days it feels like that’s all this blog is about too, as if the place where I write down my soul has been as totally swallowed as the rest of me.
That comment, and that interview… they’ve changed the viewpoint a little. Not changed where I stand… just the way I see things.
Sometimes I write about grief. sometimes I write about death and suicide and the ugly side of people and life and humanity. But I write about other stuff here too.
I’m just another blogger. Mum, personal, whatever. Just another blogger.
It’s a good place to be.
Leave a Comment
{ 24 comments… read them below or add one }
- March 2, 2012 at 5:37 am
-
Lori- I came to your blog on a link from CrankyMonkeys. She hinted that you had lost your husband. But, first, I read your two parts on The Water. I knew right then that I will have to read every single post. The way you relayed The Water is what has me hooked. It's incredible.
- February 28, 2012 at 10:56 am
-
Hi Lori,
I really enjoyed watching you on the Today Show.
You have two gorgeous children and yes you're garden looks like a very beautiful peaceful place to escape to!
All the best xx
- February 27, 2012 at 10:02 am
-
It was such a great piece – you looked and sounded great and the kids were TOO CUTE! You are a superb blogger no matter your niche
- February 26, 2012 at 11:39 pm
- February 25, 2012 at 5:27 am
-
What a great interview – how exciting! Congratulations!
- February 24, 2012 at 4:56 pm
-
You are so much more than any one of your parts, and so is your blog:) I'm so glad you did this show, it sounds a fabulous experience for your identity
- February 24, 2012 at 12:47 pm
-
I loved this post. I am so far into the grief and fear right now, but you give me hope that one day my writing will be of much more than that.
- February 23, 2012 at 10:36 pm
-
You're not "just another blogger" to me – you are an amazingly talented, incredibly strong woman who just happens to blog
in my humble opinion anyway. I know what you mean and I'm happy that there's some space between the past and where you're at right now – but don't go selling yourself short, okay? - February 23, 2012 at 8:37 pm
-
That is SO cool, u hv 30,000 followers?! Incredible! I know u don't do it for the money anyway (love the jj soundtrack!) but that must be great to earn from it,its so hard being there for the kids and working.I hv an ironing business to sort that even though I hate ironing :-/. You're a v talented woman Lori, love the blog and pleased for you its bringing in an income as well. Xxx
- February 23, 2012 at 2:00 pm
-
And the day I have waited for has arrived WOO! HOO! – geez I seem to be "WOO! HOO!"ing a lot today lol
What you have been through, what you go through doesn't change the "who" that you are. Underneath it all Lori is still there, and you're finally seeing that
Totally awesome dude!
- February 23, 2012 at 2:00 pm
-
"Doesn't seem like much"…… you don't mean that! It's a huge deal. And it's surely a great comfort for you to raelise that you can choose when (and whether) you are defined by your life experiences. They can be productive and handy and incredibly vital sometimes. But others, if you can't escape that definition, it can make you lose your own identification of your Self.
So I think this is brilliant. And the very opposite of not seeming like much
xox Much love to you. - February 23, 2012 at 1:56 pm
-
The piece was great and you were great in it. I particularly noted that the details of your loss were not given, it was only stated in the context of how the online community and the act of blogging helped you. I thought it was very very well done.
The kids are so adorable by the way. They looked like they were having a BLAST! - February 23, 2012 at 1:56 pm
-
And the day I have waited for has arrived WOO! HOO! – geez I seem to be "WOO! HOO!"ing a lot today lol
What you have been through, what you go through doesn't change the "who" that you are. Underneath it all Lori is still there, and you're finally seeing that
Totally awesome dude!
- February 23, 2012 at 1:40 pm
-
I agree with miss pink and I love your writing – no matter what it is about. Remember it is your story – warts and all!
- February 23, 2012 at 12:55 pm
-
just watched it – fabulous!
- February 23, 2012 at 12:40 pm
-
Awesome!
- February 23, 2012 at 11:42 am
-
This is why I don't understand "niche's" and the apparent need to have one.
I'm a mother, I write a blog, does that make me a mummy blogger? Even if I don't write about them?
And if my kids both died and I instead wrote about what it is like to not be their mother, would I still be a mummy blogger?
What about if I write about food for a whole month and only food? Does that make me a food blogger? Even if I stop after that month and then write about something completely different?Isn't it enough to be "just a blogger"?
I like to think so. I like to think just blogging life, and thoughts and bits and pieces as you choose is enough, is what makes you interesting, and seem like a normal person, a friend.You're doing a good job at this blogging thing Lori. It doesn't matter if you write about lost diaphrams, train obsessed children, broken vibrators, or living a horror story, you're doing a fucking good job.
- February 23, 2012 at 11:42 am
-
This is why I don't understand "niche's" and the apparent need to have one.
I'm a mother, I write a blog, does that make me a mummy blogger? Even if I don't write about them?
And if my kids both died and I instead wrote about what it is like to not be their mother, would I still be a mummy blogger?
What about if I write about food for a whole month and only food? Does that make me a food blogger? Even if I stop after that month and then write about something completely different?Isn't it enough to be "just a blogger"?
I like to think so. I like to think just blogging life, and thoughts and bits and pieces as you choose is enough, is what makes you interesting, and seem like a normal person, a friend.You're doing a good job at this blogging thing Lori. It doesn't matter if you write about lost diaphrams, train obsessed children, broken vibrators, or living a horror story, you're doing a fucking good job.
- February 23, 2012 at 9:57 am
-
I've been reading your blog for less than a year, and I am beginning to see a bit more balance in the posts you write. The number of 'other post' stuff seems to be increasing. Perhaps that is progress.
- February 23, 2012 at 9:50 am
-
Loved seeing you on tv !!
- February 23, 2012 at 9:22 am
-
You are a beautiful young bud still slowly opening up and feeling the joy of the sunny days on your face x
- February 23, 2012 at 9:12 am
-
yey – how nice to be 'just another' – but with a TV interview you're a 'just another with benefits!' LOL
- February 23, 2012 at 9:12 am
-
That was excellent.
- February 23, 2012 at 9:19 am
-
You forgot: One hell of a writer!
Previous post: The Nature of Grief, Part One.
Next post: SuperHeroes
Blogging Is Just Weird. – RRSAHM
Blogging Is Just Weird.
Blogging can be all kinds of weird.
Some days, you’ll spend hours crafting a post, writing and re-writing, thinking and editing…. and no one will pay any attention whatsoever.
And, other days, there are posts that you write out quickly and barely look at it again, the catharsis of them coming through bleeding out the words in the first place. You hit publish and file them away in your own mental archives, with hundreds of others, not expecting anyone to pay much attention…
And they get picked up and syndicated by BlogHer.
Excuse me while I rest back here on my laurels for a bit.
It’s comfortable, and I’m tired.
And besides, laurels smell just lovely.
***
Apologies for the bugs in the commenting system the last few days. I’d like to blame a new mobile blog reader app that may have just been released… but truly, it was my own fault for ticking the wrong box.
Fingers crossed, the gremlins will migrate elsewhere soon.
Leave a Comment
{ 5 comments… read them below or add one }
- October 5, 2012 at 9:15 pm
-
I am not at all surprised that this post was picked up. It's so honest and heartbreaking it made me cry, and I wanted to post a comment at the time but couldn't. Hope you all keep doing ok.
- October 1, 2012 at 10:07 am
-
I read your poignant post on Blogher. I'm so sorry for what you've been through and my heart goes out to you and your babies.
- September 29, 2012 at 11:08 pm
-
Blogher picked up a totally random post of mine this week. I don't know how they choose! But that lost of yours is the first one I've ever read and I spent two hours yesterday going back and reading through your story. While my story is nothing like yours, I have many times in the last 8 years as a military wife looked around and said "Is this really my life? Am I strong enough to do this?"
I feel so much pain to read that people have judged and mistreated you as you have walked this path no one ever hopes to walk. I applaud your strength at speaking your truth and working through the hard things in spite of what those people may think or say. I mourn for the loss you have experienced of a man who you clearly loved beyond description, and I think the preservation of all these memories and experiences will help your children to better understand some day.
Your grocery store post was fantastic though. I am so glad Blogher picked it up so I could find your blog. It is really eye opening and amazing.
- September 28, 2012 at 7:51 am
-
I know that ironic feeling. Well done! Giulia x
- September 27, 2012 at 9:55 am
-
Tee hee.
Previous post: A Very, Very Long Time.
Next post: Spring Cleaning The TinyTrainHouse
Vlogged- Dermal Piercings. – RRSAHM
Vlogged- Dermal Piercings.
Vlogging… just like old times.
*Ahem* *cough* Some of you may have noticed I initially posted the un-edited version of this vlog. Man whore. Apologies.
Leave a Comment
{ 14 comments… read them below or add one }
- April 29, 2011 at 11:49 am
-
I'm feeling kind of squirmy looking at this. You can tell that I've limited my piercings to my ears and navel (and that HURT)!
- April 22, 2011 at 5:43 pm
-
OUUUUUUUUUUUUUCH!
On another note, you look absolutely stunningly gorgeous. Kind of remarkable, especially given what you have been through this year. You must share your beauty secrets.
- April 22, 2011 at 6:23 am
-
You have the most beautiful smile.
- April 22, 2011 at 4:25 am
-
So good to see you smiling. That phone call/nail filing sequence was hilarious :)great vlog.
- April 22, 2011 at 12:26 am
-
OUCH!!
I had my tongue studded in college. I was drunk when I got it done. It hurt like hell and I threw up. As I was throwing up this big tattooed and pierced guy was holding a wet cloth on the back of my neck and patting my back telling me I'd be okay. Oh, the fun I used to have.
Love your vlogs!
- April 21, 2011 at 10:12 pm
-
Sorry if this is inappropriate, but you are HOT! I have never watched your vlog before, but read your blog often..
- April 21, 2011 at 10:02 pm
-
Lori , Yur are so multi tasked lol… nail clipping (even licked it) hehe chatting on yr iphone (cant wait to get mine) and looking at your dermal piercing OMG! They look so cool! I also think the bottom 1 is awesome im still wanting a tatt but might think of getting this done instead!
Love ya lots xxxxxxxxxx - April 21, 2011 at 9:35 pm
-
Awsome Vlog Lori. Lovely to put a voice to the writing… I have always wondered about those types of piercings – I never knew what they were called either! And just for the record I do think that the mid Vlog telephone call, nail filing was perfect!!! Felt very voyueristic
- April 21, 2011 at 7:59 pm
-
oops, it's Thursday.
- April 21, 2011 at 7:59 pm
-
Love listening to your voice – and the phone call/multi-tasking nail filing on a Friday night x
- April 21, 2011 at 7:35 pm
-
Dude, I Love that you can Vlog, Talk on the phone, periodically check your tweet deck pop ups… (I so know you were doing that..) trim your nails and lick your nail clippers?.. all at the same time!!! hahahaha!!!! Love your guts xx ;P
- April 21, 2011 at 7:34 pm
-
Were you directing that at me the whole time?
You were weren't you.
You had me sold until you talked about how they're removed!!!
The bottom one is my fave too.Hmmmm…..Dear Lori, want to be a good mate and take me when i go get my dermal? That is if i can grow a pair…which i do want them desperately…i am just really fucking scared. Lol. But would you take me if i man up?
- April 21, 2011 at 6:54 pm
-
oooh they look so painful, good to know they're not. Do your little munchkins try play with them? Mine fiddle with my ear piercings thats enough to drive me batty hehe.
Ps- Luv the mid video phone interruption… man whore 30 + what constitutes a woman whore? lol. Love the vlog look forward to seeing more again soon.
Potsy mummy. - April 21, 2011 at 9:54 pm
-
Ha ha! OK, can I just say I am a piercing/tattoo addict (I have three tats, a nose ring and my ears are twice-pierced. I'd have more, but the $$$ do add up… sigh) and I LOVE the dermal piercings!! Isn't it funny how everyone's first question is: "OMG, didn't that HURT?!?!?!" Lol… So pretty.
PS: After that phone call, I'm thinking you need to do either a Vlog or a regular post on "Lori's Top 10 Ways to Tell You're a Man-Whore." I think the public needs to be educated. Just sayin'.
Previous post: Disturbia.
Next post: Sex.
Newborn- The Things I Wish I'd Known. – RRSAHM
Newborn- The Things I Wish I’d Known.
Another post, written in November last year… step back in time to the Before.
Shhh,
This is a post for the mothers of newborns, first time mums, with first time babies. Tiny babies. Mothers who are in, or about to enter, those first grueling six weeks. Or eight weeks. Or three months. That first stretch of time, when they’re so fragile, and their cries are so heart-breakingly desperate.
And it’s for the mother’s who’ve been there, who remember it vaguely, with a sweetness and a bitterness all the same.
It’s not for every mother. It’s not for those of you who’s baby slept through at four days old, or for those women who felt nothing but bliss and security, with a tiny, curly newborn on their chest. I know those mothers exist, and I ache with envy for them. They began their parenting experience in a completely different place to me.
This isn’t for those mothers.
This is for the mothers who are so tired their skin feels peaked and raw. The mothers who are so desperately craving a hot shower and warm meal, a meal that had been properly cooked and not microwaved, they would actually consider trading their freshly birthed baby for one or the other. The mothers who haven’t had more than three hours of consecutive sleep since their thirty-sixth week of pregnancy.
The mothers who feel their lives have been taken, crumpled, decimated. The ones who feel like I felt- that they cannot possibly shift the myriad elements of their quite simple life enough to accommodate the massiveness of this tiny child.
The mothers who are starting to feel desperate.
There are things you should know. Things that I only wish someone had told me, over a hug and hot cup of tea, while they quieted and shushed my constantly screaming child.
It’s going to be OK.
I promise.
I know it might feel hopeless right now, but this will pass.
It’s not always going to be this difficult. As the baby gets older, things will get just that little bit easier. Babies don’t feed for so long as they grow bigger, they don’t need so much sleep.
The process of leaving the house, that will get easier too. I know that, at the moment, the prospect of packing up a squawking baby and heading to the shops is momentous, but do it. You will feel better for it.
Or, ya know, don’t. It doesn’t matter. In a month or two, you’ll be cruising all over the place, shops to friend’s houses and back again, baby in tow.
It gets easier. It has to.
And, while we’re being honest, night feeds don’t last forever. And certainly not at the frequency and intensity you’re experiencing them now. The night feeds, they become shorter. I promise. And here’s a major secret I’ll let you in on- unless you have nappy rash problems, really, a newborn actually doesn’t need a nappy change every night, after every feed, especially if they’re feeding every two hours. No one will ever know the difference.
Oh, and one more Big Parenting Secret The Clinic Nurse May Not Want You To Know- it’s OK to put your baby in your bed, with you. Seriously. As long as you do it safely. It will be warm and snuggly and lovely. And at 2am, it will save you countless minutes of precious, energy-giving sleep.
Since we’re on the topic, you need to sleep. I know how difficult it is to catch a catnap when your baby only sleeps for 45 minutes at a time, but sleep when you can. Don’t worry about the housework, the washing, the stuff you should be doing. Sleep. If you can’t sleep, try and relax. The world will go on without you, that’s true. But I can guarantee you won’t be missing much. There’s nothing so important that someone won’t fill you in on it later. And no one will forget about you because you’ve dropped out of life for a few weeks, because your taking care of yourself and in a baby-moon bliss. And if they do, they really weren’t adding much to your life anyway.
And do try and resist the urge to smack your childless, hung over friends in the forehead when they complain about being tired. (“You don’t not know what tired is.”)
Having a newborn baby the first time round was the most difficult thing I’ve ever done in my life, and I mean that, with all honesty. It was torture. My entire body ached. It felt as if I’d been in a horrible car accident, my son’s birth took so much from me. Breastfeeding was hot cylinders of agony in my chest, blood leaking from my nipples, weeping as the clock turned round two hours, too quickly, and it was time to feed him again.
I was so alone. So deserted. No one came, no one called. When people did call, if the baby was sleeping, they wouldn’t bother coming to see me, as if I were a ghost, a transparent image, nothing but a keeper for my child. No one listened to a word I said, they were so focused on this tiny newborn. And everything was different. Not only was leaving the house was an insurmountable task, all the little things that used to fill up our lives- our garden, our dog, a million other interests that slid in here or there… suddenly, the time we once had for them was gone. Evaporated by the heat of a new life. And in their place was a baby.
A tiny, fragile, soft and sweet smelling baby. A baby who I alternatively felt nothing for, resented, was terrified for, and loved so much I thought my heart would break. It was incredible, how much I loved this little person. Beyond anything I felt possible, a love so like a fog that was crushing me. A love so intense it was a physical ache in my chest.
And, at the same time, a total awareness of the tininess of him, of how fragile he was. A memory of a baby, bright blue at birth, struggling to inhale through slow popping bubbles of mucous.. A baby who I now watched, for hours, monitoring the up and down of his chest, the rhythm of his breath. Watching a baby, listening for their breath in the darkness of night, it’s a ritual for mothers is it not? As if it is only our attention that keeps them respirating at all.
A new mother. Broken, stretched, changed. And tired. So very, very tired. So tired I could, would, did weep, often. I know what it’s like to be prepared, quite literally, to beg the Gods for five hours unbroken sleep. To be so tired you can’t fall sleep. So exhausted that the act of surviving has left you wired.
The exhaustion? That will pass too, or so they tell me. I’m still tired- I’m always tired- but the ache, the desperate sweet memory of sleeping till noon- that’s no longer an experience that is mine. That’s what someone else used to do, someone vague, a character in an obscure movie I once watched, in a cheap paperback book I picked up at the newsagents.
The grass is always greener. It’s just that, sometimes,
it takes you a little time to realise what side of the fence you’re on. The life I had before was jagged and lovely. But it doesn’t compare to the sweet, everyday raptures of what I have now.
Even if I am exhausted.
And I know that you are too.
Hang on in there. It’s tough, I know it’s tough. All bets are off. This baby, this tiny new life that you may actually be cradling in your arms right now- this changes everything. Your life, your soul, your mind, your body, your boundaries, your sense of empathy and existence and reality.
But it’s OK.
I promise.
Everything is going to be OK.
Leave a Comment
{ 28 comments… read them below or add one }
- November 8, 2011 at 3:17 pm
-
I just found this. I wish I had found it 8.5 months ago. Things are better now, mostly, but good lord, it was HARD in the beginning. So hard. And impossible to understand unless you've lived it. You do good work, lady.
- April 11, 2011 at 7:25 am
-
Oh. God. Yes! I remember being on the verge, the absolute of verge, of shaking them. Begging, "Please, please just fucking SLEEP!"
I could not have survived without co-sleeping & anti-depressants.
Love Siphie xxx
- April 10, 2011 at 10:07 am
-
Such wise words Lori. I, too, struggled with thinking it would be 'one' way (love & baby bliss) only to discover a foreign world no one had warned me about. Not that it would have mattered, you wouldn't trade those often difficult early hazy days for anything.
I had a fairly easy time compared to some, but I found one baby a luxury I was craving when child number two came along. I had an epiphany a few days after we got home from hospital with 2nd child and cried to my mother…"it was hard first time around, I was sooo deathly tired. But, how do I sleep when the baby sleeps if you have an older child to watch who's awake!" it was at that moment that I realized I wasn't going to stop being tired for a long time.
My babies are the most amazing young adults at 15 & 16 now, but I will NEVER forget how fragile & exhausted i felt when my second baby cried. It might have been the sweetest soft wails of a baby to an outsider, but to me it sounded like blood curdlingly death & I wasn't entirely sure I could deal with it some days.
You look so beautiful in your vlog Lori; so serene, with an inner peaceful glow. Heartwarming. xx
- April 9, 2011 at 4:53 am
-
I let my baby sleep with us. I would wake up all the time listening to him. We even bought two beds and put them together for room for him. Then we got a king size bed and one of those mesh portable cribs and I put it right beside my side of the bed for him to sleep in. He finally went into his own room when he was 2 1/2. He did wake up a lot when he was just born, but then it would be once or twice a night. The key was to put rice cereal in the milk, it made him fuller.
- April 8, 2011 at 10:50 pm
-
What a wonderful post Lori. My baby is now 13 weeks, he only sleeps for 30-40 mins every now and then and if I let it, it could destroy me. The main reason it doesn't is that I have done it 3 times before and I know this baby daze passes in the blink of an eye. He will never need me like he does now and one day I will ache to have him look at me the way he does now. Anyone who says motherhood is easy is taking the piss.
- April 8, 2011 at 10:20 pm
-
I'm another one of those "other" mothers. I had easy going babies who ate and slept pretty much on schedule, when they weren't sleeping they were happy to lie in their cots or on the floor blanket while I did "me" stuff, like shower, cook, laundry etc. I took them with me from room to room, talked to them the whole time. It was VERY much easier with the 4th one, because the older kids entertained hm.
- April 8, 2011 at 8:15 pm
-
I was one of those mothers who had it easy… at least the first time around! The second time I wondered what was wrong with me. I was so tired I cried and cried, holding my crying baby and begging him to sleep baby, just sleep. So Mummy can sleep too! Please. It did get easier, but gosh! Your words. About THOSE feelings.
But, as crazy as I felt I was dealing with it for a second, and yet a first, time… I did it again!!
Sometimes we miss our life before. Mostly I miss the sleep, but I wouldn't trade all that sleep for the three beauties I have now.
Great post!
- April 8, 2011 at 7:15 pm
-
I am not a mother, but a stepmother about to be a stepgrandmother. I will 'cut this out and keep it' to give to my 'dil'… probably in about eight weeks from now.
- April 8, 2011 at 3:58 pm
-
What a wonderful post!
I don't think ANYTHING can possibly prepare you for a newborn!
But this post does a great job at letting them know, they are not alone!
I felt alone, and I had a relatively easy bubba.
And yes, the friends visiting for hours, go away people, I want to sleep! - April 8, 2011 at 3:48 pm
-
What an amazing post… every word a truth. I just wish I had read that three years ago… This needs to be published as the intro to every bloody pregnancy book….
- April 8, 2011 at 3:45 pm
-
Nothing to say other than, BRILLIANT xx
- April 8, 2011 at 1:07 pm
-
Oh the blinding agony of the early daze. This takes me back to a time where I'd dread it being evening because it meant bed time, and what was the point of bed at all?
I was blessed with an 'easy' baby, but my FIL passed suddenly within minutes of his birth so instead of being cared for I was the carer, and the host, and the entertainer. I am forever grateful for my baby who woke and fed and all that hard stuff like a baby, but who's disposition was relaxed enough to allow be to (barely) cope.
And no-one tells you. Or if they do, you can't quite believe it could be like that.
Brilliant post.
- April 8, 2011 at 1:00 pm
-
I know all about that feeling of abandonment from everyone around – and it's hard, but you adapt. You learn. Beautiful post as always.
- April 8, 2011 at 12:44 pm
-
Oh how I wish I'd had this to read in those God-awful first few months when I felt for sure I was the only mother thinking this way. So beautifully written xx
- April 8, 2011 at 10:48 am
-
My bub is 14mts old and I still don't get more than 3hrs sleep at a time. I'm wrecked. Beyond exhausted. Constantly trying not to tip into that hole that comes from extreme exhaustion. Some days I jst cry from being so tired. People think I'm 'strange'. They don't get that, 'no, I'm just tired. See me on proper sleep again – even 5hrs a night woud be great – and i'm a very different person.' I wasn't prepared for hw hard it is to think when so tired. Hard to change things wen you can't think. i live in a fog. Great post. It needs to be said sometimes that its normal to be soooooo tired. That you're not broken, just tired and it will one day get better.
- April 8, 2011 at 10:46 am
-
I had a MAJOR ADJUSTMENT problem when my boy was born. I thought something was so wrong with me. It was awful. I eventually started blogging because I finally came to the conclusion that I just could not be alone in how I was feeling. What I wouldn't have given to have read this back then. A relief. Another who KNEW. It was rough, man. And then I felt guilty for feeling it was rough. I STILL interact with these new mothers who seem to take it all on with such…ease. They either are having a different experience than I, or they are acting and lying. Now, my boy is 3. What fun! I truly enjoy it as he gets older. I would much rather have a toddler than an infant. But, that's just me. To each her own. Love ya.
- April 8, 2011 at 10:28 am
-
Oh the sleep. And those smug mothers who sit there telling stories of how their days old babies sleep a full 10 hours at night. How i hate those smug mothers.
Babies wake up. They're MEANT to. It's just what babies do!
If there is anything i tell an expecting mother it's that they need to accept that sleep? It's a thing of the past.
Maybe that's why so many elderly people sleep all the time? They're catching up. - April 8, 2011 at 10:20 am
-
I loved my daughter so much the second she was born, after very ambivalent feelings during pregnancy. But a few days after we got home from hospital I remember thinking, abortion must always be legal, you can not do this (birth, a small baby!) to someone against their will! It was so much easier the second time around for so many reasons.
- April 8, 2011 at 9:57 am
-
Yes, yes, yes. A million times, yes. Thank you.
- April 8, 2011 at 9:32 am
-
Love everything you've said here, especially the part about feeling like you were in a horrible car accident. I was expecting everything else- a newborn who cried all the time, never getting any sleep, all that. What I wasn't expecting was to feel myself like I'd been hit my a car and could barely move. All those photo's belonging to stupid friends who looked glamorous and lovely post-birth- so misleading.
- April 8, 2011 at 9:31 am
-
Oh I remember those anxious, desperate, exhausting days. I recall thinking over and over again that I was teetering on the edge of a very deep, dark hole (felt I was losing my mind)and it scared me. Got help, got through it and survived! Yeah!
- April 8, 2011 at 9:17 am
-
"It's going to be ok. I promise. I know it might feel hopeless right now, but this will pass."
Gorgeous post Lori, and gorgeous photos too.
xo Marianna
- April 8, 2011 at 8:22 am
-
I could've written those words as my own. I wish that someone, anyone, even myself realised what was going on with me in those precious first months. Great post Lori, really well written.
- April 8, 2011 at 8:21 am
-
Perfectly timed, Lori – I haven't been having it as hard as it seems you did, but I've had such an awful few days/nights that I briefly considered selling Amelia on eBay last night!
- April 8, 2011 at 8:16 am
-
I remember. I remember being so tired that I cried about being tired. And she was crying (again) and I was just so goddamned tired. I can feel it still.
- April 8, 2011 at 8:09 am
-
You know what my pet peeve was. Childless friends coming to visit and staying for HOURS. Precious hours when I could have been sleeping, not talking, surviving. Great post, Lori. Those early months are survival months. You just need to get through them however it works for you.
- April 8, 2011 at 12:57 pm
-
I am one of those mothers who's children slept right through from the word go. It seemed the OLDER they got the LESS sleep I got.
It does get better. I know it gets better x
- April 8, 2011 at 10:40 am
-
Wow. That post just took me back to a dark place. It's amazing how there can be a shroud of darkness over one of the best moments of your life. Love this though Lori, every tired new mum should read and be reassured x
Previous post: Liar.
Next post: Welcome To Paradise- the Vlog Edition.
Awesome AdSpace!
A Daily Dose of RRSAHM
Grab a Button!
{ 9 comments… read them below or add one }
I thought you were going to crush me at the end. Yes, drugs/alcohol mess up your skin color. I was sober for a while.
to do: hit xpress men, tan, eat, sober up.
Thank you,
RickW
Besos
Lovely story Lori. I hope you and the kids have a happy Christmas XXXOOO
A beautiful story – I hope you and the littles have a wonderful Christmas
and that you find a little magic yourselves this year.
Lots of love
what a lovely story! I wasn't expecting that ending
Have a very merry Christmas to you and your littlies.
Thank you for a beautiful story. I'm so glad Groucho really became Santa there for a while
What a magical ending!
What an awesome story. I was excited to read part two.
I got the prickly skin "remembering" feeling, the excitement of walking up to santa as a child nervous as can be, bursting with excitement.
I love christmas but have been a little blue this year.
Thankyou Lori for reigniting my excitement. I can't wait to see my kids faces in 2 mornings time.
Ahh Lori, you've sent shivers down my spine!! I hope that Groucho Claus has continued on his path. You have been witness to something so amazing, special & unique… the innocence of a child & the growth of a man. You are blessed to have been a part of that. We are blessed that you shared it with us! Thank you!!