Monthly Archives: May 2016
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: All This Stuff
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: All This Stuff
Muse Wars Writng Challenge Five- Really This Time. – RRSAHM
Muse Wars Writng Challenge Five- Really This Time.
Okely dokely,
It’s time for the Muse Wars Writing Challenge Number Five. Really this time- I’m back on the horse.
Originally the brilliant idea of Melissa at The Things I’d Tell You, christened the Muse Wars by the MadMother when she set Challenge Two. Challenge Three by was set by the Menopausal Mumma, Challenge Four by yours truly. This time around, Challenge Five is set by the muchly awesome Gemma at Sometimes You Just Need To Vent. Here’s another piccie of her, because she didn’t like the last one I posted.
Anyone can play. You have 5oo words-ish, and 48 hours-ish (generally, but we got a bit slacko Jacko this time), to write whatever the muse whispers to you about this picture.
Sorcery or Seduction.
Marissa lay, foetal, on the starched, white sheets of an unforgiving bed. She was tempered, now, by an indecent cocktail of anti-depressants, anti- psychotics and sedatives. She had neither the will nor the inclination to fight the deepening fog that crept into her consciousness.
She didn’t belong here. She was not as they said she was. She wasn’t crazy, couldn’t be. Why wouldn’t he tell them? Where was he? Why hadn’t he come to her defence?
This was his fault. Her husband. His fault, but not. Marissa had not believed him, not at first. He has sworn to her that the infidelity was not as it seemed. She had heard whispers, gossip mingled with truths, about her husband and That Woman. It had been just two days ago- such a short time?- that she had found the evidence, all the evidence she needed, underwear in the bed that was clearly not hers.
But he had explained, her husband had. Told her the truth. It was not a case of simple infidelity, not his weakness to resist That Woman’s power of seduction.
It had been sorcery. Plain and simple. The townspeople’s gossip had proved true on that account as well- The Woman. She was a witch.
And again, Marissa had found all the evidence she needed, in the field just outside of town.
The Woman, the very same Woman that had bewitched her husband. Arms outstretched, dancing in the electrified air. Conjuring a storm.
All the evidence she needed.
It had been her husband she had seen first, after the Act. Strong and grave, but no doubt pleased. Her husband.
It took her only a second to see the group coming up the hill behind him. The men of the town, the sheriff. Coming to take her away? The heavens opened, the storm broke, washing the blood from her clothes, from her hands, staining the white of her shirt pink. She waited for her husband to explain, to justify her actions, to speak on her behalf.
He uttered not a word.
Marissa, the white room, on the white, unforgiving bed, rolled to the wall with the last of her strength, closed her eyes, lost her fight. He would be here soon. Surely, her husband would be here soon.
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: Fuck You Too.
The Paid-For Post I Would Have Written For Free. – RRSAHM
The Paid-For Post I Would Have Written For Free.
Allow me to begin this post with a disclaimer– I know nothing about cars. I’m happy if they run reasonably well, have a heater that works, and go from point A to point B without stopping unless I tell them to.
I once drove my ’85 Corolla around for the weeks with a blown head gasket. With respect to the Corolla, it never missed a vroom– but the engine was, sadly, irreplaceable damaged after that and she never vroomed again.
So… car knowledge, minimal. Which may account for what happened to my Suburu after my husband passed away.
Some of you know a little about this, but I haven’t mentioned it much on my blog. The car was a secondary consideration in those first few weeks After, and by the time I came round enough to be angry, I wasn’t sure where I stood, legally. And I generally try to cover my bum, blog wise.
Anyway. To cut a long, potentially boring story short… my car was in the mechanics workshop for four months in total– two months before Tony died, and two months after. For six weeks I dropped in there twice weekly, cash in hand– the work mostly paid for by my husband before he passed away, only a minimal amount owing– and demanded my car, which I could see right there in front of me… six foot up in the air, on struts.
And every time I was told “We’re just putting it back together. A few more days, and we’ll call you.”
The sense of frustration and unfairness toward this mechanic (arsehole) nearly drove me insane. With what was already going on, it was enough to push me to breaking point.
And this is where Department of Fair Trading steps in, bless them, retrieves my car and gives mechanic a good kick up the bum.
Fast forward six months later, I’m living in Paradise, and the Suburu is hemorrhaging oil all over my driveway. A–hole mechanic refuses to take any responsibility. Department of Fair Trading can do nothing. I’m up for a new turbo, at a cost of $3600.
Fuck.
Were living in TinyTrainTown by this time and, after much deliberation, I decide to book my car into the local (ish… nothing’s really local to here) Kmart Tyre and Auto place for some much needed TLC. By that point I trusted mechanics about as much as they respected me… I wasn’t expecting much.
KTAS service manager is sympathetic as I tell him about a–hole mechanic and promises not to screw me over. After I take quick look while I wander the massive shopping centre the workshop is attached to, blinded by lights and product and shiny things (Goods! Real goods! That I can touch and see and pay for and take home now! The instant gratification factor of online shopping is non–existent), the diagnosis of new turbo is confirmed and my bank account winces as I book the car in. It should take one week and, as predicted, cost almost four grand.
Being stuck in the sticks with two little kids and no car sucks.
Four days into Purgatory via PlaySchool and SpongeBob, I got a phone call that made my week. Made my month, in fact. It didn’t quite restore my faith in humanity… but at the very least, my faith in mechanics.
Not only was my car ready to go three days early, but it was only going to cost me a quarter of what was originally quoted. Quite simply, once they tin-canned the Suburu’s engine open, they found that the entire turbo didn’t need replacing– just a few gaskets and rubber bands and other stuff that make it airtight.
Excuse me while I genuflect at the foot of the corporate mechanic. It’s not just the fact they rescued me from three more days stuck at home with no car, or even that they saved me about three thousand dollars. It’s the fact that they could have, if they chose, replaced the existing turbo with a brand new one and resold the old one for a further thousand bucks, and, having already been signed off by Fair Trading and me being mechanically clueless, no one would have ever been any the wiser.
And they didn’t.
I think that’s all we need to say about that, yes? They gave me two hundred voucher to write this post, and one for you guys to win too. Which is awesome. But truly, I would have written it anyway. The worlds been a bit of a bitch recently– fair treatment is always much appreciated here.
I’ve got one voucher to giveaway for KMart Tyre and Auto, to be spent on whatever you like, valued at $200. Why, yes, that’s the equivalent of a free car service, and, yes, I know- how freaking cool.
Here’s the t and c’s…
To enter this competition, leave a comment telling me what your first car- or other mode of vehicular transport was, roughly how much you paid, and some of the things that were wrong with it (Not all the things that were wrong with it, please, we only have so much space in the comments section).
The answer that amuses or confuses me the most wins. My decision is final and no discussion will be entered into.
This one’s open to Australian residents only, sorry OS peeps. Next time.
Entries open at Wednesday 9th May and close midnight Wednesday 16th May.
The winner will be announced via RRSAHM’s FaceBook page and Twitter feed, and probably in the newsletter as well. Winners will be emailed and have 48 hours to respond to that email, or the prize will be redrawn.
Comments must have a valid email address to be included in this competition.
Previous post: Onion Nights.
Next post: Change The Rules, Change The Game…
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: For Any Mother Who May Pass This Way (Nothing funny about this post, folks)
Blogging Myself Back To Whole – RRSAHM
Blogging Myself Back To Whole
“And with that first brave, crooked line, she literally began to draw herself back into existence.”
Stephen King, Duma Key
***
I feel as if I have blogged the life back into myself. Written air back into my lungs and some kind of smile back on my face. Discovered myself an existence again, somehow kept myself attached to the essence of who I am, through all of this that’s happened.
I know, if you’ve been reading for a while, since the Before, you’ve watched it happen… watched the insides of me gasp for breath, then taking gulping sips of it, and sometimes it’s whooshes air in and out of my soul.
In the Before, this blog felt like a patchwork artwork of stories and writing and in-jokes and social networking, of photos and clips and links.
I remember sitting down to write that horrible post, in a friends lounge room, staring at the computer screen. It was a Thursday night, and my husband was lying unconscious in a bed in the ICU twenty kilometers away.
I used to run a meme on a Friday called FlogYoBlog.. it lives at Glow’s place now, if you’re interested. In fact, that’s what I was about to do, when Tony came home that afternoon and every shade of hell broke loose… I was just going to write a blog post. That’s all I had planned for my afternoon.
It occurred to me, sitting at the computer on that Thursday afternoon, that I could lie. Simply post FlogYoBlog as if nothing had happened, as if everything was normal… there were people In Real Life who were pushing for that, telling no one ‘until we knew for sure’, whether Tony would live or die.
It would have been so easy. Connections online, they can be so fleeting. Post FlogYoBlog, hit publish on the five or so posts I had in drafts folder sporadically over the next two weeks or so, then just stop blogging. A few people may have wondered where I was… but people disappear online all the time. The find other hobbies, different things to do.
I could have told no one what happened, except those flesh and blood Real Life people who would have found out anyway.
But that would have just been the beginning. That would have marked this as something to be ashamed of, a truth to slink from. There is no shame in this.
And so, I blogged. And I watched from behind a foggy wall of trauma of grief as my blog became an outlet for pain, and little more. Bleeding words all over the keyboard in a desperate attempt to get them out of my head. Obviously, all the things that embellish a blog- those pictures, links and what not- they disappeared from my posts, and it became little more than a continual expression of conscious, painful thought, that I can’t even read again now, and don’t remember writing.
But the colour is, slowly, coming back. I find myself taking photos, spending more time online, proof reading and spell checking.
It feels as if I’m blogging myself back into existence. Taking sustenance from what I get here; but also using it as emotional barometer. I can write about things other than the pain now. I can take the time to reread things without them biting them too hard. This has become a little more like art again, a little less like therapy.
It’s a good place to be.
***
The blogosphere is a pretty good place to be this week.
I’m proud to be linking this post up my lovely Tune Into Radio Carly’s blog hop for International Day of People With Disability.
It’s a UN sanctioned day to promote the dignity, health- both psychical and mental, well being and rights of people with disabilities… the kind we can see, and the kind we can’t.
Any of that aside, I’m just proud to call Carly a mate of mine. She has awesome boobs and an infectious laugh. She is brave, strong, outspoken, calls a spade a shovel, and she knows, even more than I do, what it’s like to have people be afraid of her. And she stares that in the face with grace, dignity and total kick arse-ed-ness.
And it’s her 30th birthday this weekend.
Happy birthday Carly. I hope every wish you have comes true.
Leave a Comment
{ 26 comments… read them below or add one }
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December 5, 2011 at 8:04 pm -
I love the quote at the beginning of your blog. I know what you mean about writing. It's an escape from the everyday things for me. I can throw a God awful fit so eloquently, using words instead of throwing myself on the ground and screaming.
Lately, I have ate, slept, and breathed writing, especially the book I'm working on.
I'm so thankful that writing has helped you through everything, and I know it will continue to help you through anything big or small that you may encounter. You've grown so much, Lori, and that strength is returning. You have rose up to be a mighty woman. Despite the complete and utter torment that you went through to get to be this mighty woman, it suits you.
- November 29, 2011 at 8:07 am
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Hey Lori, this is an interesting article on how REM sleep helps with our emotions – your long sleeps are helping you heal! http://blogs.babycenter.com/mom_stories/avoid-emotion-bombs-until-after-rem-sleep/
- November 29, 2011 at 5:03 am
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Yayyyyyy!!! Great to share your happiness!
- November 29, 2011 at 4:26 am
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You're one of the strongest people I've met (well sortof met) I'm glad to see you're pulling out of the bad side of things. Happy Birthday to Carly
Karlene - November 28, 2011 at 11:59 pm
- November 28, 2011 at 11:24 pm
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It's so good to see you peeking out the other side of a long, pitch-black tunnel. Towards the light, Lori. x
- November 28, 2011 at 11:11 pm
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It's a small world Lori I started back reading ur blog as something to keep me company on night feeds through rascal rumps and I actually know Carly too from our little hometown and Kmart days
Your amazing Lori!
Jade - November 28, 2011 at 10:30 pm
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I've noticed you "coming back" & including links, spell checking etc, it is lovely to see. I can feel it in your words too.
Flog sitting has been bittersweet under the circumstances it came to me.
- November 28, 2011 at 10:20 pm
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I'm so glad you're finding your way, and taking us with you. You are amazing and so many people love you and are pulling for you to soar after such an unfathomable tragedy. Lots of love.
- November 28, 2011 at 9:06 pm
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Im so glad you made that post that day, happy birthday carly
- November 28, 2011 at 8:51 pm
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Happy Birthday to Carly.
Oh Lori, I don't think you are scarey in the ways you believe you are.
What happened to you, with Tony, that doesn't scare me about you. What scares me about you is your confidence, your complete "I will say/do what I want when I want to" which intimidates me. Makes me feel less of a person. Not worthy of your friendship.
The stuff that happened with Tony is awful. It always will be. But it's not scarey, it hasn't ruined you.
Not at all. x - November 28, 2011 at 8:25 pm
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I sense some healing too too. I'm so glad darling. You'll still have your ups and downs, but it sounds like you're having more good days than down. And it's so nice of you to throw some karma Carly's way. xo
- November 28, 2011 at 7:01 pm
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I knew you were there all along, just hiding away being protected for a little while. I can see you come back more & more each day & it makes me happy that you are getting along so amazingly well.
- November 28, 2011 at 6:08 pm
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Thanks so much for this post Lori – it is perfect. Blogging really does heal, and I am so grateful for the community that has formed around you to provide you support.
Thank you for the birthday wishes I am not 30 til the 8th though! Still a bit of my 20s left! - November 28, 2011 at 6:04 pm
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Words have the most amazing power to heal, and am so glad they've helped do this with you, even though I'm sure the road is still a long one ahead.
Thank you for not shying away from sharing your story – I've kept you in my thoughts ever since and still play the "speak" message though my mind. And its all because you stood strong and made us welcome in your world x
- November 28, 2011 at 5:15 pm
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Happy Birthday Carly.
And… just so's you know… some of us don't 'disappear'… we are still here… praying for you… hoping… sending the love - November 28, 2011 at 3:45 pm
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A few months after a forest fire has swept through, leaving just charred cinders and black and grey ash, the first few buds and green shoots begin to emerge.
After another few months, the forest flourishes again, and there is new growth everywhere, all verdant green, full of potential and life. The effects of the fire are never totally gone, but soon the the abundance of new life takes over.
And, so it is with you. And so it will continue to be.
Lovely to see you re-emerging Lori, and to feel the panic and despair being replaced with optimism and smiles.
– Anon E Mouse
- November 28, 2011 at 2:38 pm
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Happy Birthday from Texas to Carly and her awesome boobs!
- November 28, 2011 at 1:01 pm
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Happy Happy for all the goodness in your life, Lori. Yours and the kids too.
- November 28, 2011 at 12:59 pm
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I spy some healing…simply awesome! Julia xx
- November 28, 2011 at 12:10 pm
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It's interesting I think, the ordinary things that become irrevocably changed and a constant reminder of that hellish day – as FlogYoBlog has become for you…
Thinking of you Lori, as the first anniversary begins to loom, and so glad to hear that you are healing.
One blog post at a time.
One day at a time.
One foot in front of the other.
You are truly awesome, and awe-inspiring.
Susan x
- November 28, 2011 at 9:36 pm
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I see you coming back with every post. It is like watching a flower grow after a bushfire xx
- November 28, 2011 at 9:35 am
- November 28, 2011 at 9:33 am
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You make writing like an art form, even when it was/is raw, unproof read and (is it wrong to say?) ugly. You must be a very beautiful lady on the inside that so much care shines outward x
- November 28, 2011 at 8:44 am
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Beautiful!
- November 28, 2011 at 9:39 am
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Reading this makes me very happy. And I wish Carly a wonderful birthday!
Previous post: Internet Dating 108- Something Different
Next post: The Christmas Cloth GiveAway
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: Brunching With a Tweet of Bloggers.
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: RUOK?
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: So Damn Cool I Need My Own Soundtrack.
Internet Archive Wayback Machine
Just Another Whinging Blog Post. – RRSAHM
Just Another Whinging Blog Post.
In case anyone’s been wondering where I am…
I’m sick. Again. It’s an incurable virus I believe is known as the ‘common cold’.
You know that moment where you drag your sick, whinging self and your sick, whinging preschooler to the doctor only to hear the words “It’s a virus. Fluids, rest and paracetamol for you!” and your soul wilts a little bit and you wish to god something was infected just so you could get antibiotics and feel better….?
No…? Maybe that’s just me.
Anyway. My head hurts, my nose is so full of neon yellow snot that I woke up this morning with it caked all over my face (too much information…? You haven’t been here long… welcome to RRSAHM); and it’s a bloody good thing I decided to stop corporate whoring last week or I’d really be panicked. ( “I haven’t blogged in a week!” I sob to my mum. “Oh darling,” she replies, “no one cares.” I don’t like to think about how true that statement is. I am nowhere near as big a deal as I like to think I am). I dropped The Chop off at school on Monday and Tuesday sobbing, tears streaming down my face… every school has one crazy, socially-unacceptable mum. That’d be me.
To be completely honest, I’m sick like this more than I ever thought was possible. They- my mum, my shrink, the internet, all the authorities on the subject- assure me that this is common in people with PTSD, not to mention severe grief. Your immune system is impossibly low and you can’t fight off anything. That assurance doesn’t help. Because all my mind can think is that I am self-indulgent, weak, a whinger, and probably deserve this anyway. And I’m afraid to blog, for fear of comments like this one, which has stuck in my mind much deeper than I care to admit.
Whatever. I’m not sure what I’m blogging about here, really. I’m just sick and tired and afraid that everyone will stop reading my blog if I leave it silent for a week or so. I should know better. I don’t. I’m all kinds of f*cked up. I just want to feel a bit better, already- it’s been almost a week, for pity’s sake.
***
On that note- Happy F*cking Easter, everyone. Beware the bunny.
Boo.
Leave a Comment
{ 18 comments… read them below or add one }
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March 30, 2013 at 8:47 am -
Hope you are recuperating and being kind to yourself Lori…you might be small but when you are quiet your absence is felt. Get well soon xo
Kim Bayne recently posted…Goodbye Summer
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March 29, 2013 at 12:22 am -
Go to the chemist and ask for some Chemist Brand Allergy/Sinus tablets (or is it Hayfever/Sinus?)….. you want the blue ones. These have paracetamol and also something to dry up the snot. I always take these when I come down with something snotty coz I find that if I can dry up my sinuses and get rid of the matching headache, then I can let the “virus” run its course. I don’t know if you like taking medication given your interest in natural remedies, but trust me on this!
I hope you’re feeling better soon, we all love and support you xx
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March 28, 2013 at 9:02 pm -
Hey I think I have the same crappy cold thing you have…After 5 days I am thinking ….seriously just let up on this f*u*ken body ache, runny nose, sore throat, cough that hurts.
Im feeling it too, hope you feel better soon.
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March 28, 2013 at 6:51 pm -
Gosh that anonymous comment made me so CROSS! It’s the whole “Hey let’s be rude on the internet” thing isn’t it? Why do that?
I love your blog. Please keep writing (But of course only when you feel like it). We’ll all be here to read your posts no matter how long the gaps in between
Get well soon!
Rachel (blogging at rachiebee.blogspot.co.nz) -
March 28, 2013 at 9:25 am -
You aren’t alone – so many people care about you.
While I don’t know much about PTSD, amd I hope you don’t mind me giving you advice, but maybe you should see a nutritionist and get your diet on track to boost your immune system. Eat lots of fresh fruit and veggies and fish. Eating well really can help.
Best of luck. Hope you’re less snotty soon x -
March 28, 2013 at 8:14 am -
Lori,
I applaud you for only blogging when you have something to say. We all care – I was going to call/text but thought that you would think i was a stalker for real and a hypocrite…you know because I noticed that you hadn’t blogged and I didn’t want it to be a “oh Lori you haven’t blogged is everything alright??” because as previously said, I think you should only blog when you have something to say.Sorry that you are sick. I find that I operate better when I am sick with something more serious and that colds knock me around like nobody’s business…(what does that mean anyway ‘like nobody’s business?’)
I fear this comment has raised more questions than answers… and I shall tap off..
XX rah rah…
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March 28, 2013 at 6:02 am -
If you blog for yourself as a way of working through your issues then why would you be ‘afraid’ that everyone will stop reading? It shouldn’t matter.
With the recurring illness. Do you store your toothbrush with your childrens’ tooth brushes? When illness goes through our house we store our toothbrushes in our bedrooms and throw them out once the illness has passed.
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March 28, 2013 at 4:32 am -
This is the type of comment I find hard to write — to try to tell you that it does matter, that I do care — when reality is that it probably doesn’t matter that I care. And, rereading it, that statement may only make sense to me…..
I checked RRSAHM repeatedly over the past several days, and was always vaguely uncomfortable when there was still no update… disappointed, mildly worried, a lot bummed that there was nothing available to aid to my procrastination (actually, that part’s inaccurate. I read some archives). So, “no one cares” is not true. For clarity’s sake, this absolutely does NOT mean you should force yourself to write when you’re too ill, too busy, etc!
As for your commenter… people who try to force their reality onto others, or try to force themselves into someone else’s reality, are the worst kinds of contemptible. She clearly does not “get you” (seriously, how could she?!) and to lash out, anonymously no less, with such hateful words and unfounded accusations… at first I was hatefully angry, and then the anger crumpled and melted into resentful pity. She posted an anonymous comment to strike at you, on your platform, with words that are neither constructive nor well-thought-out. She doesn’t have the intelligence to express herself effectively, the compassion to know she’s wrong in the first place, or the common sense to know that in the end it doesn’t matter, anyway. And that seems like a sad, angry way to live.
- March 27, 2013 at 8:44 pm
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I think I’m a first time commenter, but I could be wrong. That anonymous comment made me so cranky I had to say something. Is ‘anonymous’ really saying that if she did have family/friends nearby to support her that she wouldn’t accept it? I find that hard to believe. Good on you for recognising when you need a break so you can keep going. Hope the snot clears up soon.
- March 28, 2013 at 8:18 am
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Teegan
I have a love-hate relationship with Anne myself… refer to quote from Highway “Sir Edmund Hillary of arseholes…”I think that Lori has had it shit for so long that when people support her for no reason other than to support her it can be a little bit daunting – like she is asking ‘whats the catch?’ I get that… keep on commenting… and one disclaimer about Lori “Lori is taller than her blog depicts”
spagsy recently posted…Little Angels
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March 27, 2013 at 8:09 pm -
Oh hun. I had noticed things had been quiet here. I thought you were just busy and a little worn out from DPCON. I am sorry to hear you’re sick and not feeling great.
And don’t take that comment too hard. I know it’s hard not to, but everyone has their own struggles and successes. You deal with your shit your way, and you let anon deal with their shit theirs. Fuck, I’d love to meet a perfect person who didn’t run away from difficult shit now and then.
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March 27, 2013 at 7:45 pm -
I have to admit, I did search through my emails last night to make sure I hadn’t missed a post. Only because I care. Do not put pressure on yourself to write, I ran away from my blog for months, my first post back attracted 7 new followers! Im sure people have better things to do than unsubscribe from a blog that hasn’t posted quite as often as usual. Thinking of you, and your snot. Take care of yourself xx
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March 27, 2013 at 7:35 pm -
Hey Lori, I had a visit to the gp myself with two kids just this morning, and BEGGED her to just write the prescription anyway, despite her assuring me it was only viral. There are plenty of us out here! I love your writing and am blessed by your honesty. None of us everts ever really able to ‘take it easy’ I know, but don’t be weighed down by the ‘obligation’ to write! We will still all be here! Xxx
Hails recently posted…This Christmastide -
March 27, 2013 at 6:58 pm -
You know… my immune system has been low the last few years and I’ve had the same thoughts and self-doubt.. Thank you for always helping me not feel so alone.
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March 27, 2013 at 8:08 pm -
She makes me feel not so alone in other ways too Drew. See Lori…you are way important. X
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March 27, 2013 at 6:45 pm -
March 27, 2013 at 6:44 pm -
Hope you feel better. As for that anonymous comment, all I can say is yes, you chose to have those children…with your husband. Who could have imagined that he would die in a very tragic manner? I wouldn’t just run away for a couple of days, I would have run away and not come back. Your strength is inspiring. You are entitled to have some time to yourself.
- March 27, 2013 at 6:27 pm
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Hey. Feel better soon mumma. Why do people who leave arsehole comments always call themselves anonymous? Not even got the creativity for a fake name ffs? I think of you often. You’re doing good. Believe it. Sambucol and Berroca. Trust me. Xx
Previous post: Absolutley Terrified.
Next post: Wallow.
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: Rememories.
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: The Things We Do For Our Kids…
The View From Here. – RRSAHM
The View From Here.
Most days, I am just in awe of my mother. I think she may be the most wholesome, perfected person I know.
When I look back at my childhood, that’s how I picture her- perfect. Consistent. Fair. Wholly dependable. Accomplished and confident and so strong- stoic without becoming martyred.
My mum has always been right there, never more than a phone call away. I’ve witnessed friends with mothers who are not like that- parents who turn their back on their adult children, argue with them, never help them out. I can’t imagine what that would be like, what a difference it would have made in my personality had that been the case with my mum.
She has never let me down.
***
My mum used to draw me teddy bears to colour in when I was tiny. Happy stuffed toys wearing vests and smiles.
***
We always seemed to be short of money. That never mattered, and we rarely noticed it.
“Let’s go for a drive”, my mum would say on weekends. My brother and I, sometimes my grandmother as well, would pile into our huge red Toyota van, leaving my father at home to smoke cigarettes and watch the cricket.
“I’ve always wondered what was down this road…” My mother would murmur as she navigated dirt tracks and fire trails around the vicinity of Paradise.
“Let’s go check it out. It will be an adventure!” And it always was. We’d arrive in a hundred different places, surrounded by scrub or sand or trickling, noisy creeks. Once we parked the car and walked, turned the corner on a bush track only to find ourselves at the very top of a momentously tall, rushing waterfall. We stood and gazed over the rolling valleys of million year old hills as the sun dropped lower in the sky.
***
Discovering your mother is a person in her own right is breath taking.
When I was about eight or nine, my mum came home late from work one night, held up by meetings and other teacher-like responsibilities My younger brother and I had already been fed, and we’re clean and snug, the smell of fresh showers on our hair.
I witnessed my mum making herself dinner in our small, well-lit kitchen.
Making herself dinner.
I don’t think I’d ever seen that happening before, my mother submitting to her own need for sustenance without catering to ours as well.
“What are you making?”
“An omelette.”
“What’s an omelette?”
“Look,” says my mum, lifting me up onto the kitchen cupboard to observe, “It’s eggs, beaten, and you add other things to it, too.”
I remember my amazement. “But I’ve never seen you make that before!”
And my mum seemed surprised by that.
“I used to make them all the time, when your father and I first got married. Before you kids came along…”
And I held that, like a whisper, like an errant thought. My mother was a person before I was here. She had a whole life that she had lived before I existed.
***
My mum has never been one for self-pity. Emotional support and empathy was given where it was needed. But wallowing was not allowed.
I remember having my heart broken for the first time, by my first real boyfriend– the dim blue lights of the school disco illuminating him embraced in a kiss with a girl I couldn’t ever get on with. I remember waking up the morning after it happened, crying in the way only a devastated teenage girl can- sobbing and weeping, heart shattered, life over.
My mum sat next to my bed, rubbed my back while I cried.
“I don’t know what to do…” I whimpered.
“You get up,” my mum replied. “You get dressed. And you get on with it.”
And I did.
And I do.
***
My mum is still an adventurer, and even now, well into here fifties, she is doing all the things she has always wanted to do. Her and my step-father take extended driving holidays, exploring every back-road in New South Wales. She takes her class of school children to a nearby bush camp and struggles with them through the ropes course, zooms along the zip-line of the flying fox.
She’s always wanted to go to Broome, and to Tasmania. To parasail behind a boat.
She’s always wanted to climb the Harbour Bridge.
It’s not something I probably ever would have thought to buy for her- her practicality has been passed onto my brother and I, and gifts are always relatively small, useful, well thought out. Had I not been offered the chance to take my mum on a Mother’s Day Climb by BridgeClimb themselves, it may have never happened.
And that would have been such a pity. Because it was so intensely lovely to see my mother happy, childlike. So excited she was nearly bouncing out of her skin.
It was the most beautifully perfect day- the sun shining, not even the tiniest breeze to flutter the flags at the top of the bridge’s arch. My mum was expecting to be scared, and she wasn’t- the safety protocols are so thorough, the instructor so amazingly friendly, that all my mum felt was glorious exhilaration.
The view is amazing. From the top of the Bridge, you can see for miles. From one side there’s The Opera House, the green water of the Harbour, the deep blue of the ocean past the Heads. The Blue Mountains, the Parramatatta River, the sprawling suburbs stretch from the other.
A fleet of green Army choppers fly in formation directly above our heads, just fifty feet away. They’re close enough that I can see the olive-green gloved hand of the man who waves to us from the cockpit, and my mum and I laugh as we return the greeting.
As we pose for a photo, my mum remarks that we don’t have many pictures of the two of us together, and sadly, she’s right; and I know from painful experience that one day in the future I may regret that.
She’s done so much for me- this is nothing. A few hours compared to a lifetime. A drop of salt into the teal green waters of Sydney Harbour beneath us.
But to give her something back- something like this, something she’ll remember… Selfishly, Ill admit, this was as much thrill for me as it was for her.
I turn to check on her, my blonde mother in her tinted glasses- she always seems to look the same, has done so for as long as I can remember. The look on her face is one of awe, of wonder.
The view from up here, it’s amazing.
The expression on my mum’s face is even better.
***
A huge thanks to BridgeClimb for having my mum and myself climb for Mother’s Day. No cash was exchanged for this post, but the Climb and photographs from the day were complimentary.
My mum and I. On top of the world.
Leave a Comment
{ 17 comments… read them below or add one }
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May 22, 2013 at 10:38 am -
What a beautiful post … what an awesome mum, Lori XXX
- May 21, 2013 at 3:48 pm
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May 19, 2013 at 12:57 pm -
Aww that’s so beautiful, I teared up a little reading this. Such a lovely tribute to your Mum and a wonderful bonding experience for you both
Christie recently posted…Slippers For My Gal -
May 18, 2013 at 10:24 am -
What a beautiful post!! I don’t have that kind of relationship with my family – it must be wonderful
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May 17, 2013 at 1:32 pm -
OMG!! You like so much like your mum… Same smile, nose, eyes and face shape!! What a beautiful way to spend some time with your mumma..
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May 17, 2013 at 12:51 pm -
Oh Lori,for me this would be one of your most beautiful posts!
You’re lucky to have such a fantastic mum.She sounds like the kind of mum I used to dream of having. -
May 17, 2013 at 11:38 am -
What a lovely post and a great picture!
Lori recently posted…An Evening with Gracie Lou -
May 17, 2013 at 9:29 am -
Oh that gives me goosebumps! What a precious photo and amazing experience you got ot share with someone who sounds more than deserving x
Donna @ NappyDaze recently posted…Gained: One Baby. Lost: One Set Of Social Skills -
May 17, 2013 at 1:40 am -
How fabulous. That’s a beautiful shot of you both & in such a great setting! Your Mum’s s smile reminded me of Chop’s smile! Happy (belated!) Mother’s Day to you both. Love D
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May 17, 2013 at 1:39 am -
Anazing woman, no wonder you have the strength you have
Fiona recently posted…Protected: Retreating into my panic -
May 16, 2013 at 8:43 pm -
An absolutely gorgeous post and beautiful photo x
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May 16, 2013 at 8:28 pm -
Beautiful photo Lori, and I consider myself very privileged to count your Mum and you amongst my special friends.
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May 16, 2013 at 8:25 pm -
Lovely lovely post.
Your mum sounds fabulous! -
May 16, 2013 at 7:12 pm -
So glad you have a Grade A Mum, Lori. Really enjoyed reading this. X
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May 16, 2013 at 3:34 pm -
Wow. Lucky you
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May 16, 2013 at 1:22 pm -
Your words about your mother are as beautiful as she is.
Lys recently posted…“Schnappi, das kleine Krokodil” -
May 16, 2013 at 1:11 pm -
You two look so happy, and what a perfect day for it.
This was a really lovely post. It’s awesome when you reach that point with your mum where you realise you can be great friends.
Whoa, Molly recently posted…The End: Actually Finishing Things
Previous post: That’s Anxiety, Too.
Next post: Lori, Gone Wild. #BloggersToBorneo
Guest Post- How to have a satisfying customs experience – RRSAHM
Guest Post- How to have a satisfying customs experience
Oh yeah baby, it’s guest posting time. And how lucky are we? We have the most fantastic Kristin from Wanderlust posting here today. You know her. Crazy woman, brilliant writer, thinks she’s an Aussie, has a flag fetish (yes, you heard right- flag fetish).
How to have a satisfying customs experience
My name is Kristin and I have a blog called Wanderlust. Why? Because I suffer from serious wanderlust and always have. So for those of you out there who share this affliction (i.e., not Lori) I’m here to offer some tips on how to safely maneuver through that most intimidating of challenges when you first enter a new country, that international travel Rubicon. You know what I’m talking about: customs.
There you are stumbling off the plane in a new country, bleary-eyed, frumpled, sucking on a mint in an attempt to cover up the morning breath you acquired courtesy of the 90 minutes of upright sleep you managed, only to pass by several large and accusatory signs warning you to throw out any forbidden food stuffs you may have inadvertently carried off the plane lest you be seized and handcuffed and throw into a small windowless cell.
Finally you come to the customs area where, clutching your passport, you know you are about to be sized up and asked to move into one of two lines. And it’s very, very important that you end up in the right line. You know the one I mean. Either you look innocent and get waved on through, or you look a little suspicious and get put in this man’s line:
Hoo yeah!
As a seasoned traveler, I’m here to give you a few tips on how to ensure you end up in the right line every time you travel. Your welcome.
In fact, if you play your cards right, you may just hear him utter those magic words we all long to hear: “Ma’am, will you please step aside and remove your coat.”
Without further ado, the tips:
1. Know your commonly restricted imports
Most countries do not allow you to bring the following with you into their borders: fresh or dried fruits and vegetables, meats, flowers, seeds, soil, furs or live animals. Therefore, to get into the correct line, make sure you have carried in and prominently displayed fresh or dried fruits and vegetables, meats, flowers, seeds, soil, furs or live animals.
2. Discretion is the better part of allure
While your goal is to be detained and hopefully strip-searched, you want to avoid actual arrest. Therefore, be a smart traveler and stay away from firearms, explosives, bowie knives, poleaxes, javelins, numchucks and morningstars.
3. Be a good ambassador
Show your host country that you’ve done your research and know a thing or two about their historical f*ck-ups. Don’t bring in just any contraband – make it specific to their culture. Here are some ideas:
Australia: live rabbits
Egypt: locusts
Western Europe: flea-ridden sewer rats from the East
United States: shoes with compartments. Kidding.
Always remember, however, what has been said about the best laid plans. Even after you have strapped live rabbits to your body, slipped some cheese straws into your cleavage and tucked a doobie behind your ear, you could always still make your way to the front of the line and find this:
In which case, you’re on your own sweetheart.
Sorry.
* * * * * * * * *
Kristin writes at Wanderlust
You can follow her on Twitter here
Fan her Facebook site here
Leave a Comment
{ 11 comments… read them below or add one }
- May 4, 2010 at 1:50 am
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Amy, it is! The Trunchbull. She's a personal friend of mine, which is how I'm able to use the photo. Actually, not true, I slept with her to get the rights to the photo. Actually, not true, I stole it off google.
- May 4, 2010 at 1:21 am
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Yipes! I'd rather get the hottie for my strip search, thank you very much.
- May 3, 2010 at 8:35 pm
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This is why I no longer have a passport. No customs nightmares to deal with.
- May 3, 2010 at 5:07 pm
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On another note, is that the prinicpal from the movie " Matilda " ?
- May 3, 2010 at 4:31 pm
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Oh ROFL Kristin I just noticed your PhotoShopping. Priceless!!
- May 3, 2010 at 3:42 pm
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OH!!! that Customs dude…. *Insert LUB DUB LUB DUB…. Does he really exist? In which i'll take your advice seriously.
Haha
- May 3, 2010 at 12:34 pm
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I do not believe these hot customs men you refer to actually exist. Mine have looked like a cross between Abe Vigoda and Barbara Bush. Not good.
- May 3, 2010 at 10:37 am
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OMG, hot customs dude. Hubba hubba hubba.
Sorry K, I was gonna leave you a proper comment but hot customs dude has totally jelly-fied my brain. Hehe.
- May 3, 2010 at 10:08 am
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Sign me up for Hot Customs guy! *fans herself off*
- May 3, 2010 at 9:57 am
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Bahaha! Thanks for a good laugh this morning
- May 3, 2010 at 11:49 am
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Only place I have trouble with customs is when I go back home to NZ, so I stopped. Argentina to Chile by land can be tricky too. But most places they look at you over their coffee cups without stirring from their seat.
AV
Previous post: Mummies don’t get sick. Like hell.
Next post: Stupid Things Lori Does (When She Is Sick).
My Little… Darling. – RRSAHM
My Little… Darling.
My daughter is pushing me to the absolute limits of my patience at the moment. That patience is, admittedly, much shorter and finer than it once was…
But really. The child needs an exorcism. Or a multi–vitamin. Maybe a chiropractic adjustment. Something.
I am losing my f*cking mind.
The Bump turned three not long ago, and she is very much the tea party fairy princess. With attitude. And a temper as phenomenal as my own apparently once was– my mum tells me she once locked me, mid hysterics, on the verandah of our two story house, me screaming like a wild thing, banging and kicking at the door. My mum says she was only vaguely worried about me falling– or throwing myself off– because she would hear the house-shaking door kicking stop first.
Honestly, if I was anything like my Bump is right now, I think my mum would have breathed blessed relief at the half–second of silence before she even checked that I hadn’t fallen off (or shimmied myself down the closest gum tree. Either being possible.)
 |
| Child reads the Bible. Do not let her cuteness suck you in- that’s her plan. |
Now, I love my daughter dearly and she is the very essence of cute. But my god, if she’s not screaming blue murder then she’s prefacing every sentence with the word ‘mum’. I’m not even exaggerating when I say I must hear that four hundred times– at least– a day. (They say the average three year old asks three hundred questions a day, and each of those today was prefaced with ‘mum’. Four hundred actually seems a conservative estimate.)
Things have escalated to the point where I hear the word ‘mum’ repeating in my head long after my kids have gone to bed, like a song going round and round and round. Instead of a song going round and round. I think I’d rather Engelbert Humpledinck.
The frustrating thing is, we’ll be in the middle of a conversation and every sentence still has to begin, and often end, with ‘mum’. (“Mum? What are we doing today Mum?”). Interactions often go something like this…
“Mum?”
“Yes, my Bumpy thing?”
“Mum?”
“Yes, honey?”
“Mum?”
“Yes darling.”
“Mum?”
“YES Bump?”
*Cue tears and cute wobbling of pouty bottom lip*
“Don’t yell at me!! You’re my best friend…”
“Yes Bump I know, but you only need to say–”
“NOOOOOOO! Please don’t be mean to me, please!”
*Cue stop, drop and scream hysterically*
It’s enough to make me feel like the worst mother in the world. Really, is it just my kids who are experts at guilt–mongering, or does every child harbor that latent ability? Do I feel worse because there’s no other adult here to bounce things off, to reassure me that she actually being disgusting and it’s not just me being mean– more a case of the Bump just being a three year old?
What on earth do you do with a child who’s afraid of dragons, who’s seems intent on destruction, who refuses to put down her hairbrush and go to sleep because she’s “having a conversation with it”?
I don’t know. I’m too frazzled to form any answers. But as of yesterday I was stressed to the point that my stomach was aching and I was near crying tears of frustration, just wanting her to stop screaming at me for five freaking minutes, please. I find myself staying up later and later just to languish and soak in the silence– I’m so stressed out by the time bath, books and bed rolls around that sleep is an abstract concept until I relax and wind down, at least a little.
Or at least until the Bumpy thing wakes again, as she does most nights, somewhere between two am and four am. For another dummy, for a glass of a milk.
Or, you know, just to scream hysterically at her bewildered, exhausted mother a bit more.
Leave a Comment
{ 18 comments… read them below or add one }
- November 5, 2012 at 7:06 pm
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This too shall pass. My mantra. Is it annoying or good to hear that it's normal and happening in homes all over the country?! My older 2 kids have both started with 'Mu-ummmmmm-uh'…the annoying 'uh' at the end is a new thing and it is doing my head in.
I like the suggestion of 'Princess of the Universe'…might try that. I've tried "Bestest mummy in the whole wide world" before but i never insisted on it enough. Maybe consistency is the key.
Good luck with surviving! - November 3, 2012 at 6:18 pm
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You are NOT alone. Enough said
- November 3, 2012 at 1:49 pm
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Oh my… When my daughter was little (she's 7 now, but I think it could totally still apply) I threatened to send her to boarding school… I found a really fabulous looking one in Australia. Although that might be a little too close for you… I was in Colorado, US, at the time and it sounded perfect. It was either that or a vacation in a box with a lot of holes to visit her dad who was in Iraq at the time. She did grow out of it (for the most part) and now I am waiting with baited breath for puberty. My three year old son is about to get the offer of a vacation to deployment. It never ends.
- November 2, 2012 at 1:15 pm
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I hate the age of three. With a massive amount of passion. It's the worst age, thus far. Both my kids have made me feel like the worst human being during their three year stint.
I feel you. Really. I am just sick of the whingy voiced 'Muuuuuuhhhhhhmmmmm' for EVERYTHING. - November 2, 2012 at 12:48 pm
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Oh Lori, I hope that is 'normal' behaviour, as I am going through the same thing. Both my boys skipped the 'terrible twos' but once the older one hit 3 all hell broke loose. And now my second son is 4 and he throws multiple tantrums a day. The tantrums are usually because of something so minor, it really gets me down.
And often I don't know whether I should be laughing or crying about it.
I used to be quite a patient person before I had kids, and now my patience is paper-thin.
And I'd like to say from experience that it gets better, but my eldest is now 6 and can still throw the odd tantrum here and there if it suits him. I also have a daughter who will be 2 in a few months, and I can already see that she will go through the 'terrible 2' stage, and probably beyond if her older brothers are any indication!
Like the post above, I have a second pair of hands in he form of my husband – but who really isn't around much at all for the daily grind stuff – and he laments at what a foul mood I am in most days whenever he arrives home from work (usually after the craziness of dinner time and bathtime is over.) And so then of course, my bad mood causes friction between us daily, just to pile it all on.
I am miserable a lot of the time, and I hate being like this, but some days I can't cheer myself up from the naughtiness of my children and the constant fighting and tantrums that they carry on with.
I just say to myself all the time to be grateful I have healthy children, which of course i am. I do love them dearly, but my word, they are so trying.
Gill xo - November 2, 2012 at 2:56 am
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You are preaching to the choir. My daughter will be 4 in February. My lord. The whining does me in every day. We do the same routine every morning, brush teeth then go potty. Why must we whine about having to do about it every day?
Not sure if it makes you feel better, but I have someone else to "help" and vent to, it's still hard as sh*t. - November 2, 2012 at 12:43 am
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Haven't read you in months….so, it's so good, to pop back, and see you, writing normal things, about your lovely normal little girl.
Enjoy her, Lori, your cute angel bump.
Good wishes to you.Anon E Mouse
- November 1, 2012 at 10:56 pm
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Totally a symptom of her age. Expect it to carry on. Mine is nearly four, and it is not any better!
We also get the "Mum" conversations! - November 1, 2012 at 10:35 pm
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Just wanted to stop by and wish you a very happy birthday, Lori! Hope your Bumpy Thing behaves for you today (either that or someone takes her off your hands for a while…). HUG!!!
-Crystal
- November 1, 2012 at 8:26 pm
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Hang in there Lori, I think it is totally normal and from what I can see of my mother's group it is ( our oldest are all three turning four) although my girls (3yr old and 2yr old) seem to play up a lot. My youngest favourite thing to do on the guilt front is after time out or me just losing it because I am sick of the whinging is to look me in the eyes hold my face in her chubby hands and say "are you happy now mummy, am I being good enough?" They are so good at making you feel bad!
On the afraid of dragons thing, my friend tried this successfully with her little girl who was afraid of monsters at night, she gave her a crystal and told her it was magic and kept her safe and the monsters away. Her little girl now is happy to go to sleep. Hope that helps, just know that anyone who writes with as much love and affection as you is brilliant mother.
- November 1, 2012 at 1:55 pm
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I have a 3yr old 15mth and 3mth old (boy,girl,girl) girls DEFIANTLY whinge more. but i have to say my 3.5 yr old new thing to say to me is "dont speak to me like that" um excuse me i only get to say that to u!! good luck i have a feeling girls keep the attitude, i know ive still got it
x
lauren - November 1, 2012 at 1:01 pm
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I don't have kids of my own but I'm a nanny and I feel your pain. My name is Marie, which is just the right frequency for "Mari—eeee, Mari—eeee" chanted over and over. And over. Last month I was on a week long camp for cancer kids and just like you, when I was alone I'd still hear the "Mari–eee" in my head. One thing I learned is to tell the children I've changed my name to Princess of the Universe and refuse to answer to anything else.
Try chanting THAT, kiddies. It works.
- November 1, 2012 at 11:21 am
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Lori, Please don't lose your mind. This will soon pass. Although, as the mother of a girl already past this stage, I must warn that the attitude will stay.
- November 1, 2012 at 10:03 am
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This comment may be completely insensitive and please delete it if you'll think it will offend but I once heard living with a toddler is like living with a wife beater.
One minute they're screaming in your face and kicking you and the next they're stroking your cheek and telling you they just do it because they love you, baby.
- November 1, 2012 at 10:03 am
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Yep! No terrible twos in this household..Three definitely being the age where they are possessed by the devil! One particular son, even up-ended a six foot book case. Down it came books, toys and pet mice!…Everyone survived, unscathed, thank goodness!Yep!definitely possessed. By four, he was an absolute treasure and still is at the age of twenty. Another son at three, felt it was his duty to ask "why" 400 times a day. Testing times indeed, Miss Lori. Do not be guilted into anything…you deserve a big pat on the back for getting through each day.
- November 1, 2012 at 9:11 am
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It's the age. Seb is the same. I thought terrible twos were over but it's nothing compared to three-four. (please tell me that it ends at four???) chop is my only hope!
- November 1, 2012 at 9:09 am
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I used to throw epic tantrums, one particularly good one was in the middle of a zebra crossing and my mum has never let me forget it. Aparently all I did as a baby was scream and refuse to eat. My poor mother.
I'm really hoping that you get some relief from this stress soon.
- November 1, 2012 at 11:43 am
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I stay up late to bask in the silence… every night. Totally normal. x o
Previous post: Five Minutes To Myself
Next post: Learning To Say ‘No’
March 2013 – RRSAHM
March 2013
My head cold becomes, with very little warning, a perforated eardrum. It’s right up there on the pain scale, with childbirth and wisdom teeth removal. I don’t think I’ve ever been so miserable.
I vacate to my mum’s house, obviously taking my children with me. I hate this. I hate this. I hate this. I try to remember back Before, when I had life under control and didn’t get sick like this all the time…. and, really, that memory gets harder and harder to sustain. Isn’t ‘normal’, by definition, what happens most of the time? Which means, by default, this is ‘normal’ now. ‘Normal’ encompasses find the littlest things too difficult to deal with. I fall apart so easily.
I compare myself to my own mum and wither in her shadow. She seems to just keep going- she takes care of me, of my kids, she works full time, she helps out my brother and continues to sort out my Gran‘s estate. She makes Easter morning special for my children in a way I just would have never have found the brain-space for- she stays up to track Easter Bunny footprints in talcum powder, to spread tiny bits of cotton ball ‘tail’ in a trail to their Easter presents.
Easter Bunny pawprints. Courtesy of my awesome Mum.
I’m eternally grateful. I don’t know what would happen to us, to me, to my kids, if she wasn’t around. At the same time, the guilt eats at me. I want to fall at her feet and beg forgiveness for being so crap at this, for being so weak. Her reaction, of course, would be tsk, tsk, stop being so ridiculous. Which might not help anything at all.
Four days of laying in bed, on one side only, trying to drain goop and fluid past the excruciating pain of a punctured eardrum… it’s enough to sink me into a hopeless blackness, where I’m wasting my time, wasting everyone else’s time. I find myself, without a future to focus on, without daily hubris to keep me busy…. I find myself feeling bitter and angry, rolling past events around in my mouth like sour lollies until they coat my tongue in citric acid that I can’t spit out.
Being in a dark place is never nice. I want to shake it off, to emerge from it.
But, of course, the pain is too intense for any kind of sudden movement. I’m too irritated, too uncomfortable, to do much right now except wallow.
{ 8 comments }
In case anyone’s been wondering where I am…
I’m sick. Again. It’s an incurable virus I believe is known as the ‘common cold’.
You know that moment where you drag your sick, whinging self and your sick, whinging preschooler to the doctor only to hear the words “It’s a virus. Fluids, rest and paracetamol for you!” and your soul wilts a little bit and you wish to god something was infected just so you could get antibiotics and feel better….?
No…? Maybe that’s just me.
Anyway. My head hurts, my nose is so full of neon yellow snot that I woke up this morning with it caked all over my face (too much information…? You haven’t been here long… welcome to RRSAHM); and it’s a bloody good thing I decided to stop corporate whoring last week or I’d really be panicked. ( “I haven’t blogged in a week!” I sob to my mum. “Oh darling,” she replies, “no one cares.” I don’t like to think about how true that statement is. I am nowhere near as big a deal as I like to think I am). I dropped The Chop off at school on Monday and Tuesday sobbing, tears streaming down my face… every school has one crazy, socially-unacceptable mum. That’d be me.
To be completely honest, I’m sick like this more than I ever thought was possible. They- my mum, my shrink, the internet, all the authorities on the subject- assure me that this is common in people with PTSD, not to mention severe grief. Your immune system is impossibly low and you can’t fight off anything. That assurance doesn’t help. Because all my mind can think is that I am self-indulgent, weak, a whinger, and probably deserve this anyway. And I’m afraid to blog, for fear of comments like this one, which has stuck in my mind much deeper than I care to admit.
Whatever. I’m not sure what I’m blogging about here, really. I’m just sick and tired and afraid that everyone will stop reading my blog if I leave it silent for a week or so. I should know better. I don’t. I’m all kinds of f*cked up. I just want to feel a bit better, already- it’s been almost a week, for pity’s sake.
***
On that note- Happy F*cking Easter, everyone. Beware the bunny.
Boo.
{ 18 comments }
It’s come to my attention that I’m going overseas in two freaking months.
I am terrified.
Mostly because I have no f*cking idea what I’m doing. I still have not got a passport have only just applied for my passport. I still haven’t even begun preparing myself for a twenty kilometre trek through jungle. I’m almost positive there are injections and things I should be getting. I’m worried about starving to ridiculous skinniness over eight days, being completely unable to find anything I can eat. I’m worried about being sick, hot, bothered, sacred, anxious and exhausted.
I’m currently working my way into a procrastinating, list–making frenzy.
I don’t ask for advice on my blog very often– to be totally honest, advice annoys me a lot of the time (…especially advice about parenting. I’m sure I’m not alone).
But today- I am asking. Lay it on me thick. I need your best overseas travel tips, please. Especially of they concern Indonesia, Borneo, or orangutans. Or injections or planes passports or food. Especially food.
Any and all advice welcome.
***
Donate to the Lori Is Terrified, Let’s Send Her OverSeas Fund Bloggers To Borneo fund here. Please. (Really, I mean that. In all sincerity).
{ 11 comments }
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: Blogging Tips- From the FormSpring
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: You did it how many times???
Random Ramblings of a SAHM: Soul Cancer.
I'm Not Afraid of Poo. – RRSAHM
I’m Not Afraid of Poo.
Heido ho, Mr Hanky!
OK, this post most definitely needs a disclaimer. As the title suggests, it’s about poo. It’s one for the mummies and/or mommies of little kids, who have had their sensitivity to poo, vomit, snot, or any other bodily functions stripped bare quite a while ago.
Those of you with weak stomachs or anal dispositions (no pun intended)- you really, really don’t want to read this one.
Those of you who have me on Twitter may have seen I Tweeted about poo the other day. I apoligise for that. I really should know better. It’s just that I had a very, very traumatic morning. It involved a toddler, legs covered in poo, at 5am. And, worse than that, it was 9am, when we ventured upstairs to brush our teeth, that I discovered there was also poo on the floor and on the sheets.
This is a gratuitous Palin-Hate image for Kristin.
Three years ago an incident such as this would have most certainly triggered gagging, vomiting, barfing, hurling, and various forms of ralphing.. However, my firmly ingrained mummy-ness being what it is, I just said, “Oh damn. Poo. I will have to clean that up”.
And went about my business, cleaning s**t of the carpet.
I love being a mum.
Poo, in all it’s glorious textures and hues, no longer fazes me. Nor does vomit, as I discovered a few months ago when I landed a pool of it in my cleavage, courtesy of the Chop’s inflamed tonsils and burning temperature. Snot is not even on my radar. Nor is pee.
Mothering small children has given me an iron stomach and a vast repertoire of stain removal skills. Not to mention a sense of humour, included free of charge, no extra psychological trauma required.
I only wish I could say the same for the Man.
I’ve briefly mentioned before, the Man has a chronic case of the wretches. It doesn’t take much to make him gag. Full spectrum rainbow yawns are a semi-regular occurrence. And when I say “it doesn’t take much to make him gag”, I’m not using the much maligned writing techniques of over exaggeration or poetic license, either.
The teeniest waft of poo is enough to make the Man gag. Way back, in the Early Days of this child rearing experiment, the Man did attempt a few nappy changes, bless him. The Chop was permanently traumatised by his father leaning over him, gagging, then leaving the room in a frantic run and not quite making it to the bathroom before he emptied his stomach.
True story. I have the stain on the bedroom carpet to prove it.
Another memorable moment may just include the Man, lovingly holding our freshly birthed first born in his arms, tears of elation in his eyes, leaning over and tenderly…..
…..vomiting into the sink of the delivery room.
The removal of a placenta is not activity to be viewed by those with weak stomachs.
Just seconds before Barf Off. Counting down in three…. two… one…
Whatever. With two little kidlets in nappies, and one of those kidlets in super groovy modern cloth nappies, it’s a bloody good thing I’m around.
Mummies are made of strong stuff. It takes more than a little bit of poo to scare us.
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{ 24 comments… read them below or add one }
- July 30, 2010 at 1:53 pm
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LOL Us mums are a tough bunch. Hand over a pooy bubs to hubby and he's running out the door. My hubby has gone thru 3 kids and he still can't stand it but when he stinks out the toilet it's ok!
- June 20, 2010 at 5:30 am
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Here here, Lori.
And to add to that. i have had to overcome my weird phobias (bananas, apples, other people's leftover food) because, well, i've had to. What is the other option? - June 13, 2010 at 6:39 am
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You wouldn't believe it…..my man was wretching the other day from emptying the little man's potty….he had only done a wee!!!!
- June 13, 2010 at 6:29 am
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Aint that the truth!!! I need a good laugh today. Thanks Lori!!!
- June 12, 2010 at 9:38 pm
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Been there, done that, and now my son is grown up, I am doing it again… but now it is dog poop…
- June 12, 2010 at 12:58 pm
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Now that Noah is on some solids my husband gags everytime he has to change a poo diaper- I am waiting for the time he vomits ON THE KID.
I am fine with poo, pee, drool, spit up etc.
Adult vomit on the other hand well, I am a bit of a sympathetic spewer so keep it away from me!
- June 12, 2010 at 11:54 am
- June 11, 2010 at 10:29 pm
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Bwhahahahaha love it!! We both have pretty strong stomachs in our house!! Though I do hate DH's flatulence so much it makes me angry sometimes.
- June 11, 2010 at 4:27 pm
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Ah you make me laugh. My daughter is my husbands third child (my first), so he's a 'seasoned' professional when it comes to baby excretions. Before I had a child, I'd gag when a friends child would drool. Now, it's all just another liquid.
- June 11, 2010 at 4:25 pm
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My husband is just the same but he is getting better! He's more than happy to change a nappy but if he has to do a poo one then he tends to do it without trying to look and breathing through his mouth. There's not a lot that turns my stomach apart from shaving foam! It scares me and makes me gag!
- June 11, 2010 at 4:20 pm
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No sympathy for Daddies, if we can do it, so can they. I'm another that can't handle vomit. The worst was when I had a cat with food intolerances who threw up meat under the table when I had morning sickness. You can imagine, but it had to be dealt with. I don't care if they run out 3 times in the process or wear a mask – get over it! New Mummies don't have a choice.
- June 11, 2010 at 4:11 pm
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Vomit I can't deal with – my partner got very drunk a year or two back and he put himself in a taxi home; he made it all the way home into our ensuite where he proceeded to vomit everywhere but the toilet. I had to get his mum to come over and help me clean it as I was retching over the fact he'd vomited on my PJs too. I thanked her so much and she replied the things we do for our kids. I hope that I will become immune to it when I have kids as now I cannot deal with any bodily substances.
- June 11, 2010 at 3:14 pm
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You are too funny (so are these comments). I can handle the bodily fluids (even blood), but I gag while brushing my teeth. Who does that? I actually dry heave if I don't spit out the toothpaste soon enough. But, my kids are getting older (the youngest is 4) and that gag reflex has returned for stinky poo and vomit. I can clean it, but I squint my eyes to not see clearly and I pull my shirt up over my mouth and nose. The things we Moms do for our kids. (I mostly yell "run..run to the toilet. you better not puke on the carpet!" Works most of the time, luckily they rarely get throw up sick (I just thought of a gross story to share on my blog now).
- June 11, 2010 at 3:04 pm
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Poo, pee, snot, boogies – I can handle! Vomit, not so much, my husband is on clean up duty for that one. I am also weak with blood – my daughter gets frequent nose bleeds, and it makes me gag, while trying to be supportive and loving.
- June 11, 2010 at 2:11 pm
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such a tender image of the man with chop there – and rofl at what actually transpired
I haven't quite got the iron stomach. I gag at pooey nappies. but I consider myself a good mummy cos I get on with it anyway - June 11, 2010 at 2:06 pm
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What I wanna know is why is it that the mummies have to learn to put up with it and the daddies don't. I didn't like it either before I became a mum (well no that I like it now) but someone's gotta clean it up. Why is it always us mums???!!!
- June 11, 2010 at 2:03 pm
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My first baby had a major poo smearing hobby, so I am pretty immune to poo (although emotionally scarred for life). Vomit however…I'm with Katie, if I vomit once I'm like "Oh, gross, I just puked…bleuaarghhh" and so on and so forth…
Trick is, not to start!
- June 11, 2010 at 1:48 pm
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Hahahaha!! And THANK YOU for my gratuitous image! I love all things gratuitous, but especially that which involves Sarah Palin compromised by poo.
Because I'm so pleased I promise to stop blogging about inappropriate touching. Mwah!
- June 11, 2010 at 1:36 pm
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Ah, yes. I've written my own post about poo with a disclaimer at the top too. I understand.
But I'm with you. It doesn't faze me much either, except that I can't STAND the extra work cleaning up a poo creates, and I could well likely be found crying uncontrollably in the foetal position if the 3yo creates such a mess. No. I'm not a drama queen. Bah! Why would you think that?
- June 11, 2010 at 12:28 pm
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Yep – i've only been a mumma for 5 months but i'm pretty much ok with all bodily functions now. Mick, on the other hand, not so much. Will only change a pooey number if i give him the death stare and MAKE him, and was looking after me when i had a tummy bug last week and almost sympathy vomited. Bless.
- June 11, 2010 at 11:49 am
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My hubby is the same way, only he wasn't the hubby that was around when the kids were in diapers, but I'm sure he would have been no good at all. He gags if we speak of bird feathers or dog throw up. Amazing what we mummies can handle. We are some strong bee-yatches!
- June 11, 2010 at 10:32 am
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Hats off to you, Mummy Lori.
My Gagging tendencies?! Probably round about the same vicinity as your Man.
- June 11, 2010 at 9:07 am
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Every parent has to deal with the day that their toddler learns to undo their own nappy, and investigate what they find within…
It ain't pretty.
You know that The Man is going to be really pissed with you for sharing details of his gag reflex? So I probably shouldn't tell about the time I found hubby doing nappy changes while wearing a face mask (from the workshop).
- June 11, 2010 at 9:01 am
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I have to side with the man on this one.
Poo, pee, boogies, blood = I can deal with.
Vomit on the other hand. Ooh boy.
I SEE IT, I DO IT!
Even my own. Once I start, I cant stop, becuse my initial barfing grosses me out and causing a second barfing, which leads to a third..and so on in a disgusting vicious circle of puke.
Making myself stop is tricky.
Thankfully, my husband is ok with the vomit. YAY HUBBY.
And you, you are SUPER MOMMY. Go you!
(ps. sorry for the graphic nature of this comment.)
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Random Ramblings of a SAHM: The House That Love Built.
The Man Next Door. – RRSAHM
The Man Next Door.
The events detailed here have taken place over the last few weeks. It has shocked me to very foundations- what I believed was safe, what I thought I knew, and how much trust I should place in my own instincts. I think this post is an attempt to untangle the threads as to why this has had such an effect on me.
We live in a safe, quiet neighborhood. Everyone knows everyone. Pushbikes are left out on the front lawn, day and night, with no fear that they’ll be stolen.
Everyone knows everyone’s children here, by sight if not by name. We keep an eye out for each others kids. We chat to our neighbors, over fences and bottles and beer, barbecues in the summer.
My illusion of safety has been exploded, shattered like glass.
This does not feel like a safe place anymore.
***
Four years ago, we first moved into our Purple House. I remember this tableaux, paused as a gritty still frame in my mind. Our Neighbor. Mid thirties, clean shaven, respectable house, good job. No girlfriend, not then, she came later. Children, boys, the kids of the neighborhood, coming, going, from his house.
“Maybe he’s a pedophile?”
Was it my husband or I, who said that, weakly, joking, but with a frown gently creasing our face? Was it my husband, or I, who dismissed the fears of the other, tutted at the tastelessness of that half-joke?
I don’t know. It doesn’t matter now.
***
It’s a small community.
By some law of short separation, our Neighbor is- was?- a close friend of the family who run the playgroup my children and I attend every week. We laughed, when we learnt our Neighbor was to play Santa at the Christmas party. I snapped a picture of him, on my phone, to show my husband.
I had imagined my son being apprehensive, clinging to me, as he had the week before when meeting another Santa in the our local shopping center. He didn’t, not this time. Many other children did. My son ran straight up and sat on Santa’s lap. As a joke, for a photo, I sat there with them. I’m sure we have a copy of that photo, somewhere, in one of the albums we have scattered about, piecemeal chronicles of our lives. It occurs to me, just now, as I write this- I should find that picture, destroy it. Lest I come across it one day, and it scare me.
Was there something different about him,our Neighbor, in a costume, something extroverted where he was an introvert, something dangerous,something frightening? Did I dismiss it, knowing the liberating power of a costume, the lightness it can bring?
Or is that just hindsight, whispering to me?
***
When had the children stopped coming to our Neighbor’s house? Was it when his girlfriend suddenly materialised, took up residence in his house, began running her business from his garage…? I think it was. Our Neighbor’s lovely girlfriend. Who looked at my children so wistfully, and smiled that she wanted children of her own, and soon.
She is still there, at our Neighbor’s house, three weeks after the Fact. I verge between wondering if she knew, if she turned one eye blind and the other to the ceiling; and being disgusted with myself for thinking that, because surely that is what everyone is thinking, and she must feel the heat of those thoughts.
She has not worked, has not had anyone visit her, since this happened. She has barely left the house.
I don’t want to, but I can’t help it. My heart is breaking for her.
***
The day the police came, and raided our Neighbor’s house, we speculated, my husband and I. Had their house been broken into? Tax fraud? Some kind of problem with her business? What could possibly be going on in the home of our respectable, clean living Neighbor?
How long, before things began to fall into place, before facts and intuitions and guesswork began to click and turn and grind against one another?
How long before we realised that he hadn’t come home? Hadn’t been back to the house at all?
Click.
Was it the same time we read the newspaper article, the one that stated a man, from our suburb, had been arrested after simultaneous raids on his home and workplace?
Yes, I think it was.
Click.
Five counts of sexual assault of a child, aged between 10-16, with circumstances of aggravation. Two counts of producing child pornography. Six counts of distributing it.
Click.
All those children at his house.
The intimidating, extroverted man in the Santa suit.
And a Google search, that showed police footage, unmistakeably the man who has lived next door to us for the last four years, in handcuffs, his head being ducked into the back of a paddy wagon.
Click, click, click.
***
Words can’t even begin to describe… I feel disgusted. Sick. Violated. Angry. He has never sinned against me, nor my children. It does not matter.
I’m so angry. Angry at him, for what he has done. Angry at myself, for not having enough instinct to see this man for what he was.
The empathy I feel for his girlfriend pales in comparison to the thousand salty, wretched tears my heart is sobbing for the children this monster has hurt. For the mothers of these children. For the pain he has inflicted, that will echo to a thousand unfathomable places.
Sick. Shaking with relief, that my children are so small, small enough that I kept them protected. Shocked, disgusted by the knowledge that had my son been ten, eleven years old, and said “Mum, I’m going to the Neighbor’s house to play pool in his garage”, I would not have stopped him. I may have encouraged it.
I would have sent my children into the den of the lion.
Our Neighbor was such a nice man, after all.
***
On the alcove of our Neighbor’s house, molded into the brickwork, there is the sad face of a lion, surrounded by a mighty, plaster mane.
Just recently, late at night, when I can’t sleep, that image haunts me.
I wonder just how many children that lion’s sad face is haunting too.
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{ 35 comments… read them below or add one }
- August 30, 2010 at 1:01 am
- August 29, 2010 at 7:58 pm
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I don't even know where to begin. It shakes me to the core. I can't even imagine what you are going through.
- August 26, 2010 at 8:05 am
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I'm so sorry it was so very close to your safe haven.
- August 25, 2010 at 10:04 pm
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Holy Smoke Lori :(. How horrifying that he was right next door. It is bad enough hearing about this type of thing occuring in your suburb let alone it being someone that you know :(. I agree with the above poster, you just never know what form evil will take
. Just look at the teacher raids from a few years back who had child porn on their computers, one of which I had met! I would never have picked that person as having that! :(. (((((hugs))))) my lovely friend to you, your family and your neighbours as you go through this
- August 25, 2010 at 9:16 pm
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You never know do you… and as much as I like to think I am a rational being with humanitarian tendencies… sometimes I find it hard. A few years ago a close friend of my sister was convicted on child pornography charges. It was enough for me to never have contact with him or his wife ever again.
What a horrible reality you are faced with. But don't be harsh on yourself. We can be as careful as we can, but nasty and evil comes in many disguises. We just never know.
- August 25, 2010 at 7:21 pm
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We have one in our suburb too. When he returned from jail, he made the front page of the local paper. I sort of felt sorry for him (hoping he had been rehabilitated?) until I realised he would be living in his old house, right next door to the poor girl he molested. You poor buggar! It totally sucks to find out such awful things about people we know. Nobody wants to know a paedophile, but sadly, we probably all do.
- August 25, 2010 at 5:52 pm
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wow. yeh that's scary and the kind of think you'd rather not have to tell.. it's always ten times worse when you actually knew the person. or the victims…
i think i would not have allowed my kid over to a single man, but the girlfriend would sort of have made it 'ok'. i don't want to even imagine how the people feel who allowed their children to go. - August 25, 2010 at 5:14 pm
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Don't be angry with yourself Lori. You did know in the back of your mind, in your heart, what he was. You and your husband jokingly remarked on it, remember? You couldn't have known just how true it was, but your instinct kicked in and I have to say that had your boys been older you would not have allowed them to play next door. Something in you would have stopped them.
- August 25, 2010 at 4:49 pm
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I would ask where you live, but I would hate to find out you live in my old house. We found out after 2 years that our wonderful, single next door neighbor (who made us feel safe when our husbands were out of town because he was southernly and a former sniper) is a pedophile. My neighbors mother instincts kicked in and she went to the sheriff. She called me to do the same thing. Then a sheriff came through the neighborhood asking questions. I trusted this man and wondered why he didn't live in his home the first year (his Mom said it cost too much and he was saving his money. Now I think he was on parole). We have to be vigilant parents and listen to ourselves and it's hard, but you have to continue to trust in mankind so as not to freak out our children. I wish you a speedy recovery from this terrible experience. (We were planning on moving before we learned this. The news had us move up our date).
- August 25, 2010 at 4:26 pm
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Ugh how this turns my stomache.
Sadly, no where in this world is "safe". This place isn't that of what it was when we were kids, or our parents were kids, or our grandparents were kids. Sure these people existed, but these people just seem more…ballsy? now don't they? - August 25, 2010 at 2:59 pm
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Sadly, they come in every size, shape, economic class and it doesn't matter if they are good looking or not, clean-shaven or slovenly. You need to look past that and listen to your gut instincts. I'm glad your children were safe. I'm so sorry for the children who were not.
- August 25, 2010 at 1:52 pm
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Do you think you might go see how his girlfriend is doing? Do you know her well enough to do so without seeming nosy? I don't imagine that she's holding up so well right now.
- August 25, 2010 at 12:39 pm
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amazing how your Mummy instincts were so in tune at the beginning, but your caring personality allowed you to believe the best from others.
I went to a catholic school and later found out that many of the boys were not treated all too well by the priests. My Mum freaked out when she found out, and instantly called me and my brother. We were fine, but I don't know about the lives of the abused. - August 25, 2010 at 12:27 pm
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OMG Lori, I'm not at all surprised this has shaken you to the core. So, so close. xxx
- August 25, 2010 at 10:41 am
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It seems to be the ones we trust. Mine was my uncle.
- August 25, 2010 at 10:02 am
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I know just how you feel. Though he wasn't a neighbor, he was my daughter's teacher last year. Every day she sat in his class, though she says he never bothered her, I still feel as sick as the day he was arrested last January.
Just awful.
(hugs)
- August 25, 2010 at 8:24 am
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I lived next door to a paedophile growing up – my parents still live there. He was an older man, convicted of sexually assulating to small girls at his church, but because of his age and heart condition he was never sentenced to gaol. No matter though – we all knew, and we let him know we knew… my father by yelling, swearing and spitting at him if he even came close to our lawn; by warning other neighbours with kids when they moved into the street; by glaring at him when peddling past on our bikes.
I appreciate how scary it is for you – my bedroom faced his house and it was only on a very occasion that my mum could ever force me to open my blinds…. - August 25, 2010 at 6:21 am
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Scary, scary, scary! Thank you for posting this. *HUGS*
- August 25, 2010 at 3:17 pm
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Oh lord. I have know words for the lion that lives next door to you. I can only tell you that I lived with my lion for years and I have long since learned that the mind dose you a kindness. It makes you forget, or it makes you not remember. I hope you can calm you mind. Those children may or may not be fine, but at least they have there lives. Many more can clam even less. Trust me on this. I know from experience.
- August 25, 2010 at 3:06 am
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Paedophiles don't deserve any mercy at all. They don't!
- August 25, 2010 at 1:51 am
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Lori,
I can't even fathom this horrific, horrific thing. Thing is what he is. I just got a bad taste in my mouth and a serious hankering to kick someone's ass.
How disgusting and vile. Those who prey on innocent children should have their balls removed by way of horse stampede.
So sick Lori.
I'm thinking of you. - August 25, 2010 at 12:48 am
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(((Lori))) It is so scary. This happened with our Choir Master at our Church a few years back. The same man who alwasy hugged my boy and had him sit on his lap as Santa. You just never know! Mich x
- August 25, 2010 at 12:09 am
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Its just awful. I cannot even imagine being neighbor to that. Our neighbor swindled people out of money by falsley buying over 60 homes – it PALES in comparison.
- August 24, 2010 at 11:47 pm
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I am truly grateful that your children were not affected by this man.
One thing I have learned is to truly judge your instints. Especially if you are the type that doesn't judge people.
I will keep all those affected by him in my thoughts and prayers.
- August 25, 2010 at 9:43 am
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Holy shit!! Makes you realise you have to be so careful and listen to your instincts. Am a bit shaken for you..
- August 24, 2010 at 10:55 pm
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This is unbelievable. It is sickening. I don't know what else to say.
- August 24, 2010 at 10:12 pm
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OMG. That is so scary. Who would ever seriously think someone like that was living right next door? Like Maxabella, I am lost for words….
- August 24, 2010 at 9:48 pm
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How utterly devastating, scary and terrible. Right next door, and nobody knew, it's the common story of these sick people, they look so normal. It's how they get away with it for as long as they do. Thank God your kids are, were safe. But still I can imagine how you must feel shaken to the core.
- August 24, 2010 at 9:47 pm
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Oh Lori. I didn't realise he was such a close neighbour. I am so sorry. xx
- August 24, 2010 at 9:47 pm
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Shocking shocking shocking. OMG. I have no words.
- August 24, 2010 at 9:37 pm
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This is shocking and probably even more so for you because he was someone you never actually suspected and lived right next door to you.
Scary stuff!
- August 24, 2010 at 9:32 pm
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*hugs*
- August 24, 2010 at 10:54 pm
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Thank God your kids are safe. But all the same, it must be a horrifying realization. I'm sorry for your whole neighborhood.
- August 24, 2010 at 10:05 pm
- August 24, 2010 at 9:54 pm
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God, I'm shaking after reading that. Such evil in this world, I hate it.
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I am very interested by reading this.. Many thanks for your post. It's really very well written. And i must appreciate it. Thanks a lot for sharing.
Citroen Cornwall
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I got my first car in 1993, I can't remember the make. I paid $300 and bought it off a mechanic, which is strange as it never started, luckily I lived on a steep hill and tostart it I had to reverse in neutral then jump start it in gear down the hill. After a few weeks I went back to riding my bike!
fionaraw@hotmail.com
180B Datsun…$1800
There was nothing wrong…Daddo's are peeeerfect!
Well, when your 18!
Prehistoric Toyota Crown bought for three hundred and fifty big ones back in 1980 when i was 17. Didnt know how to drive a manual, so my 2 besties and I just kangaroo hopped out of the car yard and down the highway. It had the usual assorted goodie bag of faults but it gave me some of the best times in my younger years. ahh i miss Sue-Ellen….
chicaroonie@hotmail.com
My first car was a blue Vdub beetle chosen by my husband (I was a late bloomer when it came to driving). He didn't think the rust in the floor in front of the driver's seat was anything to worry about. After all, he wasn't driving it! I used to think I was going to be imitating Fred Flintstone every time I went over a bump, so I called her Wilma. The first time it stopped on the side of the road I got a terrible fright when I opened the hood to discover I didn't have an engine! OMG! Where's the engine? No wonder it stopped I thought. A kind passer-by helped me out and showed me where the engine is stored. How dumb did I feel? Wilma didn't last too much longer I'm afraid. I've always had a soft spot for her though.
Glad you found a reliable mechanic, a real blessing. I used to use KTAS when I lived closer to one. My current car (Mazda Astina) is now serviced by a home lube guy who has just discovered why it kept losing power and chug-a-lugging its way to work. Something that has stumped other mechanics. Chug-a-lugging is heart stopping in the middle of the night.
I bought my first car for $1500. A blue Datsun 180B with a black vinyl roof. One day as I pulled into work my boss goes "Are you really telling me you can't hear that?". I said "Wha?". He goes "You've got a great big hole in your exhaust and it sounds like a bloody V8". I was oblivious which basically sums up my interest in all things mechanical…
My very first car was a bright blue 1964 Volkswagon Beetle, that I totally adored.Given to me by my parents at a youthful 18. With it's cute manual indicators and the motor in the back many an adventure we had. As a somewhat reckless driver my weekends were spent; panel beating with bog, sandpaper and spray paint.
taddros@yahoo.com.au
The K-mart near me is awesome too.
My first car was a Honda Civic. I loved that car. It was zippy and zoomy and only smelled like burning engine occasionally. I sold it to my father in law before going OS. He paid me half and he was meant to pay the rest when I got back to Australia instead I got some sob story about the radiator cap and how he couldn't sell it so he couldn't pay me the money he owed me.
dachlostar@yahoo.com.au
My first car was a 1960 mini – my Gran gave it to me when I got my license on condition I took her shopping once a week. I loved that car. It was brown and my husband got it spray painted yellow (my favorite colour) – had it until it was stolen for township racing when I was 8 months pregnant – I miss that car !!
bodyandfeetretreat@gmail.com
My first car was a 1984 Toyota Corona, it was bright freaking yellow, hardly a subtle piece of machinery and it went, just like any Toyota you turn the key and it goes.
It was $5k from the local country town car dealer; I paid for it by driving the header at harvest time for my dad. Never ending ever decreasing circles around a paddock dodging rabbit holes and hoping the battery wasn't going to go flat on my Walkman.
I loved that car drove it for 9 years until I killed it, heading to a meeting in the CBD, full tank of fuel and new battery and it died centre lane peak hour traffic 6 lane road 38 degree heat, all I could do was get out raise my hands up an apologise to the hundreds of cars piling up behind me. Lucky a bus driver said he'd help, he got out of his seat but was beaten by mighty fine "young" fellas jumped off the bus before him, waved the traffic to stop and they pushed my car into the driveway of Government House, and jumped back on the bus.
I was then left waiting for the RAA, until the hilariously camp guard at Government House, invited me in gave me a cool drink, shifted one of the camera's that was supposed to be watching the perimeter of GH onto my car so we could see when the RAA pulled up and we watched Dancing with the Stars (his choice) until they arrived announced it was dead and needed to be towed.
Loved my '84 Corona
victoriamasterman@gmail.com
Renee7179 arballantyne@dodo.com.au not sure if you have it
I had a 4 wheeler walker when I was 9mths old, not sure how much it cost and there was definitely nothing wrong with it unless you call hot pink in colour something wrong with it
c.anastasiou@bigpond.com
My first car (back in 1974) wasn't actually mine, but my boyfriends, so it cost me nothing. It was a Mini panelvan, complete with twin carbies, extractors, racing steering wheel and mags, and No, I don't know what most of those are, but everyone went "Oooh" when told, so they must have been good. My contribution was sewing the curtains for the back! And my only real complaint was… well have you ever made out in the back of a Mini?
Ugh, I had a 1986 Honda Civic that i paid $2500 for,whose head blew as well! I had to tap it with something to make it start until I got it fixed (around $1000 I think). Also broke the windscreen wiper arm thing which cost $1200 to fix (this included a service). Ridiculous!!!!!
An S Series Valiant for $250 back in 1973. The wipers didn't work, chassis was twisted, hoses rotted and body filled with car bog but damn I loved that car!!
1974 VW kombi. It was an early 21st present from my Dad. Mechanically it was pretty good since I replaced the engine early in the piece at a cost of $3500. The main thing it had wrong with it is that it had a pop top and leaked like a sieve!
After I met my children's father, had one child and decided we wanted to try for a second baby we realised we'd have to sell the kombi because it didn't have enough room for two baby seats with the camper set up. I advertised it for sale for $4750 thinking I'd go as low as $4250 if offered, then someone offered me $5500 for it anyway!
With the proceeds I bought a sensible family car…
A kombi with seats instead of a bed and fridge!
That is GOLD!! And good on KTAS for doing the right thing…
My first car was a Ford Telstar.
It was a car I went and saw late at night, with my mother's current boyfriend (who I learnt shortly thereafter is completely useless). I spent about $300 a week on the car just to keep it roadworthy. I think 3 days after buying the car, we noticed a rust hole under the passenger seat that was big enough for the passenger to potentially fall through – so I could only carry passengers in the back seat.
The car held water. In the doors.
So slamming on the brakes would make this sudden gush of water run from one end to the other and make me feel as if I was in some capsule riding a wave. Not the case.
But the icing on the cake?
I had the car 3-months. The night before I got rid of it, I am sitting at a set of traffic lights and the engine caught alight. Like flames alight. I was in the middle of traffic, alone, and 18-years old. Can you imagine the drama?!
The next day I happily traded it in and bought something much more reliable, and I have sworn to never touch a ford again
megs@adelaidemummymeetings.com.au
xx
My first car was a cream corona, which my brother was trying to 'help' me buy for $2000. I got sick of the go between and went straight to the seller, turns out it was only $1700. Arse of a brother was trying to make $300 off me. I named him Norman. He had a terrible pull to the left that no wheel alignment could fix. Many great adventures in that car were had, then I got a grown up proper car. I didn't name it, had no soul…
Now to the self-interest element…my first car was a 1979 Honda Civic – such a cute car – the only photo I have of it is out in the paddock with a goat "photo bombing" via the passenger side window.
Drove it to work on my first day in a new job, radio blaring so loud that I couldn't hear that I'd left it in 2nd gear as I throttled down the highway at 100kms/hr…stuffed the head gasket…drove to a distant uncle's house nearby (who I barely knew) and he lent me $700 no-questions-asked to have it fixed.
There is still good in this world. Years later, I am still so grateful to that man. I didn't even have my first pay-cheque yet and he lent me the money to have my car fixed
– Fiona
Do you know what? Our local KMART Tyre and Auto is awesome as well; I will freely say that without even entering the competition. A friend of mine who is a single parent with limited means took them CHOCOLATES last week, because they also "did the right thing" and didn't rip her off when she had car issues. Sorry your car conked out but glad it worked out better than expected!
my first car was a 1968 toyota corona. It was a little tank, like most toyotas, but I broke it many times.
Once, I blew the head gasket driving from canberra to sydney on my way to see inxs at the horden. About 30 mins out of canberra, after having to turn back 10 mins in because a friend had left his shoes on the roof (i should have taken it as a sign!) I kept hearing this horn like sound repeating over and over again. I even pulled over to see… but it stopped. So my solution was… turn up the radio. finally as I was between the two goulburn exits on the highway, it ran out of puff. The temp gauge, which I hadn't looked at, was off the chart, the needle melted.
Long story short, police car came by, rang NRMA for us (long before mobile phones!), they eventually came, the first NRMA man dropped 2 friends to big marino to wait for us, another friend stayed with me and waited for tow truck. Eventually they came, towed car back 60 mins to canberra, syphoned petrol out of dead car into his parents car, drove to pick up now pissed friends in goulburn, hotfooted it to sydney just in time for first song of inxs set.
phew.
Then, a short few weeks later, after fixing head gasket with my dad, booting along the freeway here in canberra, I hear an almighty BANG and the hood flew up about 20cms. Hmmm, odd. But kept driving…. for a bit until it died again.
"GREAT! ANOTHER F$$% HEAD GASKET! YOU SUCK DAD, CANT FIX SHIT!"
Turns out one of the fans fell off the fan blade, took out the battery, radiator and other things, dinted the hood (when it flew off, hence the bang and raised hood) and was resting comfortably on the bottom of the engine bay.
Best car ever.
Datsun 1600 – probably the best car I've owned thus far, from a mechanical perspective…but it was getting old and rusty, so I sadly had to sell it. That said, I bought it for $550, had it reprayed and tizzied up – sold it for $1500.
Absolute WINNER of a car…but we just weren't meant for the long haul. 
Emma.
No good story but I just wanted to also talk up K-mart Tyre and Auto! When I bought my first car back at 17, I'd had my license for two days and was about to commence the 40 minute drive to work when my car started shuddering, kind of losing control, and generally freaking me out on the backstreets. Not knowing anything about cars, I managed to get to the closest shopping centre to park it when I saw the Kmart Tyre and Auto entrance right there. I walked into the office where 5 mechanics were sitting behind the counter staring at me and told them in a rushed fashion that it was my first car, I was clueless and it was shuddering. The bemused faces made me turn bright red but two of the guys both said "Let's take a look."
They worked out that it needed coolant within 2 minutes but they gave the car a once over (took about 40 minutes) and took it for a short drive. Then they wouldn't let me pay them and spent about 15 minutes teaching me how to put coolant in, check the oil, put water in, check the air pressure…everything. I have taken my car back to them for every service since and they will always get my business. Love them
Congrats on finding a good mechanic. We all deserve on eof those.
Didn't learn to drive until I came to OZ (best decision) from the UK at the age of 26. Didn't get to drive first car very much – 1st hubby a selfish bastard. In 1975 2nd hubby-to-be saw how hard it was living in a State Housing flat with 2 little kids and no car. One day he handed me the keys to his car saying, "You need it more than me." He was a keeper. The car was a sweet little Honda Civic and I was so thrilled I kept leaning out of the window of the 5th storey flat to look at her in the car park. Not so thrilled the next morning when I discovered someone had stolen all 4 tyres and left the car standing on bricks! I sat on the kerb and wept. My lovely little car looked so forlorn, 2nd hubby-to-be came round in evening with four new tyres and a proposal; he asked if we could move in together. As I said before, he was a keeper. Loved that man and the sweet Honda Civic.
My first car was a light blue Volvo…I was 23 by the time I got my licence…my dad was killed in a car accident and I just could.not.drive for years after that, hence the Volvo for safety. I named it Stefan (Swedish and pale blue, right?..)and had it for about six years…my little brother "borrowed" it once (before he got his licence) to go to the local shops and almost wrote it off in a four car pile-up…but Stefan was fully insured and got a facelift…I still owned Stefan when I met Hubby and when he found out I'd never had it serviced since I'd bought it he nearly died! We sold it to a young family after we got married…passed it on Parramatta Road one day – broken down and waiting for the NRMA…that's the last I saw of Stefan…I wonder…
I got my first car when I was 20 (in '86) and it was a 1964 blue VALIANT….the car was in good condition according to the mechanic.
The clutch slipped, the gear box got stuck and the petrol guage was faulty….BUT I LOVED MY CAR anyway….so much so that me and my friends nicknamed it 'THE BATMOBILE' because of its shape & age. I still think fondly of it!
***********************
Hubby and I always get 3 or 4 quotes on any work we want to get done on our cars, and Kmart Tyre & Auto Service is always one place we go for a quote and it usually is who we get to do the work.
Mine was a wonderful cute blue 1974 Honda Civic with a start button! I loved that start button! It had a gazillion things wrong with it but the worst thing wrong with it was when the start button stopped working and I couldn't start my car anymore.
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My first car cost me $60 it had no seats except for the drivers and no radio or carpet. But the best thing was when my boyfriend painted it in beautiful burgundy and cream. But it rained before the paint dried. From that day on I had raindrop dents in the paintwork all over my cute Morris Major. But I was a poor student happy to have my own transport. One night driving home at midnight I was pulled over by the police. Their question… Sweetie does that machine have a switch to turn the headlights on? And they didn't book me! Yes that was over 30 years ago and times and attitudes have changed! From michelle. Mcaldwell@ live.com.au
My first car was a '92 Hyundai Excel (which I bought with my own $1000 in 2006), affectionately know as the 'Excel-erator'. Witty, yes? It was probably the most reliable car ever, until some old Tasmanian dude reversed into it in a shopping centre car park one day so it had a messed up front and side panel and a googly front light hanging out by wires…
Luckily, HE had insurance, and they paid me out $1200 (their value of my car, not mine!) and let me keep the car. Which I ended up selling for $500. Score! I'm still sure the new owner was really buying it for the interesting combination of subwoofer and sparkly, pink 'Princess' seat covers. Win-win for everyone, really!
Our first car we brought for $500 and it was an awful car. Not even worth 500 cents! It rarely started. We spent hundreds of dollars on mechanics coming out to take a look and attempt to get it going. Sometimes it would just start like that, and yep we still had to pay that call out fee. Other times it wouldn't start for a bit, they'd tinker and it'd go, and then they'd collect their money, leave and we'd drive off to where we were going and it promptly would not start again when we went to return home.
I dream of the day we can own a new, or near new reliable (at least ish) car. I openly know nothing. I've never even filled a car with petrol! But Mr Black knows some basics, and my dad knows a bit, as well as The Drunken Godfather. Still, an old car is an old car and there's only so much you can do to keep it running.
Thankfully that car was 2 cars ago. Good riddance!
My first car was a beige Torana which my brother kindly (?) painted pastel blue for me. It cost $1000 which my folks forked out…and I paid them back about ten years later! It used to cost me almost as much in oil as it did in petrol – I'd fill it with both on a weekly basis. Sadly, some idiot stole my beloved car which had my beloved leather jacket from Bali in it (remember them? they were an awful mottled grey!), but I suspect they wouldn't have gotten too far in it!
Thirty-three years ago I got lucky and was given my first car. A very old and slightly beaten up little cream MG sedan with red vinyl seats and a polished timber dashboard. I didn't know much about cars then and still don't but I do know cars need an engine to go and mine didn't have one.
So a thousand dollars later I've had a reconditioned engine installed and the whole car tidied up nicely at mate's rates by a friend of a friend and I'm happily pootling about on my P plates.
She was a neat little cutie my MG but hardly a car to stir envy in the masses, yet other vehicles couldn't seem to resist running into me. I mean, I was a great driver so it was never my fault. Cost a fortune to import an MG front grill replacement from England after some nong reversed into me at the lights, they should have left more room between our cars right?
So anyway the thing about backyard mechanics at mate's rates is that you get to be very friendly with the RACV. They were on the alert every time I pulled out of the driveway. Come the day I was crossing an intersection and the gear box just fell out onto the road and I had to face facts – for all her dints of character, my little MG's guts were garters – almost literally according to the RACV. Oh but she was a beauty! Your story gave me a right good chuckle Lori and thanks for the fun of getting to share my own, cheers! Ann S. xx
I nagged and nagged for a car as soon as I got my licence and my reward for being so impatient was a $500 white ford laser that I named Oozy. One reason for the name was the number plate (OOZ cant remember the numbers)and the other for the fact that it oozed fumes into the backseat as the back window/hatch didnt seal airtight. It sure oozed style with my $500 subwoofers in the back pumping out Monifa's Touch it at every chance I had. Coolest thing was that other ford laser keys unlocked my car so after school I had to play hunt the car quite often as certain ppl used to move it while we were meant to be in classes.
my first car (showing my age) was a metalic brown and white HD holden premier sedan. I brought it off my parents for $400..we didnt get cars given to us like kids today do.
Was a great car but after a few weeks it got cold and had to hit the starter motor with a hammer to get it going. My mum borrowed it and as she said a cow hit her..rolled over the bonnet and walked off the other side leaving a nice dent the size of its head on the side. Miss that car sigh!!
My first beloved car was a Mazda 323 1986 model (bless it's little engine). I loved that car with all my heart and soul, even though I had to replace a water pump in the first two weeks of owning it. I bought it for $3000 from a lady who's father had previously owned it before he passed away. The lady was lovely and she even shed a few tears as we drove off.
I loved the way we had to yell over the revving engine on the F3 to communicate and its cute little velour brown seats and I even loved how the steering wheel wobbled when I travelled at speeds anything over 80kph.
My little Mazda never had too much wrong with it but I had to eventually get rid of it to get a bigger car with extra room for another baby on the way. I cried my eyes out when I sold it, I'm not sure if it was because I was pregnant but I don't think so, I think it was just such a rad little car I was extremely sad to see it go. It's now gone on to reside in Macquarie Fields with a much younger lady than myself… And that's the story of my first little car..
Bin – belblogger5@gmail.com
http://belblogger5.blogspot.com.au/
Being a broke student – I had a variety of "bombs" held together by pure will, just getting me through sememster by semester. My favourite was a bright yellow Triumph – a really classy car with wood panelling and huge lounge like seats. You could live in that car – that is until winter when I discovered a few leaks which resulted in something like the 'wave' pool at my local aquatic centre in the front passenger foot well. It was the joke on Uni – every time I turned a corner or stopped the wave swelled. It was so deep that one day I found that someone had put a goldfish in it – lived there happily for the day – until it was rescued by PETA.
My first car was a White TD 1979 Gemini.
Boy I loved that car, I named it PERCY.
Cost was $3,990.
I broke a clutch cable one day as I was taking off from an intersection…scared the crap out of me. I just go that fixed and I blew a head…that cost me $1,500.
Cheap to run…1985…$5.00 petrol would nearly fill Percy up, please, bring back those days.
KTAS have saved my arse on numerous occasions.
They are awesome.
My first car was my baby, I loved her. But MPS drove her from Shepparton to Melbourne with NO WATER and blew the head and then crashed it.
I still haven't forgiven him. And it was nearly 20 years ago. Thanks for the reminder… I must go and punch him again.
I had a red toyota corolla 85 model that caught on fire lol. The windscreen wipers were faulty and managed to catch alight while i was driving on the highway! needlesstosay it was very scary!!!! was alot mroe wrong with the car too but that was the worst lol
Hey Lori. Great Giveaway!
Good one Kmart Tyre & Auto! So refreshing to hear!
My first car was a gorgeous creamy yellow, VW beetle from 1970 something. It was a fantastic little car and while I don't remember exactly what was wrong with it, all I do know is that it had to be clutch started for a while there. Nothing a downward hill couldn't fix! Loved the simplicity.
My service, rego etc is all due soon and I would be so grateful for a little assistance. Best part is that my last few services have been with Kmart Tyre & Auto, so they'd be receiving the love back again
My first car was a beige 1979 Subaru Leone, I was fortunate enough that my grandparents bought it and then sold it to me for $1500 once I got my license and let me pay it off at $50 a week.
It was the best little car, its 'only' problems were a clutch replacement and the rust that my Dad cut out and bogged for me (he smashed the front windscreen during the first weekend of the rust removal operation so it ended up being more expensive than getting a panel shop to do the work). I really wish I didn't trade it in on the lemon of all lemons and 1984 VK Commodore sob.
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Hon, I hate that at the worst time of your life people tried to screw you over…bastards. I'm not entering the comp…but I am saying how wonderful it is that you have found a great place to deal with honestly & ethically. Good for KTAS
I've always taken my cars to K-Mart and always had great service! My first car was a 1985 Holden Barina that I paid $1500 for and it's quirky little feature was that if you turned the indicator on while the headlights were on, smoke would start pouring out from under the steering wheel. No turning corners at night!
My first car was an old Mazda – built in 1974 – which made it older than me. It cost about $1000 and I was super proud of it.
It had a tonne of problems.
One of the most annoying, was that I had to wear stockings (tights) for work as part of the uniform. The seats inside of my Mazzy were vinyl. The car was old and sat in the sun alot. This translated to cracked, hard, vinyl seats – oh and boiling hot in the summer.
Stockings + Cracked vinyl seats = disaster!!
Great job KTAS!! Here's to happy motoring for you and your kiddies x
So the first ever car that was to be mine was an old Orange Datsun. It had been an old hand-me down from my uncle's mother in law when she passed away at like 80. The front seats recline was broken so they were laying 100% flat 100% of the time. And the ignition was broken so to start it you had to put the keys in the ignition, turn them, then open the bonnet and smack/short the solenoid with a large screwdriver that my dad kept in the car for that sole purpose! Wasn't until just last year when I was recounting this exact story to hubby that he pointed out that that was actually hot wiring the car! Little old miss goody two shoes me used to hot wire my first car.. or worse help mum and dad hot wire it before i was old enough to drive!
It was a dump.. thankfully we didn't keep it that long.. and I got an younger but still OLD (like older then me!) Mazda 626. One with a manual choke where you had to run it for 15 mins before you even considered driving it in winter!
LOL I sound so old. I'm really only 30!
Ah my old faithfull (not) 84 Ford Meteor. She also blew her head gasket but I just kept turning my heater on and winding windows down because I noticed if I did that, the engine didn't get as hot, only I did. Then my dear old daddy has a look about a month later, patched her up and she limped out her life with me for another year barely getting driven unless I was desperate
I bought my first car in 2001, a baby poo yellow, 1978 Toyota Corolla. We had a love hate relationship, noisy, clunky and did I mention baby poo yellow? But reliable as they come.
Our far newer Toyota Tarago however, is a big fat jug of sour lemonade. We've had it for 2 years and in that time replaced the alternator, had the starter motor short with lots of smoke (scary when you've got 4 kids under 5 strapped into carseats) so that needed replacing, and got stuck on the side of a freeway in the rain on grand final day when the rear diff decided to go. Yeah, that one is purely a hate hate relationship.
Fleeing a horrible country town, I found the beach, my first love and purchased my first car – a Kombi Van known forever more as The Bobbi Dazzler for $850.00.Stick shift *insert wince* purple and carpeted. See I decided I was going to be an awesome surfie chick, independent and fearless.Turns out "Jaws" had a greater effect on me than I realised as I clawed up my first boyfriends head after being attacked – by seaweed. So no boards on the Kombi, but many a fun road trip, music pumping, well dribbling out of half a speaker. Lost side mirror on a light pole doing a reverse park on the main drag at Broadbeach, two windows mysteriously exploded one hot day at Harbord Beach whilst I was otherwise *occupied* inside, and the engine? Just kept on going.Nary a problem. Life turn around, entered corporate dementia and sold Kombi for $850.00 to a Danish backpacker.
first car – asked my brother to help me pick it out, went to car city, first honda civic we saw he instructed me to purchase. he put through on his credit card and i transferred him the $$. later to find out that he only did it for the points!!! the day i picked it up (they had some work to do before i could take it home – RED FLAG NATALIE!) i drove out of car city, 200m to the lights to u-turn and the car breaks down. legit.
i had it three years, in the last year i put two new engines in, head gaskett, tyres, you name it and it happened. poor little zig.
i took her camping and we were driving down this really bumpy road, and my rear view mirror fell out of the holder..
my indicator fell out on kooyong road one day for no reasone at all just as i was driving.
my windscreen wipers got stolen (?) as did my side mirror!
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhh its giving me anxiety reliving these tales.
haha xxx
RIP ZIGGY!!! YOU HAD CHARACTER!!
Seriously, honest mechanics are hard to find, so I'm really glad you found a good one.
I'm still driving my first car – because I only bought it two years ago when I got my license at the grand age of 28. When I was 16 and on my L's I took one lesson with my mum, who thereafter completely refused to ever give me another. Then I lived in the city for 8 years, where having a car is more of a hinderance than anything else. But after moving to the suburbs and having a flatmate with a full license who was happy to teach me to drive, I finally learned.
So I bought a car – A Mitsubishi Mirage, with a full body kit, mags and a kick ass stereo. It woas someone's 'doof doof' car, which I thought was hilarious, seeing as I am the least 'doof doof' kind of person you could imagine. But she is mechanically sound and cheap to run and also a bright and shiny red – I hear red cars go the fastest. I paid around 8 grand for her (and still paying it off, painstakingly!), which was probably a bit out of my price range – but it was worth it to have a decent car.
I treat her awfully and she repays me by being ridiculously reliable, even when I forget to check the oil for several months and she is almost running on empty. I don't deserve a car as good as she is, I tell you.
My first car was an '89 Lancer bought off my nan for $2000. In the first year I replaced the shockies, struts and timing belt and spent more than it cost me to buy! Eventually I sold it for half what I paid, but she's still the most loved car I've ever owned because she was my first (and so far, only sole) car purchase.
What a coincidence! First car was a corolla(I think about '75) , cost me $1500 and blew a head gasket about 9 months later. I asked the mechanic approx how much it would cost to fix and was told "not too much"! Being 17 at the time and clueless, I had it fixed and it cost me nearly $600!!?& WTF? I traded it in and only got $500 for it so was still paying off the repairs after it was gone. Aw well, lesson learnt
Cheers, Anne
Oh so lovely to hear a good mechanic story.
After many years of taking my car in and ending up being barely able to drive it back to the mechanic the next morning as it was so much worse than when I booked it in… so good for the soul to hear.
My first (non-paddock-basher) car was a gorgeous, bright yellow Datsun 200b. These cars are awesome to drive and usually end up as rally cars. Dad carefully selected it for me, but I think his mind was more on ensuring I didn't end up with a car that was too powerful and would end up with it rolled over in a ditch, me still inside. I had saved $2000 by the age of 19, always intended, even from the age of 6 when I sold my first two poddy calves, to be used to buy myself (freedom) a car.
So I don't totally blame him when the engine blew up three weeks later… especially when he paid for it to be replaced.
Wow thats a great story, Im glad you had your faith restored. Congratulations K Mart for your great work.
Count me in for this one! My car has been taken off the road deemed unroadworthy because of the tires, so I'm keen on this! Haha
My first car was a two door 1985 Honda Prelude!
I paid $2000 for it, and it was worth every cent. The only issue I ever had with it was the day I sat for my P's driving test. I passed with flying Colours and as I got back in it to drive home as a P Plater, my brakes stopped working so my Mum drove it home using the handbrake! HAHAHAHA
My Dad nicknamed it the 'BullAnt' and every morning before work I'd come out to find my car with 'antennas' on the roof made of McDonald's straws