Monthly Archives: May 2016
Moving. – RRSAHM
Moving.
Blending a family is difficult. It requires all kinds of compromise. It requires all kinds of trust.
I’m holding my breath and jumping again.
The kidlets and I are moving to Melbourne and, due to financial constraints, straight into a new life with the Most Amazing Man In The Universe.
It’s an entirely terrifying, confronting-ly overwhelming, highly ambitious plan of action. And, me being the way I am, I’m hoping to swing it into action at some point during the next month or so.
The thought of packing up my house is… difficult. The thought of moving so far away from my mum, even with her blessing, is heartbreaking.
I’m trying not to think so much about how hard this will be for my kids. About how potentially selfish I’m being. About how I’m ripping them away again, from the life they know and love. Sacrificing their comfort for my own.
I tell myself that, should I hate it, it’s only really a matter of moving back. Nothing will be the same as what it is now, and what we’ve got now is good.
I’m hoping for better.
Melbourne’s always felt like home to me. I’m hoping, with time and intense patience, it will feel like home for my kids, too.
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On Writing. – RRSAHM
On Writing.
Some people eat words like food.
I’m one of those people. I always have been, and probably always will be. I devour sentences and paragraphs. I masticate over novella and sentiments. I dine on poetry and lyrics; I taste the world through chapters and pages. I digest tomes and novels, memoirs and publications. I gnaw greedily on lace lengths of words, then lick leftover letters from the tips of my fingers like creamy icing sugar.
I have been known to consume novels whole with huge bites in one sitting, gorging myself on something delicious. I end my literary meal slightly shell shocked at my own hunger, but satisfied. Full and pleasantly bloated, blinking at the light of the world I’ve been missing from for hours in real time… days or years or lifetimes in my head, in whatever book my consciousness is trapped in.
Sometimes people who read like that are blessed enough to write like that, too.
It’s rarely a chore, once you stop thinking to yourself about it and simply begin– type the first line. It’s no longer ‘thought’, as such, just fingers flying across keys, words spilling faster than you can catch them. A rush of dictation that trips over itself, neglects grammar and spelling in it’s urgency to be heard, to make itself linear, to spread itself across a page and lay itself open wide…
Sometimes, words spin themselves like sugar spider webs through my vision, forming chains of prose that spin and swirl round and round, almost like a song stuck to repeat over and over in your mind. Daisy chains of phrases that please my internal ears, pushed by paragraphs behind them that just can’t start speaking yet, lest that rush of words begin with no medium of screen or paper to contain it.
Some stories solidify in the same muddy mind depths from whence young children bring forth crayon monsters on paper. They surface almost fully formed, an experience encapsulated in a slimy, sticky dirt, and writing them out feels akin to birthing a child- it’s hard work that begins deceptively easily, the first pieces of the process sliding quickly into place. It’s at that midway point, with stories like these, half way through when so much of the tale has been labored out already, that you begin to wonder if you can do this, why you are doing this at all… giving birth to a story that wants to leave it’s holding space but offers so much resistance.
There’s a sense of push, of having just that little too much matter than there can conceivably be space for; of having some monstrous, impossible task just ahead, hurtling toward you, a synapse that may be difficult and painful but simply cannot be stopped at this point.
And then, before you even realize you’re reaching the end of it all, the girth of the act is done… the hardest part is over. The last few paragraphs fall in rapid, wilting succession; you are exhausted with a light headed relief. You sit back and stretch sore fingers and tired muscles, slightly amazed and gratified, ears ringing with that un-cemented, hazy belief that you have actually done it… you have, essentially, made something from thin air. You’ve put a story in a place where there was nothing before.
They say the true joy of writing should be in the editing.
Written words are best left to ferment for many hours, just as long as you can bear; at least overnight, so the darkness can seep in. Read them again through someone else’s eyes, tweak and erase and rebuild until words flow like water, until it feels like reading nothing at all but rather being told a story by a melodious voice, slipping into natural curiosity of what comes next. Regard boring, stale phrases as just such; replace them with words and phrases delicious, twined into sentences that could fill you up on scent alone.
Never say you ‘think’– always know. And if you do know it’s something you think, rather than know; then know that, and own it.
Be brave, be soft, be real, say you mean, mean what you say; search the vocabulary you have until you skim across a phrase that resonates, that embodies, that encapsulates.
Build castles with what you write, build cities in people’s minds. Plant desolate places in the souls of happy people so they might know empathy; watermark hope on the minds of those who are lonely, who love is not to touch.
And relish, delight in the simple joy that you can do that.
Writing is, just as reading is… a banquet; fragrance and taste and sensation intermixed.
Writing is like masturbation, like music, like penance. It’s reading- eating books like bags of lollies, hidden under a doona with a flashlight long after bedtime. It’s days that pass while you’re lost in another world bound by a cardboard spine. It’s books that are like old friends, dog eared and lent to friends and stolen from libraries, stained and crumpled and occasionally missing covers.
Writing is life, laid out bare. Black and white and twisted with silver and gold. Artistry, filling ugly holes with beauty.
***
Speaking of writing… we’re still playing the Muse Wars, and you’re more than welcome to join.
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{ 9 comments… read them below or add one }
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August 13, 2012 at 3:20 am -
Love this! I find I'm in a weird place without all the writing. Work writing is hardly the writing I need right now. I need to put words to paper (or screen, as it may be) in a way that just flows until I feel like I've *done* something, but that's a scary prospect right now. I can't keep up with a pen, and though I can reasonably keep up when I type them out, I don't dare put them anywhere electronic.
Do you think there are still old school typewriters out there? Perhaps that's what I need…
- August 12, 2012 at 5:26 pm
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Whoa, this is WONDERFUL, and so apropos, as I've just been in the middle of a huge bloggy discourse about writing over at Mom 101's place. Truly inspired and inspiring words, my friend. FYI I will be including this post in my monthly round up of what I've loved on other people's blogs – coming out at the end of the month. Great big thoughts to chew on here, yum yum, Thanks!
- August 11, 2012 at 3:59 pm
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I fished a book a couple of days ago. One book in a day. I'm always sad to say goodbye to a good book.
- August 10, 2012 at 9:08 pm
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When my kids are driving me particularly crazy, I carry a book with me non-stop. Sticking my nose in and escaping entirely for little sanity saving moments throughout the day.
- August 10, 2012 at 2:13 pm
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Lori, I have always been amazed at your output and how well you write. This is another example.
- August 10, 2012 at 9:37 am
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This is beautiful, for once I have no words…
- August 10, 2012 at 9:37 am
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I too, am a devourer of words. I too gorge on reading, inhaling the scent of the book, the taste of the words on the page.
Many a night has been spent reading a whole book at a time, then wondering why the sun is starting to come up
However, I cannot write – BUT I REALLY appreciate those wonderful people that can fulfill my hunger and need.
Like you – with this blog and your writings.
Thank you ! - August 10, 2012 at 8:56 am
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Very beautifully said Lori. And so true xxxx
- August 10, 2012 at 9:20 am
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I so get what you are saying. When I write, it is a bit like driving. I get to the end, but I cannot remember the route I took. x
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Memory Is A Subjective Matter, Part One – RRSAHM
Memory Is A Subjective Matter, Part One
Memories are such subjective things. We alter and taint them, often to our own advantage. The earlier the experience that created the memory or the deeper into your childhood you’re reminiscing over, the more the memory is likely to be impeded by years worth of experience and impressions.
I have two memories from when I was very young. One I’m almost positive is real and as correct as the memories of an almost two year old can be. I only feel that strongly in my conviction because my mother listened in amazement as I recounted details of her and I creeping into the kitchen of the house I only lived in until I was two. I can remember the structure, color and set up of that house while few photos of it exist, especially of the interior. I remember how the kitchen looked, lit by the cold light of the refrigerator as my mum and I conspired to eat a piece of birthday cake I’d bought home from a party that day before my dad, a compulsive midnight snacker, got to it first.
Why I remember that so distinctly, I’m not sure. Quite possibly the effect of that blue light haloing from the open fridge door, changing a kitchen I saw every day into an entirely different place. In the mind of a not quite two year old, that’s magic.
The other very early memory I think I have is of watching Humphrey B. Bear with my grandfather. If it is genuine, it must be from around the same period of time… he died just before I turned two.
Sadly, as much as I wish it were accurate, I don’t think it is. It’s too hazy, changes too often… it’s the manifestation of facts I’ve been given and photos I’ve seen.
That’s what our mind does. It’s this incredibly complex tangling of pathways we don’t even understand. Our brains have a tendency to take facts we know and couple them with images or sounds or smells that we are familiar enough with to recreate in our imagination. Stir, shake, push to the extremities of your nuerons… and out pops a memory. One so vivid and real and true that it seems as solid as what’s happening right now.
But memory is such a goddamn subjective thing.
I happened to be discussing the Port Arthur massacre with my friend The Doc a few days ago. We argued vehemently as to whether video footage of exists Martin Bryant, gun in hand as he prowls the grounds of the tourist attraction.
The Doc was certain that not only had it existed, he had seen it. He could describe it for me.
No such footage exists, nor has it ever. It’s a memory The Doc’s mind has created for itself, pieced together from massive amounts of media coverage of an event that occurred over fifteen years ago. But he believed it so passionately and was so positive he had seen it, I have no doubt that he would have been able to pass a lie detector test without the slightest hitch of the needle.
Memory experts describe memories as being like a coin on the bottom of a pool. You can see it, if the water’s clear enough. You know it’s there. But it’s obscured, changed and distorted, depending on the water level and clarity. Depending on the time passed, development gained, trauma, distance and so forth; memories become skewed in the same way. (“He was a giant…”)
I had made the naive assumption that my son’s memories of his father would stay preserved and intact, as they were in the months after he died. That the things he would forget would be things I didn’t know he thought about in the first place. That the memories we had shared and discussed between the two of us would be solidified in our common consciousness of them.
Of course I was wrong. Aren’t I always?
There’s a song that features on the Australian TV show PlaySchool on a semi–regular basis called the Dino Stomp. Once on a time it was the soundtrack to my son’s favorite PlaySchool DVD, played on high rotation whenever he managed to con us into turning the TV on. Around the time Tony and I got married, that DVD was still going strong.
Tony and I honeymooned in Port Macquarie (of all places… I’m not sure why, either), and we took our then eighteen month old Chop with us. We listened to that bloody DVD a hundred times over the three days we were away. And we danced the Dino Stomp over and over.
I think the last time I remember doing it was in the lounge room of the Purple House. I can still see Tony and his son laughing, performing all the actions, while I mimicked them with a tiny six month old Bump in my arms.
All of us were laughing.
It was like heaven.
To be continued…
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{ 4 comments… read them below or add one }
- September 9, 2012 at 3:36 pm
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Memories are ridiculously complex. My memory has made up things, nay people, that never actually existed. But I can see this man from my childhood, I can smell him (sawdust), I know where he worked (dry cleaners) and I can feel this wiry dark red beard. He would tell me the story of when I was even younger and I cracked my head open on some concrete. But when he popped into my memory again, at about 15 year old and I asked my mother about him, she told me he did not exist… and nor did me cracking my head open. Childhood memories make everything bigger, everything lasts longer. The outside toilet I thought I feared from age 3 until 5 or 6 … it was demolished within a month of us moving into the house. I think Chop and maybe even Bump will have memories of Tony that they don't even know about… one day they will just pop into their head and make them smile, maybe they won't even know why or know what the memory is. They may think it is just a memory of a dream. But it will be there and it will warm them
- August 29, 2012 at 6:49 pm
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I think our memory has a way of protecting us to a degree, from the slicing crispness of such pain, so that we can grow even after such devastations. My own memories would perhaps be evidence of that. Mine however, as crisp "stills" like flicker cards for when I was very early. The one's just a little older, but still quite young are more like cines. They never change. But one at least, I'm told, is inaccurate and curiously, it's not a happy memory. Like a said, memory retouches over the worst pain.
- August 29, 2012 at 1:07 pm
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My problem is my dreams. I dream and think it is real.
- August 29, 2012 at 8:57 am
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I'm fascinated by the idea of memory being subjective. I've seen documentaries and articles about people who remember everything in perfect detail – to some it's a blessing and to others, a curse. Me? My fuzzy memory is a notoriously well-known aspect of my character. I hate it sometimes, but it's just who I am, and I've learnt to accept and to sometimes question my memories and take other perspectives on board as well.
This was such a beautiful post. Don't worry about the Chop – whatever he remembers will just be what he remembers. The sum total of his memories will make him into who he will be, so whatever they are, fuzzy or full focus, it will just be him.
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Next post: Memory Is A Subjective Matter, Part Two
Come Flog With Me. – RRSAHM
Come Flog With Me.
Give me an M… give me a U…. give me an M… give me another M…..
*Ahem* I’ll stop there. Lets’ pretend I didn’t, and I kept going till I spelt out “MUMMYTIME”.
Now, everybody cheer. Yaaaaaayyyyyyyy!!!! Everybody. You, there, in the back. Don’t get me stabby. That’s better.
Anyways.
As you may have guessed, I’m sending some love and good jellybean to the lovely Lady B over at MummyTime. Because she is the creator and head flogstress of the institution known as Flog Your Blog Friday.
Don’t know what I’m talking about? Read on.
FYBF has been going on for, like, months now and the linky list just gets bigger and more *ahem* swollen engorged turgid whatever.It’s a damn cool way to get your blog out there and to find new blogs to read outside your usual tribe.
And you’ll never guess where FYBF is vacationing for a while.
Or, you know, maybe you will.
Right here on RRSAHM.
FYBF and I are going to be kicking back, drinking some green apple slurpees and shooting the breeze for a while while Lady B does her thing and gets massaged and mainlines Coke and plays with her iPhone. Bless her.
So, get comfy, read the rules, stick to them so I don’t have to hunt you down and beat you to death with my modem, get your link on… and get floggy.
The New Rules (which are kinda almost pretty much the same)
- Follow my blog. (*ahem* *cough* My Blog. Me me me. Me me. You get the picture.)
- Grab B’s bubbly button and post it on your sidebar.
- Link your First Name and/or Blog Name and URL of your linked post (not your homepage) below.
- Add a short description (max of 125 chars). It could be a description of yourself, your blog or a teaser to your latest post.
- Follow at least 1 linkyer/blogger (Be nice and spread the love).
- The list will be open for linkyers on Fridays (and for the foreigners Friday as well).
- A new and fresh link list will open every Friday. And you will have to link up AGAIN. The previous link list does not carry over to the following week.
- And lastly, have lotsa fun. I mean it. If I detect anyone not totally loving the awesomeness, I will bump you off the linky list. (Joking) (Kinda).
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{ 20 comments… read them below or add one }
- July 25, 2010 at 4:04 am
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Congrats on hosting FYBF and I love Brenda's new button!
- July 24, 2010 at 10:37 am
- July 24, 2010 at 8:57 am
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Congratulations Lori, luckily I was already following you. Enjoy hosting FYBF. Mich x
- July 23, 2010 at 11:42 pm
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With great power comes great responsibility.
Thankfully, you are the bombdiggity and you can handle it.Yippee for Lori!!
- July 23, 2010 at 3:52 pm
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Happy Anniversary!
Hurray for hosting Flog Yo Blog Friday! Whew-hoooooo! - July 23, 2010 at 3:22 pm
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Oh wow!! Now I just have to get round to comment on everyone
So, I promise, I will get there- but don't hate me if I don't get to your blog until Monday, it's my wedding anniversary this weekend - July 23, 2010 at 3:05 pm
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You are on an organisational roll! Thank you for setting it all up
- July 23, 2010 at 2:39 pm
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It's nice to be hanging out in the purple house, thanks Lori!
- July 23, 2010 at 10:56 am
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How fun! Glad to meet you.
- July 23, 2010 at 10:48 am
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Woo hoo!! Flogorama at the purple house!!
- July 23, 2010 at 9:42 am
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Thanks for taking over FYBF!
- July 23, 2010 at 9:36 am
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SOS! Please help! I'm a non-tech savvy git and I can't for the life of me figure out how to get the linky into my WordPress. I've tried Links, I've tried Text. It's just not happening!
- July 23, 2010 at 9:03 am
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Woo hoo! So glad you're able to take over and it's not just going away, you sassy, fun gal!
- July 23, 2010 at 8:54 am
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Fabbo! So pleased one of my other favourite bloggers is taking over the mantle (mantal? mantel? whatevs!)
- July 23, 2010 at 8:18 am
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You are going gangbusters. Carnivals. Flogging. What is next?? Can't wait to see. Thank you for doing all of this for us. Mwah xx
- July 23, 2010 at 8:01 am
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Ooh a new flogging hostess!
- July 23, 2010 at 7:59 am
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Oooooh, look at you! Hello you Flog Queen you. I can still flog yes? No need to reply. I'm linkying now! WOOHOO!!
- July 23, 2010 at 7:56 am
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Ooh! Lovely!
- July 23, 2010 at 7:51 am
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Hooray!
- July 23, 2010 at 8:06 am
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Are you nervous?? I would be shitting my dacks with all those eyes on me! xo
Home Town – RRSAHM
Home Town
This place is so tiny. It seemed so much bigger, growing up here, when I was a kid.
I took my shoes off before I turned in the main road into town, and i haven’t had need to put on them again since.
It took me just a few hours to start talking ‘local’ again. HomeTown (read betweeen the lines here, people) is just ‘Home’, kangaroos are roo’s, the (insert name here) Lake is just the lake.
Places are known by their broadest definition- pub, real estate, supermarket, beach- because their is no need to for any more detail than that. Streets are known by one name, Tradewinds or Sandpiper or River, and so are locals. Mostly, it’s their last. People, nice people with no agenda but friendliness and quiet curiousity, they ask me what I’m doing here, and I answer with my family name. That’s all that’s needed for me to be accepted, taken in. As much family as anyone else who lives here.
It’s slow and comfortable here. I know where I’m going without having to think about it, I know this place like the back of my hand.
Mostly. Things jump out and surprise me. A new street here, a much bigger house here. The house I grew up almost completley hidden by a massive pine that I used to shimmy up and down with my brother. I thought it was so very high, as a seven year old…. it mustn’t have been. It’s been twenty years and it’s only just the size of the two story house it hides.
A tiny reserve, a clearing with a rotting log that I played in as a little girl is completley gone, grown so far over I can’t even see where it once was. (The fairies who lived there are fine, I tell my five year old self, just fine.)
The perfect place to wait, I think. To be quiet and think and heal and write and give my children, especially my Chop, a chance to begin to heal too.
A few months, here. Back home. And we’ll see where we go, from then. What pans out. What fate has to throw at me this time.
I’m hoping for the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel. The broken part of me thinks it’s not even possible, not even real. I had been happy for so long, four really good years…. maybe I’ve used up my allotment.
Happiness… it never lasts long. How many times do I have to learn that?
Whatever. We’ll see. I feel like I’m running, madly, and getting nowhere.
I pulled up in front of what used to be my primary school this morning. It’s gone… to drive past there, if you didn’t know, you would never know that anything had been there at all.
Further in, there’s a concrete slab. And not much else. And my perpsective is so skewed, by how tiny this place actually is, by how tiny I must have been, back then; that I couldn’t pick what it once might have.
Time moves on, you see. Trees, they grow, and burn, and grow again. Big places get smaller, further away.
To the point where they exist, where they’re real, only in the minds of people who remember them.
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{ 29 comments… read them below or add one }
- March 13, 2011 at 5:41 pm
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I expected similar feelings when I went back to the town I grew up in, but that didn't happen. The town has grown and changed so much I almost didn't recognise it.
It's nice that your hometown is so familiar for you, a place where you can let go and just rewind for a while. - March 13, 2011 at 4:49 pm
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I'm from the South Coast too… and I didn't go back for a while, but when I do it's such a contrast to the City.
xx
- March 13, 2011 at 1:08 pm
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It sounds like a great place to be. *HUGS* Thinking of you!
- March 13, 2011 at 11:28 am
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I hope this place is healing for you and for your children. Thinking of you.
- March 13, 2011 at 9:51 am
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I moved so much in my younger years I don't really have a childhood hometown. I think where I live now is my new hometown. Glad you are doing well – take time to heal, grow and rediscover yourself.
- March 13, 2011 at 9:51 am
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I hope being there helps you all heal. It sounds like you have indeed gone home. Comfort is important, and the familiar can be very comforting.
I am sorry about the primary school though, must be strange seeing that building gone when it was such a big part of your young life.
- March 13, 2011 at 8:33 am
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Hope it's helping being home again x
- March 13, 2011 at 8:21 am
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I always refer to my hometown as like rehab. I go there and breathe, surround myself in the familiar, the simplistic… I think this change will do you good, and please never lose hope that your happiness limit has been used up. I believe you are now owed infinite blessings after what you've been through, and that one day they'll come your way x
- March 13, 2011 at 6:46 am
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Lovely piece.
- March 13, 2011 at 6:31 am
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kick off your shoes and feel the grass between your toes. sounds like a calming place. stay a while xx
- March 13, 2011 at 4:50 am
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Sounds like a great place to be. Wishing you peace. And quiet. And all embracing comfort as you heal. hugs.
- March 13, 2011 at 4:08 am
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I admire the decisions you are making for yourself and your little ones. I know it's hard, so damn hard, but you are doing it and my goodness I am in awe of your strength. Good for you.
- March 13, 2011 at 1:34 am
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you 'sound' better, calmer. stay a while
- March 13, 2011 at 1:15 am
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My hometown feels exactly the same way. Just do what feels right. Let the ease and comfort of home wrap you up like a warm blanket. Find PEACE…
Marianna - March 12, 2011 at 10:52 pm
- March 12, 2011 at 10:40 pm
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Hey. Remember what you have written about the trees. I think there is something profound in that for you. Love to you xx
- March 12, 2011 at 10:27 pm
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Lori, I often think that the hometowns ripen our memories for the small things. Which is probably good.
I "ran away" once. To hometown. I came back, and am glad. But hometown was therapy.
xx
- March 12, 2011 at 10:25 pm
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I think you are healing, Lori. Not that I have any idea, it just seems that way to me.
Enjoy being home.
Leanne xo
- March 12, 2011 at 9:37 pm
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Familiarity and simplicity are a gift – and one you have taken it seems. I hope this time blesses you and your babes. x
- March 12, 2011 at 9:24 pm
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Enjoy home and the comforts it brings.
- March 12, 2011 at 8:32 pm
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Home. It is good. Even after we leave, it remains home, remains the place that we know. Settle in and heal, Lori. X
- March 12, 2011 at 7:50 pm
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I hope going home to simplicity helps you all to heal x
- March 12, 2011 at 7:24 pm
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What a great idea to go back:) I can relate to the feeling of the hometown being so different
- March 12, 2011 at 7:17 pm
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I'm glad you can be in a place where you can entertain thoughts of some healing for you and your two precious little people. You are never far from my thoughts Lori xx
- March 12, 2011 at 7:10 pm
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How wonderful to have somewhere in the world where you can just be for a little while, and see what happens. Good for you Lori, for taking such great care of yourself and your littlies.
Sarah xxx
- March 12, 2011 at 6:58 pm
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Just like it seems we have an infinite amount of tears, I believe we have the capacity for infinite happiness… I don't think you've used all yours up.
- March 13, 2011 at 2:06 am
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Your hometown sounds divine – Allow it's simpleness and familiarity to embrace you and help you heal x
- March 13, 2011 at 1:34 am
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Like I said…
- March 12, 2011 at 8:03 pm
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Do it x
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Random Ramblings of a SAHM: Giant.
A Holy Parenting Pinnacle. – RRSAHM
A Holy Parenting Pinnacle.
My children grow older in great jumping stretches, strides of development and intellect that take me by shocked and awe-struck surprise. They learn things while I’m not looking, not watching, not quite paying attention; some days they seem to eat the world whole and regurgitate it, piecemeal and filtered down to it’s most keenly observed and amusingly purified status.
They make decisions. They form their own likes and dislikes, opinions and quirks. Desires and preferences and aches and soft spots. They become little people, a formation of their own selves. Without ever needing my- nor anyone else’s- permission.
My son leaves for school each day buoyant, blessed, the sunshine of scabbed knees and school awards all over his happy smile and lightly freckled nose. He adores Big School and he’s well behaved and popular, smart and polite.
I’m so proud of him I could pop, burst apart at the seams with a sunshine of my own. I worry so much for him it aches at my heart. He rarely mentions his father, hardy ever; and when he does its with the sunny side-up– spotting a star and saying goodnight, sharing a wistful memory of ‘when we lived in the Purple House‘ with me (some days, it seems he keeps more memories from there than I do, and I don’t know if that’s happy or sad, awful or heartening).
My daughter is now older than my son was when his father died. Sometimes I look at other children, younger children, unsteady on their feet and still with a baby-fluff of hair on their heads and I think to myself, in a tone that carries a desperate guttural sort of sobbing sadness- she was so little. She was so young- just a baby, really. And again, I don’t know if that’s good or bad, a happy occurrence or a sad one.
I still keep tabs and measurements on my kids- maybe I always will. I track growths and accomplishments- toilet training, learning to count, my son writing his name, whole nights of (blessed) unbroken sleep, wobbly teeth and birthday parties. I pay extra attention to them, record and file them in the recesses of my mind. Accomplishments made. Things done. Less out of a fear of forgetting all of them, with no one to remind me; more because these are things I have witnessed, alone. My children’s accomplishments are mine as well.
My children have been mine now for much longer than they were ever Tony’s. The majority of their growing, their formative years- that’s been done by me. And I look at them sometimes, myheart beating with a pride I never thought possible, because I’ve never felt it before; my head rings with ‘mine, mine, mine’. Because I have done this. I’ve created two beautiful, smart, funny, caring and empathetic people. As a solo unit. And the three of us, we are a team.
Conversing with The Most Amazing Man In The Universe just a few days ago, we happened to touch on the subject of (in my own ill-thought-out wording, with no criticism from either of us, as negative as the phrase may sound) mothers ‘like me’. Mothers- single mums and partnered mums- who seem to struggle just that little bit. Mothers who allow washing to pile up, who feed their kids hot chips for dinner. Whose houses are always slightly chaotic, with pets and toys and half-done projects interrupting the flow of organisation. Mums that are hopeless at cooking and planning weekend outings, and let their kids watch too much TV.
The mothers that seem unable to contain the chaos of small children. The ones who wouldn’t know a housework roster if it bit them on the butt while they were vacuuming around and not under the lounge (again).
The chaotic, disorganised parent whose children turn out all kinds of awesome anyway- polite and pleasurable, earnest and enlightening company. Flowers of unmitigated perfection, grown of a garden unkempt and tended with the very best of intentions.
I’m that mum who’s always running just that little bit late, the one who forgets permission notes and homework (but hasn’t missed a library day yet). This morning, I’m attending a (godforsaken) school assembly, to watch my little man receive a special award. I’m feeling all the satisfaction that comes from years of bitching hard work and rampant parental insecurity finally manifest itself into one of those allusive “I’m doing OK at this parenting thing” moments.
It’s like some kind of holy parenting pinnacle. A rest stop on a long road that’s not marked with signs and where I have no GPS. An un-navigated journey I began naively that sometimes seems endless and I’m always worried about running out of fuel before I can stop and replenish again, getting lost and finding no one to ask for directions.
This pit-stop feels like a victory. One that belongs to me and my kids. It’s ours, and ours alone.
I did this, raised these gorgeous little people.
And I did it all by myself.
***
Updated: The award itself turned out to be specifically for the Chop’s “caring and responsible personality”.
For today, I will answer to ‘super-mum’ and ‘best mum ever’. In my own mind, at the very least.
Leave a Comment
{ 30 comments… read them below or add one }
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April 12, 2013 at 8:17 pm -
I’m that mum who’s always running just that little bit late, the one who forgets permission notes and homework . . I’m feeling all the satisfaction that comes from years of bitching hard work and rampant parental insecurity finally manifest itself into one of those allusive “I’m doing OK at this parenting thing” moments.
Mothers who allow washing to pile up, who feed their kids hot chips for dinner. Whose houses are always slightly chaotic, with pets and toys and half-done projects interrupting the flow of organisation. Mums that are hopeless at cooking and planning weekend outings, and let their kids watch too much TV.
Lori – I am a Texan/American and you live in Australia and that paragraph alone makes us the same person living in 2 different places. Keep up the faith and the very good work.
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April 11, 2013 at 8:24 pm -
Go Chop! He sounds like an amazing kid, they both do. You have done a great job. Don’t forget that xx
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April 10, 2013 at 12:19 pm -
This post makes my heart sing
Congrats Chop for getting one majorly awesome award! And you Mumma for raising such an awesome little person!
MC x
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April 10, 2013 at 8:40 am -
I hope the good times and great feelings keep rolling for you Lori. You write so well and you don’t judge other parents who are doing their best to raise their kids into gorgeous people too. Well done to Chops.
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April 10, 2013 at 6:41 am -
Cannot believe the audacity of your anon troll, Lori. Huge difference between parenting and being a part of someone’s support group…no matter how helpful the support group is. Geez!
That being said…the feeling of “wow. I must be doing something right.” is indeed one of the most awesome feelings in the world. I only wish that I didn’t have AS MANY moments of “Oh my God! I am completely screwing this up! Why did I ever think I could DO this?” (I have a teenager)
Marianne recently posted…My Monday
- April 9, 2013 at 10:25 pm
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You’re supposed to vacuum UNDER the lounge? For reals? WTF? When all else fails, lower your standards, I say. Love you.
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April 9, 2013 at 9:51 pm -
Congratulations Mr Chop – that is such a great reason for a Merit Award! Go you.
Lori you know you can be proud & you are proud of your kids. Done good, mama done good xxx
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April 9, 2013 at 9:50 pm -
Hold your head high, you’re doing this, raising those kids brilliantly.
Miss Pink recently posted…Fragile Little Butterfly
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April 9, 2013 at 5:16 pm -
It’s a great feeling isn’t it. I get whiffs of it too every now and then. And then on days like last night when I quit parenting it sux. But then something like a parent teacher interview where the teacher says “i wish to clone your daughter and make millions just like her” makes me cry happily.
- April 9, 2013 at 3:46 pm
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Lori –
In my book, you get full and absolute credit. I remember when they were sick, and you had to drag your sleepless self around to tend to their fevered little bodies, nobody else did it. And surely, the biggest load you bear, in parenting them, is an emotional one, not just a physical one….knowing that you alone are wholly responsible for them, until they are independent adults. That alone, deserves recognition and credit, and for that I stand in admiration of what you do for them.My single little contribution to their path through early life, is a most wonderful website, that I hope you take the time to visit, if you don’t know it already.
http://www.uptoten.com
Start at the free site, it has so much. Listen to the stories of Boowa and Kwala. Marvel at the animations. Let them sing the songs, and do the activities. They’ll absolutely love it, I know.Good on you, for doing all you do for them, you gutsy girl.
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April 9, 2013 at 2:19 pm -
There is this saying, I’m sure you’re aware of it… “Life happens while you weren’t watching”. Or words to that effect. Theses little peeps of yours are growing up, like the garden in “The Secret Garden”. A lot of it happens by osmosis, you blink andd they’ve taken in a whole heap of stuff. You are giving them their wings and they are learning to fly. <3
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April 9, 2013 at 1:20 pm -
Go Lori! You deserve to feel proud of yourself, raising little people is a tough job at the best of times, without factoring in the complete turnaround your life took after having them. You, like all of us, do the best you can with what you have and you’ve earned the right to feel proud of your accomplishment.
Enjoy it while you can, puberty is up next….
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April 9, 2013 at 1:17 pm -
Take pride in what you’re doing and know that you’re doing an amazing job. And is there any parent in the world who is really the so called perfect parent? I don’t think so.
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April 9, 2013 at 1:14 pm -
Asking for help doesn’t mean you aren’t doing it alone. It means that you recognise when things are getting a little bit too much on the chaotic side. Through that, you are teaching your kids that it’s ok to ask for help. Asking for help doesn’t make you weak. All of the people who are in your and your kids lives, they all contribute in their own ways but none of them are your kids parent. You have the main influence at the end of the day and I think you’re doing alright. xx
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April 9, 2013 at 1:10 pm -
Those moments are the best. The ones where you can just feel good about what you’re doing. They don’t come around often. So when they do, just take it, feel good about it and screw anyone else who thinks otherwise!
Angela East recently posted…Sleep – 17 months without it and 3 nights with it. - April 9, 2013 at 12:43 pm
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This is a bit of a kick in the teeth to your mother and the others who have supported you along the way. Sole parent, yes. Doing it all by yourself? Hardly.
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April 9, 2013 at 1:05 pm -
Oh get f*cked, Anon. I get chewed out for taking time out. I get chewed out for taking credit. How about you bite me?
Seriously… if you can’t say anything nice, please, f*ck off and go back to your own life.
Lori Dwyer recently posted…A Holy Parenting Pinnacle.- April 9, 2013 at 1:11 pm
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Couldn’t have said it better myself! Part time support and emotional scaffolding doesn’t take away from the sense of having achieved something all by yourself. Fuck off indeed
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April 13, 2013 at 12:26 pm -
Totally agree with anonymous. The amount of times you have run away from your children is ridiculous. your mother is a big contributor to the way your children have turned out and tony played a big part in starting their lives off teaching and nurturing them. You’ve even admitted on your blog you can’t handle your children. Yes you’ve had a tough time but you should have embraced your children, tony is a part of them, you made them with him. Instead of running from them you should have embraced them and their love. Your mental state may have improved but now you’ve found a new reason to run away from them – your new boyfriend. Do you kick them out of the house when he comes over? Your children should be your life, not a burden which is how you treat them. Snap out of your self pitying and selfishness and embrace motherhood and their love before you psychologically damage your children more that what you already have.
- April 13, 2013 at 5:38 pm
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You’re awful.shush.
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April 26, 2013 at 12:19 pm -
You really are a nasty piece of work, so from this I’m guessing that your children are perfect, have never annoyed or upset you in way, and that you float through life on The rainbow unicorn farting glitter sprinkles and clouds of perfume wherever you go.
boodie recently posted…10 things that made me cry today -
April 26, 2013 at 10:11 pm -
neebdellort (been trolled – very good dickhead!), you are just as vulgar and cowardly as Anonymous. I think you two are the psychologically damaged ones, standing on your soapboxes and judging Lori for trying to be the best mum she can and admitting she doesn’t always get it right. You two must be soooo perfect, why not write us a blog about your perfect, flawless lives?
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April 9, 2013 at 1:07 pm -
The tone of this response is unpleasant.
Yes, people have helped Lori, including her mother. But they don’t live with Lori. They help out occasionally. Lori is the pilot of the ship of her family… which only has 3 members.
Lori means she did it without a partner, or having a friend or relative move in; she does not mean she did it all by herself. In my world, asking for help is a sign of strength, not a lack of independence.
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April 9, 2013 at 1:55 pm -
It is rare for any parents, single or otherwise to do everything by themselves. But people often say a couple have raised a great kid. No one questions that. Lori clearly loves her children fiercely and is doing the best she can with what life has dealt her. At the end of the day Lori is the one putting the kids to bed at night, getting them ready in the morning, wiping bums and noses, yes others help, but these children are a product of HER parenting. Lori, being proud of the job you have done and the people your children are becoming is natural and feeling that you are doing a good job just shows that you are giving it your all. Of course you need help at times, who doesn’t?
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April 9, 2013 at 2:35 pm -
Oh look at you, clever little bully hiding behind Anonymous. Why don’t you log in? Show your name and email address? Nah, you won’t because you’re a pitiful little person who probably goes from blog to blog leaving nasty snide little comments because you don’t have anything positive in your life, like friends or family. What a sad little monkey you are.*
*even though I’ve used the word little several times, I am quite certain you are obese, munching on a box of Krispy Kremes on your lunchbreak while visiting as many blogs as you can to leave your trollish comments.
- April 10, 2013 at 5:40 pm
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Yep. Defend the bully. Good for you Stinkbomb. You must be so proud.
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April 10, 2013 at 6:13 pm -
Really Rach? Instead of defending Lori you quibble over the way someone does defend her? I thought Marie’s comment was hysterical. Anonymous chose to leave a cowardly comment and got owned. Stop being so precious, I’m a big girl myself and I’m not offended. Ugh.
- April 10, 2013 at 7:20 pm
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OK lovelies- let’s all take a breath and chill. Peace and love and that good stuff
x
Lori Dwyer recently posted…A Holy Parenting Pinnacle.
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- April 11, 2013 at 10:12 am
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Some comments from this part of the thread have been removed at the commenter’s request.
Everybody. Chill. Anon is definitely not worth arguing over.
xxxx
Lori Dwyer recently posted…A Holy Parenting Pinnacle.
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April 9, 2013 at 11:49 am -
I hope my mum, who raised me on her own, is proud of herself like you are and proud of me too.
You did it, you are doing it and you will do it. Be proud that you are shaping such awesome little people.
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I'm a Wiggles Purist. – RRSAHM
I’m a Wiggles Purist.
Ahoy there me hearties!
Before we begin, is this not the coolest playgroup craft you have ever seen? Yes? Huge kudos to our awesome playgroup ladies, they rock. I did suggest we save on eyes, and just draw little lines like this – – on Jeff. But apparently, that would come across as racist. Me, being incredible naive, didn’t even think of it that way. I was just thinking, ya know, because he’s got that narcolepsy thing going on. *Insert Lori blushing and feeling like a prize goose here*
Whatever.
The point of this post is, here in the Purple House, we watch a lot of Wiggles, to appease the musical interests of the all-dancing, trying-really-hard-to-be-all-singing Chop. I know those of you with toddlers will understand my pain. If I see that bloody dinosaur and her roses one more freaking time…
But I digress.
I am a Wiggles purist. And I {heart} Greg. Sam just does not cut it for me. Especially when you watch the Greg Wiggle DVD’s, and Sam’s there (with his wife, who is also known to inhabit the Big Green I’m Gonna Scone That Dinosaur suit) in the background as a back up dancer, calling himself Dave and wearing a fake mo’. Swap DVD’s, and all of a sudden Sam’s driving the Big Red Car. Surely the other Wiggles were p*ssed at that? Murray has been cramped in the back seat with Jeff nodding off on his shoulder for a good fifteen years now.
I’m going to take a guess that we are all on the same page with this one. But if anyone wants to disagree, and go in to bat for Sam, please do so. But don’t bother defending Dorothy, because nothing you can say can change my mind. She is tarred with the MS Paint brush as the FlyLady. That dinosaur is evil.
Again, whatever. But while we’re on the topic, there is something I’d like your thoughts on. Now, obviously it is difficult to lust after men wearing skivvies (unless it’s… erm… no… can’t think of an example here). But, if you are in the realm of SAHM-ness like me, some days the Wiggles are the only men I see apart from your husband, and, let’s face it, whilst it’s difficult to ind skivvies attractive, the same can be said for the man who’s dirty socks and undies you wash every day. Which, somehow, leads me to the thought of…
If there were a smokin’ hot Wiggle, which Wiggle would it be?
Greg? (Not now, obviously, back in his hey day, before he stopped dying his hair.).
Anthony? (That’d be my choice, I think).
Dave? Sam? (Now with moustache!)
Muray? (He doesn’t always look this dopey. No.. wait… yes, he does.)
Or Jeff? (Erm. Probably not.)
Now, while you think about this one, because I just know what a difficult decision it’s going to be, please enjoy this very early Wiggles clip the Chop and I stumbled across on YouTube. Circa 1993, you will notice the craptastic sets, total lack of branding, and the fact that Anthony is actually the Green Wiggle, wearing a polo shirt. Holy moley. Like I said, enjoy. Just don’t forget to answer the question, OK? OK. (What question? You people have short attention spans!)
* * You may have noticed I have not, in fact, given the Wiggles their due and hyper linked to their website. It’s my little protest to the fact that while most it’s free, certain content is subscription based. Ner to you, Wiggles, that’s bad form.**
** Oh, and a very happy FlogYoBlog Friday to y’all. Even Brenda in Shanghai. Be-atch.**
Leave a Comment
{ 20 comments… read them below or add one }
- September 5, 2011 at 5:10 pm
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Murray freaks me out, its the eyes. Fairy Clare however makes the wiggle bearable
- July 12, 2010 at 11:58 pm
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hey! just looking up research on wiggles for a project and came across this! love the post! although i must say… i am a Sam lover! Don't get me wrong.. i myself actually grew up to the wiggles with Greg and nobody will every replace Greg.. but i love Sam and how unlike other kids shows *cough*hi5*cough* who have tried to find people who look identical to replace the originals who have all left the group, they have been honest and completely told the truth thast gregs sick and sams new
watching that old video clip really brought back the memories thanks! love the website too!!yay wiggles aha! i am such a big kid!
gooo Sammy!
but anthony is awesome also and my sister (when taking her son to see the wiggles) got to talk to anthony and she now has a bit of a wiggles crush on him haha!! apparently hes lovely! (but yeah i heard the cheating with a back-up dancer roumour also! :0 hope its not entirely true…)
- May 7, 2010 at 10:47 pm
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Agree with you. Anthony is defintiely the hottest wiggle.
I am a fan of WAGS the dog as well. Just because the name Wags cracks me up.
Had the wiggles on today for a little bit while I was playing with Noah and my friend`s baby Sakura.
Happy FYBF!
ps: While perhaps politically incorrect my friends daughter loves Jeff the best because he is Asian and says it is because he looks like her daddy. Totally doesn`t look like her daddy AT ALL except for the whole Asian thing but think it is cute that she relates to Jeff the best. She is a half Aussie half japanese 2 year old by the way (who according to her mum has a HUGE wiggles addiction)
- May 7, 2010 at 8:20 pm
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Anthony!! He's a hottie!
Yes I agree the original line up was so much better. Sam just doesn't cut it. - May 7, 2010 at 6:58 pm
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Anthony! But then, Sam can seriously sing & there's no better way to my heart :)….
- May 7, 2010 at 5:39 pm
- May 7, 2010 at 2:01 pm
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Anthony. definately Anthony. Although I'm not familiar with wiggles. Heard of 'em but I think my kids were too old to watch them by the time they were popular. My kids were into Sesame Street and Rugrats.
- May 7, 2010 at 2:01 pm
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Anthony is a little too scrawny these days and his massive tattoos are a bit of a turn off. Also, he's apparently cheating on his wife with a back- up dancer.
But I still have to say Anthony. Or anyone but Murray.
- May 7, 2010 at 1:28 pm
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Anthony! Yummy!
Though gray haired greg is kind of hot-ish. Probably because he is no longer a wiggle.
I loved this post. And I agree on the eyes like this
– – . That makes sense ~he IS always sleeping. - May 7, 2010 at 1:22 pm
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I LOVE Sam…even more than Greg I think….there I said it!
I've seen them live…yes L.I.V.E (with Sam not Greg) and Anthony is totally hot!!
One last question? How many Wiggles DVDs is too much??
(I think we have nearly all of them) LOL - May 7, 2010 at 12:35 pm
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My vote is for Greg! My daughter loved the Wiggles when she was younger, my son not-so-much! Dorthy is kind of creepy and annoying! They're a huge hit in Canada!
- May 7, 2010 at 12:06 pm
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Kristin, tell me you know who the Wiggles are? Australia's biggest export….?
ROFL Carly, it was a close call as to which video to go with- this one or Anthony as Captain
- May 7, 2010 at 10:52 am
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Dude. Captain Feathersword circa when it was really Anthony…
And I remember those days with the little ones. Did y'all have Blue's Clues Down Under? Because Steve? Smoking freaking hot.
- May 7, 2010 at 10:47 am
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Haha. Wiggggles. Seriously?
My friend's uncle is the blue wiggle (is that Anthony?)… Or is it was…? Who knows I haven't seen her in a couple of years. Her kids, as you can imagine, LOVE that!
- May 7, 2010 at 9:56 am
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Okay. Um. I'm going to go on record and speak for all Americans here and say: WTF??
- May 7, 2010 at 9:29 am
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Is it completely weird that I think that Murray is cute? It is… ok just pretend I didn't say anything
- May 7, 2010 at 9:15 am
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Anthony has always been my pick because he's rich, grey (like me) and most of all…he's great with kids! What more could a gal want?!
- May 7, 2010 at 8:56 am
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Did you know The Wiggles went to my university?
Anyways. I cannot believe Greg is gone. I was a little upset at this.
And just to *ahem* show you something else — did you know that Captain Feathersword in the early days was Anthony?? Yes. Whenever the Captain was on stage, Anthony was gone.
I have a younger sister, okay?
{hehe. my choice is Anthony too..}
- May 7, 2010 at 8:50 am
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My daughter is obsessed with The Wiggles. Obsessed. I must say I have no preference – they are all dorky idiots. Correction: rich, dorky idiots.
- May 7, 2010 at 8:29 am
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Anthony is totally the hottest Wiggle because he has tattoos.
And also, is it me, but in that video do their pants make them look like their legs are only, like, 3 inches long?
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Permanent. – RRSAHM
Permanent.
Small children have very little idea of permanent; of circumstances being for ‘forever’. I guess I know that better than most people. And I guess my children have a greater concept of the idea that most kids, knowing the reality of death the way they do. After all, what translates permanency more completely than death?
But maybe not. Maybe the concept of death, and the idea of life going on, are two entirely separate mindsets. Either way, watching my five year old son and my almost four year old daughter adjust to the concept of ‘moving to Melbourne’ is both fascinating and a little heart-wrenching. Reality’s a bitch.
Both my kids know that we’re moving, and they know it’s soon. (Five days to go). But that doesn’t necessarily translate into any kind of graspable time frame, when you’re little. The Chop and the Bump both often discuss events that would be happening soon if we weren’t moving, as if they were still going to happen. And I feel like the bad guy, having to intrude with real life and disappoint them every time.
My son discusses reading charts and awards he’s working towards at school, and is devastated when I remind him that he’ll be at a new school soon. The idea of a new awards system does nothing to ease his sadness, which I think I kind of understand. Nothing that ‘will happen’ is an imaginable reality for my kids yet. I try to keep in mind what a scary thing that must be for a small child. He understands how it feels for life to be turned upside down. But has no framework on which to stretch this idea of a ‘new life’ that he will be dumped into very soon.
To add to the general feeling of displacement, both my kids have their birthdays over the next few months. I’m not sure how well the Bump understands that we won’t be going to her favourite party centre to celebrate her turning four. My son only really processed the idea of having his birthday so far away in its true enormity last night, as I attempted to gently explain why we couldn’t invite his friends to a party 800 kilometres away.
Again, telling him he will ‘make new friends’ is no balm to his sads. Poor kid.
I remind myself that my children are only little… they’ll make new friends so easily. And I repeat my mantra, to my kids and myself, over and over. This is an adventure. This is going to be fun.
Leave a Comment
{ 18 comments… read them below or add one }
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September 7, 2013 at 1:09 am -
As your children have already experienced, the only constant in life is change. Teach your children not to fear change, and you have given them a valuable gift. Maybe, what your children will learn from this move is that everything can and often will be turned upside down in an instant, and inspite of all the turmoil and emotions that comes with that it is not dangerous. Maybe what you are doing is actually helping your children understand that big changes may be positive too. Who knows what will happen. Staying put does in no way guarantee that your children will be happy forever (certainly doesn’t seem like the mum ‘who doesn’t like you’ from high school is very happy, and she seems to have hung around). I wish you the best of luck, I really do. I hope you all settle happily in Melbourne. I follow your blog from Sweden and I am often baffled by the misogyny and and hatred expressed by your anonymous followers. It just seems so extremely conservative and backwards I don’t know where to start. I bet they would never ever have the same expectations or demands on a single dad. But I guess that’s internet for you, it unleashes the ugliness in alot of people. People move for all sorts of reasons. Most people I know have moved a few times during their childhood. The thing is, kids don’t get space anymore than they do time; moving up the road will change their lives just as much as moving across a continent. They will start new schools, make new friends, and they are extremely adaptable. It doesn’t damage them. They will be just fine. Enjoy!
- September 9, 2013 at 11:47 am
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Thank you so much for your comments Jenny
xx
Lori Dwyer recently posted…Not Quite A Porno.
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August 22, 2013 at 2:15 pm -
Melbourne is a great place and there are so many adventures to be had, new schools new friends the odds are great that after a settling period they will deny they were ever sad about moving.By the way my children get passionate if they get the wrong breakfast or if Peppa Pig isn’t on when they want it to be on. They have moments of mourning every day, I don’t let this dictate every aspect of my life, I bend when I can but as an adult I must make the beat decisions for the family even if the children think I am mean for not aquiescing to their demands and ensuring everything goes as they would have it. Don’t beat yourself up too much please! Best of luck moving, it’s not easy!
- August 22, 2013 at 1:43 pm
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I’ve missed reading your posts – silly fb is hiding you again. By the time I’ve read this, you have 2 days ’til you arrive in my home town… just a couple of days before Spring… YAY!!! lol. It’s a gorgeous time of year. The birds are starting to sing, the gardens are starting to bloom, the days are getting longer &, if your really lucky & in the right place at the right time, the air is starting to smell of strawberry ice cream… I know, real strawberry ice cream hahaha – it’s wonderful & full of promise of good days to come. We still have ice cold mornings when you’ll have to rug up with scarves & coats & beanies & mittens and you can see your breath in the morning sunlight, but the breeze is getting warmer…
Safe travels, Lori, with your kidlets & fur-mily. Exciting times ahead
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August 22, 2013 at 12:09 pm -
I’m only a semi regular reader so I’m not totally uptodate with everything. However, I think your kids have had too many upheavals in the last few years…not all of your doing…..and the poor little loves must be thinking that nothing is permanent. Too many changes in such young lives. I do wish you all the best and hope the kids handle it ok.
- August 21, 2013 at 7:51 pm
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Maybe you should spend some time thinking about your kids instead of some bloke you met a few months ago…. you are SO selfish.
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August 21, 2013 at 8:19 pm -
Isn’t it funny how comments like these are always from “Anonymous”?
Your life must be pretty fucking horrible, Anonymous, if you spend your energy on things like this message. I feel sorry for you. This has nothing to do with Lori. I hope you can figure out what you’re so angry and unhappy about, and work towards fixing it.
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August 21, 2013 at 8:44 pm -
Excuse me! Do you even know Lori and her children? Do you know what she has been thru? Surely after 3 years she is entitled to happiness again and if this”bloke” as you so eloquently put it can make her heart sing again then I wish Lori a lifetime of happiness.
- August 22, 2013 at 11:21 am
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I’m with Anonymous. Life is very much about You. If You are not centre stage, in terms of attention and affection – oh my goodness, the whingeing. Parenting is about priorities, and the primary one, is our children. Yours (and your poor animals), seem to be nowhere near that. Having said that (which I am certain is not welcome to hear, and most likely will not be published) I wish you the very best with your move. I hope that everyone manages to flourish, despite the upheaval.
- August 23, 2013 at 9:38 pm
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Sounds like you’re a regular reader, Penny? Why on earth do you read this blog?!
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- August 22, 2013 at 11:44 am
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August 22, 2013 at 11:47 am -
This is really very unfair indeed, Anon (if that is in fact your name).
Change of any kind is challenging for kids and for plenty of adults too, but challenging isn’t the same as “bad”, “wrong”, or “evil”. Indeed, all kids are exposed to change, whether their parents will or no – because life’s a cow like that, and kids don’t live in perfect, timeless bubbles any more than adults do.
Furthermore, where’s your basis for asserting that Lori isn’t thinking about her kids in this decision? Where’s the evidence that she hasn’t weighed it up and concluded that, resettlement period notwithstanding, it’s in her kids’ best interests to acquire a new loving caregiver as well as have a happy Mum? I would say a post like this one shows very poignantly that she *is* thinking of her kids and their reactions and emotions, that she *does* care about their change issues, and that she will do whatever she can to make the transition work for them.
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August 22, 2013 at 11:50 am -
Children learn from watching their parents. What lesson do you think is better; to sit, secure and comfy in a situation that isn’t making you happy, or to leap? To rush boldly into the unknown KNOWING it might not work out, but confident in your ability to make the best of whatever happens.
We moved constantly when I was a kid. We were poor, like properly poor and every time the rent was raised we had to find an even crappier place to live. One year, my father finally scrapped together the deposit for a house… like a bazillion miles away. I hated him. I hated the house, the move the everything it was ALL POO! But I was 9, what the hell do you know about economics when you’re 9? It was the absolute right thing for my family to do.
Your stability, your happiness, your ability to be the best person you can be for your kids is more important than where you are. Run, jump, fall – and let them see. Even if it should all go pear shaped, they’ll learn how to get back up from watching you.
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August 22, 2013 at 1:28 pm -
I disagree with you Penny. My children are a major priority, but I don’t believe they should be the priority over anything else in my life.
My daughter regularly asks me not to go to work – should I skip out of work and risk my job just to cater to a whim of the moment? I have ongoing health issues, should I neglect my health so my daughter doesn’t miss out on one week of an after school activity? If I’m sicker in the long term, wouldn’t that be worse for her?
I don’t believe unhappy parents make happy children. But I may come from a different set of experiences to you. My father died when I was very young and what I realised is my mother was just as affected as we were, and she has just as much ‘right’ to a happy life as her children. That you consider it at the expense of the children is your perspective. I would say that a happy mother helps create a happy environment for her children.
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August 21, 2013 at 5:12 pm -
My children are dealing with a similar thing, as we move home and school on Friday. But I have promised them a trampoline. It’s not taken away all the angst and sadness but it’s given them something real, something they want, to look forward to. I hope it’s enough that they won’t lynch me on Jerry Springer one day….
Domestic Goddesque recently posted…Moving on -
August 21, 2013 at 4:46 pm -
My son had a new boy start from interstate recently. His parents said for the first couple of weeks he was having a tough time, then he handed out party invitations and poof! His troubles were over. Kids are like that. These parents said that they learned that any time they move again they will have a party as soon as he starts at the new school even if its not his birthday as it made such a massive difference to his settling in.
Might be a good idea to take this approach!
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August 19, 2013 at 10:03 pm -
Even all growned up, we don’t realise what we will miss totally when we make such a huge change to our lives.
I moved my girl when she was just shy of 7. She did make friends. Eventually – but she was sad for a bit and I had to work really hard with her to come through that.
Now – she loves where we live. She loves the people who I brought into her life. But she still misses some things – and that is okay.
Good luck with the move.
jeanie recently posted…The Third Thing- August 20, 2013 at 5:56 pm
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Thanks so much Jeanie. I worry about that, a lot- that they won’t make friends. I’m glad it turned out okay for your little one
xx
Lori Dwyer recently posted…This Is Not An Art Blog.
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The Muse Wars- Round Five – RRSAHM
The Muse Wars- Round Five
It’s been quite a while since we’ve played The Muse Wars… returning this month by special request. Let’s get creative.
If you haven’t played before, The Muse Wars is just for fun- it’s a creative writing prompt. You can write whatever you like. Take inspiration from the picture below…
You’ve got almost a whole month to publish your story, poem, essay, memorandum… whatever. This linky list closes March 31st.
Muse Wars- Round Five
The Muse Wars- Round Five
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 the last day of March.
Share the love- read other entries, leave a comment, be nice. 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! Feel free to email me if you have something to publish but nowhere to put it. 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.
Your time starts… now.
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{ 2 comments… read them below or add one }
- March 11, 2013 at 12:43 pm
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Maybe I’ll do it this time… you’ve included one of my favorite things… second hand books to browse through!
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March 4, 2013 at 11:48 am -
YAY! This one looks like it might be a real challenge…
Woah Molly recently posted…Reaching my Quota
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There's No Such Thing As Trauma. – RRSAHM
There’s No Such Thing As Trauma.
I never used to believe in trauma. I thought the human mind to be a wholly elastic thing, a hard drive with limitless space and capacity that was capable of accepting and integrating information without kinks and burrs, without any reason for distress.
It’s the way I’ve been bought up. My family is stoic by nature, tough by nurture, and emotions are entirely separate from one’s body– feelings a simple flight of fancy that could be overcome by a strong mind and pulling one’s socks so far up they fucking suffocate you.
It’s been a learning curve, discovering how very wrong that is, and how deeply ingrained it is. It’s where a whole lot of that guilt comes from… Do not wallow. Get the hell on with it. Emotional weakness is not desirable, helpful or attractive.
It’s the reason I kick my own arse so hard when I can’t help but grieve and mourn and cry.
But– double edged sword, as most things are– it’s the reason I’m still standing.
But I know now, what I didn’t before… Emotions are as powerful as viruses and bacteria, for effecting the body and the way it runs.
Trauma, it can be like… not quite like cancer, I don’t think, because it just doesn’t eat that quickly, and it’s not that ferocious. It’s more like chronic fatigue syndrome.. it’s a condition that people are skeptical of, that slowly ebbs at your body, at your strength and resources, and leaves you exhausted and in pain.
But no one can see it, and everyone thinks you should be better by now. If you have CFS, a late night or a hard day or a glass of wine can leave you flat on your back for a fortnight.
With trauma, it’s the same… Only it might be an afternoon of punctuated sirens, a medical story you hear where someone’s face turned purple, an ad for CPR on the TV… Any one of those things might be the trigger for your body beginning to weep lactic acid into your muscles, for the world to turn grey, for your sense of self to to be disassembled all over again.
If you need living proof that trauma exists, then I’m it. It’s worse now, around the anniversary of his death, than it has been in a while… I am tired but wired, jumpy but exhausted. People sneaking up on me unintentionally cops them an earful. I find myself in the middle of ugly flashbacks that are heat and bright sunshine and the silence of a suburban afternoon, a baby in my arms and my husbands shirt beneath my hands, the dead weight of him and his face, later that night, in a bed in the ICU swollen and discolored.
That unending frying loop of a circuit in my brain… The way my whole body aches as if I’m coming down with an infection or the flu… Don’t tell me that’s not related. Don’t tell me that this is a product of my mind, or that nothing could possibly be that bad. It happened in the space of three seconds, but it’s burned on my brain like the bright light from a camera flash, the physical reactions exist deep within my muscle memory.
This will follow me forever.
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{ 18 comments… read them below or add one }
- June 7, 2012 at 10:51 pm
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I recently found your blog, and have read about the Event, your reactions, the emotions.. My dad passed away just over a year ago – a degenerative brain condition that affected most functions of his body; one morning he didn't wake up. The trauma for our family is far, far less than what you're experiencing, and I don't in any way mean to lessen your experiences, because they happened and they were real and the effect on you was what it was. Is. I'm sure you've heard before that the grief you've expressed sounds completely 'normal' – expected – reasonable – for what you've been through, and on some tiny scale, it all sounds very familiar. Even the unending loop in your brain, playing over those last days, minutes, interactions.. The triggers – the really weird, unexpected ones.. They do burn into your brain, and in a weird way I don't want to forget them – for me, that would cheapen his passing, be disrespectful to his memory. In time, the intensity of the feeling that goes with each memory has faded, or at least I've learnt to mute it. I don't expect that would happen for you for a long while yet, and to say that I hoped it came quickly would be to reduce your trauma to an insignificant 'just another day' and be heartless and cruel. But I do hope that some day, the flashes of memory won't bring the trauma with them quite so loudly. There is no rush. Only you know how to deal with your life, in your time, in a way that's best for you and your family. I guess I just wanted to say that eventually the trauma will fade or at least the volume will turn right down – it will follow you forever, but not in the same way.
- January 30, 2012 at 9:10 pm
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Trauma is an awful thing. I never really used to think about it. But now it's something my husband and I live with every day. We suffer from PTSD, and it affects our lives in a huge way.
- January 10, 2012 at 11:22 pm
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(((hugs))) Lori, it's all related, the mind is a powerful thing and it holds great sway over our physical body as well as our mental state.
You're always in my thoughts xxx - January 10, 2012 at 10:35 pm
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Oh Lori, it kills me to read, "Don't tell me that's not related. Don't tell me that this is a product of my mind, or that nothing could possibly be that bad." I hate to think that people say such clueless things to you, or that they give you that impression.
Of course what you're experiencing is real. And horrible. And unimaginable.
Hold on, dear girl. Yes, it's all real, and it all sucks. But I hope and pray that as you move away from the anniversary that the horror will lessen, at least become more manageable.
Lots of love. - January 10, 2012 at 10:07 pm
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I wish there was no such thing as trauma. It is wonderful though that you can identify and express your feeling.
- January 10, 2012 at 9:57 pm
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so true an theres little triggers everwhere that keep bringing it back when you dont expect it to
- January 10, 2012 at 9:55 pm
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Yes. It is real.
Thoughts are with you, Lori. Esp during this, what will probably always be, difficult time of year for you.
xxx
- January 10, 2012 at 9:15 pm
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Trauma is definately real Lori and anyone who doesnt think so I would hate to be in their heads right now because they would have a lot of hidden stuff about to explode.
One sentence that makes me blow my top these days is "is big girls dont cry". Like you I grew up in a family who hid their emotions and I remember on my dads funeral my mother syaing dont embarras me. WTF emotions are normal. Everyone has it no matter where they are. Why not express them…….maybe if we learnt to express them and not hide them……..there would be less mental health issues.
The anniversary is damn hard because you do relive it but it does get slightly easier.
I admire you just so much and so many people could learn from you
- January 10, 2012 at 1:50 pm
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Shit Lori. And we've all been posting that CPR video on FB. I'm so sorry, I never even thought. I'm usually so careful about what I share, I dont' know why that didn't occur to me.
I'm a strong believer (even more so of late, after talking to my specialists) that trauma does, in fact have an enormous physiological affect on our bodies. My Doctors, in fact believe that much of my illness (not the diabetes, but the rest) is the cost my body is paying for years of trauma. All of it bottled up by stoicism and 'get on with it'.
Thinking of you. Always.
- January 10, 2012 at 1:16 pm
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Darling Lori, I'd love to say that trauma passes I know from personal experience it doesn't. You do get more resilient and do learn very slowly to live with it. Somedays I'm fine other days it just won't leave and although working with behaviour I know the techniques I should use to deal with it -somedays that doesn't even work, so I let it wallow inside until it moves on. Be kind to yourself Nx
- January 10, 2012 at 9:37 am
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This comment has been removed by the author.
- January 10, 2012 at 9:37 am
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God I wish that there was no such thing as trauma! Then there would be no such thing as PTSD and all the things associated with it…
The trauma and the way your whole body remembers doesn't stop, what changes is how you recover from it. For me that has been the case. In honoring myself and allowing myself time to feel, each time it passes a little less all consuming. It's when I fight it and push against it that my body rebels the most.
The wound in your heart is still healing Lori . Be kind to yourself. Xxx
- January 10, 2012 at 9:26 am
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You are so right Lori, it is real & it is raw, crashing into you from directions that you never expected. Giving in to it is ok, there is no time limit, only the one we put on ourselves.
You are very much in my thoughts at the moment.
Lisa xxx
- January 10, 2012 at 9:26 am
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You are so right Lori, it is real & it is raw, crashing into you from directions that you never expected. Giving in to it is ok, there is no time limit, only the one we put on ourselves.
You are very much in my thoughts at the moment.
Lisa xxx
- January 10, 2012 at 9:03 am
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Yes is my gut response. Your counselling will have laid the path for the future of living with your reality, is that how they say it s going to be too? I guess that's why we are prone to the 'pull your socks up approach' because the bare faced reality is just too hard to contemplate. tomorrow is another day. Curl up and cry through this one, tomorrow may be easier. Love x
- January 10, 2012 at 9:02 am
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Oh yes, trauma is real. Completely real and I am not surprised that it's worse again now of all times for you. Meaningless as it is to say, you're much in my thoughts atm, I remember the first few anniversaries of my childhood trauma as incredibly grey and difficult times. Over 20 years later it is not as strong or bitter but I still am aware of it every late September.
- January 10, 2012 at 8:40 am
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Yes, it probably will. I can only hope that there are ways to soften and smooth out the edges of the pain. I hope that time makes it better… I wish that people would "get" how painful this is. Hang in there tight, Lori.
- January 10, 2012 at 8:40 am
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Yes, it probably will. I can only hope that there are ways to soften and smooth out the edges of the pain. I hope that time makes it better… I wish that people would "get" how painful this is. Hang in there tight, Lori.
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{ 32 comments… read them below or add one }
I haven’t had a moment to read your posts but congratulations on relocating. I also live in the same town as you and we are moving Oct to a small town near the melb border for my husband’s work.
Just like you many blessings from family but wow we have courage doing it and good on us xxx
WooHoo!!!! Lori’s coming to Melbourne!!!
Yay! Melbourne rocks. Try to wait until late August so the weather improves, bloody cold at the moment, even those of us who live here are hanging out for better weather
It’s looking like it will be late August, at the earliest- maybe that’s a good thing? :p
xx
Lori Dwyer recently posted…Ghost Hunting in The Rocks, Sydney.
Oh My Goodness Me!! You are NOT being selfish in the slightest and what you are doing for your kids is taking them to where YOU feel at home. Children need security and love- this is what you are doing. If the core of the family is stable, safe and grounded then they will be too. Embrace it. Be proud that you can, you are and you will. It’s that simple.
The reason you are sad is because your Mum stays here. You will miss her because you love her. You lucky, lucky woman. Safe travels X
Be happy and if your happy the kids will be, we are not that far away, and you need to do this for yourself.
Ahhhh, I had a feeling this was what you were talking about the other day! Wonderful! I’m a Melbournian (transplanted a decade or do so from Ballarat) and there really is no other place like it.
Best of luck with everything – I’d love to meet you one day, because I think you’re tops!
Do so = so.
Melbourne will be glad to have you Lori
Wow- thanks so much for your comments everyone. You guys are tops
xx
Lori Dwyer recently posted…A Good Place To Start.
Melbourne will be lucky to have you! Your kidlets are super resilient. They will be happy if you are!
This. This is fucking awesome this is.
I’ve been reading here for a few years now and this post made me smile for you. You deserve all the happiness in the world and your kids will thrive with this new adventure. Good luck and all the best for the next month while you guys transition
xoxo
Good luck hun. xxx
Dont think like that. Think of it as an adventure. You’re not sacrificing anything if anything you will miss out on a chance to show your children that there is a whole other world (or state) out their. Kids make friends easily I think the move will be good for them and you. A change. Some fresh air. New town.
Enjoy Melbourne and I’m glad we got to meet before you went for good.
Lots of love
Salz
Salz recently posted…Scheduling posts in Blogger.
Lori you truly deserve this happiness & for your kids, having a happy mummy will mean more than any attachment to the place they live. So thrilled for you, may you keep being showered with love x
Donna recently posted…Sensitive Skin? Your chance to win, thanks to Cold Power!
That’s great news, Lori. For so many reasons, but mostly, because you’ll be closer to me!
Hope the family blending goes well, as does the move. Big hugs!
Dorothy @ Singular Insanity recently posted…Moving On
Good luck amazing lovely Lori
So looking forward to hearing about the trials and tribulations of your fresh start.
Big hugs
Cait
Gosh I’m excited for you =) Hope the move goes well. If you need some insta-friends we’d love to take you to a park (my four year old is park obsessed at the moment. We do lots of picnics).
If you’re happy, then your children will be too. All the best to you with your move
Lisa@Circle of Toast recently posted…Stop Bleeding On My Spaghetti
You never know how good things could be if you never try. I think Melbourne sounds amazing, and don’t worry about the kids – moving is an adventure when you are that little.
So glad to know you are embarking on a new adventure.
X
Whoa, Molly recently posted…The Rules
This calls for some unbridled excitement! Tempered with a little calm faith and gently gently. As you were then. Good luck!
Yay, exciting times. This is not selfish. Their comfort comes from you. All the best, I’m sure it will be great
Melbourne is awesome! Although I must admit I’ve never lived anywhere else. Welcome!
Lori,
I have followed your journey for about 3 years or so now and shared your joy and despair.
I’m not a regular reader but every couple of months jump on and devour a couple of dozen of your posts.
I just have to say “Well done” for finding YOU again. For finding the bits of yourself that you hid in the closet when your world caved in. That’s gutsy and commendable.
Go girl. Good luck.
Kids are resilient little buggers, they’ll be fine. Best of luck, you’ve always seemed like a Melbourne chick to me x
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Melbourne welcomes you and yours with open arms.
It might be tough but it is what is right for you guys. I just know this is going to be the start of something wonderful. The next chapter.
Miss Pink recently posted…The Stand.
Im glad you have found happiness again Lori. I hope everything works out and it is a smooth transition for you and the kids
Toni recently posted…False starts
Good luck, I hope you find the happiness and contentment that you deserve
There will definitely be a time of adjustment and the kids will take their lead from you, if you are happy they will be too.
Enjoy your new life
This will be hard, but ultimately amazing. I’m so excited for you!
Good for you! The kids will be fine and you will be happy and this is all a good thing. xxx