Surfin’ ain’t easy, and right now, you’re lost at sea. But don’t worry; simply pick an option from the list below, and you’ll be back out riding the waves of the Internet in no time.
As we discovered (frightfully) not long ago, I hate the cold. Winter makes me miserable and stagnant. I love warm weather, sunshine and summer. I’m a sun worshiper and I need my daily dose of vitamin D.
It’s an Australian thing, maybe, a coastal phenomenon that stems from spending so much time in the water and on the sand. Maybe it is, as I’ve been told, because I’m too damn skinny and have no insulating tissue on my bones– also potentially true, because I wasn’t always this much of a sun-baby, and I haven’t always been this skinny.
Maybe I’m just some kind of lizard.
Whatever. It all comes down to– I’m a veritable bear in winter. It makes me grumpy and sad and I have a tendency to hibernate. The warmer the weather gets, the more the sun shines, the more time myself and the kidlets spend outside and the cheerier I become. Forgive me if I sound like a dick, but I’m a big believer in sunshine and fresh air as both a mood stabilizer and an immune booster. And vitamin D is a physical essential– there’s anecdotal evidence that supports the theory that vitamin D deficiencies can contribute to not only depression but also the growth of some cancers.
But then, of course, you’ve got to balance potential vitamin D exposure with protection from UV rays. Forget anecdotal- UV rays have very real, very solid evidence against them saying they definitely cause the growth of cancers. Skin cancers, to be precise- melanomas. Extremely nasty f*cking things that they can cut out, only to have them disappear for years and years…
Then they reappear as huge malignant tumors in your bran or liver or spine or lungs or just everywhere. And start to kill you well anyone suspects you’re dying.
My life revolved around the water when I was a child. Where I grew up, we had lakes, a river, more beaches than I can count on one hand. I can remember arguing vehemently with my mum over sunscreen, hats and shirts in the water– there’s nothing more uncomfortable (or, as it turns out, ineffective against UV rays) than a wet t–shirt, chilling and chaffing salty, sand encrusted skin.
And still, despite my mother’s best intentions, I burnt. I sizzled and fried, lobster-ed and blistered. I remember the feeling of my pale, white, ridiculously anglo skin virtually on fire. I can see myself, aged nine or ten, sitting in the cool air of my bedroom in Paradise after dusk some summer nights, peeling great long strips of dead skin from my back and shoulders. I can still feel blisters bursting painfully against the rough fabric of my school uniform, light trails of sticky, viscous fluid down my back. I remember once, having spent an entire long summer day in the reflective glow of the sand and water, being scorched from head to toe– even my eyes were, literally, sunburnt, red and stinging and sore.
I get my skin checked on a regular basis, for moles and growths and oddities. I’ve been a very, very lucky women so far.
Very lucky. For a total white chick who once experimented with tween–age body art by applying a large smiley face of zinc on her back and allowing the skin around it to cook, I’m not going to dispute that luck has more to do with the current outcome than management and responsibility.
I came to the realization– early, actually, thankfully, before tween-aged baking became teenaged baking– that this tanning thing was just not as fabulous as they purport it to be. And, besides that, turning my pearly white skin a deep golden brown just took too much effort to do naturally. And I am the one chick you know who’s never, ever had a spray tan. And really has no desire for one. The peer pressure to spray was well and truly on in the lead up to my wedding (thanks, uber-supportive bridesmaid), which left me slightly bewildered and confused. An eternally pale woman showing up to her own wedding, in the middle of winter, with a tan for the first time ever… that just doesn’t make sense.
Pale is cool. I think I’ve always known that. It’s taken a whole stack of people a while to catch up.
Sun thyself… but do it safely.
This post is not sponsored, but written for the Cancer Council, to remind you all to slip, slop, slap, seek and slide. It’s something so easy to do that’s so important, and one of those things that become a healthy habit far quicker than you realize.
The Cancer Council do some amazing work. They sent the Bump and I some cool stuff, including daily sunscreen that doesn’t make your make up slide off, and their absolutely divine shimmery SPF 30+ lip gloss. Meanwhile, the Bump has nearly been living in her new ’pink!’ swimming hat. My kid’s skin is, unfortunately for them, as pale and potentially freckly as my own. The bonus is that everyone wears hats and sunscreen in 2012- I don’t think I’m in for the same level of defiance my poor mum was (yet, anyway- kidlets are still just babies, really, and we have a long way to go…)
Check out the Cancer Council on the web, Twitter and
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And stay cool, jellybeans.
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Clearly not.
Remember George the cat? He had something of a misadventure on Monday night. So far he’s alive but not well at all– fevered, shaking, sooky. Weirdly, it’s very much like having a tiny baby with a heavy cold.
Allow me to explain.
I was actually organized enough to be ready to crawl (thankfully) into bed by midnight on Monday night– that’s something of a small miracle considering lately it’s been more like one am, sometimes two. George the cat is only about twelve weeks old and has the very devil in him– the last four weeks his soul mission has been rocketing toward the font or back door the moment it’s opened, hoping to streak past the ankles of unsuspecting visitors who don’t heed my cry of “Ahhhh!! Close the door! Cat!” with quite enough urgency.
Sometimes, he succeeds.
I only have one pair of hands, hey. Two kids, two cats, a whole life full of things to juggle… Sometimes balls get dropped. Or kittens, as the case may be.
Anyway. Late Monday afternoon, George the Houdini Cat did the bolt via the back door and ended up in the back garden. Minutes later I heard one of those awful, blood curdling cat fight screeches, and big ruffled orange tomcat came bolting out if the bushes.
No sign of George.
Stupid freaking cat.
I didn’t mention anything at all to the kidlets– no point, really– just called out for George occasionally, more and more as the sun went down; and sat with the sinking, concrete feeling deep in my guts that we’d lost another pet, that they were going to have deal with shit all over again.
 |
| I’m sure he thinks it’s a sunbed. |
One last time, just on midnight, shaking a box of dry cat food and wrapped against the spring chill of the TinyTrainTown air, I leaned over the back balcony into the darkness and called, high pitched but halfheartedly “Georgie!! Puss puss puss puss puss!! Georgie Peorgie!! Dinnnnnner time!!”
And I heard, in response, a tiny “Mew! Mew! Mew!”
I’m not sure if I’m relieved the cat’s alive; or just pissed off because I was seriously looking forward to crawling into bed. Either way, the cat and I begin to play ’Marco!’ ’Polo!’, pausing for a time–out while I jogged back inside and grabbed a mushroom lamp to serve as a torch.
“Georgie?”
“Mew! Mew!” He sounds so pitiful that, for a few moments there, I’m not even pissed.
Until I realize he’s stuck twenty feet up a thirty foot high gum tree at the very back of the TinyTrainTown backyard, only a metre or two from the fence that separates our yard from next door’s three large dogs. While well trained and well behaved, they’d rip a tiny kitten to shreds, regardless.
“Oh for pity’s sake…” I murmur under my breath. “This is ridiculous.”
You can ’tsk tsk’ me at will, but… I don’t own a ladder. I’ve been meaning to buy one for quite a while now. It’s on the to–do list. I know- idiot. A ladder is one of those things that you can never just pop out to the shops and buy when you really need one. When you really need a ladder, the shops are always closed.
And that’s how I find myself, at almost two am, standing on top of milk crate that’s perched precariously on a garden chair, eight foot garden rake extended into the tree branches above me, lamp tucked beneath my chin, in my pajamas, still quite literally cat calling while the dogs bark and growl and scratch on the other side of the fence.
 |
| Cat-in-a-bag. |
Poor cat. I was having flashbacks to those cartoons where Bugs Bunny is trapped on a tree branch high above a boiling, blistering lake of snapping, hand drawn alligators.
The flashbacks– and any sympathy I have for the cat– disappear thirty seconds later when a light suddenly comes on and out wanders my neighbor, in the shearers singlet and footy shorts that served as his own set of pj’s.
“Erm… Hi.” I say, one arm still wrapped firmly around the tree lest my shaky foot support give way. “You wouldn’t have a ladder, by any chance…?”
Three cheers for my neighbor who, after he’d woken up a bit and, I think, figured out I wasn’t actually climbing a tree in his yard; was quite helpful and procured much-needed ladder. Which, of course, I only got half way up before George the cat came clambering down, face first, my only reward for attempting to grab him two long, infected cat slashes down my thumb and ring finger.
“F*ck it, f*ck it, f*ck it, f*ck you cat!!”
I thank my neighbor, scoop up the kitten, scolding him gently in a shaky voice, the way you would a small child who’s scared the wits out of you by running off in a crowded supermarket.
It’s only once I get him inside, pop him down on the ground, that I notice his limp, his poor little mangled front paw, the leg swollen and jarred, dark blood crusted on his fur.
I call my mum. Call the vet. Cry.
It seems this week isn’t going to be much better than the last one, after all.
So far, George is recovering from a bad tom-cat bite, has not cost me a fortune in vet’s bills, and should be OK.
Fingers crossed. I’ll keep you posted.
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October 31, 2012 at 11:26 am Poor George. You didn't happen to get him from free from the TinyTrainTown vet did you? He looks spookily like the kitten that we got from there a few weeks ago. Our little munchkin Floyd is constantly attempting to get out but we have a few local cats patrolling the area, even attempting to attack through glass doors and windows 
October 26, 2012 at 2:24 pm My cat once spent a night and half a day in the linen cupboard after he snuck in once while I was getting sheets. Heard a pitiful meow the next day about 1 pm. Fat black hairy cat had had fun with all my white sheets haha
October 26, 2012 at 10:51 am Bloody cats! We have two, and when we moved here, our big cat found out he could get out via a tiny door on the side of the bathtub (don't ask!) and under the house. We've managed to bolt it shut, but not before he hit the town one too many times.
I hope you cat is all better soon.
October 25, 2012 at 12:46 am You really have the most abominable luck. Did you break a mirror or something? Smudge stick your house, turn around in a circle three times and spit, throw some salt over your left shoulder, put your pants on left leg first, sleep with your head towards the door, put spiders out of the house instead of killing them, grow some ivy on the side of the TTH, and by all means– procure a St. Francis medal.
Seriously though, Good luck to little George. I'm pulling for him. I'm also sort of secretly hoping that Mr. Tree turns back up. Perhaps someone took him in thinking he was a stray?
October 24, 2012 at 10:51 pm Oh, that just sucks. I'm so glad George has at least been rescued and I'll definitely be sending good thoughts his way in hopes for a full recovery. HUG!!!
– Crystal
October 24, 2012 at 5:00 pm Awww. I really hope that George gets better soon. We also have had our share of cat adventures. One day, a long long time ago, I got back home from work and to hear our Maine Coon mongrel meowing and meowing. But despite making a tour of the entire house I could not find the bugger. Eventually, I trace the source of his cries to the spare room, which was one of the first places that I had checked, but no sign of the cat, until I remember that he enjoys sleeping on the top of the cupboard, and even though I have checked there and there was no sign of the cat. Until it dawns on me that there is a space between the cupboards (those out of a kit kind) and the wall. So, cat found, great. Except how do you get the creature out of the space which is 2 meters deep and about 15 cm wide? Answer with difficulty. Finally, after lots of comical attempts, including trying to convince the creature to grab hold of a towel, my husband gets home. And from there we managed to disassemble the cupboard enough to rescue the poor creature. He went up on top of the cupboard (which had been his previous favourite spot) once again. I think to prove to himself that he was not scared.
October 24, 2012 at 4:32 pm sending you big squishy boobie hugs (18week old breasting feeding boobs are the bomb!!!) xxx Kaz, hope things pick up for you soon xxx
October 24, 2012 at 1:11 pm Have to giggle at you and George playing Marco Polo.Hours of family fun!!
October 24, 2012 at 12:21 pm Oh man,what a week Lori!
Good wishes and healing vibes to you and Georgie.
Two cats? Did you end up finding Mr Tree or have I missed a post somewhere?
Shannon
October 24, 2012 at 12:18 pm Did you buy a ladder yet?
October 24, 2012 at 10:31 am The laptop pictures is adorable and explains exactly why you went through all of that to keep George Kitten alive and healthy. I so hope he recovers well and grows up to be a much more cautious and slightly less curious George.
October 24, 2012 at 9:35 am Oh the poor bub! Hope he gets well soon…sending a lot of love his way and really hoping your week gets better. He looks gorgeous by the way. And my cats love my laptop too!
I live in an apartment and have 2 cats…have to be very careful they don't get out. I used to let them go out in the balcony with me supervising them but then one of mine almost jumped over and gave me a heart attack. Since then, there's no balcony adventures either. Mine took turns falling sick in this last year. And one of them seems to have a lot of anxiety. Sigh.
October 24, 2012 at 8:43 am I'm glad George is okay-ish! Oh man, I've been there – outside in some ridiculous pose with a torch clamped between my teeth, going after the cat as the neighbors look on and politely (but with that 'it's just the crazy cat woman next door' look in their eyes) ask me what on earth am I doing?
Bloody cats! I've had mine for 12 years and she's my best little friend, but holy shit has she put me through some utterly ridiculous adventures. Like the time she got stuck in the roof for five days. Or the time she fell into a busted sewerage pipe and got covered with muck that only later (once she and I had wrangled her clean) revealed a huge tear in her hindquarters that required expensive surgery and lots of pills. Or her cat anxiety that requires medication (she is MY cat after all, it's only natural she takes after me.) Or her absolute intolerance of other cats that leads to fights, then abscesses and more bloody surgery. Or even just her nightly bloodlust for my bare toes.
Still, I love her a bunch- all the annoying stuff aside, she's been a great little companion my entire adult life.
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This post is not sponsored. It’s just about a product I genuinely love, and the chance for you to win some for your kidlets.
I blogged a little while back about my daughter’s love of make up, and the awesome natural play make-up stuff we’d been sent. Almost eighteen months later, Pure Poppet is still an absolute favourite toy in our house.
While the Chop is far too old and cool to let me face paint him these days, the Bump is still very much the girly girl she was back then- even more so now, perhaps. She does ‘make-overs’ on herself, and me, and the cat if he sits still for long enough.
And she really, really likes making a mess.
Which is why we like Pure Poppet so much. It’s pretty, sparkly eye shadow in colours for kids- pink and purple and green and yellow and blue. It washes out and off of everything- including faces- really easily. And as you can clearly see from the beautiful job the Bump has done on herself, she can even get it all over her eyelashes, and eyeballs themselves, without it being itchy or irritating.
As well as that, Pure Poppet has other products that make make-up something kids can actually play with. They have perfume that’s just lavender oil and water. They have bright, colourful play crayons to use with stencils. And they have water based nail polish that washes out of and off everything. It’s completely non-toxic and kid friendly. The nail polish comes in pink and purple and is another one of the Bump’s favourite.
As I said, I genuinely love this brand because it’s just a brilliant idea. It lets kids play tactical dress ups and be like adults, without the huge mess and nasty chemical stuff.
Last time I wrote about Pure Poppet, I had to take one jellybean off their almost perfect score for the price of the product. This time round, I’m giving it back. The range of products is now much bigger and sold in different sets which are much more affordable. And, given the hours of play we’ve had with our Pure Poppet stuff over the eighteen months, it’s totally worth the money.
So that a big five out five jellybeans for Pure Poppet. For being the most awesome just-for-fun kids product out there.
***
While we’re on being awesome, I’ve got a $100 Pure Poppet gift voucher to be won. Just fill in the form below and answer the question- What’s messy, but fun? You’ve got until midnight Sunday 27th of October to enter.
The winner will be whichever answer I decide I like best, for whatever reason, at the time. The winner will be contacted by email and has 72 hours with which to respond. This one’s open to Australian residents only. My decision is the final word and no bitching, whinging, nor compromising shall be entered into.
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October 22, 2013 at 6:29 am Three daughters I have, aged 9, 6 and 3
And we love doing a thing that’s fun but messy
The girls step into “Mummy’s Salon” one by one
Where they each get their hair and nails done!
The hairtsyles are messy, mucked-up, not neat
But the girls always offer compliments that are sweet
Then I paint their nails in a range of hues
Pinks, and greens, and sparkly blues!
Of course they forget to keep still so it dries
And we end up with polish everywhere..not wise!!! 
October 22, 2013 at 3:57 am What’s messy, but fun?
Parenting, hands down. Not only physically messy, but emotionally messy as well. Who knows what the hell I’m creating here in the end, but they love me and I love the shit out of them so when you give it a very simplistic sort of summary… it’s fun. Messy, but fun. Except when it’s not.
October 21, 2013 at 4:21 pm Oooh looks like loads of fun! My 3-year-old regularly tries to copy me by applying glittery eye shadow and now her baby bro likes to copy her copying me. Sooo cute! Love messy fun with the kids
October 19, 2013 at 3:30 pm I entered the contest, but only for fun Lori *smile*. If I’d had this makeup at the Lions Den Hotel in Far North Queensland last NYE, it would have been awesome (Punk night). This years is going to be Gangster night. Oh, NYE? Well, big nights on New Years Eve are messy, but fun
Griff recently posted…Trippin’ Around – Part Three of some…
October 18, 2013 at 11:41 pm Gardening with my son! Pulling out weeds, planting seeds and using watering cans. I love gardening together and it is fun, but can get very messy!
October 17, 2013 at 11:30 pm Not entering, but have the best messy activity EVER. EVER. EVER. Will make rainy days go fast.
Pudding painting. You know, the little lunchbox cups of pudding? Take a cup of pudding, a big sheet of paper and finger paint. Made a mess? Lick it up. Pudding is best because it’s not exactly dairy, and real yoghurt would be stinky very quickly. Also, pudding dries and can go on the fridge to show off.
Never tried it with tubs of apple sauce but that might work too.
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Lucy here, from Diminishing Lucy. Hello.
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September 8, 2010 at 8:12 am Just beautiful Luce. Thanks so much for this post, I loved it.
September 7, 2010 at 8:12 pm It's a gorgeous piece of knick-knackery. I love the feel of soapstone. I have a few dust catchers, but earlier this year I had a huge decluttering month, where I took trolley loads of stuff to op shops that already had shelves groaning under the weight of similar objects. I don't yet have empty surfaces, but what I do have is photos mostly, so that's okay. I think it's lovely the way that statue helped to bring you your family.
September 7, 2010 at 7:35 pm What a lovely story! I am also not of the nick nac breed but I have 2 chimeras figurines from my grandma before she passed. They are god ugly but I used to play with them whenever I was at my grandmas. It's a nice reminder of how awesome she was. Like who would let a toddler prance around the house with porcelain?
September 7, 2010 at 2:50 pm Tis a lovely, lovely story Miss Lucy.
My Aunty sent me this god awful rooster but you know what, it takes pride of place on my kitchen ledge because she loves it and wanted me to have good luck. And even though it looks at me with it's beady eye, I still lub him.
Thaks Lori for hosting the wonderful Lucy xx
September 7, 2010 at 2:37 pm gorgeous some clutter is good for the soul
September 7, 2010 at 12:59 pm Such a beautiful piece, both the sculpture and the post.
September 7, 2010 at 11:42 am What a lovely story! I grew up in a house full of Toby Jugs. I'm done with clutter of the ornamental kind.
September 7, 2010 at 11:23 am What a beautiful, thoughtful gift. Your post has made me cry buckets, might have to get onto some actual WORK to stem the tide, but thankyou for posting
September 7, 2010 at 10:54 am What a lovely sentiment! You chose a good one Lucy! xo
September 7, 2010 at 10:17 am Lovely post, Lucy. I embrace the power of art and the comfort of asthetics. I love my 'clutter' but I'm very selective (my mum was also a collector…)
You husband's gift was so thoughtful. It speaks volumes of good stuff about him. x
September 7, 2010 at 8:24 am It was almost like a visual piece that helped you create what happened! Does that make sense? Great story, and beautiful sculpture.
September 7, 2010 at 7:33 am Gorgeous Lucy – the " dust collector " and your post…
September 7, 2010 at 7:10 am Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful. I love the way you learned how an inanimate object of "knick knackery" can represent hope and the fulfillment of your dreams. You now have a family heirloom that can be passed down through the generations. Make sure you save this story so it can be passed down too. Really just beautiful. xx
September 7, 2010 at 1:05 pm What a beautiful story!
September 7, 2010 at 8:31 am Just lovely Lucy!
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If it wasn’t so sad, it would almost be funny.
A blog, all decorated in jellybeans, that began as a somewhere to write about nothing much at all has become a colourful testament to something completely different.
Back when my life was somewhat more normal than it is now, I blogged about living with depression, and the torture of postnatal (postpartum) depression in particular.Then, in January 2011, my much loved husband suffered a violent psychosis and took his own life, by hanging, in front of me.
If you really want to read the whole story… strap in, and start with this post. Then just keep clicking ‘Next Post’, right down the bottom of the page, until things start to look normal again… it may take a while.
***
I’ve blogged, in detail and to much criticism, about the afternoon my husband hung himself, his time in the ICU, and the horrible balance between sane men and violent suicide that seems to float unseen and unspoken about.
If you want to know why I blogged all those things… I guess this post explains it best. And if you’re wondering how I’m allowed to write all this given the mental health guidelines in the Australian media, I’ve discussed that one with MindFrame, and blogged about that, too.
I blogged the speech I made at my husbands funeral. If you read nothing else here…. read that.
I write a lot about post traumatic stress disorder and grief. I’ve blogged about workplace bullying in the Australian Public Service and I’ve chronicled my own experience with our mental health crisis system.
If you- like me- happen to suffer from debilitating, painful anxiety and panic attacks, please read this post. I wrote it for you.
And if you’ve ever had the thought “People would be better off without me”, you need to read this… I can prove you wrong.
Like this place, or hate it, I’m not really fussed. Take what you will from it, what’s helpful and what’s not.
I’m certainly no expert, and I don’t have all the answers. In fact, I don’t have any of the answers. If I did, my husband might still be here.
But read, if you like. It’s my truth, and I’m not ashamed of it, or afraid to share it.
Take what I said, in my speech at Tony’s funeral. Please. Read it, and take it to heart.
Us people, we talk so much about nothing. There is too much silence surrounding mental illness in the world.
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May 10, 2013 at 12:56 pm Lori,
I’ve only recently discovered your site and am blown away. I’ve had some big knocks too in life but as I’m sure you know, experience is all relative.
I just read a comment from a woman who was ready to end her life until she read something you had written. Now that’s a job well done, Lori. You inspire me.
Also. you might not relate to this but I note how many people call you ‘strong’. I get that a lot as well. But I find the term ‘strong’, I don’t know how to describe it really, I’m sure you can do a better job, what is the word, separating? It makes me feel alone. Because what choice is there? There isn’t one. You do what you have to do.
Keep on keeping on. You are a star.
December 19, 2012 at 1:40 pm I can't even begin to imagine how horrifying and traumatic that must have been. If that happened to me, I'd still be on sessions at the therapy clapham clinic right now.
August 21, 2012 at 3:48 am I don't know what to say. I just found this blog and I am so deeply touched. I keep writing and re-writing this comment because… because there are no words. You are incredible. You are so strong. Thank you
July 12, 2012 at 3:23 pm Dear Lori,
I hardly know you – though know of your heart breaking situation through this site – fairly soon after you set up this page.
I have always wanted to write to you to express support and thanks for your bravery.. but always felt daunted that the depth of my appreciation just wouldn't come through..
– but today I'm giving it a go.
I deeply admire, respect and love you.
You are truly AMAZING.
Yesss…you'll say you have your have flaws… yes..(we all do)..but nevertheless
you are TRULY INCREDIBLE
AND SO BRAVE
What you're doing is transforming one of the most horrific situations that can occur, into an amazingly positive, powerful and important catalyst for personal and societal healing.
You inspire me so much, because I've experienced a lifetime of repeated trauma and I'm only alive by force of will, anti-depressants, and the assistance of 3 Archangels (24/7)…
I have been shunned by my family, mistreated by supposed health professionals.. and my trauma and abuse has been minimised, or denied..
In 2009 I nearly died… was rushed to hospital in an ambulance, 2 days later discharged from an ER – even though I could hardly stand upright, let alone walk (from self harm) – and the Mental Health Crisis Worker had been in tears (from hearing a fraction of my abuse).
My mother picked me up from the ER, took me to my flat.. hardly said a word in the car, and didn't contact me for more than 2 months afterwards…
Never has anyone effectively followed up…
What society/people need to understand, is that SILENCE KILLS
(.. that you even got angrliy told to not write on this blog – your feelings and what happened – is proof !)
Since 2009, I've been learning how to ensure that I'm never again at risk of dying.
I have become my own best friend, my own advocate, and the partnership and solidarity I have formed with myself, and for myself, has meant that I'm able to be alive and feel safe because I have promised to take care of 'me'. Therefore whether anyone else does or doesn't love or care for me -I'll be alright anyway.
Achieving this is a daily process, and involves lots of question and answer with myself.
It's sort of like an 'inner marriage'. (I'm single and live alone).
Since that brush with death, I've adopted the policy of "self care, self love, self respect".
Slowly,(through self care), I've gained health and stability, and now I can try to make a difference to those who suffer..to help where I can.
I know I am not alone in my pain –
…the pervasive silence in our society is despicable, pathetic and dangerous… and you experienced the full force of the denial in the most shocking, horrific way possible…
Dear Lori, what you do, who YOU are.. is a force for Goodness, and Healing… beyond my ability to put into words.
Saying "Thank You." isn't enough…
Much Love to you and yours <3
Mel Insky
April 16, 2012 at 5:34 pm Keep talking…it's the best cure all.
I'm so tired of mental illness being seen as anything other than an illness.
We are not nut cases, retards, it's not that we can't cope with life, we're just wired differently.
Thanks to the doctors who helped me get what I need and my happy pills. I'm on them for life…and for "life".
March 22, 2012 at 6:26 pm I have just found your blog today and have spent the afternoon reading your story…the Ugly, Speak, Solitude, Soul Cancer among others. I'm so sorry for your loss.
Having just been diagnosed as one of the 1 in 3 people who suffer from a depressive disorder, I am beginning to really understand the stigma attached to mental illness, and the lack of knowledge and understanding about it, and the lack of people that are comfortable speaking about it. It makes it an incredibly isolating disease. And, it shouldn't be that way.
I'm one of the lucky ones (although some days it doesn't feel that way)…I spoke out and I am getting help. But, until two months ago, I never knew Lifeline's number existed…why is it only advertised in doctor's surgeries? Little things like that need to change.
You write so powerfully, with honesty and courage. Thank you so much for sharing and speaking out. You're making a difference.
March 4, 2012 at 1:52 pm Lori I've followed your for nearly 2 years n ow and I found myself coming back to this page about a week ago. It will be two weeks tomorrow since my mum took her life and I keep coming back to your blog and reading your posts of the after, and in a strange way it's making me feel like I'm less alone.
Thank you for blogging about this taboo subject there needs to be more resources out there for people like us that have lost parents or partners to suicide.
thank you,
Kobi
September 5, 2011 at 2:30 pm Just another reader coming over from The Age.
My own story is both similar and different to yours. I too, was on the receiving end of a man who seemed to have lost it. An ex-lover, over for dinner and our evening turned from companionable to violent before I knew what was happening.
Only in my case, he didn't kill himself. Instead I was left with PTSD and depression and my own desire for suicide.
Nearly six years later, I'm finally regaining my balance in a very sure-footed way.
I know you can make it through, as horrible as everything has been. Stay true to yourself and your instincts and I know you'll make it.
It just takes time and utter stubbornness, is all.
I'm so sorry for your loss, the trauma and the current upside-down-ness of your life. *hugs*
September 4, 2011 at 4:51 pm Hi Lori, I am nearly finished my social work degree and did my first placement in mental health. I also began to question if I should have done nursing instead of SW. however, time will tell. I plan to work in mental health or age care where i am curently working as a personal care worker. At 50 I think I just want to make an impact on sufferers and help with the recoverly process. You should write a book on your experiences as there is only one other done my a Ballarat women. This would help destigmatise hidden mental illness and suicide in our society
May 21, 2011 at 10:56 am This comment has been removed by the author.
April 14, 2011 at 2:39 pm Your writing is a great big middle finger to depression in general, and the silent stigma surrounding it specifically. You. are. awesome. Lots of love from Minnesota.
Like trillions of people around the world (a rough estimate), I'm one of those people that suffer from "something". Some days, it's nothing, some days it's a real shit show. I know everything you're writing about, and can't even pretend to understand any of it. I'm looking forward to following.
April 6, 2011 at 8:36 pm You're fucking awesome. And I don't say that very often.
March 17, 2011 at 1:03 pm You are so brave, I cannot even begin to imagine how challenging life can be for you. Well done for speaking out about mental illness and being so open. I'm not sure words are enough but I wish you happiness and peace.
March 13, 2011 at 1:36 am Love your honesty. Hang in there.
March 10, 2011 at 1:09 am Hi Lori,
I am one of those that you inspired to speak. To stop and realize that actually, I was not okay, but that I did not have to be alone…and that death was not the answer.
I am truly sorry for your tragedy and wish that you did not have to go through the pain that you are experiencing right now.
But I am also grateful to you…you saved my life, literally (specifically that Ugly post)…the day I read it (fortuitously) I was seriously considering ending my life…so thank you.
Thank you and I wish you strength.
March 9, 2011 at 8:50 pm I'd rather talk and read about this than about anything else. We seem to be living in denial about this stuff. Until a tragedy….
March 9, 2011 at 1:35 pm To have experienced all you have in these few short months and still be thinking of others astounds me. You are truly a wonderful and inspiring person x
March 9, 2011 at 10:34 am I believe that we can stop the stigma surrounding mental illness by talking about it. Talking about the fear, secrecy, shame, and even the absurdity of having depression, bipolar, and schizophrenia. I have never commented on one of your blog posts before, but I want to sincerely thank you Lori for your bravery. You are so open and honest about your struggles and it is refreshing to bear witness to what you are going through. Please continue speaking out and telling people about your first handle experiences with mental illness. You are extraordinary and I have tremendous gratitude to you, your friends, and your family for making a space to continue the discussion on our mental health.
March 9, 2011 at 10:27 am You are an amazing advocate of mental health and its secrecy. I have been treated for severe depression since my 7 year old was newborn! Lots of shit went on and it seems I will forever take my little happy pills. But thats ok – cause they keep me from losing the plot!
But there are many members of my immediate family who dont agree that mental health issues exist, so mostly I live , as you say, in silence!
You rock Lori, please keep your posts raw! I for one can relate to alot of what you say!
March 9, 2011 at 12:01 pm I never spoke to my husband about real stuff like this till January, you know the day….
Up till then i just took for granted our happiness…
Now i am more alert, i watch for signs, i ask and ask till he will speak…
Ive told you before and I'll say it again, No one who knows you and cares for you will go on with life in quite the same way…
March 9, 2011 at 10:41 am Lori, I have no doubt in my mind that you've saved my life. In some way, shape, or form. Saved my husband and children from going through that hell, saved me from making that… mistake.
I have bi polar II, and I'm sure your aware of the impact that has had on my family over the years. I've never REALLY thought about the impact it would have on my family, if I was to take my life, not to that extent or detail. It needed to be said.
I know it's cold comfort for yourself, but I will never forget you, or Tony, not ever. xxxx
Assume the fetal position.
We are safe here, for now. We feel safe.
My house is warm and small and neat and comfortable. My washing dries in the wind and sun. Potted colour blooms in my garden.
Cakes cook. I sleep, deeply, and my dreams are harmless. I have support, enough (it’s never enough…), just enough to get by.
And I am scared. And that’s OK.
Because I’ve run, and I’ve run, for months now. I’ve been so strong and brave. Now the bits are in place enough, just enough, for me to assume the fetal position.
My soul is so exhausted. It just needs to rest for a while, now we’re safe.
So things are terrifying. Taking my children to swimming lessons, new people, a new place? It makes me sick to my stomach with terror. Visiting the post office is an exercise in self esteem, in being strong,in keeping a stiff upper lip, when their is a three year old throwing one of his irrepressible tantrums.
The thought of making friends down here, of making small talk… it’s simply too frightening to comprehend.
I hate it. I miss the Lori that was so social. But I just cannot form connections, form friendships and play social niceties with people right now.
It’s just too damn difficult.
And I don’t think it matters. I’m doing any damage. If this is how I need to heal.. then, I guess, so be it.
Ugh…. Blogger is playing up. Comments not working. No fun at all. Sorry about that, jellybeans, it should be back to normal soon.
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{ 2 comments… read them below or add one }
June 4, 2011 at 4:49 am Lori, you have come SO fricking far in just five months; you'll get this in time too. I know, you've probably heard the word 'time' about three-thousand-and-eleventy-one times by now, sorry.
Hells, it's scary enough doing that whole new social scene crap anyway, without a mahoosive trauma in your life. I suck at it. At least, I think I do. And yet others think I'm confident and find it easy. Sometimes I think we never stop playing pretend, like nervous little kids in a new playground
Sophie xxx
June 1, 2011 at 3:01 pm Give. It. Time. xx
Previous post: I Don’t Want To Die, But…
Next post: Noose Therapy
We have been in the TinyTrainHouse almost a year.
My daughter turns three next month.
My baby boy, my son... he starts school next year.
I will be thirty one years old soon.
The winds here in the Highlands are changing, temperature beginning to creep away from frigid winter.
I have been in a state of perpetual upheaval since Tony died, and that was nineteen months ago. I’ve always felt slightly removed from it, so disconnected it was like watching a rerun of a movie you’ve seen a dozen times while you surf the net on a Friday night.
I’m not going to lie to you all and say I’m completely plugged in… I’m not, and if you read my blog a lot, you probably know that. But for the first time in such a long time– not even since Tony died, but since a few months before that– I feel as though I have some element of influence and intuition over what’s happening. I’m a part of this shift, if I allow myself to be. If I stay switched on, exhausting as it may be, I can see this one through and at least feel as though I’m molding myself with it, changing as I go.
Rather than feeling as though I suddenly glanced up from that random Friday night web page I was reading to discover the movie I thought I knew by heart has been seeded with strange new twists and sub–plots that don’t make any sense….
Instead of feeling as though I’ve been spat out of the centrifuge, while everyone else gets to settle in around me.
My aunt and godmother has lost both her sons (one was murdered and one died from suicide). She said its like the fabric of her life is made up of things she has been through – good and bad. She has had to weave in the black bits and incorporate them into who she is. She found it helped her to think of that weaving process, because her first instinct was to want to cut out and throw away the painful bits. Accepting the impossibility of that was her first step in accepting the different (wiser, sadder, hurt) version of herself.
Fi.
Taken from an email from a RRSAHM reader… and it resonated. Thanks Fi.
It’s taken me until to begin to assimilate everything that’s happened into the Lori I was Before.
Its not just the fact that he died. It’s the way it happened. It’s that I was there. It’s what he said in those last few minutes.
It’s the up and down of the ICU. Lasting three ungodly months in the House That Was No Longer Purple. Packing up my kids and my life and moving it all back to the place where I began, then shriveling with loneliness and doing it all in reverse.
It’s losing friends and finding new ones. Losing my children for a bit, and finding them too.
It’s been the strangest anomaly. I stopped waiting for life to ‘go back’ to normal months ago. I was waiting for a new kind of normal to come along… when we’re already living it.
I’ve spent so much time– right from the beginning of the After, from the moment the sky fell down– struggling against it, fighting every piece of it so as to internalize none of it. An unaskable task. An impossible battle.
I’ve been working so diligently toward what I thought was the most acceptable outcome here– to go back to ‘normal’ Lori. People began asking for her return just weeks after Tony died.
She’s never coming back…. because she hasn’t gone anywhere.
I’ve been attempting to be the same person I was in the Before. To be Lori in spite of what happened. It occurred to me just recently– and I don’t now why it’s taken so long, either– that it’s OK to be Lori because of what happened. It’s impossible not to be. Every event in your life alters you… the ramifications of this on the person I am, on what I think and feel and believe, are huge.
They’re also permanent. If I’m ever going to feel any kind of real again, I need to take these things– the events, the fall out, the trauma and everything that has followed– and make them mine.
I’ve done very little perfectly. But I’m still here. Some days I feel as though I am the brave warrior women some of you think I am. And some days I am brave, heart thumping with adrenaline as I look over the battlefield I’ve made it through. I’m bloodied and bruised and exhausted… but I’m standing.
And ‘some days’ are enough.
I will not let this become all of me, swallow me whole the way it’s been trying to since it happened.. But it will always be part of who I am. To quote the Bloggess, right back at the beginning of the After…
It’s part of me. Not all of me.
August in Sydney bring springtime. And with it come the winds, gale force and freezing, blowing away the skeletons of winter debris. Stripping rotted growth from its holds and allowing sunshine to reach the soil.
It’s time to garden again.
The weather, it’s getting warmer. And this year, we will have a summer.
I’m almost sure of it.
Leave a Comment
{ 12 comments… read them below or add one }
October 25, 2012 at 7:18 am Your courage, your honesty, your integrity, the fact that in spite of everything you still spill your heart into your keyboard and press publish. And that when you do the beauty of your words writes on the soul. Mirtazapine 30mg
August 24, 2012 at 8:28 am Hi Lori,
found you through "the bloggess" this week and just wanted to send some love from the UK.
August 22, 2012 at 5:42 am I have been following you for a while, I think probably since around the time that Tony died. This is the most lovely thing I have read, it moved me greatly. I don't really know what to say – well done seems like a platitude – I guess I want to take you for a new tat & then some cocktails. You are doing good. The new normal is good.
August 22, 2012 at 1:21 am This is truly beautiful, Lori. I can see the arc of your healing through your posts these past 19 months. I felt this one in my soul, because I understand it, because it resonates with me and what I've gone (am continuing to go) through. I've lost people I thought were good friends and there is no why, at least no communication with me as to why. Just gone. I know I am not who I used to be. I know I will never be. But I trust I will be a better version of who I used to be, once the darkness lifts. I see that in you, too. You have walked through the fire and it has honed your spirit. You have emerged transformed. x
August 21, 2012 at 9:34 pm Beautiful, Lori. Just beautiful.
August 21, 2012 at 7:23 pm Oh Lori.
I honestly believe that you are one of the most extraordinary and special people it has ever been my privilege to meet. I always thought that you were cool and had a twitter-crush on you even in the Before. But now, you are transformed. I am sure you don't see it, but you are truly amazing.
Your courage, your honesty, your integrity, the fact that in spite of everything you still spill your heart into your keyboard and press publish. And that when you do the beauty of your words writes on the soul.
This has made you something, someone else. When I try to explain this transformation, what you have become, words truly fail me. A goddess sounds melodramatic, but there is truth in it. An angel sounds lame and airy fairy. An angel of darkness, if I can mean that in a truly rockstar kind of way, maybe goes some way to explaining.
One day I hope you will see the incredible person in the mirror that I see when I come here, or visit you in TinyTrainTown. I really wish that for you.
Love always Pix xoxox
August 21, 2012 at 6:35 pm Just because you've seen ugly things, lived ugly events, it doesn't mean that you are ugly.
I definitely agree with Fi that it's a new part of you that instead of cuting it away it gets woven in with the you that already existed. In the end you're still Lori even if you completely changed who you were because we as humans evolve and change all the time. Sometimes by choice, sometimes not.
August 21, 2012 at 5:44 pm I hope the sun shines for you this spring…
August 21, 2012 at 4:13 pm I can't believe you are only 30! Such a wise head on those shoulders. I thought you were older than that by your writing. I'm 31 but feel I still write like a silly teen
August 21, 2012 at 11:49 am >>>I've done very little perfectly. But I'm still here< <<<
Sometimes that is all we can say.
No-one has done everything perfectly, actually if you think about it seriously – no-one has done anything perfectly.
>>I was waiting for a new kind of normal to come along… when we're already living it.< <
It came as a shock to me too, when I was mourning everything that had changed in my life, and waiting for the old normal to come back, then realising that Im already in the new normal, not better – just different….. a new me, a new life, a new normal…..
Hugs
August 21, 2012 at 9:41 am To be you, is divine. You can be whoever you want to be, the before, the after, the NOW I love who you are. Your expressive self. Your depressive self. Your wonderful self. You are you – and that should be enough for everyone, including you. Embrace who you are, and where you have been, and worry about the now, less than the future. It'll all come together the way it is meant to… <3
August 21, 2012 at 8:56 am Someone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness. It took me years to understand that this too, was a gift
Mary Oliver
Previous post: Some Kind Of Tiny, Sacred Space For Me.
Next post: A Place To Be Heard.
We have been in the TinyTrainHouse almost a year.
My daughter turns three next month.
My baby boy, my son... he starts school next year.
I will be thirty one years old soon.
The winds here in the Highlands are changing, temperature beginning to creep away from frigid winter.
I have been in a state of perpetual upheaval since Tony died, and that was nineteen months ago. I’ve always felt slightly removed from it, so disconnected it was like watching a rerun of a movie you’ve seen a dozen times while you surf the net on a Friday night.
I’m not going to lie to you all and say I’m completely plugged in… I’m not, and if you read my blog a lot, you probably know that. But for the first time in such a long time– not even since Tony died, but since a few months before that– I feel as though I have some element of influence and intuition over what’s happening. I’m a part of this shift, if I allow myself to be. If I stay switched on, exhausting as it may be, I can see this one through and at least feel as though I’m molding myself with it, changing as I go.
Rather than feeling as though I suddenly glanced up from that random Friday night web page I was reading to discover the movie I thought I knew by heart has been seeded with strange new twists and sub–plots that don’t make any sense….
Instead of feeling as though I’ve been spat out of the centrifuge, while everyone else gets to settle in around me.
My aunt and godmother has lost both her sons (one was murdered and one died from suicide). She said its like the fabric of her life is made up of things she has been through – good and bad. She has had to weave in the black bits and incorporate them into who she is. She found it helped her to think of that weaving process, because her first instinct was to want to cut out and throw away the painful bits. Accepting the impossibility of that was her first step in accepting the different (wiser, sadder, hurt) version of herself.
Fi.
Taken from an email from a RRSAHM reader… and it resonated. Thanks Fi.
It’s taken me until to begin to assimilate everything that’s happened into the Lori I was Before.
Its not just the fact that he died. It’s the way it happened. It’s that I was there. It’s what he said in those last few minutes.
It’s the up and down of the ICU. Lasting three ungodly months in the House That Was No Longer Purple. Packing up my kids and my life and moving it all back to the place where I began, then shriveling with loneliness and doing it all in reverse.
It’s losing friends and finding new ones. Losing my children for a bit, and finding them too.
It’s been the strangest anomaly. I stopped waiting for life to ‘go back’ to normal months ago. I was waiting for a new kind of normal to come along… when we’re already living it.
I’ve spent so much time– right from the beginning of the After, from the moment the sky fell down– struggling against it, fighting every piece of it so as to internalize none of it. An unaskable task. An impossible battle.
I’ve been working so diligently toward what I thought was the most acceptable outcome here– to go back to ‘normal’ Lori. People began asking for her return just weeks after Tony died.
She’s never coming back…. because she hasn’t gone anywhere.
I’ve been attempting to be the same person I was in the Before. To be Lori in spite of what happened. It occurred to me just recently– and I don’t now why it’s taken so long, either– that it’s OK to be Lori because of what happened. It’s impossible not to be. Every event in your life alters you… the ramifications of this on the person I am, on what I think and feel and believe, are huge.
They’re also permanent. If I’m ever going to feel any kind of real again, I need to take these things– the events, the fall out, the trauma and everything that has followed– and make them mine.
I’ve done very little perfectly. But I’m still here. Some days I feel as though I am the brave warrior women some of you think I am. And some days I am brave, heart thumping with adrenaline as I look over the battlefield I’ve made it through. I’m bloodied and bruised and exhausted… but I’m standing.
And ‘some days’ are enough.
I will not let this become all of me, swallow me whole the way it’s been trying to since it happened.. But it will always be part of who I am. To quote the Bloggess, right back at the beginning of the After…
It’s part of me. Not all of me.
August in Sydney bring springtime. And with it come the winds, gale force and freezing, blowing away the skeletons of winter debris. Stripping rotted growth from its holds and allowing sunshine to reach the soil.
It’s time to garden again.
The weather, it’s getting warmer. And this year, we will have a summer.
I’m almost sure of it.
Leave a Comment
{ 12 comments… read them below or add one }
October 25, 2012 at 7:18 am Your courage, your honesty, your integrity, the fact that in spite of everything you still spill your heart into your keyboard and press publish. And that when you do the beauty of your words writes on the soul. Mirtazapine 30mg
August 24, 2012 at 8:28 am Hi Lori,
found you through "the bloggess" this week and just wanted to send some love from the UK.
August 22, 2012 at 5:42 am I have been following you for a while, I think probably since around the time that Tony died. This is the most lovely thing I have read, it moved me greatly. I don't really know what to say – well done seems like a platitude – I guess I want to take you for a new tat & then some cocktails. You are doing good. The new normal is good.
August 22, 2012 at 1:21 am This is truly beautiful, Lori. I can see the arc of your healing through your posts these past 19 months. I felt this one in my soul, because I understand it, because it resonates with me and what I've gone (am continuing to go) through. I've lost people I thought were good friends and there is no why, at least no communication with me as to why. Just gone. I know I am not who I used to be. I know I will never be. But I trust I will be a better version of who I used to be, once the darkness lifts. I see that in you, too. You have walked through the fire and it has honed your spirit. You have emerged transformed. x
August 21, 2012 at 9:34 pm Beautiful, Lori. Just beautiful.
August 21, 2012 at 7:23 pm Oh Lori.
I honestly believe that you are one of the most extraordinary and special people it has ever been my privilege to meet. I always thought that you were cool and had a twitter-crush on you even in the Before. But now, you are transformed. I am sure you don't see it, but you are truly amazing.
Your courage, your honesty, your integrity, the fact that in spite of everything you still spill your heart into your keyboard and press publish. And that when you do the beauty of your words writes on the soul.
This has made you something, someone else. When I try to explain this transformation, what you have become, words truly fail me. A goddess sounds melodramatic, but there is truth in it. An angel sounds lame and airy fairy. An angel of darkness, if I can mean that in a truly rockstar kind of way, maybe goes some way to explaining.
One day I hope you will see the incredible person in the mirror that I see when I come here, or visit you in TinyTrainTown. I really wish that for you.
Love always Pix xoxox
August 21, 2012 at 6:35 pm Just because you've seen ugly things, lived ugly events, it doesn't mean that you are ugly.
I definitely agree with Fi that it's a new part of you that instead of cuting it away it gets woven in with the you that already existed. In the end you're still Lori even if you completely changed who you were because we as humans evolve and change all the time. Sometimes by choice, sometimes not.
August 21, 2012 at 5:44 pm I hope the sun shines for you this spring…
August 21, 2012 at 4:13 pm I can't believe you are only 30! Such a wise head on those shoulders. I thought you were older than that by your writing. I'm 31 but feel I still write like a silly teen
August 21, 2012 at 11:49 am >>>I've done very little perfectly. But I'm still here< <<<
Sometimes that is all we can say.
No-one has done everything perfectly, actually if you think about it seriously – no-one has done anything perfectly.
>>I was waiting for a new kind of normal to come along… when we're already living it.< <
It came as a shock to me too, when I was mourning everything that had changed in my life, and waiting for the old normal to come back, then realising that Im already in the new normal, not better – just different….. a new me, a new life, a new normal…..
Hugs
August 21, 2012 at 9:41 am To be you, is divine. You can be whoever you want to be, the before, the after, the NOW I love who you are. Your expressive self. Your depressive self. Your wonderful self. You are you – and that should be enough for everyone, including you. Embrace who you are, and where you have been, and worry about the now, less than the future. It'll all come together the way it is meant to… <3
August 21, 2012 at 8:56 am Someone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness. It took me years to understand that this too, was a gift
Mary Oliver
Previous post: Some Kind Of Tiny, Sacred Space For Me.
Next post: A Place To Be Heard.
The short answer is- no.
Life is unfair. And bad things happen to good people, all the time.
Being brave doesn’t guarantee you’ll be rewarded in any way. It just means you feel better about yourself. You can say, ‘I’ve been brave’. ‘I’ve been strong.’ And that is the coldest, most horrible blessed relief.
Life is patently unfair. Babies die, husbands die, whole families starve. And, as they say, even worse things happen at sea.
Life sucks.And then you die too.
Leave a Comment
{ 19 comments… read them below or add one }
March 10, 2012 at 4:20 pm Don't ever feel bad for writing about grief. Like you said, this is your heart and soul, and this is your place to write about whatever you want.
Ernest Hemingway said, "There's nothing to writing. Just sit down at the typewriter and bleed."
This is your place to bleed. Scream, cry, type the F word repeatedly if it helps. Writing is an amazing outlet. Bleed it out. I know I speak for others who are here when I say that you have many great people here supporting you and they love you no matter how sad or angry, no matter if you're having a bad day, we all love you no matter what.
February 29, 2012 at 6:37 am You have been extraordinarily brave Lori.
There is no self indulgence in grief. You don't get better, get over it or get through it, you can only learn to live with it. Until society accepts that, the pressure to not talk, not share your pain will continue. Be proud of how brave you are in sharing, how brave you are in saying stuff you society it hurts, it still hurts.
It's only been just over a year Lori, be gentle on yourself x
February 29, 2012 at 1:56 am Very brave little one. Hugs x.
February 28, 2012 at 11:54 pm +1 to what's already been said, I loved your recent blog where you were so relieved that someone had found your site 'and not known'. After a year of bad days, the good days should be appreciated but the bad days will still hurt and perhaps feel worse because it isn't fair, there should be some quiet time for you. But you are healing and you are doing SO well and you should use this blog however the bleep you want to, like Ashley says allowing us to be part of your life as readers is a privilege not a right, we're not owed good days or bad days and you don't need anybody who is here for any other reason than because they find you awesome. Keep up the photo tours of the neighbourhood BTW (so long as you're not giving your address away!) you live in a magical place it looks like.
@yorkhannah
February 28, 2012 at 11:10 pm You grieve for as long as you have to. We'll be right here.
Lots of love.
February 28, 2012 at 9:27 pm Scream away, friend. And I totally agree with Rachel's wise and wonderful words!
February 28, 2012 at 6:47 pm you scream 'it hurts' as long and as loudly as you need Lori, we will be here to listen x
February 28, 2012 at 6:47 pm I think you are getting sent a few duds Lori, just so that when the Mr Good comes along he will really knock your sox off!(and by sox i mean panties,hehe)
This is your piece of space here! so you can talk about whatever you want for as long as you like, if you suddenly started loosing your followers by the hundreds, maybe think about it then
February 28, 2012 at 2:37 pm <3 Nothing but love to give you. Life is fucked up sometimes.
February 28, 2012 at 2:09 pm Oh, Lori. I agree with everyone above with regard to this being your space that you allow us to share. As you noted last week, your blog is not just about your grief. This space is not defined by grief and neither are you. That is the very reason you are vulnerable. Not because you survived the loss of your husband; really that's just timing. But you not only survived it, you have elected to keep living. Despite the pain, the fear, the inherent risk you have left yourself open to life and to people. The reality is, is that people we care about will hurt us – accidently, deliberately, because we witness their pain. We get hurt because we invest emotionally. No, life is not fair. It is brutal and painful and scary and glorious and wonderful and beautiful. "Truth is, everybody is going to hurt you; you just gotta find the ones worth suffering for." -Bob Marley
This guy wasn't the one. You are not your loss. It is part of you, and you are forever altered by it, but it does not define you. The right one will look at you and really, truly, see YOU – just see Lori. And that's who we see, too.
February 28, 2012 at 1:10 pm He was a bad egg :< But a good egg will come your way one day (and I'm not referring to Ethel and Lucy heh heh) xx
February 28, 2012 at 1:09 pm Why don't blogs have a like button? Too much Facebook in my time apparently, because I went to click like on Rachel's comment. She nailed it.
So my comment I guess really is – what she said!
February 28, 2012 at 12:39 pm Hi, Lori. I haven't commented in a long, long, LONG time, but I'm still reading every day. I know that "life sucks and then you die" feeling all too well. All I can tell you is that I for one will NEVER get sick of you saying "it hurts." Since that's your truth, you speak it and speak it as many times and as loudly as you need to. I think I speak for quite a few of your readers when I say that we're here to listen.
Thank you, by the way, for reminding me that we all have the strength to carry on, that we all have the ability to be brave. You remind me that if you can, I can, and I am unspeakably grateful for that. HUG!
Crystal
February 28, 2012 at 12:17 pm I agree with the others. This is your space to grieve, hurt, or feel any emotion you need to feel on whatever day of the week it may be. I don't think it matters to any of us how many times you say it hurts. If we weren't able to cope with hearing it, we'd simply choose not to read your blog. We just wouldn't concern ourselves with you, on good days or bad. Stick with the ones that do want to concern themselves with you, for the time being. Like Bunny.
February 28, 2012 at 11:08 am No time limit. It's painful to know that a "friend" is hurting but it's not tiring to hear the honest truth that it hurts to be you right now. Please don't feel you need to spare anyone the details. ((((hug)))))
February 28, 2012 at 10:11 am So when I was about twenty, I was unleashed on the world, wide-eyed, heart-bruised and searching for love. When I looked back at it, I could see what I was – aggressively vulnerable. I would seize hold of some bloke with a desperate need for them to take care of me, not to hurt me. Surely they could see how vulnerable I was? Surely they wouldn't hurt me? And you know something, they did. They didn't care about my hurt, my vulnerability, my need to be taken care of. They were as the old saying goes, young, dumb etc. they were usually drunk as well. Why I expected any depth or sensitivity from them bewilders me. But they weren't being malicious, they were just being selfish, young and the truth was they didn't really care about me, they were just looking for a good time, without complications. Whether they're 20 or 40, I think a lot of blokes really have all the emotional depth of Homer Simpson (with notable exceptions of course). They are not so much heartless as clueless. What does this mean for the tender-hearted? Unfortunately it means in my experience that the protection you would dearly love to be wrapped in has to come from within. Build the wall. The right man will crash through it, or use a teaspoon to excavate a way through. In the meantime, the shitheads will be stuck on the other side. I used to ask myself why I had to do this – and the answer was, because if I don't, I will be the one that gets hurt. Those that don't care, don't hurt. And the broken hearted care too much and are too delicate to be handled by the careless.
PS I agree that Bunny is the bomb. Every girl needs a friend like that.
February 28, 2012 at 9:49 am You scream out the pain as many times as you need to, Lori. This is your space, and viewing your life is like anonymous comments- A privelege not a right. We'll be here.
February 28, 2012 at 9:31 am Lori – you do what you do to get through this time. Tehre is no time limit on grief. I can't remember what I was watching, but they said that at first, it's an open cut that bleeds, then it scabs up. A hard shell that cracks so easily, the red stuff coming out again. Finally there's a scar that is there, ugly and shiny and red against the skin, part of you forever. Eventually the scar will fade, lose the raised edge, and become a memory. Until that time – and past that time – you do what you have to do. Limp. Put a bandaid on. Immobilise the limb – anything to stop it bleeding.
*hug* you are an amazing woman. And Bunny, he's a pretty amazing mate to have.
February 28, 2012 at 10:42 am Never sick of you, and I am sad you found a rotten apple.
Previous post: Repotted.
Next post: The Water, Part One.
This Mother’s Day giveaway happily brought to you by David Jones online store.
Mother’s Day in Australia is the second Sunday in May. It’s somewhat of a dividing issue, amongst the mums (and dads) that I know… how do you choose to spend your Mothers Day? Would you rather spend it with your kids; or take a day just for you and have some time out?
The thing about Mother’s Day when you have really little kids– and especially if you’re a single parent– is that you actually do most of the Mothers Day organizing for yourself. If you want a present, you buy your own. If you want breakfast in bed you may have to make it yourself; either way it’s unlikely to peaceful and you’ll find yourself sharing your sheets with toast crumbs, and your lukewarm cup of tea with your toddler.
Mothers Day is not a huge deal in our house. Mostly because it would require far too much effort from me to make it so. Although, with the Chop at school this year, I’m anticipating plenty of handmade cards and perhaps something extremely tasteful from the school Mother’s Day stall (if they still do that– do primary schools still do that? Anyone?)
In the Before, Mothers Day was a big deal, and I remember arguing with Tony over it– was going out to dinner with the extended family actually necessary, when all I really wanted was a few hours alone in my own house, with no urgent tasks that needed my attention to annoy me?
An
yway. When I was offered this post, I thought it would be a good chance to treat some of my readers who may not receive expensive dinners out, nor lavish breakfasts in bed. Because, while macaroni necklaces and cards painted with cut potato stencils are altogether lovely, all mums deserve something from the slightly more glamorous end of the Mothers Day gift range– some Aesop hand cream, perhaps. And a new manicure set to go with it (For all that free time you have to do your nails).
Whatever. If you’d like to win one of two $50 gift vouchers for David Jones online store, fill in the form below and tell me… What would you really like to do for yourself for Mothers Day, if the choice was all yours?
Competition closes midnight AEST Thursday 2nd May, 2013. Winners will be contacted by email soon after and have 48 hours to respond before their prize is redrawn. Australian residents only, sorry. Winning answers will be whichever ones I happen to be fondest of at the time of judging. My decision is final and no correspondence nor circle-jerking shall be entered into.
*In line with the new giveaway policy (ie– only doing giveaways if they’re awesome), I declare $50 DJ’s gift vouchers decidedly awesome. Please feel free to correct me if I’m wrong.
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When I said I was only doing cool giveaways from now on… this is one of those. Because, as we know- I love music. Music-ness brings happiness. Or something. And concerts are good for everything that ails you.
And sometimes awesome stuff shows up on my doorstep. Like this…
Why yes, those are bottles of juice that have been grown to the strains of different types of music. Check it out. We’ve got…
Blue Suede Juice– made with Elvis, Chuck Berry, Buddy Holly and all those groovers.
Baby I Was Grown This Way– serenaded by Lady Gaga, Madonna, Katy Perry and various other popettes.
And, my personal favorite– Tastes Like Teen Spirit. Influenced by the Seattle sounds– Pearl Jam, Nirvana, The Pixies and so on.
Why, you ask…? Well. They’re all Made By MOG, Telstra’s new music streaming service. There’s this theory that plants who are played music make better, tastier fruit, and therefore better, tastier juice.
I’m a big believer in all that hippy stuff, as we know. Music and moods make the world go round. Little thoughts can have big effects. There’s a whole school of thought and experimentation called ‘ecosonics’- music for your plants. Which ties in beautifully with the concept of ‘Noetics’ based on research that suggests that the collective thoughts of people actually produce enough physical energy to cause identifiable effects on their environment. They have online experiments you can participate in– its one of those things on my “I’m gonna do this, eventually” list.
The jury’s still out as to whether or not playing MOG music has had any effect on the taste of the juice itself. And I’ve even got control samples for this experiment– Cedar Creek Orchard, where the apples were serenaded, is an institution in TinyTrainTown. It’s just up the road. So close, in fact, I even got you a photo to prove it.
Anyway. Taste aside, the juice certainly looks happy. And that’s what counts. Although, having said that, free juice– and a $100 admin fee to write this post– certainly contributes to both musicality and happiness. Or… something.
In honour of music being awesome, I’ve got the following stuff to be won, just for you, my jellybeans…
Ten x 1 month MOG subscriptions.
One x $100 TicketMaster voucher.
To win, I want to know– if you could flavour a beverage with music, what music would you choose? What song, do you think, would taste good?
Go in the draw to win by filling in the form below- if you can’t see the form, click here. Answers that particularly tickle my pickle at the time of drawing the prizes win. Entries close midnight AEST on the 10th April, 2013. Winners will be contacted by email and have 48 hours to respond before their prize is redrawn. My decision is final and no bitching, whinging or circle-jerking shall be entered into.
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My children are fussy, finicky eaters. The Chop especially. He takes after me. The Bump has inherited her father’s appetite (”Can’t talk, eating…”), but has still been sadly influenced by me. Both my kids will pick and pull at food. They often demand nothing but garlic bread for dinner. On the rare occasion I do get them to the something new, they gag to the– point I’m almost positive it’s involuntary.
The anti–food phenomenon is absolutely my fault; and the requisite parental guilt is gutting and hollow and flagellating. I’d always naively assumed that the process of teaching my kids to eat healthy would be one of those things that just ’happened’, as if by some kind of magical intervention. I think things like that a lot. My own mother made parenting look so easy.
Actually, to be completely honest, I’d always assumed that The Chop and The Bump would pick up their dad’s relatively healthy taste for all manner of different foods. Had he stuck around for long enough, they might have.
But it didn’t quite work out that way and, after the sky fell in, so did my attempts at cooking. My little darlings have developed the eating habits of their mother. Very, very bad ones. Or, as I like to say, we are ’simple eaters with limited tastes’. Because that makes it sound so much better.
Like most kids, mine would both eat nothing but junk food, given half the chance (and let’s face it, so would I). In order to maintain some control over what we munch on, I’ve taken to trying not to fill the kitchen cupboards with junk food. If all they will snack on is yoghurt, fruit, sultanas, cheese and biscuits…. then that is all I will buy.
In theory, that works wonderfully.
In reality, it’s never that easy. Some days it feels as though the array of foods my children consider ’acceptable for digestion’ is shrinking and waning– they eat less and less. Each week they strike another foodstuff off the list with declarations of “I don’t like that!” and “Neither do I!!”
I get the feeling God is laughing me and my foolish best–of-plans intentions. Home made baby food. Carefully prepared toddler snacks. And two kids who, some days, seem to get all the nourishment they need from a packet of popcorn, an orange and a tub of yoghurt.
Somewhere along the line– a year or so ago, I do believe– I gave up on the dream and illusion that was raw, unprocessed foods, and started buying anything that looked even reasonably healthy and appealing, in order to get the little darlings to eat something– anything– other than milk arrowroot biscuits
Most attempts have been utter failures.
The Bump and I spent an inordinate amount of time playing with these. They look just like they’re having a conversation, do they not?!
And I actually thought that the SPC Fruit Crush–Ups thingies I had been sent to review would end up the same as most everything else I’ve tried– that is, relegated to the occasional parcels of untouched food that I pass on to friends whose children are less fussy than mine.
Initial trials showed the Fruit Crush–Ups to be unsuccessful, led in opinion by the Chop (the Bump, in general, defers to his decisions. As little sisters do). I’m not sure how this conclusion was reached. The packets are pretty. It’s one handed, which is important for busy kidlets. and there are six– six– different flavours to choose from. No child can be that fussy.
Except mine.
Numerous attempts to beg, bribe and coerce the children into just trying the bleeping things, please, resulted in… Failure. I froze them. I chilled them. I decanted them into glasses with straws and bowls with spoons. (All of that refer to the SPC’s, obviously, not the kids). I even put the strawberry over ice cream, for pity’s sake.
Fruit Crush-Ups over ice cream. Like au naturel strawberry topping!
No, nay, nuh–uh, no way. Ugh.
“Please? Try it? Just once?” I beg the Chop, “it’s for my blog.”
That results in a wary, slightly worried look. He knows that ’mum’s blog’ is where lots of cool things– like PS3′s, road trips and Skylanders eventuate from. “You will still have your blog but, if I don’t try it, right Mummy?”
“Yes.” I sigh, “of course. But really, you should try them. They’re yummy. They’ve been named Product of the Year!” I am clutching at straws here and he knows it.
“No. Thanks.” At least he’s polite.
Eventually, I resort to total subterfuge and stealthily pack the Fruit Crush–Ups into lunch bags, for big school and daycare, hoping to sneak them into my kids subconscious via peer pressure and distraction. Unfortunately, the Chop is far too old for this kind of disillusionment, and the Crush–Up returned untouched.
But the Bump… she’s still just a baby, bless her, and it’s far too easy to play with her mind sometimes. At the daycare teachers insistence that the Fruit Crush-Ups were, in fact, ’way cool!’, the Bump not only tried it, but loved it. And has polished off half a box of them since then.
Total success.
***
If you’d like to broaden your kids foodstuff intake and add an extra half piece of fruit to their day in a stealthy squeezie pack that can be frozen as an ice pack for lunchboxes (killing both the snack and potential food poisoning birds with one frozen stone!); I’ve got a whole terms worth of SPC Fruit Crush–Ups to give away– that’s eight of each six flavours, RRP $1.29 each, all to the one lucky winner. To be that winner, tell me in 25 words or less–ish; what is the ultimate subterfuge you have pulled on your kids, to get them to eat what they don’t want to?
This comp is open to Aussie residents only. It opens now and closes midnight 22nd March. The winning answer will be whatever tickles my pickle and makes me smile at the time of drawing. Winners must have a valid email address, and will be contacted soon after the competition closes. Winners have 48 hours to respond to the winning email or the comp may be redrawn. My desicion is final and no bitching, whinging or discussion will be entered into.
This post has been sponsored by the awesome people at SPC.
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