Mushi mushi,
Jumping on bandwagons again, cause it is my thing!! Welcome to first ever vlog. Honestly, I did about eight takes of this. The only good one had my husband acting like a moron for the first 20 seconds.
So, please excuse the Man. He’s an idiot. Now you see what I put up with every day.
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My daughter is a witch. And I mean that in the nicest possible way.
***
I’m sitting in a chair at the kitchen table. My head is aching, a pain like a screwdriver stabbed between my eyes twisting itself deeper every time I blink.
“Are you okay, Mummy?” asks the Bump, concerned as she always is, for the welfare of all living creatures, and often plants as well.
“I’m okay, baby. I have a headache, that’s all.”
The Bump frowns and places her tiny, cold hands on either side of my head. The sensation of it soothes and deters the spinning, grinding pain.
“Yes,” the Bump says, her voice soft and gravely serious. “Headaches are white. Some headaches are red, but most are white.”
She stares at me earnestly, waiting expectantly, the way she does when she’s presented me with a fact of the world and is awaiting confirmation that she’s correct.
For a moment, I stare back at her.
“Are they, honey?”
“Yes,” She says, confidently, and repeats “your headache is white.”
And she walks out of the room, the colours of everything in her eyes.
***
Our backyard is overgrown at the moment. Spring rains and general time-poorness mean the grass is too long and the weeds are invading.
Much to the Bump’s delight, we have dandelions. They grow tall, and sprout heavy yellow flowers that puff out into dandelion seeds.
‘Wish flowers’, my daughter calls them. She picks three of them, fat and perfectly spherical. She brings them to The Most Amazing Man and I, and announces that she is granting wishes.
She passes one to me, instructs me to make a wish. Most days I’d play along, closing my eyes for the required second or so and then, selfishly, blowing the wish flower into the wind without an ethereal request for it to carry.
Today, I don’t. Today I close my eyes and think hard, verbalise my wishes internally. I make a wish that we’d settle here, and quickly. That we find our groove, not miss our TinyTrainHouse in the TinyTrainTown quite so much.
I open my eyes, and blow gently, smoothly. I watch the tiny seed pods attached to silken parachutes blow off into the distance, tumbling against the wind, caught in incremental updraughts until they’ve become invisible in their smallness, smattering themselves into the grass to replicate and grow again.
I toss the remaining green stalk into the garden. “No!” says the Bump. “You have to break it first!”
She hands the stalk back to me and I snap it. “Again,” the Bump declares. “It needs to be three.”
I do as instructed, and request my cranky ballerina’s permission to throw it back into the grass.
“Yes…” she says, and watches as I toss the three pieces back into our veritable urban jungle.
“Now it will work,” she promises me assuredly, and goes back to her fairy business.
And, it seems, it does. For the Bumpy girl, if no one else. She’s getting used to her new everything, making friends at her new school. Finding her groove, settling in. Piece by iridescent piece.
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{ 6 comments… read them below or add one }
November 1, 2013 at 1:37 pm How magical it must be to have her. It is funny the way children can see the world. They make it all seem so simple.
October 30, 2013 at 8:48 am What a precious little girl you have. It is so nice that you encourage such a special gift. You are so blessed to have such beautiful children ❤️
October 29, 2013 at 10:52 am I have become addicted to your writing Lori. That’s a good thing 
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October 28, 2013 at 8:25 pm How profound! Special little Bump you’ve got there
October 28, 2013 at 7:46 pm Indeed she is
October 28, 2013 at 10:35 am She’s got a talent there.
Hope you’re all settling in
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I can blame the PTSD and I will, to a certain extent, give the fucking thing it’s credit where it’s due. Without it, ladies and jellybeans, conjuring up a performance like that over some deceased poultry would have been an impossible farce. (”I am not normal… I try to be, but I can’t remember how normal people act, what they do in these situations…”)
But I usually have some meter of control over flashbacks and trauma reactions. I’ve come to a point where I see them coming, shooting past somewhere in my mind’s peripheral awareness, and I am fast like lightning, like quicksilver. I grab them and push them under a thick woolen quilt in my mind.
It doesn’t make the flashbacks stop, or slow my heart or hitch the sobs. The section of my brain tortured by a trauma that most people view as shockingly unthinkable but I now see as normal continues to react and writhe like a slug in salt as the conversation, the scene, the smell, the whatever-it-is that’s set me off continues to invade my headspace. And I can feel it the way you feel the pressure of touch under a local anesthetic. I can observe it; and I do, from a distance, the part of me that’s pretending to be normal shocked and afraid of what’s happening, muffled and unseen, beneath that blanket in my brain.
But I can pretend, and there’s the value in it. While somewhere in my mind another part of me screams in burning agony, I can carry on a conversation, pretend to do my grocery shopping, play with my children. Visibly, everything’s fine, just fine.
 |
| Ethel and Lucy- I’m so glad the awesome Kirsten Cox got this shot of them for me. |
But one morning last week, I walk down my back stars with a heavy basket of dirty washing against my hip and nothing more on my mind than not wanting to hang out the waiting load of wet washing in the cold. At the bottom of the stairs I stop, frozen.
Looking at me is a wolf.
It’s not a wolf, of course, but a dog that looks very much like one, and the first thing that strikes me are it’s eyes. One brown, one blue. It’s still a pup, really, not full grown, perhaps eighteen months old; and my god, it is a beautiful dog. There are seconds of calm while we eye each other off. I’m not really alarmed, I figure it’s my neighbors dog, they’re always trying to get through the fence. It’s not until I glance beyond the dog, away from those slightly hypnotic mismatched eyes, that I see the mess in the lower part of the yard. A first thought it seems to be one of the kids toys ripped open, white stuffing blowing over vibrant green grass.
It’s not, of course. It’s Ethel, one of my chooks, my baby girls. The dumbest animals in the world that I rescued from the local battery farm and bought back to a state of health and at least borderline sanity with tender loving care, plentiful scraps and total free range roam of my back yard.
While Mr Tree the cool cat replaced our dog Scarlette for my little boy, the chooks were my compensation for losing her. They followed me round the yard, stopped and squatted for a pat, loved a cuddle. They were, in my usual melodramatic fashion, a symbol for what I was attempting to do here. A new start, a new life. Different and unrecognizable from the suburban existence we’d had in the past.
Chickens required so little and showed no emotion. They were loyal and ridiculously grateful for whatever I gave them, looking at me with adoring if not intelligent eyes. And dammit, they were mine. Not in spite of but because of their emotional vapidity, they were the only things I’d allowed myself any kind of real connection to that was untempered by caution and mistrust since my husband died.
On realizing the stupid things were dead… I’m aware of that familiar numbness, that exceptional coping mechanism, sliding over the emotions like clouds over the sun. And it just pisses me off.
Because fuck this. Fuck it, fuck it, fuck it, fuck it all to hell. Have I not lost enough already? Have I not had to let go of enough shit that was important to me already? Really, a couple of chickens that would have died anyway, living a life more miserable than what they had here; is that too much to ask for from the universe? When I protect myself by coveting only the simplest things– my house, my garden, my cats and chooks; and I was content. The less you have, the less you want, the less that can be taken away.
I should have known, well and truly, that being content grants you no protection. God, karma, whatever useless thing is in charge of making the world spin, decided that a couple of dumb animals were too good for me to keep, too. And that’s why, in a fit of childless temper, I stick my finger up at coping mechanisms and let myself lose my shit in a big way. The shock of this, the bursting of the safe happy little bubble I’d created for myself within my own physical block of land, feels like a punch in the guts and I reacted liked spoilt child.
 |
| Ethel and Lucy do the Today Show |
I scream and throw things at the dog, who growls when I come near it. The frustration of that is like cold water into hot oil and I scream hell unleashed. It’s then I notice Lucy, my other chook, laying on the ground, wings tucke
d as though she’s sleeping, but with one leg askew at an unnatural angle. The frustration becomes more of a powerless humiliation as it sinks in, with a familiar leaden settling stealing my breath and making me dizzy, that my girls are already dead.
I scream obscenities at the dog who simply stares at me in an almost arrogant manner, as if it’s wondering why this crazy lady is and why she’s screaming so; as if our roles were reversed and it was the human, bemused and somewhat entertained by this feral thing that’s reacting on instinct and temper alone.
I leave the yard, walk inside, still crying, my mind reeling, skating the slippery ring of a flashback that feels so surreal for it’s intensity and so pathetic, triggered over something so mundane. I call my mum, almost unable to form words, and she assures she will come, she will bring my stepfather, they will clean up the dead chooks. I can’t bring myself to do it, I can’t touch them. The too–heavy, flightless weight and feel of dead birds has always upset me and I’m not sure why. The dead weight of things now, in the After, it’s almost unbearable. I was brave enough to say goodbye when my dog died. This time I can’t. I know if I had to, had there been no one else to do it, I would have… that’s what I do. But I am so fucking sick of being brave.
The next half hour is shaking, hard breathing torture; feeling ashamed of myself and patently stupid but still caught in the threads of a flashback I can’t seem to untangle myself from. And why not? I am waiting for my mother and step father, sitting its my children, trying to pretend everything’s OK, unable to go into my backyard for fear of what I will see…
And it’s just like that hot, stiflingly painful afternoon all over again, in miniature. I sob with relief when my parents arrive. Lucy is still alive. My step father, a farmer with more strength than I may ever possess, takes care of her for me quickly and humanely and I can’t thank him or my mum enough. I am indebted to them for a thousand reasons… I’ll just add burying my pet chooks to the list.
I bury head in my mums hug and cry and sob and wail and I feel like I am that five year old who lives in a pink bedroom in the deep recesses of my mind. “I want my chickens” I sob, “and it’s just not fair!!” and I can see tears in my mother’s eyes and I can’t imagine how she must ache to see me in so much continual pain when she’s unable to do anything to stop it.
The same way I ache, I suppose, on telling my own children that two of their pets have died and gone to Heaven. I tell them the truth, and then reassure my naturally anxious son that the fence is now secured (and a new one goes up next week) and the dog next door will get in again, will not hurt him or sister or me or our cats.
It hurts telling them. It hurts a bit more watching them accept it so very easily, with no questions and confusion. The are distressed, my son especially, but it passes quickly. It’s so difficult to explain… but it’s so disturbing that my four year old understands death so well that his questions, when they occur, are on the finer points of Heaven and bodies, rather than the larger concept of what dieing is, what death means. As I’ve said so many times before, a chid so young shouldn’t have to understand death so well. It breaks me, over and over, that mine do.
I suppose, though, I’m somewhat the same. The feeling of histrionic unfairness becomes less frustrating every day– I’ve come to the point of expecting things to go wrong, waiting for the worst possible thing to happen. The optimist in me is slowly withering and dieing.
And I accept death without much question, too. Suck it up, get over it, move on. The only bonus this time round is that chickens by their nature are easily replaced… there is no guilt floating around to snag and catch at your conscious. And the chickens, they don’t have a say.
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{ 19 comments… read them below or add one }
July 19, 2012 at 5:12 am I am constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop because it ALWAYS does. Always. And anytime anything good or happy happens or comes into my life I shrink away just knowing something horrible must be right around the corner. It sucks to live this way. I try to be optimistic but at this point I don't have the energy. F it.
July 17, 2012 at 7:10 am There's nothing stupid about being so upset at losing your chooks. I would be much the same and I haven't been through anything like you. I was hysterical enough when a cat attacked one of mine as a baby and the other went missing for an hour – I was sure it was in the cat's jaws. I was A TOTAL MESS. Chooks are the most beautiful pets, I hope you will be brave enough to get some more (make sure there is wire on the bottom of their cage to avoid foxes as well as the neighbour's dog). Sending an electronic hug your way. So sad.
July 17, 2012 at 6:27 am Lori, I am so sorry to hear this. Yes, you have suffered enough loss. Enough is enough universe!! Leave Lori ALONE! The mean puppy kinda scares me. I hope he doesn't grow up to be an even meaner big dog. Hope the new fence solves the problem. Hang in there! Lisa
July 17, 2012 at 1:58 am Lori, I've just spent the last week and a half reading your blog in its entirety… and I don't blame you one little bit for feeling the way you did at the loss of your chooks. <3 I wish that there was something I could do to take your pain away.. ~a random follower.
July 16, 2012 at 8:41 pm I'm so sorry xoxo
July 16, 2012 at 5:23 pm baby girl….I just want to hug the stuffing out of you !!! I too would have done the same thing, my girls, my pets are my life (kids too). I cannot imagine it let alone bar it. Thank you for sharing and I hope it is slightly cathartic for you xxxxxx
July 16, 2012 at 11:44 pm Lori, I'm so sorry about your chooks. It's not fair, to you or your kids, and I hope those nieghbours make some sort of amends.
Hugs
xx
July 16, 2012 at 12:50 pm Hugs
xxx
July 16, 2012 at 12:11 pm Sorry about the chooks… they were pets, and it's okay to grieve another loss, even a chook one. You didn't even blame the dog, really, apart from screaming at it. It was just being a dog. I'm so sorry {hugs}
July 16, 2012 at 11:51 am I don't think you're stupid either. I think it makes perfect sense… And four years on, I think I would be the same. A month or so ago, a dog ran out onto the busy road ahead of my son and I as we walked home from school. When we got to him, the owner of the car and another bystander were there and a police car had just pulled in. The dog to my utter dismay hadn't died on impact (and instead was dying slowly and painfully) and the policeman asked me to take my son home as they didn't want to shoot the dog in front of him. I cried all the way home and for a good while after we got there… I felt so sorry for the dog, for the owner and for my son having to witness this… (even though, like your boy he took it well)… But it was a week before my baby's angel day… and that horrible painful feeling came flooding back…
And this was just a dog I had no connection with, no idea even if it was a nice dog or not… but I cried for him just the same. I think grief makes us wide open… and that it's cumulative… Each death takes us back to that place in time where innocence was lost.
xx
July 16, 2012 at 11:34 am You're not stupid Lori. It makes perfect sense how you reacted. I'm sorry this happened to you
July 16, 2012 at 11:08 am I'm so sorry Lori. This isn't fair and my heart breaks for you over and again. At least they got to feel love for a time. Wish I could say anything useful
Hugs to you and the wee ones
July 16, 2012 at 10:41 am *DANG* Sad day…
It truly is NOT fair! (HUGS)
Karen
July 16, 2012 at 9:47 am It is so awful, poor chooks…I'm glad they got to have a bit of a nice life chasing you around the backyard and getting pats from your kids.
July 16, 2012 at 9:05 am Damn. Very sorry for you and your little ones, including Lucy and Ethel.
July 16, 2012 at 8:57 am Oh how terrible Lori. They were a part of your family and I'm sorry you had to say goodbye. I didn't realise they were rescued! You did a good thing by saving them they were happy and loved you.
I would have been the same and I've not been within Cooee of where you tred. Dont beat yourself up for feeling.
Xxrah rah
July 16, 2012 at 8:37 am Oh love. My heart breaks for you. Poor chooks, poor Lori. Such a wonderful, terrible post. Much love to you xxxxx
July 16, 2012 at 2:21 pm Heartbreakingly, beautifully written. Your heart & hurt, on screen once more.
Oh, Lori. My should-be friend.
I am so sorry.
-Jo (Betch)
xx
July 16, 2012 at 11:45 am Hugs!! I recently lost my chooks to a pair of neighbourhood dog who decide they'd jump our fence. I was so upset. Mr 3 asks where the chooks are and we go over it again and I just can't bring myself to get anymore chooks. I miss them though. I take solace in knowing they had a great life while they were here, I'm sure yours were the same.
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Disclaimer: This is not a craft blog. At all. Ever. I suck, generally, at most things involving craft and cooking.
Buuuut. Having said that, I do occasionally become randomly inspired to try out ridiculous things (chocolate covered potato chip, anyone…?). And when I saw awesome funky up–cycled record bowls on various web pages, retailing anywhere up to fifty bucks… I took that as a challenge.
And I love a challenge.
So here you go, jellybeans, it’s craft on the un–crafty blog– an easy, step by step guide to making old records into funky looking bowls.
Step One– Get some vinyl. Not your husband’s limited edition white press copy of Bleach, please (and if you do do that… at least blog about it, eh?). Try your local op–shop’s ’scratched’ record pile– they normally go for about fifty cents each.
Step Two– One very slow oven. You may have to play around a bit with this, depending on your oven and the bran did record you’re using. I found that around the ninety degree Celsius (Celsius, people, Celsius!) mark was perfect in my fan forced electric.
Step Three– Find yourself a template. As such. Ideally, you want one bowl who’s bottom is the same width as the paper label on your record. Say, like this…
And then a larger bowl that will fit snugly, but not too tight, over the top of the first bowl. About this size…
As I said, this all might require a bit of trial and error… that’s why you’re buying fifty cent records, remember…?
Step Four: Ready, Steady, Smelt. Aline your record and your bowl, pop the whole thing on a baking tray for ease of mobility, and oven it. It does feel strange, putting plastic in your oven– you’ll get used to it. Provided your oven is low and you keep an eye on your ‘record bake’ so it doesn’t burn or smoke, the fumes from this are– somewhat disappointingly– minimal. While its probably best to send your kidlets out for the day, switching on the exhaust fan and opening some windows is optional.
Step Five: Whoever said a watched record never melts, lies. Keep an eye on your baking record. Again, depending on your oven and the vinyl, this first stage will take between five and ten minutes. What you’re waiting for is your record to go a bit floppy– like this one I prepared earlier…
Step Six: Cover It Up. What you need to do here is encourage a rounded shape by fitting your second, larger bowl over your half melted record. This may take some practice. If your record is too hot, the paper padding will scorch. Too cold and the record will crack when you apply the pressure of the larger bowl. And if either of your bowls happen to be slightly skewed, then so will the resulting record bowl. (Don’t let any of that turn you off. At ten minutes a piece, just give your cast offs to your kids. They’ll think they’re fabulous.)
Step Seven: Cool It. Invert the larger bowl onto a heat proof surface and leave the whole thing to cool for a good fifteen minutes before you touch it (I know, I know, you don’t have that long. Just watch yourself for blisters, OK? OK.)
Step Eight: Voila!!! Record bowls for the win. Smaller ones make great outdoor ashtrays (outdoor– they have a hole in the middle, remember?). Medium sized and larger ones are just awesome decorative places to put your junk. I now have a record bowl that replaced the ‘Basket of Doom’– you know the one, I’m sure. It’s got key rings and keys and sunglasses and batteries and superglue and matchbox cars and candles and a million other things in it that don’t really belong anywhere else.
I found this particular neon record put at Shed Five, and I’m on the hunt for more. But that’s enough of my waffle– go now, get crafty, RRSAHM–style. But remember– as harmless as they seem, records are made of vinyl, and when melted, that shit burns. Melts into your skin, in fact.
Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
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{ 12 comments… read them below or add one }
October 15, 2013 at 2:35 pm OMG! I USED TO THIS AS A KID! That was like 50years ago! Yes we did have vinyl records then. With hole in the bottom they make good planters.
May 27, 2012 at 11:57 pm I have wanted to do this since, like, forever. Thanks for the tutorial. can't wait to do this when I get home.
May 25, 2012 at 12:40 pm This is one for Pinterest.
May 25, 2012 at 10:32 am Lori this is awesome! Couldn't help but notice that the last one (neon yellow that you bought) is a Chic and Nile Rodgers record, that would have been a gem still! Will give this a try one time.
Have a great weekend! x
May 23, 2012 at 8:51 pm Very cool!
May 23, 2012 at 8:00 pm Hi :-)… I found your blog through many clicks and blah blah :-)))… I love the jelly beans… I came to see what your blog was, and have stayed here reading for well over an hour ignoring my childrens pleas for dessert … :-)…. I think your pretty cool, and amazing, and I'll def be coming back :-)…. Xoxoxo
http://Www.5pumkins.blogspot.com.au if you wanna check me out too… :-)))) xo
May 23, 2012 at 2:12 pm Absolute genius! I'm not so crafty either but I reckon I can do this. It reminds me of shrinking chip packets in the oven and making keyrings out of them, back in the day.
May 23, 2012 at 1:54 pm this made me smile cause Boo's special school are making these to sell.
the kids think they are AWESOME.
May 23, 2012 at 1:44 pm Elise- 194f. FAN forced.
Enjoy
May 23, 2012 at 12:58 pm Cool!!
May 23, 2012 at 12:38 pm OMG! Such a wicked idea Love it!!!
Hmmmm i may try this later on ,now where did i bloody put them oldies records ~ I know i have kept at least 10 but where???
May 23, 2012 at 1:09 pm Celsius??? What is it in Fahrenheit? Gotta love the American measuring system!
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I have turned into a total, complete Melbourne hipster.
I’m only slightly ashamed of myself.
It’s been a matter of jealousy, really. Watching my kids ride their bikes to school every morning reminded me of how awesome riding a bike was. Pumping pedals with your legs. Moving under your own power, flying past sights and pockets of sound. How free it felt.
It’s my birthday in a month or so. The Most Amazing Man In The Universe had been asking what I wanted. Living where we are, right on the bike track, ‘a bike’ seemed the best answer I could give him.
And besides- it’s Melbourne. Everyone in Melbourne rides bikes everywhere. Or so it seems.
So the Most Amazing Man- being, as he is, amazing- got me a bike for my birthday. And, being just as bad as me when it comes to not being able to keep presents a secret, he gave it to me early.
And oh my, is it pretty. It’s sparkly and shiny. It’s red, so it goes fast.
It’s also ridiculously hip and vintage and even has a wicker basket on the front.
I cruise around the neighbourhood on it, feeling just too school for cool.
I’m not going to say I’m not a hipster, because that, effectively, would make me more of one.
Don’t even care. Shiny red bicycles are awesome.
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October 5, 2013 at 7:30 am Wow …..so cool …I luv it ..wish I could bring my bike wth me so we could go cruising
October 1, 2013 at 7:14 pm And because it’s a red bike it’ll go faster than all the others!!
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September 30, 2013 at 10:11 pm I got my first bike ever as an adut.
Mine is purple with a pink seat!
Oh, how I love my bike
September 30, 2013 at 9:37 pm Fabulous bike for a fabulous woman.
Looks like you could use the seat raised a bit (your leg should pretty much straight at the bottom of the pedal ‘cycle’) – so then you can go even faster!
I reckon the fab man could find you a hipper helmet too… for your actual birthday. 
September 30, 2013 at 11:54 am It’s a beautiful bike! I love it. How wonderful to have times when things are easy and a bike can make you happy. It makes me want to hey my bike out for a ride again. Mine is purple
September 30, 2013 at 9:21 am Red things do go the fastest. It’s the truth!
And with those socks and turned-up jeans? TOTAL HIPSTER. Don’t try to deny it!
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September 30, 2013 at 8:20 am Mine is baby blue, a cruiser as well. Sadly, I do not look as good on mine as you do yours.
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I’m taking the weekend off again.
It’s become a regular event… dropping my kids off, and running away for a day or two.
There’s a lingering guilt there (plenty of other mums do this, alone, all the time… why can’t I?) that’s overridden by an insatiable desire to get away.
To disconnect.
I don’t worry about my kids when I’m gone, shamefully, I think of them only in abstract terms, love them from afar. But I don’t worry and fret, whether they miss me, if I have packed enough warm clothes for them, if they are doing OK.
I’m not supposed to confess to that, I know. But that’s the way it is. I can so easily disconnect from my kids. Just like I did, directly After.
It’s a matter of self preservation.
I have to do this, I have to decompress every now and then… or I will lose my mind.
I need a break from the constant wash of demands. The constant tug of physicality…. when I’m not with my kids, is it any wonder I just want to be alone, to not be touched?
My self esteem is shattered, and it seems to be getting worse.
The negatives, they are difficult to ignore.
It’s been years since that droning, grating voice in my head has been so persistent… Telling me I’m useless, I make people cry, I should really just give up on this writing thing and go get a job working checkouts. That I’m boring and weak and selfish (undeniable, I am selfish at the moment, and that may not be a bad thing, but I struggle to give it a positive connotation.)
That I killed my husband.
And, deepest,that I am a vessel for my children. The people left in my life, my only worth to them is a mother to my little ones. That no one really cares how I am, for the sake of if I am OK… just to make sure I will be able to take care of my kids properly.
After all, isn’t that the most important thing? That my children are OK?
This voice, it tells me I’m dispensable. That if my children didn’t need me, I really wouldn’t be needed at all. And it seems unfair to be kept here for the benefit of others.
I know none of that is true, of course.
It’s just that voice, it’s difficult not to listen to.
My son hasn’t mentioned his daddy for days now… maybe four or five days, a record of sorts.
Tonight, he is looking at Tony’s photo on the wall.
“Are you looking at Daddy?” I ask.
He turns to me, blue eyes full of the kind of childhood wonder reserved for fairy tales, and whispers…
“He was giant.”
I catch a sob in my throat.
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August 20, 2011 at 3:34 pm You amaze me with your strength. Really, you do, even if you can't see that strength yourself. You are doing what you need to do with your kids, which includes taking time for yourself.
You deserve to have that time. You deserve to be happy. You deserve to be OKAY.
And if you're not okay, ask for help. You deserve that too.
We're all here with you. I just wish we could do more.
August 19, 2011 at 9:47 pm All I can say is Lori, you have every right to have a 'break', to 'disconnect'.
Keep in mind you have gone through an extraordinary experience and you need to do what is right for you, which in turn is right for your beautiful children.
You are far from useless.
You are amazing.
You are doing amazing things for so many people.
This blog is SAVING LIVES.
Hold your chin high Miss Lori.
xxxxxxxxxx
August 19, 2011 at 9:26 pm You deserve time out from your hectic runnings of being a single mum but don't forget the ones who love you and are there for you.
August 19, 2011 at 8:54 pm I remember when you said, a long time back, that you were worried that nobody would want to love you. I wanted to say….'but, but, I do'.
And now, that I read, tonight, that you worry that you are "useless, a vessel for your children, your self esteem shattered"…….this just makes me want to emerge from anonymity, and say to you, "if only you knew". You, Lori, are the epitome, of a Stong Woman, someone of substance, guts, creativity. Just the sort of woman I so like to be with…
August 19, 2011 at 8:42 pm You're doing a wonderful job Lori – enjoy your break. Like everyone is saying, you absolutely deserve it. You are also very often in my thoughts. xx
August 19, 2011 at 6:52 pm You are still brave, still bold, still beautiful and still talented beyond words.
But completely agree you need time regularly to decompress – its no doubt healthy for all as the kids get a change of scenery too.
In my thoughts always x
August 19, 2011 at 6:11 pm I am normally a reader, not a commenter, but I had to jump in here.
The feeling of being nothing but a vessel to get our children through childhood and safely into adulthood is something I can relate to, so perfectly. I have said the same thing, in almost the same words. Just wanted to let you know that it isn't unique to your situation. The truth is, our kids would probably be just fine without us, and that's a scary concept. Just have to hang on to the fact that no one would do as good a job as we are doing, and hang in there till this feeling passes.
Its easy to see how giant T was when you look at the gap he left behind.
Thinking of you, always. Now back to anonymity. LJ xx
August 19, 2011 at 4:31 pm Be kind(er) to yourself, hon. x
August 19, 2011 at 3:13 pm Oh this is so heartbreaking… I wish you would get better… and yes, do whatever you want, if you feel better you will be a better mum…
have you seen this blog? someone that went though something some like you did… http://www.mattlogelin.com/ start at: haven't been here before…
lots of love you way,
Livia
August 19, 2011 at 11:44 pm I haven't been able to stop thinking of this post since I first read it.
Loi, sole parenting is the hardest gig there is. And you didn't enter into it by choice.
So ABSOLUTELY you should take time out when you need it.
As so many have said in the comments above, parents just parent better when we nurture ourselves.
Take care of you, chick. You matter.
August 19, 2011 at 1:25 pm As everyone else has said:
1. That voice inside your head is telling nothing but lies.
2. It's okay to get away from your children, especially when you've been through trauma, and you and your children will benefit from your mini breaks.
3. Please don't stop writing…
August 19, 2011 at 11:54 am /deep sigh/ it is important to get away and not worry… it is important to let them be cared for by someone else… it takes a village is my motto (although I have to admit I rarely go away and if I do guilt/fear follows me but there are reasons i won't go into)… I envy your being able to let them be and go away.
I do want to say I know "that voice"… ugh. Stinky rotton, viseral entity that sucks the life right out of a day. Don't know what else to say about that but be stronger than it is because you are amazing and important and good no matter what.
August 19, 2011 at 11:51 am I suppose I do understand, in a way, those parents who fret and worry and miss their children so terribly when they are apart. But I've never experienced that aching heart of missing my daughter when I've gone on a trip for work, or when she's gone on holiday for weeks at a time with her dad. I miss her, sure. I miss having her smiles in my day. But I know she is being looked after and loved, so why would I worry?
Yep, I know I'm partly dispensible. I could disappear and I know she would be loved and cared for. But I also know that she would miss me, that HER heart aches when we are apart and rejoices when we come together again. And that keeps me on this earth.
Leave the guilt in a rubbish bin somewhere and enjoy your weekend!
August 19, 2011 at 10:54 am I, just…. *hugs*.
Vicky makes a good point – sometimes part of looking after your children IS looking after yourself. Well, it always is, but sometimes putting your needs first for a time is actually better for them anyway, long run.
I need to escape regularly, too. And I don't really miss my kids when I'm away – I love them, massively, but don't feel their absence keenly for those few days at least. I sometimes feel bad about that, but then I don't. When I am here, I am here for them.
Sometimes I am there, and that is for me.
August 19, 2011 at 10:52 am I, just…. *hugs*.
Vicky makes a good point – sometimes part of looking after your children IS looking after yourself. Well, it always is, but sometimes putting your needs first for a time is actually better for them anyway, long run.
I need to escape regularly, too. And I don't really miss my kids when I'm away – I love them, massively, but don't feel their absence keenly for those few days at least. I sometimes feel bad about that, but then I don't. When I am here, I am here for them.
Sometimes I am there, and that is for me.
August 19, 2011 at 10:09 am Oh, my heartstrings are tugged to tears again – enjoy your time away from the little ones to stop revive survive.
August 19, 2011 at 7:55 pm August 19, 2011 at 9:51 am I do a happy dance Loudly chanting "I have no kids for the whole weekend!!!" throw the mumma hat off, put the Vicky one on firmly and then throughly and totally misbehave.
If I didn't have a break I too would go insane. If I don't stop and refill the tank, and feed my soul then the possiblity of what could happen isn't pretty.
I love my kids – intensely and passionately… but if I don't look after me, then there won't be anyone to look after them.
Being a parent is hard work – flying solo as one is bloody hard work.
Dance in the sunshine, feed your soul, Enjoy being LORI…
sending you love and light beautiful woman. xxx
August 19, 2011 at 9:27 am Is time to get out and be free without any guilt or bad feelings. Go for it and deep breathe…
August 19, 2011 at 9:14 am Big hugs Lori x
August 19, 2011 at 9:03 am Oh Lori 
That voice is a leech which feeds on the beautiful to try and make them crumble. And you are beautiful and it speaks venom and lies.
You couldn't stop writing my friend, words run through your veins and flow to us like a beautiful gift. You are a brilliant writer, far too talented to waste those thoughts and fingers by pushing groceries past a scanner.
I believe that the non fretting at leaving your children is a sign that you trust they are in good hands and not that you are a bad mother. You will not fret when they are at school each day, 5 hours away from you, and this is pretty much the same thing. Go and party guilt free, breathe, relax and just be Lori. We all need to just be ourselves sometimes without little people hanging off us.
You are always in my thoughts Lori and I know that isn't the same as being there, it doesn't help much when you are sitting alone with the voice whispering in your ear but I just want you to know that in spirit you have so many people there with you, thinking of you. You are such an important member of this world.
Super ((((hugs)))) mate, I hope you have a wonderful weekend away. Your Chop is nothing short of beautiful. xoxo
August 19, 2011 at 7:25 am What an achingly beautiful thing for him to say, and perhaps for you to be able to hear…
And just imagine – if Chop saw his Daddy as a giant, imagine how he sees you…
August 19, 2011 at 7:08 am August 19, 2011 at 4:21 pm Lori, I have been blown away by how far you have come since Tony. You have sold your house & moved to Paradise, you came to Melbourne for Blogopolis, you have been Awarded for your blog & you are learning new skills & making new contacts through your blogging.
YOU ARE AMAZING!!!
Of course you have that loathesome voice in your head, second guessing your every move. Without it, you wouldn't have anything to fight against. (Your kids WOULD be OK without you, but they wouldn't have YOU). So, "Lori, use the force".
Enjoy your weekend away & enjoy your kidlets when you return home. (X)
August 19, 2011 at 4:45 am I agree, we are our own worst enemies. My brain has that nasty little voice that tries to make me feel like crap about myself. I literally have to tell it to shut up (not out loud, only to myself as to not allow others to know how CRAZY my brain is). And most times it does work. We just make ourselves NUTS. I also drop my 3 1/2 yo daughter at my parents for a break a couple of times a month (or more). And I do feel a little bit of guilt. But I am always wearing a giant grin when I drive out of their driveway. I know she will be just fine, nothing will happen. And we need our breaks. Sometimes I just go home, sit on my couch and listen to: NOTHING. Besides my wine being poured into a glass. It has such a nice calming sound to it. Try not to beat yourself up too much. You have been through WAY too much! Your brain needs to shut off or at the very least learn some new positive language. LORI IS A GREAT MOM! LORI IS WONDERFUL! LORI IS A STRONG BITCH! LORI, well is just amazing!! Have fun this weekend, enjoy and kick up thoise heels. You deserve it!!!! Lisa
August 18, 2011 at 10:38 pm I truly believe that we are our own worst enemies . . . that voice in our head telling us that we are not needed, that we are undeserving, that we are worthless.
The battle to ignore that voice is so draining . . . often times it is just easier to believe it. But it is not the truth. You are more than just a mom, you are Lori and you are an important part of this world.
Jenn
August 18, 2011 at 10:37 pm Think of how the loss of Tony makes you feel.
Your kids, they'd survive, but they wouldn't be living life to the fullest.
<3 <3 <3
August 18, 2011 at 10:14 pm Oh, oh hon.
You really are living this, day in and day out. It must feel like a fucking marathon.
Power to you. I'll be one of those people in a white tent, handing out gatorade. The toughest hardcorest gatorade in town.
A lot of the time I stay alive for my kids. And I wonder if I was not here and I think, "Eh. They'd survive."
They would, and I always decide to stick around anyway. But just the letting go, the unkotting of it all in my gut makes me feel better.
I am hoping this means I will see you on Saturday night xxoo
August 18, 2011 at 10:10 pm Oh Lori. Heartbreaking.
I pray you can recognize that negative voice as inaccurate. It may be persistent, but it isn't correct. You're doing the best job you can for yourself and for your kids. You get to take breaks, it's perfectly reasonable and beneficial for you and for the kids – they need you to be refreshed, even just a little. Enjoy your break. And for what it's worth – I don't worry about my kids when I drop them off somewhere, either.
August 18, 2011 at 9:57 pm Oh babe. Hugs. That's all I can think of xxxxxxxxx
August 18, 2011 at 9:49 pm xxx
August 18, 2011 at 9:48 pm Oh, Lori. I have no words. But I read. I hear you.
August 18, 2011 at 9:46 pm it certainly is a matter of self preservation. I went through the same need to disconnect from my living son after the death of my baby son in 2008. Your children of course still need you – but they need you healthy. And getting away, for yourself, keeps you healthy for them. I think it's entirely necessary when you are in the depths of grief still.
And that last paragraph…just breaks my heart. I cannot imagine.
xxx
August 18, 2011 at 10:18 pm I know that negative voice – I have one, too. Try, Lori, try to shut it out. It's a foul-mouthed, bold-faced liar. You are worth more than just "a vessel for my children." If you need to escape on a weekend in order to keep your sanity, there's nothing wrong with that. Nothing at all. So many parents SHOULD do that, take a break, but they choose to force themselves to stay, they get worn and frazzled and it ends up doing nobody any good, least of all their poor kids!
HUGE hugs to you, Lori…
August 18, 2011 at 9:45 pm How heartbreaking darling. Xx
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There are songs on the radio now that Tony has never heard.
He’ll never know, nor will it matter, how windy it is this June.
I’ll never be able to share with him, how the kids have developed a taste for apples, which they wouldn’t eat before. I can’t laugh with him over how I opened the door of the Bump’s room this morning and found her already dressed for the day, an oversized pink bowler hat on her head and a fluffy scarf over her pajamas.
He’ll never know about those bushfires that happened in Queensland in January, nor the floods soon after.
And I’ll never be able to tell him how my ex-boyfriend was on this season of Masterchef.
The ordinariness of it guts me. Without still being here, making a mark, witnessing the events of our lives, the events of the planets… Tony is water washed into the background of history.
I suppose, if the essence of life is bearing witness to the change of your world, then the essence of death is being unable to. Life continues. You do not.
A million tiny little things that have happened in the six months Tony died, none of them significant. Yet all of them serving to dull his memory, his influence, his presence on the world.
Some afternoons, late, on the beach, I watch the tide roll in and slowly obliterate footprints and scuff marks, wash away the proof of life that exists on the sand. Slowly, so slowly, that one footprint, that one event that marked a single second in someone’s life… it’s erased.
It never fails to make me sad.
Memories, they are fabulous.
The pain of it is not being able to create any more.
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{ 32 comments… read them below or add one }
November 25, 2011 at 8:16 am You write so beautifully Lori. I am new to reading blogs and very new to yours. I lost my Mum last year in September and everything you write about loss and grief and death is so moving and so real. I lost my dreams when my 4th child was diagnosed with severe intellectual disability and your writing helps me get through every day. You have experienced such raw pain and you are absolutely amazing. Xx
July 22, 2011 at 6:05 pm I understand this feeling. It's not being able to share stuff as it happens, that desire to giggle with someone over some gossip, or cry over something bad that has happened. And yes, that they will never have witnessed the things you are now experiencing.
M2Mx
July 21, 2011 at 6:35 pm You and I collect quotes. I'm writing this one down and keeping it close.
'I suppose, if the essence of life is bearing witness to the change of your world, then the essence of death is being unable to. Life continues. You do not.'
Meow xo
July 22, 2011 at 2:27 am My heart is ripping…….
July 21, 2011 at 5:46 am This is so stunningly beautiful and so very true for anyone that has lost someone very close to them. This really plucked the strings of my soul because it made me think of all the things that I am missing out on with my mom! xo <3
July 19, 2011 at 8:05 pm hug…
July 19, 2011 at 6:25 pm Your words are poetry Lori. I don't think I've ever heard/read anyone describing this [learning to live with a big hole in your life] so eloquently. Hugs to you & the little ones… xxx
July 19, 2011 at 6:14 pm Lori, you write beautifully. Love, life, grief, missing. You capture it all. Sending you love.
July 19, 2011 at 4:53 pm Right about the time I was able to talk about my younger sister’s sudden death at 49 just three years ago, our younger brother died too at 48. I’m not sure there will ever be a day without tears in it again. They both left kids and grandkids and spouses and careers and siblings and parents and friends and lists of things to do…
…and the world keeps spinning and the bananas get soft and the babies learn to dress themselves.
July 19, 2011 at 3:04 pm Just wanting to send you love and hugs, Lori.
July 19, 2011 at 2:24 pm I think one of the most painful things about grieving is that life does go on, and we feel like, how dare it?
July 19, 2011 at 1:05 am You articulate evrythong with such grace and poise, Lori. Keeping you and the kids in my prayers.
Cxx
July 18, 2011 at 10:39 pm This is the exact thing that freaks me out about dying.
July 18, 2011 at 10:18 pm Love and more love to you my friend.xxxx
July 18, 2011 at 9:57 pm This blog is refreshingly honest, and you are a marvelous writer.
July 18, 2011 at 9:45 pm Tony is always wIth you in spirit and will always walk besides you. I know it's tough, I lost mum 10 months ago. Stay strong. You have the best part of Tony, his beautiful children!
July 18, 2011 at 8:49 pm I wish there was something I could say, but I've got nothing. As always, your writing is so beautiful and heart breaking. I think the other way in which the ocean is like time is that it slowly grinds down sharp edges. Broken glass is made smooth, and memories are made less painful. At least, I hope this will be the case for you. Lots of love.
July 18, 2011 at 8:33 pm You articulate alot of what I have thought over the years. The simple ordinary things of day to day life with someone. What then when they are gone? The only time really is now. One can only try and live their best life. Thoughts with you ..
July 18, 2011 at 7:51 pm I hope you took a picture of bump in the hat and scarf???
You're making more memories everyday, sweetie…
July 18, 2011 at 7:20 pm It is sad that you won't make new memories with Tony, but you will make many many new memories with the Bump and Chop. I love my mental image of the fluffy scarf and pink bowler hat.
July 18, 2011 at 5:44 pm Yeahh, Life is a bugger, and I think you will be okay. I think I am okay now. Time.
July 19, 2011 at 12:20 am OK, this post (as well as many previous posts) totally blows me away with your writing skills. I like your metaphor at the end of footprints being washed away by the tide.
It is really sad that you won't be able to create any more memories with your Tony. I just hope you'll be able to hold on to the beautiful memories you had already made, and I hope you can take comfort in Chop and Bump and making some moments with them. HUG!
July 18, 2011 at 1:50 pm …what Donna said.
XXX
July 18, 2011 at 1:35 pm It's so true. After I've lost people I've thought about how they will never see or do seemingly insignificant things. It's always music and movies I think about too.
I just wish I could take all this pain away from you.
July 18, 2011 at 1:01 pm 7. ACCEPTANCE & HOPE-
During this, the last of the seven stages in this grief model, you learn to accept and deal with the reality of your situation. Acceptance does not necessarily mean instant happiness. Given the pain and turmoil you have experienced, you can never return to the carefree, untroubled YOU that existed before this tragedy. But you will find a way forward…
You will start to look forward and actually plan things for the future. Eventually, you will be able to think about your lost loved one without pain; sadness, yes, but the wrenching pain will be gone. You will once again anticipate some good times to come, and yes, even find joy again in the experience of living."
Sorry my comments are so long. I hope this helps.
July 18, 2011 at 1:00 pm 4. "DEPRESSION", REFLECTION, LONELINESS-
Just when your friends may think you should be getting on with your life, a long period of sad reflection will likely overtake you. This is a normal stage of grief, so do not be "talked out of it" by well-meaning outsiders. Encouragement from others is not helpful to you during this stage of grieving.
During this time, you finally realize the true magnitude of your loss, and it depresses you. You may isolate yourself on purpose, reflect on things you did with your lost one, and focus on memories of the past. You may sense feelings of emptiness or despair.
5. THE UPWARD TURN-
As you start to adjust to life without your dear one, your life becomes a little calmer and more organized. Your physical symptoms lessen, and your "depression" begins to lift slightly.
6. RECONSTRUCTION & WORKING THROUGH-
As you become more functional, your mind starts working again, and you will find yourself seeking realistic solutions to problems posed by life without your loved one. You will start to work on practical and financial problems and reconstructing yourself and your life without him or her.
July 18, 2011 at 12:59 pm 1. SHOCK & DENIAL-
You will probably react to learning of the loss with numbed disbelief. You may deny the reality of the loss at some level, in order to avoid the pain. Shock provides emotional protection from being overwhelmed all at once. This may last for weeks.
2. PAIN & GUILT-
As the shock wears off, it is replaced with the suffering of unbelievable pain. Although excruciating and almost unbearable, it is important that you experience the pain fully, and not hide it, avoid it or escape from it with alcohol or drugs.
You may have guilty feelings or remorse over things you did or didn't do with your loved one. Life feels chaotic and scary during this phase.
3. ANGER & BARGAINING-
Frustration gives way to anger, and you may lash out and lay unwarranted blame for the death on someone else. Please try to control this, as permanent damage to your relationships may result. This is a time for the release of bottled up emotion.
You may rail against fate, questioning "Why me?" You may also try to bargain in vain with the powers that be for a way out of your despair ("I will never drink again if you just bring him back")
July 18, 2011 at 12:58 pm I'm praying for peace and comfort for you, Lori.
Allow me to share an article a friend of mine (who lost her husband in February) wrote on grief.
"There is no due date nor expiration to the stages of grief. Order is out of the question and time is nonexistent while grieving. There are moments where you will be completely fine and others that leave you beside yourself. There is no warning of when a wave will come or when the tide will recede. For me it is just best to go along with the flow. You’re only hope of survival is swimming away from the rocks and wait for the Lord to come rescue you.
I don’t know who created the stages of grief but I would like to say that they are spot on. I don’t necessarily believe that you walk them through in the order as follows but as far as each step along the way they are correct in my experience.
I have a great mixture of stage 2, 3, 4 and sometimes 1.
These stages were taken from http://www.recover-from-grief.com.
July 18, 2011 at 12:14 pm That's the part that always gets me. The one where there can't be any new memories that include the loved one we've lost. As I watch my best friend's son grow up without his dad I worry about all the things Jason missed. But T is stronger than I am, and he tells me that his dad can now see the world in a way that he never could before –through our eyes and hearts.
And I'm forced to believe him.
July 18, 2011 at 12:08 pm So insightful, so raw, so honest, so beautiful. I cannot know your pain but you so eloquently bring your readers to a little bit of an understanding of how to bear it and live through it. You are quite amazing!
July 18, 2011 at 12:06 pm Lori you make me understand grief so much more – how you can articulate so beautifully (heartbreakingly so) is such a gift that I am so glad you keep sharing. We learn so much from you.
And if I may, all I can say is that Tony no doubt does know these things, because I like to comfort myself with the fact those we lose are actually never too far from the loved ones left behind. I dont mean to sound contrite or overbearing, its just something I tell myself when I miss the people I love who are no longer with me xx
July 18, 2011 at 12:03 pm Lori, You write so beautifully about something that is so painful. It is a privilege to read.
Michelle
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Well, after taking about 15 photos in an effort to graphically illustrate this blog entry, I finally came up with one that is only mildly pornographic, mostly because it features only a tiny bit of me, and a large bit of my kitchen sink. So, unless there a lot of people into that kind of thing, it won’t attract too many weirdos*
So, yeah, I gotta hickey on my boob. In the spirit of being amusing, I’ll give you a multiple choice questionnaire as to how it got there.
Your options are
a) It’s the product of an illicit, sordid affair**
b) It was the end result of an incident that involved cat hair, a cardigan and a DustBuster.
c) It was caused by one very hungry baby strapped into a sling ten minutes past feed time.
Your time starts… now.
And… time’s up. Those who chose option c), give yourselves a pat on the back. Those of who chose option b), I’m quite impressed with your active imagination. Those who chose option a), I’m very, very disappointed in you. But thanks for playing.
*Not that I have anything against you weirdos.
** This position is currently open! Those wishing to apply, please contact 0410 RRSAHM. We choose not to discriminate against weirdos.
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{ 5 comments… read them below or add one }
February 5, 2010 at 3:12 pm EEEWWWW PORN!
I had a giggle because as soon as I saw the picture I knew it was little miss Daisy.
February 4, 2010 at 6:17 pm Aww c'mon – you know you want the weirdos – when your only label is "boobies"?? That's ok, I totally understand. A girl's gotta do something for a little fun!
February 4, 2010 at 3:30 pm I have to say that I'd rather have 15 pictures of your boobs than 500 pictures of rocks. But that's just me.
(and please, please don't take this the wrong way. I'm not some weirdo, and I promise I'm not stalking you.)
February 4, 2010 at 3:15 pm I love the layout for your blog. I couldn't find any I liked a while back when I was looking at pyzam. I'm jealous!
Thanks for your comment, and yeah! that is a lot of pictures. I started to wonder if I was lying, but there were lots of places where I was taking pictures of the same thing a couple of times over. Then there was a part when the 5 kids were running around in a field and I took MANY pictures of those. Seems stupid, but I figured that since I don't really know what I'm doing, I'd need to take lots and lots of pictures to get a good one.
February 4, 2010 at 4:44 am Porn is good. :o) Kitchen sinks, I can do without. When I was in high school one of my friends babysat 2 little kittens. While she was sleeping both of these little fur balls would get up 1 on each side and suck her ears. She had hickeys on her earlobes for 2 weeks straight.
Some days I wish I could see, all of this, this whole total life change we’ve had, through the eyes of my son. So I would know best how to ease his pain, what i can say that will be of the most comfort.
Other days, I’m so glad I’m spared that pain. Just imagining the pain of my little one is enough to break m. To be immersed it…. the pain would drown, unable to breath through the crushing viciousness of it on my chest.
I watch my son grieve as I do, back and forth, toward and away from the memory of his dad. Unable to watch TV shows or movies we used to enjoy with him, because to become trapped in a memory like that hurts, not while you’re in it- but once you remember that a memory is all it is.
Then, I watch him sleep on the floor, curled up around a pillow the way he used to with his dad. And I see him, mourning as I do. Pulling the memory close for comfort, as much as it cuts ans chaffs at your soul.
My son, he is more like his father every day. Nature, nurture, and the memories that fill in the gap.
In Tony’s eulogy, they mentioned our little boy, and the way he stands just like his father- one arm stretched out to lean against something for support, one foot crossed over the other. He still does that, stands like that… a habit. But he no longer tells me he’s being a man, just like Daddy.
And just recently, my son has developed a strong gag reflex to smell. Just like father had.
Nature, nurture, habit.
In a way, I feel grateful that he is old enough to have absorbed that core of masculinity his father had. I think that’s become intrinsic, his measure of masculinity. The Bump, she will miss her father (I wonder, how old she will be, when she starts asking questions, and realises a father is a generally accepted part of a family?), but, and it’s my own feminine and masculine stigma showing here- it seems less of a blow for a little girl to lose her father, than it is for a little boy.
I remind myself, that while I have a framework to fit his in, my son does not. Suddenly, his best friend, his idol… the centre of his world… was gone. With no explanation, except what I give him, which always seems futile, and never enough.
It seems important to remember the last time my children saw their father. But my memory tricks me, and the details aren’t solid.
I can’t remember if the Bump was awake when Tony came home that day, or if our arguing woke her up. I can’t remember, exactly, if Tony picked her up and gave her a cuddle.
My memory, a vague, shadowy one, it tells me he did. And I like to think of that as the last time she saw her father…. I hope, if she remembers anything at all, it’s that, and not the Other.
My little boy… I just don’t know. Tony put him to bed the night Before This, I remember that. It was Tony’s birthday, and I tried not to get cranky as he stirred up our incorrigible three year old right on sleep time.
I know it was a habit of Tony’s to say good morning to our son, our Chop, as he left for work in the mornings. Chop was usually awake, playing in his bedroom, safely behind a baby gate that served a double protection for our long flight of stairs. Tony would go in, say good morning, and bring the Chop a glass of milk to start the day, giving the Bump and I an extra half hour in bed.
Chop was, thankfully, sleeping when This Happened.I don’t know if Tony did his usual thing, on the 6th of January, if he crept in and had an early conversation with his son, a final goodbye with his best mate. I’ll never know.
But I like to think he did.
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{ 16 comments… read them below or add one }
September 5, 2011 at 5:53 pm Your little son looks so much like his dad..I think it's the smile. Lori, my heart breaks just reading this post. SEnding you Love and hugs to you.
July 1, 2011 at 10:08 pm Of course he did.
He didn't think he was going to die that day. It was a day like any other day, so of course he did.
July 1, 2011 at 11:30 am this is my first visit…you are brave to open up and share! Like @Lynda "sometime words are just plain inadequate" thoughts and prayers for you and your family.
July 1, 2011 at 11:28 am This comment has been removed by the author.
June 30, 2011 at 8:48 pm Oh Lori, though I visit you here, and keep you in my thoughts and prayers I often fail to grasp the enormity of what has happened to you and your children. You've captured it today. I'll hold you guys close in my heart today. Sending love your way.
June 30, 2011 at 4:30 pm Sometimes words are just plain inadequate for feelings. That’s now for me, Lori. So insanely sorry you have had to go thru this nightmare of unexpected heartache.
June 30, 2011 at 12:24 pm Tony did. I have complete belief that he had his morning chat with The Chop and that he had picked up The Bump for a cuddle. That is what they will remember.
It's good for them, but it leaves the burden you carry, the horrific memories, it leaves you alone with them. Such a massive thing for you to hold alone. I wish I could erase it from your mind and leave your last memory as a happy one too.
June 30, 2011 at 12:01 pm ((((HUGS))))
June 30, 2011 at 10:54 am I feel so heavy after reading that. All I've got is ((HUGS))
June 30, 2011 at 5:01 am <3
June 29, 2011 at 10:16 pm I agree with Maxabella, it was his routine so he must have gone in and gave Chop those extra morning moments of guy time . . . it was a habit and we all know how hard those are to break.
Jenn
June 29, 2011 at 10:04 pm June 30, 2011 at 12:15 am damn….
what a rocky place in which your heart, mind, and soul reside.
one day your children will know what became of their father, but there will always, always be unanswered questions on everyone's behalf.
every human feels bewildered in the "not knowing" arena of our complicated lives.
you are not alone.
June 29, 2011 at 11:27 pm I think your other commenters are right – Tony would've gone in to see Chop, even if only out of habit.
Sigh… This is one of those times where I have no words. It just kills me that some people have to go through this kind of thing.
HUG! Still here, wishing healing, love and happiness for you and your children.
June 29, 2011 at 10:31 pm Tony would not have missed that routine of love and care, you can be sure he went into see Chop. Yes. His Dad was there that morning. To think anything else is playing games in your head too. Tony and Chop. It is a combo that exists for all time in ways us females may never understand. Lori.
You are so careful to do all of the nurturing as a mumma and in place of their dadda. You are doing it just fine
Love and Blessings xxxxx
June 29, 2011 at 10:27 pm I'm sure he did too, that is a habit no Daddy would skip
So sad for you and your kids Lori, posts like this one just hurt my heart thinking of you all.
x
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Surfin’ ain’t easy, and right now, you’re lost at sea. But don’t worry; simply pick an option from the list below, and you’ll be back out riding the waves of the Internet in no time.
Just testing to see if I removed Disqus correctly. Quite frankly, it’s a bit stalker-ish. And the hordes were complaining. Which is good. Thank you to the people who told me you hate it. Good work. Etc, etc, yadda, yadda.
Also testing my Share This doovie thingie. For the third freaking time. I really don’t think it’s going to work. If it does, I may just feed peeled grapes to the Google God. Maybe.
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{ 10 comments… read them below or add one }
May 26, 2010 at 10:03 pm Sarah, you get me as your BFF. And foot massages and chocolate.
Lori> what Sarah said. You're thinking of a doobie, you naughty girl. I don't know where you got that idea from.
May 26, 2010 at 4:31 pm Lori – doovie = thingamajig = something that you don't know the real word for
So if you were going to peel grapes for the google gods, what do I get for fixing it for you?!
May 26, 2010 at 3:09 am What was wrong with the Discus? In what way was it stalkerish?
May 26, 2010 at 2:10 am What's a doovie? Sounds like something you smoke!
May 26, 2010 at 12:56 am What share thingy woman???
May 25, 2010 at 11:43 pm Yep, I'm fine.
May 25, 2010 at 10:45 pm I can't use disqus from my phone. I can comment this way though.
May 25, 2010 at 10:15 pm Hellooo… test 1.. test 1..
May 25, 2010 at 10:12 pm testing….testing
May 25, 2010 at 10:04 pm And the Share code didn't work again. Excuse me while I find a wall to bang my head on.
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Woot,
I love free stuff, we know that, right? So naturally, I was stoked when I got a package the other day. From a courier. Ooh la la. And it was wrapped all pretty, with a bow. I would have taken a picture of that, but the Chop got into paper-ripping real quick. He loves free stuff too, obviously.
But I did manage to photograph the contents. Minus the baby bottle and sachet of yucky toddler formula, which went straight in the bin. The rest of it, however, was way cool.
We’ve got’s some sun shades, vitamins, a soft toy, Bio-Oil (I freaking love this stuff. Two pregnancies, no stretch marks- thank you, Bio-Oil), and various other bits and pieces.
Including a very curious coloring in book called “Mr Moose in Planet Volvo”.
Hmm.
Anyway.
All these freebies are courtesy of The Baby and Toddler Show, coming to Sydney from the 1st-3rd of October. Three whole days of baby show goodness.
If you haven’t been to a baby show, it’s a quintessential parenting experience. While I can promise you it is absolute mummy mayhem- a collection of strollers, toddlers, mums and screaming babies, in a density far more intense than any playgroup you’ve ever been to; it’s also awesome fun. You get to check out all the very latest groovy baby and kids stuff. If you’ve ever thought “they need to invent that”, they probably already have. You’ll find it at a baby show.
And, oh my, the cloth nappies. The gorgeous, on-special fluffy goodness. Excuse me while I salivate. And then wipe it up with a bamboo insert.
Did I mention I’m going…? Why, yes, yes, I am. You’ll fine me wherever there is cloth.
Anyhoo. As I said, The Baby and Toddler Show is on at the Darling Harbor Exhibition Center, Sydney, from Friday 1st October to Sunday 3rd October. I recommend the Friday, for avoiding the stressed out mummy crowds.
Admission is free for kidlets under 14, $20 for adults. Or, at least, for adults who don’t read RRSAHM. Cause I got the golden tickets. Four of them, to be exact. Who wants em…? First in, best dressed. Leave me a comment, with your email address, and I’ll email you back for details. Awesomeness!!
Happy kid wrangling everyone!
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September 23, 2010 at 11:16 am Ohhhhh bamboo/cloth nappies. How I love (and miss) them so. Was actually sad when the baby girl toilet trained if only for that reason. Sad, huh?!
September 21, 2010 at 8:22 pm I have been trying to convince hubs to take me to something like this since getting pregnant with our first child. I am now just over 6 weeks from having #3 and he's still not given in!
September 21, 2010 at 4:33 pm I gots the same goodie bag too! Yays!
September 21, 2010 at 11:32 am Free stuff is awesome!
September 21, 2010 at 10:34 am PICK MEEEEE!
I am due to have my baby on October 20th though haha.
Still, whether he's out or in I'm a going!
Sounds like fun : )
amba_125@hotmail.com
September 21, 2010 at 9:03 am Me me me please!
yummy4mummy at hotmail dot com
And YAY to throwing the formula in the bin!!! That made me fall in lurve with you ;P
Love me some cloth!
September 21, 2010 at 8:57 am Wouldn't you know it, I *am* going to be interstate on those days… In Adelaide. I'll try to convince hubby and his friends we need to make a quick stop in Sydney but I'm not very optimistic
September 21, 2010 at 7:34 am Will pass on the tickets as I will be on holiday, but just wanted to manetion that my Uberbestfriend Uberkate has a stall – so swing by and tell her Mrs Woog sent you. xox
September 21, 2010 at 7:32 am I love that you throw out the bottles and formula samples. You are the bomb baby!
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{ 35 comments… read them below or add one }
the best fundraiser that we have at school is selling flower bulbs. It can easily get expensive but at least you don't have to eat bulbs forever and you only order what you want to not get a box of them and have to sell them.
edaj84 from BB
I've only just previewed your Vlog, and I personally HATE those Goddamn chocolates.!
Don't even get me started on the times I've bought whole boxes off my sisters because my hubby and son can't help themselves but raid them.
[My two year old was giggling at The Man smacking his bum in the background and has since started walking around doing the same thing]
xo
This is fabulous!! I loved the last little bit at the end too. Have you got rid of all the chocolates yet? I think they're a terrible idea, promoting unhealthy eating. I haven't got a better suggestion yet though! Will have to think on that. Love it love it!
still love this!
LOL! Love it! And your husband so reminds me of mine. He's ruined many a video I've done. Gotta love them.
Very cute (the baby, not the husband, although you probably think he's cute, which is ok because you're married to him!)… re chocolates, I have two teens and one five-year-old, we've done every fundraising scheme known to mankind. The chocs work a treat for teenagers as 1. I don't have to sell them. 2. A box will be sold by the teens on the bus before they even get to school.
This. Is. Awesome.
Oh great vlog, well done! How come everyone's doing vlogs now…is this the latest thing for AMB-ers! Spend a couple of days away from the PC, come back and everyone's videoing themselves! lol We just got the notice about a Cadbury fundraiser too…not sure how it's going to go as it's our first time at it. But there's no way I'm going to sell that much chocolate!
I need to get over my terror of Vlogs and just do one. Esp if it makes me as super cool as you. x
I agree with Maxabella, the arse-paddling was fantastic. Compliments to the Man.
I also dislike those fundraiser chocolates. I even disliked them when I had to take them home from school/sport (ok, physie isn't really a sport, but it's close enough). You need to convince someone who works in an office to take them off your hands for you. The ladies in my office spend a fortune on that stuff.
how clever and brave LOL
You're a vlogger! Love the Man's antics… really added to your discussion on school fundraising to have the arse paddling going on in the background.
I am fortunate in that my children's preschools / schools all fundraise through requests for cold hard cash from the parents rather than submitting us to the torture that is 48 oversized Freddo Frogs in a box. I have bought many, many oversized Freddo Frogs from a box over the years as work colleagues are only too happy to park them on their desks and put up pictures of their kids with pleading eyes and a speech bubble saying "Save our School from the NSW Government"… have you tried this approach? x
Check you out!
We have just had those boxes. I took one to work and it was just about eaten within 3 day. Got a second box, it's still sitting at work 2 months later. Plus, our kindy split the chocolates into different boxes. But guess what? When you do that, Cadbury won't let you return them because of food health issues, so now, our kindy has to sell EVERY singl box they took.
Fundraising sucks the big one, am on the committee and to be honest, I reckon everyone would rather just pay $40 a year and be done with it.
One thing they did do the other day, was have a day of nail painting, hair spray, cupcake decorating and we all paid $10 for the day and the kids had a ball.
Great vlog and your man is hilarious.
Ohh I was thinking Lamington Drive! Do they even do them anymore? Yes, the freddos are well known lol and feared
Well, girl…you ROCKED the vlogging world! Well done! Loved the arse slapping by the man in the background. Impressive.
As for fundraisers…we're in to our school's one at the mo. Ours is a bit of a hoo-ha though -I'm talking 52 parents on the fundraising committee, a full weekend planned of fun and entertainment, and almost a whole year of planning. We bake for it, we sell raffle tickets (many of which we buy ourselves too – but at least you could win a trip to Hawaii for 4 with accommodation and airfares etc for $2.50 a ticket – and NO sugar rush included!) and then we bid for the artwork our children's class make and pay ridiculous amounts of money for something you might not necessarily hang on your wall.
But it's all fun. (And, just quietly, it makes a sh*tload of money for the school.)
Enjoy those Freddos on Steriods, ok? xxx
Completely didn't expect you to sound like that at all!
And yes they're a huge PITA. I remember as a kid mum used to buy our whole box. Screw that!
I think i will be one of those crappy mum's who avoids those kinds of things because yep, i'd probably eat them all myself :X
Oh that's funny! It's like were sitting across the kitchen table from you – I love it!
I think your man wanted a spanking is what he was trying to tell you.
Oh… Fundraysia Slice Drive, Identity Direct, Cadbury chocolates, Picture Products… I joined this year to meet some of the mums at daycare and it is the same 4 people who attend every month, the same people who get stuck selling the stuff, and the same people who buy the stuff. Honestly, can't we all just donate a set amount at the start of the year instead of wasting time on something that is only going to raise $100????
I've been lucky the schools my oldest daughter went to & the step daughter goes to don't worry about fund raising they have fates, concerts etc.
When my oldest daughter did marching they use to fun raise.
The first one they did was family pies that you could older both a savoury one's & sweet one's,
They also did a sock drive where you could order bed socks of them with simple messages or names sewen onto the socks.
Another drive they did was a bathroom pack where you could buy soap, 6 pack of toothbrushes, face washer & toothpaste.
All the drives were a big hit and I remember a lot of people who brought things of my oldest daughter said we would have said no to chocolate but love this instead.
(((( Hugs ))))
You're husband is hilarious!!! It's so nice to see you in real life (well, sort of!) My kids are too young for the fundraising gig yet, but I have to admit that I like it when kids in the neighbourhood come knocking with those big boxes!
I was on the fundraising committee at kinder and was determined to scrap this annual cadbury fundraiser for all the reasons you so eloquently mentioned (great vlog btw!)
However, on closer examination, they make sh*tloads of cash. About half that box there will be profit. So for a kinder of 90 families, we made about 2.5 grand. Half way to our fundraising goal in one effort. So that's why so many places do them. My only advice? Send the box to work and fatten up work colleagues.
Yay! I loved this. You should definitely vlog more often (and so should everyone else because I love watching them!).
Cadbury fundraiser boxes are the BOMB! Mind you, I've never actually been in charge of SELLING the chocolates, I'm speaking strictly from a chocoholic chocolate purchasing point of view.
xx
I got 2 boxes! Floggin them to the family on sunday!
LOL! This is great! I love it. I want to do a vlog but I don't know how to do a video. I suck. I don't even own a video camera. And I super hate school fundraisers. You are gorgeous. I love your accent!
We had a box of Caramellos a couple of months back for preschool fundraising … I ate half the box. Never agaiiiin!
Such a good first time vlog. Very impressed. Especially with the scrolling at the end.
I am lovin' these vlogs! I HAVE to wait to get my husband out of the house before I do one because I KNOW he will start to play director and try to give me direction. Then I'd have no choice but to kill him.
you're a brave woman – I'd try but if I upload a video of myself YouTube and Blogger will crash and rebel at being abused so badly…
Fundraisers suck – I can deal with t-shirts and stuff – but I LOATHE being cornered at my desk my a frantic mother ('cos let's face it – Dad's just forget or eat them) screeching incoherent babble about needing to sell her car load of chocolate and being hunted down by Cadbury people if there are leftovers.
I've taken to hiding under my desk until they leave…
So nice to see you in person and hear your awesome accent!!! Your hubby is SUPER hilarious and I think you should include the funny man in your vlog the next time.
What did you use to edit your video? I mean how did you get the words added in there? I have never done that before.
What fun you all are! And I love the accent. At least from here, you've got an accent.
Ooh look at you! You're gorgeous – and I had to laugh, I think we're married to similar men, mine would do something annoying like that too!
Not up to fundraisers with Miss A yet. But I dread all that chocolate temptation in the house – as if I needed more excuse to eat bucketloads of the stuff and make myself feel sick.
Oh goddess, you are SO SO cool. All three of you, but 'specially you. GORGEOUS to see you in real life. Kinda. You know I mean.
I have vlog envy now!
(And in terms of the choccy fundraiser issue – I have banned the choccy ones from coming home. I politely stated my (dieters) case and gave the kindy details of a tea towel fundraiser instead…..)
Livvy recently did a Mathsathon – she alone raised $110 – heaps better!!
Love it! Must do my own one soon!
Thank goodness my kids are grown, because I know those fundraisers are held here in the USA, too. My grandkids hit me up to buy popcorn, gift wrap, chocolate, you name it! I don't like the fundraisers either!
I loved your vlog!! And love putting a face to the name as I have been reading your blog for a while. I bought my little webcam a few months ago but am yet to have the balls to vlog myself. You go girl!!