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Countdown To Borneo: 13 Days – RRSAHM

Countdown To Borneo: 13 Days

by Lori Dwyer on May 7, 2013 · 3 comments

Countdown to Borneo: 13 days to take off.

Anxiety Level: Moderate

Organisation Level: Moderate to High


I’m existing in a bubble of my own self-inflicted anxiety. The things I’ve been meaning to do before I left for Borneo are piling up, one atop another, in a heap marked ‘Later’. (Visiting both the shrink and the dentist, toilet training my daughter…. all the best of good intentions that can certainly wait).

I am going overseas for the first time (kind of) in less than two weeks. The days are toppling onto one another like a pile of dominoes. A clicking, sliding house of cards that disappears flat into itself with such startling rapidity you barely have time to catch your breath before the next rows fold into each other.

Don’t think about it, just do it. I’m terrified. But, if nothing else, I’m an expert at just putting one foot in front of the other. And that’s how I’m choosing to approach the next thirteen days. One thing at a time. One task at a time, as it becomes important. Try not to forget anything. Especially breathing, in and out, and reminding yourself you will be fine.

I’m in a good head-space for it. I know this feeling- it’s bizarrely nostalgic, reminiscent of a another time when I was so terrified all I could do was one moment at a time, one task as it became important. But this time around, it’s laced with magic and adventure and excitement. I’m focusing on that- the exquisite, exciting apprehension of it. Because if I don’t, I may just find myself paralysed with crippling fear. And that won’t do, not in this situation. Not at all.


“”You are exactly where you are supposed to be, in this moment, right now,” Our yoga teacher said to us. My racing mind immediately came to a screeching halt to digest this new and profound information.”

Paula’s Story, published at Carly Findlay’s blog

“You know, I’ve been thinking, everything is…just comes together. It’s me. I chose this. I chose all of this. This rock…this rock has been waiting for me my entire life. It’s entire life. Ever since it was a bit of meteorite a million, billion years ago. There, in space. It’s been waiting, to come here. Right…right here. I’ve been moving towards it my whole life. The minute I was born, every breath I’ve taken, every action has been leading me to this crack on the out surface.”

127 Hours

I like to think sometimes the Universe presents you with tiny nuances, recurring themes to remind you that the world is much bigger than you can conceive. Signposts, perhaps. to tell you that you’re on the right path. To present you with tools you may need to do what you have to do.

Or maybe I just look too hard and put far too much significance in the blog posts I read, and the movies I watch.


I am exactly where I need to be, right now.

Things roll out the way the do for a reason.

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{ 3 comments… read them below or add one }

Miss Pink May 8, 2013 at 8:17 pm

Borneo bitchez.

Seriously still jealous.


Carly Findlay May 7, 2013 at 9:32 pm

Wow less than 2 weeks! That has come around quickly! You’ll be ok :) As you’ve written, you’ve put one foot (can you believe I spelt that ‘fut’ not ‘foot’!?!) in front of the other and you will do this in Borneo too.
Thank you for being inspired by Paula’s story on my blog – I love what she wrote :) I’ll let her know she has bee quoted.
Am looking forward to the updates from Borneo.


Whoa Molly May 7, 2013 at 3:13 pm

You can do it, Lori! Hopefully you will find that everything just gets magically done because it HAS to, there is no other option. That’s how it always works for me!

You are going to have the BEST, BEST, BEST time, and if you don’t snuggle a little orangutan for me, you’ll have to answer for it when you get back (grinds fist into palm with narrowed eyes…)
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It’s not my fault. It’s because I have boobies.

Heidi ho,Your husband is telling you to get off the damn computer. And I’m a f**king psychic.

No, I didn’t come up with that one. I only wish I did. It’s the work of the muchly funny, muchly swear-ly The Bloggess, bless her heart. Forgive the reblogging, but it had me nearly wetting myself laughing (and after two very quick childbirths, I mean that quite literally. Hmm. Too much information, perhaps?).

The man, much as I love him, just does not get this blogging thing. I like to tell him it’s an art form. And just as productive as him tinkering with his car. Have I mentioned his dilapidated ute that takes up one side of our double garage, and the multitude of tools that take up the other, so both our cars have to be parked out on the street? No? Well, there you go. That’s because I block it from my conscious mind. Sad, really. It’s almost like he’s having an affair. With a one tonne piece of steel. That actually costs him more money than I do.

He has his car. I have my computer. The only problem is, we can’t both do our things at once, until our children are old enough to entertain themselves, we can afford to hire a nanny or they make it legal to lock them in small, air conditioned and fully equipped cages for most of the day. Never mind free-range babies, I wanna blog!!

Whatever. The Man needs to read that book, Women Are From Bras, Men Are From Penis. Or that other one with a similar but less amusing title. Blogging, building a community, that’s my biological right as a women. I can’t help it. It’s controlled by my hormones. Just like PMS, boobie milk, discharge and all that other fun stuff.

So ner, Man. It’s my blog and I’ll write if I want to.

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Kakka said…

OMG – running to the loo as I am laughing too much (4 children’s fault). My hubby wanders into my study with a bemused look on his face, gives me a kiss and wanders off. I think after 33 years of marriage he has given up trying to work out my mind. He doesn’t even have a FB page, but I still love him. xxx

Brenda said…

Damn straight, Lori. Damn straight! Hmph! Men and their penises, what do they know? Hehehe.

Amy xxoo said…

My boy doesnt quite get it either – but nor does he nag me about getting off the computer. He just accepts that its my one ” thing ” and is only interested as to whether he scores a mention or not…

Lucy said…

Hahahhaha, do you have a camera in my house? Lovely husband said to me the other night “At least I look up from the cricket. You never look up from your blogging.”

Cheesecake! said…

Hahaha! that was the funniest thing I’ve read in a while

Mich said…

I agree. I love my computer as well!!! although, with 3 kids my house does constantly look like a bomb has exploded and the man is never happy with that!

Mich said…

I agree. I love my computer as well!!! although, with 3 kids my house does constantly look like a bomb has exploded and the man is never happy with that!

Thea said…

Yeah, my husband calls it puffery!
Pfft, what do they know?
I’m with you, sister!! lol 🙂

lori said…

You go girl! Thems mens is always cramping our style! I had the big idea on Sunday to cook a Turkey dinner but kept running upstairs to work on my blog while stuff was in the oven. My brother nicknamed me Busty Bloggins – haha.

Madmother said…

Hah! Big Boy no longer complains of blog envy (ie me spending more time on my blog than I do on him) since I brought up the two and a half years of mirror grinding!

Every night. ERRRRRRRIT, errrrrrit, eeerrrrrrrriiiitttttt…
Any wonder I developed a twitch in my left eye?

Oh, and don’t get me started on the observatory project!

Fantastic post!

…Mrs.P! said…

I totally relate to that! My husband doesn’t get it either.

Lucy said…

Hey Miss Lori… I doing something wrong with your button? I can get it up on my blog, but then it doesn’t link to your blog. (Nor does Sarah’s. Better let her know too.) xx

JAWhite said…

I know exactly what the other girls are saying, my significant other won’t even read my stories and says I do nothing but pick at a keyboard. Now I have to stop and make them all dinner!

Shit! I’m the penis carrier…am I turning into…NO!

Ratz said…

Well Yeah!!! You are damn right….

Natacha said…

Excellent! I so get the car story, only my husband is the tinkering on mountain bikes. I see him stroking it like it’s his girl as he passes by … luckily he doesn’t bother me about the blog… whew!

Tmena said…

Hell yeah! A girl’s gotta right to blog! Too funny this post was.

Lauren said…

Lol, I can relate to this, only I spend most of my time on the computer web designing.

And no, you can not give too much information. lol.

Jen said…

ROFL! right on sister! that is what feminism was for..paving the way for Women to have the RIGHT to blog :p . I love your posts and yep am totally bamboozling you with comments atm because I have just discovered my blog reader on the iPhone is not telling me when you post! The NERVE of it! Great post 😀

Kymmie said…

Just discovered your blog and love it. Although I don’t know you, I feel like if I met you in person, you would be exactly the same. So, it’s official. I’ve decided to stalk you. xx

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"It's Not A Vibrator, It's A…" – RRSAHM

“It’s Not A Vibrator, It’s A…”

by Lori Dwyer on May 25, 2012 · 21 comments

It is gobsmackingly difficult to get laid some times.

I guess most people would think, and I’d always assumed, that if a woman of relative attractiveness wanted to be promiscuous and sleep around, it would be easy. I remember having that conversation with a male friend, who stated that being a girl would be so simple– no man is going to say ‘no’ to coming home with you, ever. The best response I had was that, while that may be true, there was no guarantee that the random one night shag you picked up would be any good in bed.

That’s still true– no guarantees of vitality or performance, ever. But there’s actually no guarantee of getting into bed at all, which is somewhat disconcerting. I’m discovering a double standard that I probably should have already known about– while it’s just fine for men to push for sex on the first date, it’s a different arrangement for women altogether.

Being honest in the first seems to make little difference– it’s as if false promises and a game of chasing and flirting (tease) are expected, and the game is thrown when a woman is assertive and… well… acts just like a guy would. My time to myself is limited, my needs defined– men are intimidated and distrusting, unable to grasp that you really aren’t that interested in getting to know them, and you are eager and willing to fuck on the first date, in the way nice girls don’t… the amount of men who back down, shy away, won’t (so to speak) rise to text messages and dirty phone calls, leave me all dressed up with no one to….

Well. It’s enough to make a girl wonder why on earth she hasn’t already invested in a good vibrator. Even a quick visit to an adult shop in the Cross with wanton sex goddess Holly Homemaker (before she was all up duff again) wasn’t enough to entice me.

In fact, I may have just driven to the ACT for the first time ever and not stopped in Fyschwick. (For my overseas or under a rock readers– Fyschwick, small suburb of Canberra in the Australian Capital Territory, is an adult supermarket mecca. Not shops– supermarkets. Aisles and aisles, maybe ten different establishments, catering for every kink you can imagine. Our federal politicians spend most of their time in the ACT. It’s a sweet coincidence that all the things marked illegal in other states– pot, fireworks, hard core porn, prostitution– are legal and abundant in our government state.)

Being a single female in a sex shop feels akin to walking down a dark alley half naked at midnight– it’s highly possible that nothing will go wrong, but it feels damn seedy anyway. I’m guessing this is where shopping online comes in– you can spend as long as you like browsing, doing your research, and choosing which adult toy is right for you. The third alternative is those sex to parties where you go together with your mates, drink a lot of wine (or, you know, not, if you’re me), and everyone tests different toys on the tips of their noses (apparently, that’s the polite way to test vibrators at a toy party. Who knew.)

The disadvantage of that– you know now exactly what all your friends are pleasuring themselves with. Congratulations.

Not that I can talk– you may remember what became of my last vibrator. It ended up in the bin as I was packing up my Purple Life– I vaguely remember coming across it and staring at it, wondering how on earth something so silly, so much stupid fun… how did it survive this nightmare? Shouldn’t all evidence of intimacy, of breathing into each others space, shouldn’t they have been erased with all the salt I cried….?

Anyway. The whole point of this post is.. umm… I guess I really need a vibrator. In honor of that, the people at The Adult Toy Shop have given me one ‘Romance Pack For Busy Moms’ with these items:

· Moist Water Based Personal Lubricant – Strawberry 4 oz.
· Satin Scoop Vibrator
· Vivid Mini Bullet Vibrator

to give away to one very (very, very) lucky reader. The difference here– this comp is open to my US readers (or those with a US postal address) only.

To win, leave a comment with your answer, completing this sentence– “But boss, it’s not a vibrator, it’s a….”

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 US residents only. (‘Finally!’ I hear you say… I told you it was coming.)

Entries open Friday 25th May and close midnight (AEST) on Friday the 1st of 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 with their postal address, or the prize will be redrawn.

Comments must have a valid email address to be included in this competition- I cannot stress this point enough, people. The number of times I pick a winner and have no contact address for them… it makes me sad. If you’re on Blogger,, make sure you’re logged in then click this link to set your email address to reply-able. Cheers.

Happy Friday, jellybeans.

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{ 21 comments… read them below or add one }

Wanderlust May 31, 2012 at 9:04 am

How did I miss this? "Hey boss, it's not a vibrator, it's just that you make the earth move everything you talk about sales projections…or, um, benefit elections, or staff insurrection, or…actually, never mind. It is a vibrator. Can you just shut the door?"


Tickling Pink May 30, 2012 at 1:12 pm

“But boss, it's not a vibrator, if you look closely you'll see that it's a living metaphor of what this company does to me every day I work here.”



Pinkie May 28, 2012 at 3:14 pm

“But boss, it's not a vibrator, it's my therapist”


Melissa May 27, 2012 at 8:08 pm

So when you said the giveaway for the US readers was coming…you weren't kidding. :) (Assuming you guarantee..ahem… satisfaction). <3 <3

I'm laughing at the longer arms comment. Funniest thing ever.


Anonymous May 26, 2012 at 9:01 pm

But boss, it's not a vibrator…it's the latest Iphone…yes, I have it on vibrate because I didn't want to disturb the others with it. I'd let you make a call…but I am kind of busy…


A Daft Scots Lass May 26, 2012 at 6:12 pm

Pity i dont live in the states


Ema May 26, 2012 at 5:15 am

"But Boss it's not a vibrator, it's a Walkman" (my boss is 20 something and would be impressed by something from the 80s which is considered the old days)and everyone KNOWS how "into" synthesizers (I spelled that correctly without looking) everyone was back then. . .which explains the "playlist" being as it is:)


Steph(anie) May 26, 2012 at 1:58 am

Jbizek FTW!


Jbizek May 26, 2012 at 12:15 am

"But Boss it's not a vibrator, it's BOB! (battery operated boyfriend). Bob is the best boyfriend ever! Always rises to the occasion, never talks back and if he gets on my nerves I can just put him in a drawer until I'm ready for him.


Anonymous May 25, 2012 at 11:59 pm

At 8 months pregnant I don't need a vibrator. I need longer arms!


Zoe May 25, 2012 at 11:50 pm

This comment has been removed by the author.


Lori @ RRSAHM May 25, 2012 at 11:24 pm

Dachlostar- Nooooooooo- don't tell me. You're all ruining my image of Canberrians being the coolest people in the country… no. Wait…


Lori @ RRSAHM May 25, 2012 at 11:23 pm

Anon, dude- that's still more legal than it is here. Thanks so much for fact checking me- what would I do without you?!
Cheers, Douche.


Anonymous May 25, 2012 at 8:39 pm

Don’t mean to burst your bubble re the ACT but pot isn’t really totally legal there.

Possession of up to 25 grams, or five plants, is not a criminal offence but carries a $100 fine.


dachlostar May 25, 2012 at 7:05 pm

Would you beliive they have banned fireworks? But not hardcore porn and prostitution ;)


Miss Pink May 25, 2012 at 4:44 pm

We need to take another visit to a shop, I will be your seedy friend who comes with (not to be confused with "cums with" that would be a little over the friendship line, yes?). I need some good sex, even if it's of the battery operated type.

Ok now for my entry.
But Boss, It's not a vibrator it's a vaginal cleaning device. Not really, it is! Yes, that's why it looks like a dildo.


Jamie Leigh May 25, 2012 at 11:58 pm

I just have to say, as a fellow single female, and halfway around the world, no less… FOR REAL! How hard is it to be honest, straight out, and everyone involved get something out of the deal? Apparently pretty hard. I feel your pain…


Jen May 25, 2012 at 1:03 pm

It's not a vibrator…it's a NASA pen. You know, the kind that writes upside down or underwater. I'm just THAT diligent.

I'll be taking that break now…


Draft Queen May 25, 2012 at 10:16 am

"it's a blood transport tube from Australia. Really. There was a sample in here. Right where these um, batteries are…"

(I use this, because we often get blood samples in tubes that look like quite phallic. *true story* I suppose it's to keep the tubes from being broken during shipping, but really it makes for a bunch of giggling and inappropriate comments from those of us opening up the package.)


L May 25, 2012 at 9:51 am

But boss, it’s not a vibrator…it’s crack.


Sarah M. May 25, 2012 at 9:08 am

But boss, it's not a vibrator…it's a tiny rocket ship; I have an entire collection, you know?


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by Lori Dwyer on March 13, 2013 · 12 comments

Philosifry Untitled

Annnnd… this*. I’m never sure if it’s the chicken or the egg that comes first– if I get depressed because I let that procrastination take over, or if that procrastination taking over is a symptom of the beginnings of depression.

But they feed each other. Depression, anxiety and their concubine, apathy; they get together have a big ol’ ménage a trios in my mind and I’m the one left feeling exhausted and spent and seedy.

‘Your inbox will never be empty’, they like to say; and I’m fairly sure that was said back when an inbox was an actual box, as in ‘a tray on your desk’, rather than a folder in your email account. There will always be things to be done on your list of Things To Do. The key to it all is to give yourself a finishing time, a point in the day where you have done enough and can relax…

Which, in theory, is just fine.

My problem is that things seem to linger and stay on my list of Things To Do for longer than is reasonably necessary. I go to bed each night with the Things To Do list written, with the very best of intentions… Only to find the next day slips through my fingers like sand, like silicon; and I’m left repeating the whole process again.

I have a phone call on my list of things to be done that has been there, either transferred from list to list (both digital and papered in notebooks) for almost a year now. Roughly 360 days of saying “I will do that, tomorrow”. Roughly 360 days of beating myself up just slightly.

‘Clean the gross gunky stuff off the top of my kitchen shelves’– that one’s been on the list for eighteen months. Since I moved into this house.

‘Sow new buttons on Chop’s school shirts is currently entering its seventh week of inbox loitering. ‘Make dentist appointment’ is cruising at three weeks.

It’s not as though any of these tasks are particularly important or life changing or ominous. They’re not even difficult. It’s just that even beginning them seems so many kinds of momentous. So I follow the steps of the dance of the chronic procrastinator and write lists, ignore them, rewrite them then ignore them some more.

They begin to feel as though they pile up on my soul as well as my lists, like the constant ebbing pressure of knowing I need to do them is eating big ulcerated holes in my mind.

It’s on those occasions that I’ve found it best to instate Anti Procrastination Day, FlyLady style. And take the veritable, bitching bull by the horns. Stop thinking too much about things and do things instead.

I’ve taken to calling them, in my mind, ‘karma blockers’, those annoying tasks and Must–Be-Done’s. Because it very much feels as though that is exactly what they are– they force up huge blocks in the way of the flow of life. They disrupt energy, negate change. And it’s impossible to invoke a sense of lightness when something makes you feel so heavy.

I like to imagine myself as some kind of video game heroine, doing great big round kicks and Matrix-style slow jumps through the air while I explode the things on my Things To Do list, kicking butt over one thing after another, growing stronger and gaining some kind of reward– life points, maybe, or just general good karma. And I walk around for days afterwards feeling alive, feeling good. Feeling like a mother f*cking adult.

I hate the feeling of things left over, of tasks left behind, gathering dust. The permanence of them annoy me– I can manage to cross a dozen things off my Things To Do list in a day, but none of them will be important. I think the rationale behind that thinking is as simplistic as it seems– I tend to do the easiest tasks first, the ones easy to cross off. I think we all do, maybe.

So the easier things slide off the list, daily, and only the karma–blockers remain.


It’s Anti–procrastination Day here in the TinyTrainHouse today. I have done six million loads of washing and am about to vacuum the goddamn floor.

Like the responsible adult I am.

*I have, evidently, been spending far too much time on Reddit lately. More on that, soon.


January 2010 – RRSAHM

January 2010

Oh, lookie lookie at my pretty new blog!

by Lori Dwyer on January 31, 2010 · 0 comments

Hi all,
Well, with thanks to the lovely Sarah, with her awesome blog, I now have a ‘proper’ blog- and wow, is it pretty :D Maybe having a proper one will inspire me to write in it even more- or maybe not, you never know ;)

For those who are following the cloth journey, my stash is expanding rapidly and I’ve only used one ‘sposie a day for the last three days (while I’ve been waiting for the others to dry). yay for me! So far, so good, and I very proud of myself.

Unfortunatley, my darling little Bump (that’s her there ^ Bet you think she’s cute, huh?) is going through that fantastic stage of sleep regression- you know the one. They hit for monthys and suddenly they can’t keep their little possum eyes shut for long enough to sleep. The tiniest noise- ds breathing, or perhaps a dust mote falling on the carpet, snaps dd into what we like to her Esme Mangel Sticky Beak mode, and suddenly her head is swinging around like it’s on ball bearings while she tries to see what is going on. Yesterday, I had dd screaming in the hammock, ds screaming at me (because… well.. he could) and the only option I could see was to be the one who yelled the loudest ;) After that little episode, it was well and truly nap time- the kids went to bed, and mum went out the back for a cigarette (or three).



by Lori Dwyer on January 29, 2010 · 0 comments

Hi all,
Well, I have been known to get all excited over silly little things, and this is one of them. As some of you know, my ds is very, very into trains at the moment, especially Thomas, that perennial favourite (who invades my every waking hour). Ds has even been known to go “Toot, toot” in his sleep after a big day, out riding steam trains (more on that schemozzle in alter entry).

This whole Thomas thing began when a good mate of ours, with the best of intentions, bought ds a Thomas train set for his birthday, with some extra track and a few spare trains to go with it. It was a top present and, needless to say, ds became just a wee bit obsessed with it. And, like any good mum, I willingly indulged this obsession.

No, seriously, like I mentioned in my last post, it’s a toy that I don’t mind buying extra bits for, for various reasons. Thomas is good old fashioned fun; it’s endlessly extendable and made a very good option when people asked the inevitable “What do i buy him for Christmas?” question; it’s well made- all the little trains are diecast metal; it’s great for ds‘s fine motor skills, being a push train set, not an electric one; and it’s just intricate enough to keep him thinking without being difficult enough to make him overly frustrated. It also doesn’t help that i am veeery easily amused and distracted by trinkets and odds and ends that are marketed as ‘collectible’ or ‘limited edition’. Between my EBay problem and ds‘s Thomas obsession, things were not looking good.

And so, finally, we come to the point of the story. While Ebaying the other day (before dh went and spoiled all my fun by changing his password), I happened across a Thomas playset that goes with our train set, with no bids on it, 3 days to go, at $25. I put in a bid for $35, thinking I’d be outbid and that would be the end of it. And, lo and behold, i won it for $31. Score!

Dh, being a depot supervisor for a freight company, asked one of his drivers to stop in and pick it up for him today. The driver obliged, and, when he got back to the depot, commented to dh that his sons had had that very same set, but it had been a few years since they played with it. Would dh like to come have a look, see if we’d like any of it? You betcha.

So dh cruised round there tonight. I was actually expecting him to come back with a few bits and pieces, probably for the wrong set anyway and not compatible with ours. But no. He came back with 2 playsets, enough track for CityRail, and 54 trains- that’s not a typo- 54 trains (I’m including the bus, helicopter, truck, and tramp steamer all in the train count). There is also a huge train table for the track to go on, with a ledge around the side, that’s just at toddler height. Dh paid the guy $150. Now, that might sound like a lot, but add it up with me- the play sets (including the one I bought off EBay) are $100 each retail, and the trains are between $10 and $20 each. Goodness only knows how much the table is worth. So that’s somewhere round $1000 worth of Thomas, for $181. Double score!!

Oh, how I love a bargain. But dh and I now have a mutual agreement- no more toys. At all. Ds has enough and dd certainly doesn’t need any. Hmmm.. we’ll see how this goes. I’ll let you know which one of us breaks first.


OK, so now I understand the whole mcn thing…

by Lori Dwyer on January 28, 2010 · 0 comments

Hi all,
Oh, I should be in bed. But sporadic blogging is better than none at all, so i figure. Not that i have a lot to write about atm. Just plodding along. Ho hum.

For some reason, I’ve decided it’s time to foray into the world of cloth nappies- moi, possibly the laziest person on earth. I’m having a particularly motivated streak right now, so let’s hope I get into a routine of washing and using them before the cycle swings firmly back to apathy. That’s the key to things with me, i think- once they are part of the routine, I do them. It’s just that most of the time I lack the inclination to do anything new.

So I am now the proud owner of four brand new pocket nappies, with another two (a fitted and an AIO) on the way from EBay, and a few being lent to me by friends to try them out. I used to think all you cloth nappy chicks were totally insane (no offense intended- insane in the nicest possible way) but now I know better. They are just so cool- soft and fluffy, and the big bum-ness is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. It’s a wholly satisfying feeling to know that they are going in the washing machine and not in the bin, and it was even more satisfying today, when I spent the $40 I would normally spend on ‘sposies for dd in a week on some lovely new cloth.

And I also understand the addiction. Who knew cloth nappies could be so seriously spunky? Giraffe print bums, Chinese silk brocade bums, embroidered bums, special occasion bums, ruffled bums… the list just goes on and on. If I’m not careful, this could quite easily end up more expensive than ‘sposies, not less. Between my cloth nappy searches and purchasing die cast Thomas trains for ds‘s train set (which I justify by saying they are collectibles, and I’m only buying the limited edition ones, and besides, one train had the same name as dd!), dh has officially changed his EBay password, and as I don’t have my own credit card, I’m high and dry. I’m already contemplating ways to hack his account. *ahem**cough* Did someone say shopaholic?


A Voice To Speak. – RRSAHM

A Voice To Speak.

by Lori Dwyer on August 23, 2012 · 4 comments

“My name is Lori, and I am speaking on behalf of my husband.”

It’s entirely gratifying, hearing those words ring out clear and strong across a room in Parliament House. I tell this story a lot, as often as I can… it’s very much like therapy for me. But– while I’m eternally grateful for all the awesome stuff I get to do through my blog– speaking my story, Tony’s story… it can feel selfish and self indulgent, simply because I am gaining from it, one way or another. I’m losing occasionally too, of course– but I never seem to feel guilty about losing.

Speaking on Friday felt different. It feel like doing something with no gain, no retribution. I was just speaking on behalf on my husband, because he no longer can.

As I finish, the spokesperson Those Who Be In Charge says thank you, the same way she does with every other person who has come before them. I nod at her and then, as I’m walking away, she adds how sorry she is, how sorry they all are, for my loss.

I’m so stunned all I can do is nod again. I turn to Darrell and say I’ve had enough, I just can’t listen to any more of this- now I have said what I needed to say I am desperate to get out of this room. There is a strong, quiet solidarity between those who wait after they themselves have finished speaking, a camaraderie of implicit support.

Twenty minutes later, we’re outside and the shock of it all begins to sink in, a dark heavy inverse weight of disbelief and indignation.

I should have told them to save her apologies, I don’t need them and my husband can’t hear them now. The people who need them are those who spoke before me and those who will speak after, those who are still living this nightmare of screaming unfairness every second. And irony of it is- all these stories, there are all the same. Teh same template with different players. Hard working employees, intelligent people who are aware of their rights. Power grossly abused. Cheeks turned where noise should have been made. And entire lives, whole families left decimated in it’s wake.

My head reels the whole drive home with what I heard and saw today, with what I should have done, what I could have done. I should have told them to stick their tinkly little silver bell up their arse. Or, as the case would have been, said something akin to, “With all due respect, I’m aware that my time is up. but it appears time is in surplus here, and I may not have a chance to speak again. I will finish reading what I have prepared.”

What could they have done, in reality? Have security manhandle the five foot high crying widow out of Parliament House while the assembled public watched on through the lens of their smart phones? Actually, that may have been exactly what they would have done.

Not that it matters. I didn’t do any of that, and that’s more than OK… as sad as it is, this is Real Life, not a movie or a melodrama.

Regardless of all of that bullshit, of another broken promise to people who have suffered too many already…. it feels good to have spoken. I hope it had the same slightly cathartic effect on the other people who presented their stories. I can only imagine that for some of them it didn’t come close. The frustration of only being allowed to tell half their stories to these people who had promised to listen was palpable and real and so sadly cliched- it’s the very behaviour we expect from Those Who Be In Charge, and are told everyday is blatantly cynical.

Given the gravity and scope of the workplace bullying issue it’s a crying injustice that, in a country that’s apparently as liberal and forward thinking as ours, these people cannot even be granted their right to a voice.

If nothing else, everyone deserves that… a voice to speak with. And a place to have it heard.

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Melissa August 23, 2012 at 9:21 pm

They may have limited the time you had to speak, but they can't limit the impact of your story. I hope that changes are beginning.


Stinky August 23, 2012 at 4:40 pm

Damn right. Everyone has a story to tell, and we have the right to be heard. I've enjoyed these posts but am not sure why – the lip service, the bullshit pretending to care, I'm saddened by them.

Cynicism has to come from somewhere


Eccles August 23, 2012 at 11:00 pm

The sad fact is that, as overwhelming as it was for you and all those who spoke on behalf of those who could not, it would have been as much if not more so, overwhelming for those who sat, listened & then had to seek a resolution, or not,… to the point that, quite possibly, the ultimate goal was defeated in the sheer overwhelming & mind-numbing weight of all these stories.
As for the whys & wherefores of these lives that have been affected by bullying & suicide, their voices have now been heard, and the "spokesperson of Those Who Be In Charge… adds how sorry she is, how sorry they all are, for my loss"… This must be at least in some very small way, a recognition of the suffering & pain that has been/is being felt. If that is the first baby step, it has been taken. The writers of these cruelties & losses, those who speak up against them, must continue to write about them & speak about them, for as long we stand up for what is right, the sooner that recognition & resultant change, will eventuate. It takes time and the ability of those who come after, to stand up & say "I will not take this anymore" (Quote Peter Finch in "Network"), to not pass on the unfair, cruel treatment that they received, but to show compassion, understanding & empathy. My Grandmother used to say, "It takes courage to go against the stream", to be the lone voice that cries out against injustice. Continue to be brave, Lori – there are many of us who will stand with you.


Meri August 23, 2012 at 10:03 am

Thank you to you (and all those that spoke)for speaking, on hehalf of Tony and also on behalf of anyone else that, forwhatever reason, does not have a voice.
Thank you.


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The Asylum, Part Two

The Asylum, Part Two.

by Lori Dwyer on April 12, 2013 · 4 comments

Continued from yesterday….

2013-02-23 14.34.37-1

Stepping gingerly over broken glass and splintered wood, I’m silently wishing for my Doc boots and my camera, both back in my car in Sydney. 

Everywhere are huge communal rooms with massive sunlit windows. And bathrooms- so many bathrooms. “Is that what they are…?” asks The Most Amazing Man, “Bathroom stalls? Why do they have windows… oh.”

Every bathroom in this place has a viewing window. Even the tiny toilet stalls have empty holes where glass in the doors once was. There is no privacy for the insane, and one of the more gothic tableauxs seems to pay homage to that very ideal. A small, walled off tiled white room; a bath sat solid centre, moored to the stretched concrete foundations of the floor, impermeable to vandalism, though it’s certainly been tried and tested. It’s the bathroom of any old creepy hospital… until you notice the viewing window, cut into the wall. A hole, really with nothing there at all.. it seems to speak volumes for the people who really were here, once. (Again, its that image of an overflowing bath tub filled with water swirled and tainted, colored by blood, dark hair and white skin… I don’t know where it came from, some movie watched long ago, a bad pop film clip… I don’t know, but I don’t like it, and it scares me because I think the girl in the water might sometimes be me.)


We come across rooms, private hospital rooms, again with large sunny windows and high ceilings. Most of them are empty except for the accidental litter of falling down cornices and plaster peeling off ceilings. I kick open the door to one room, indistinguishable from the others we have passed (an ingrained habit I seem to have picked up when exploring, opening the door without being too close to it) and I make a strange sound in the back of my throat. My whole body involuntarily shudders and I walk away, quickly away, my surroundings rolling around me like technicolor film for a moment while my mind adjusts, filters truth from trauma. There was an (orange rope) electrical cord hanging from the roof of that room and my eyes followed it down, every inch of it squirming against my optic nerve, until it stopped a few inches from the floor and the apprehensive screaming souls in my subconscious were convinced that there was no body hanging on the end of it, it was just a piece of orange cord and nothing more suspicious that that.

“What..?” His voice trails off and The Most Amazing Man In The Universe is hugging me, holding me from behind.

“I’m okay” I say, and I am, maybe.

“I know,” he replies, his voice and filled with the very best attempt to understand. “I wanted to hug you anyway.”

And I fold into him for a moment, taking stock of where I am and what I’m doing and wrapping a tiny silicon bubble over a moment of being okay, being taken care of, being understood… it’s enough to stop the tumbling, reeling rush in my head.

So we move on. More bathrooms, more common rooms, one which leads onto a massive, open concrete balcony. There are smaller rooms, patient’s rooms, they lead out to here as well; but their doors have remained somewhat respectfully closed and jammed- it’s only the last door in the row, the furthest away that’s open. It’s tucked into a room at the end of a long, straight hallway, tingling uncomfortable with two-dozen doorways leading off it. There are two or three strange rooms we stumble upon that are charcoal black, their roofs dipping as though the fire within created an enormous heat… but the fire brigade must respond to calls here with an alarming efficiency. The damage had not spread to other areas within the building. It looked, bizarrely, as though it has simply burnt the fuel from one room entirely and then folded and extinguished on itself.

The Asylum

We follow stairs and ramps up and down, never one hundred percent sure of where we are or where we will end up next. We find a few tiny crawl spaces, under stairs or tucked in brickwork around the buildings perimeter, and the thought that they may have been used for storing more than objects occurs to us both simultaneously  “I wonder who they locked in there…?” We both laugh, but almost reluctantly, because it feels as though there is more truth to that than you really want to think about in detail.

After becoming lost and disillusioned with the asylum’s horseshoe shape, the building seems to spit us down a short flight of stairs and back into the scrubby dry grass of its perimeter. We wander, discussing ghosts and hauntings and history. We overhear the group of teenagers again, one of the boy’s voices bouncing clear, staccatoed against the brick walls of the building. “I hate this place. I always have nightmares about it.”

The Most Amazing Man In The Universe and I look at each other and laugh- childish superstitions, a bad case of the heebie jeebies. While slightly eerie in its sunny stillness, there isn’t a lot of bad vibes here. At least, not until we find the short flight of stairs that lead us down to the first floor, the bottom floor of the hospital. This floor was constructed half sunken into the ground, and it’s dark here. Dark and damp, as if all the moisture the sun scared away from the upper floors is lurking in the corners and shadows, stagnant and eating things in muffled gulping crunches.

“It’s not nice in here,” My voice feels tiny, the statement I’ve made pitiful.

“No,” agrees the Most Amazing Man In The Universe. “Not nice at all. And the floor….”

“It’s not too bad…” But there is no light down here. I can’t see more than three feet of floor in front of me, and it feels spongy. The carpet feels rotten. We go forward three or four more steps and the hallway splinters into a rotted cavern. It feels bizarrely like one of those street paintings that are hellish optical illusions; as though I could walk straight over it without falling into the even deeper, darker cellar somewhere beneath us.


We turn, a reluctant retreat. Dodgy floors are bad floors, always. There’s another building behind this one. A single storey instead of two. A peaked roof of brown tiles. Chocolate brown, with white mosaic and trimmings, looking like an elongated gingerbread cottage. Hidden halfway along it is an access point, of course, a shutter rolled up and back as if it’s been attacked by a giant can opener. We slip under and in and it’s another set of huge, sunny rooms- common room, a kitchen, bedrooms coming off the sides.

The Most Amazing Man In The Universe and I are leaving, walking back to his car, when we’re approached by a man who looks every bit a Wowser– plaid shirt, glasses, a bum bag. He’s carrying a sheaf of printed pages, and as he approaches us we both think we’re in for some form of ‘This is private property’ lecture.

Pleasantly, we’re mistaken. It seems he’s exploring, too. He simply wants to know if we have any information that he doesn’t. Local rumor says the buildings are being knocked down, but this man tells us otherwise- there are plans to convert them into office buildings, historical oddities in contrast with the identical suburban streets and sleek, modern industrial area that borders them.

The Not-Wowser man tells us there is an example of another one of the buildings, just around the corner, that has been refurbished; and he’s right. It’s freshly painted, fenced, with a lawn of lush green grass running up to its front door. I can only imagine it must retain that sunny feeling- panes of window glass that have been fixed in the original window locations dazzle and glint in the early afternoon heat.

Its pretty, surely much better than demolition for buildings as sturdy as these, with brickwork that will last for years. But the fresh clean, repainted vibe of the new building is still… weird. Eerie. Like there’s some other-worldly, alien quality to the light.

Or perhaps I’m just not used to the angle of the Melbourne sunshine, the difference in atmosphere, that come with being one thousand kilometers closer the point of the Earth’s polarity.


Whichever. A quick Google tells us that not only was The Most Amazing Man In The Universe correct about this place’s original purpose as a lunatic asylum; there are (always) those who believe it’s quite haunted. Explorers report having exquisite nightmares following their visit, and as I read that fact out loud to the Amazing Man we both remember overhearing one of the teenage boys calling out that very sentiment to his friends that afternoon; and goosebumps dimple my flesh for a second.

There has been reports of a music box heard playing from the third and highest floor of the main building, especially in the middle of the night. A university that sits on property directly next door to the abandoned hospital has taken full credit for that phenomena-  their plan for scaring off potential vandals and trouble-makers undoubtedly worked (unfortunately for them, the rumour itself also probably attracted more ghost hunters to the buildings than ever before).

It’s the first building I’ve explored in Melbourne; the first building, in fact, that I’ve explored in months.

I sleep well, exhausted, wrapped up tight in the arms of the Most Amazing Man In The Universe.  Neither of us dream.



More photos on Flickr. Full photo credit to Neil (otherwise known as the Most Amazing Man In The Universe).

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Bracelets January 4, 2014 at 7:36 pm

It was in the Victorian period that charms grew out of their typical use of as spiritual and superstitious objects. Queen Victoria of England began using charm bracelets as a fashion trend accessory and began a trend that has continued via the ages.


Miss Pink April 15, 2013 at 3:16 pm

So no nightmares?
I love how much you learn about these places you visit. I just have no idea how you find these places to begin with!


Pat April 12, 2013 at 11:51 pm

I have never been to such a place. I am quite certain I would be unable to use the bathroom – windows or not!


Salz April 12, 2013 at 2:07 pm

You’re creeping me out man. Lol. I wouldn’t step foot into that building I get so scared and this eerie feeling. I got just reading your posts and seeing the photos. Creepy.
Salz recently posted…Scaredy catMy Profile


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Ghosts – RRSAHM


by Lori Dwyer on September 19, 2011 · 17 comments

I used to believe in ghosts.

Tony and I used to go ghost hunting whenever we got the chance… either formally, or sneaking off on our own to check things out.

I’m not sure if I believe in ghosts anymore.

Because, surely, if someone believed in ghosts, went looking for them… died a horrible, traumatic death with unresolved issues…. Surely they’d come back, in some form? An entirely stupid thing to think about, I know. But think about I do.

I wish I still believed, the way I used to. I see shadows and flickers from the corner of my eye. It’s just tricks of the light.

I feel a presence around me, some days… it’s the brain’s psychological coping strategy. I wish life was like the movies, that there would be some kind of romantic, life affirming interlude from beyond the grave… but I know there won’t be.

If there are ghosts, I wish he would haunt me. Either because he hates me, or he misses me, either way is OK… I’d just like to see him again.

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Kelloggsville September 20, 2011 at 7:36 am

I believe in spirits but I also think the feeling you have right now are exactly the feelings 'psychics' exploit. take care.


Kristy September 20, 2011 at 2:28 am

I believe that the spirit world exists all around us. I think that people who have passed may sometimes try to communicate with us to let us know they're there. Sometimes though I think that this isn't always the case, depending on the person or situation. Does that sound strange? For example, I believe that they aren't there or around us ALL the time or even a lot of the time, just every once in a while there may be something that you notice. It may seem coincidental, but if it makes you wonder, it may be…Just a little hello. Possibly, when your psyche feels a little more ready, you may revisit some of your old beliefs about this. But, I can imagine that it would be a little raw or difficult still.


Tony September 19, 2011 at 9:37 pm

I believe in ghosts, but I believe "IF" they are still here, then it is a location based thing, not a person type thing, If some one is with you then they are more of an angel type figure.


Melissa September 19, 2011 at 8:42 pm

I feel similarly – I used to believe in ghosts, too. Now, I don't. It's just another thing that isn't fair. Someone who would really benefit from a ghostly visitor – never seems to get the visit.


Emma September 19, 2011 at 4:06 pm

Hi Lori,
I've also wondered if you'd considered visiting a psychic…


Shellye September 19, 2011 at 3:54 pm

And I commented on the wrong post. Lovely. Sorry about that. My internet has been wonky and when I scroll to something, the mini computer scrolls it back to where I scrolled it from in the first place. I feel like such an idiot.


Shellye September 19, 2011 at 3:52 pm

Lori, don't be so hard on yourself about not noticing the rope. I'm very observant and I wouldn't have thought much about it either. You had no idea that Tony was going to act out inexplicably and you didn't know what part the rope would eventually play. You're being too hard on yourself, which doesn't help you at all, but I'm often too hard on myself too, so I can't really lecture you about it. It's difficult not to be.

As for your shrink, I'm not sure buying the orange rope is a good idea. Even if you did, it's not going to make the memory of that day any easier to watch as it replays in your head. Time is the best healer of all pain. It may feel like you're never going get through this or you're never going to find a "normal" that works for you, but you will.

These things take time. If that's all you've got, embrace it the best way you know how.

As always, I'm praying for you. You're always on my mind.


Hear Mum Roar September 19, 2011 at 2:50 pm

I guess it depends on what you believe. I personally believe that ghosts can come to us in our dreams, they can be there all along, but we don't always see them.

I also believe in the 'channel' analogy. I think for ppl who believe it's rubbish generally won't see a ghost even if it's right there, and that's fine, they probably wouldn't want to see it anyway.

I think the more open someone is to seeing ghosts, the more likely you are to have the right 'channel' turned on (like a tv) to see it now and then.

I also think we can choose not to see it if we don't want to (I went through a stage where I stated out loud, 'I don't want to see this anymore for a while' and I didn't until I was ready).

Maybe your 'channel' hasn't been turned on because there has been so much trauma for you?

I would definitely say, just because it hasn't happened yet, doesn't mean it won't. I think in a lot of cases, especially when it's still new, it can take a long time.


Melissa September 19, 2011 at 2:49 pm

I can imagine this would be hard for you, wishing for just one last conversation. A why? A how? A did you mean for this to happen?

My belief system and yours are different, I guess. I believe when a person is gone, they are gone, at peace, at rest.

It's hard sometimes, there's a part that would like to believe my mother is watching over me. But I don't, and that's me.

I hope you find peace, whatever conclusions you come to. I hope more, that this comment isn't upsetting to you.


deardarl September 19, 2011 at 2:48 pm

Ironic – I never used to believe in ghosts, but now I do.

Since Greg died, I feel him around all the time. I know he can hear me.


Lady Koukou September 19, 2011 at 12:11 pm

What questions would you ask if given the opportunity?


stinkb0mb September 19, 2011 at 12:05 pm

If a spirit has passed over in a traumatic way, as Tony did, or they were ill when passing, it isn't able to contact loved ones still here straight away. Bit like an ER for the spirit……they need time to heal too.



Kate quilts… September 19, 2011 at 11:54 am

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Kate quilts… September 19, 2011 at 11:53 am

Hard on you to be seeking his physicaility, knowing it's fruitless. You have good memories, as well as the awful ones, and eventually you'll do better at drawing on the good ones. He's in your heart, right where you need him.


Sarah September 19, 2011 at 11:52 am

I totally have to talk to you on this very topic, I forgot when I saw you the other week.

PS: have you ever considered going to see a psychic?


Crystal September 19, 2011 at 9:14 pm

Just sending massive quantities of love your way, Lori. I hope you find the peace you need, and sooner rather than later. (((HUG)))


Mrs Woog September 19, 2011 at 11:39 am

What would you say to him?


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I’m Afraid Of Aeroplanes. #BloggersToBorneo

by Lori Dwyer on March 4, 2013 · 4 comments

”I’m afraid of aeroplanes,
Even though I like the way
It feels to be a person in the sky…”
A320 Foo Fighters


I don’t like to fly.

We know this, I know– we’ve discussed it before. It’s something I’ve been working on, and a fear I think I’m in control of.

But I still pray every single freaking time I get on a plane. Actually, prayer never seems to quite be enough– during turbulence I often wish I was Catholic, so I knew how to say a Hail Mary or something else appropriate, without stuffing it up and acting like a blasphemous idiot.

Religion aside, it seems I’ll soon be spending an as-yet-undetermined length of time on a plane in just a few months time, winging it all the way to Borneo. And back. Cross country trips to Melbourne are one thing. International flights are totally something else.

In an attempt to lessen my own anxiety, I’ve made a slightly obsessive habit of researching aeroplanes and aeroplane safety. Some of the stuff I’ve discovered is fascinating.

And a lot of it is just damn… terrifying. In fact, it’s gotten to the point where I question the sanity behind my own thinking that ‘knowledge is power’, and the more I knew the less afraid I’d be.

But, perversely, that theory has actually worked. A least if the plane does come down in the ocean, or come down in a field, or catch fire in the middle of the tarmac… I’ll be prepared.

Kind of.

Whatever. Anyway– I figured, in the spirit of sharing, I’d fill you all in on what I’ve learned. The comforting, the terrifying, and the urban mythologies.

The brace position is not designed to snap your neck. Rumour has it, a la the movie Fight Club, that the brace position is designed to effectively snap your neck on impact, thereby killing you quickly. So as not to leave a planeload of horribly injured  moaning passengers wandering around the crash site. Because really, that would be a PR disaster.

That one’s not true. But there is a very correct way to ‘brace’. If you look closely at the (remarkably un-detailed) infographic on your aeroplane safety card, you’ll see either both hands tucked under the poor doomed passenger’s legs, or one hand placed over the other on the poor doomed passenger’s head. Left hand over right hand, if you’re right-handed, or vice-versa. Why…? Because if all that luggage contained in the overhead compartments does come piling down on top of you, you’ll want at least one set of unbroken fingers with which to unbuckle your seatbelt.

The brace position Actually not designed to kill you.

The brace position Actually not designed to kill you.

Speaking of seatbelts– they’re stupid. It’s apparently extremely common for passengers who have to ditch the plane to lose valuable seconds attempting to unclipping their seatbelt from the side. Logically. The way you would do in a car. Because your body just does that in times of extreme shock– muscle memory takes over. Best practice says to buckle and unbuckle your seatbelt a few times in order to give your muscles a better chance of retaining that information in an emergency situation… I’m not entirely sure it would help.

And speaking of shock…. A few years back, you may remember a commercial lane ditching into the Hudson River. Only a small percentage of passengers even remembered to grab their life jackets from under their seats. Because your brain is just awesome like that.

No... life jackets. Really. Ditchin'.

No… life… jackets. Really. Ditchin’.

“Please keep your window blinds open..” this directive has never really helped with that whole fear-of-flying thing. ‘For pity’s sake… why?!’ my internal-sensible-entity-who-likes-to-keep-her-feet-on-the-ground asks. Well– if you’re sure you want to know– it’s so you can tell them if something untoward happens. Like a wing catching on fire.

“Lights will be dimmed during take and off landing…” Annnnnnd this one always baffled me, too. Of course, there’s another morbidly curious explanation. It’s so your eyes adjust to the potential darkness of the tarmac at night. Or the fug of a smoke filled cabin. Dilated pupils are all the better to evacuate you with.

The morbidly curious question… do the oxygen masks really get you high? Well… ‘hem. Funny you ask. Oxygen masks are a necessity if the cabin suddenly depressurizes. But, having sucked on pure oxygen before, I can personally validate the theory that ‘pure oxygen calms you down and promotes a sense of peace and well being’. Logically (again with the logic, I’m even impressing myself here) oxygen should produce the totally opposite effect to the ‘panic and fear’ chemicals our bodies produce given the slightest whiff of carbon monoxide. Authorities strenuously deny that oxygen masks on planes are there to make you forget that your plane is currently plummeting toward the ground, a la Fight Club…. I am not so sure.

Bare feet get burnt. Potentially. If you have your shoes off when jump from the big bouncy slide onto the tarmac, you may find your socks covered in burning jet fuel. Unpleasant. So the ‘shoes on’ warnings are more for reality than anal–retentiveness.

You are your Captain’s personal responsibility. And, so the theory goes, therein lies the reason he introduces himself to you at the beginning of the flight. Because now, he ‘knows’ you, and psychologically, feels more responsibility for your life. And perhaps that means he (or she) will be less inclined to have a lapse of concentration at a vital moment.

“Please listen carefully to the safety warnings, even if you fly often…” As if you have a choice- you may have noticed that no matter how much you try to tune out the “exits are here, here and here…” spiel… you can’t. It’s not your fault. Listen carefully to the air steward giving your safety speech next time you take off. You’ll notice that every sentence they say ends with a…. downward….. inflection… of… tone. People don’t usually talk like this– the unfamiliar rhythm forces your mind to pay attention, even if you actually can repeat the entire speech word for word.


Uhhhhh. Well. I do hope we all enjoyed that. In order to send me on a great big tin can that logic tells me shouldn’t actually be able to fly, you should throw your spare change my way and donate to the BloggersToBorneo appeal.

Because for some insane reason, even after writing this post… I still really, really want to go.


Lavender – RRSAHM


by Lori Dwyer on September 26, 2011 · 20 comments

The worst of it was knowing.

This neighbour on my doorstep,the look in his eyes… I knew.

“Is she dead? Is she dead? She’s dead, isn’t she? Is she dead?”

He asks me if my husband is there and that feels like a punch in the guts. My mate Bunny is there, thank goodness, and he goes with the neighbour to retrieve my dog’s body.

I am shaking and breathing fast and in the middle of a massive, rolling flashback. The words coming out of my mouth, that sick feeling of already knowing… I’ve very much been there before (“He’s dead, isn’t he? He’s dead, he’s dead…”)

And it intensifies as I walk quickly to my neighbours- again, blessedly, my son is asleep. I talk to the nice neighbours nice wife, crouched in her driving, crying.

I’ve been there before too.

It’s almost a relief when I realise that this is a flashback… it’s nt my husband dieing all over again. These emotions, they are not as painful and intense as that flashback would have me believe.


Bunny buries Scarlette in the backyard, crying all the while. I buy a lavender plant today, and plant it over her grave.

It’s a relief, again, that dogs are buried quickly and have so little- a bowl, a bed, a stick and a ball, and that’s it. A bag of dog food to be passed on.

My son takes it so much better than I expected, so much better than me. The resilience of this child fascinates and terrifies me. He tells me it’s OK, Scarlette is in Heaven with Daddy now, and how can I not smile at that?

Later in the day, it plays on his mind, and he asks me- is he going to Heaven soon? What about me, his sister, the cat? No, I assure, we are not going to Heaven for a very, very long time, we are staying right here.

And I feel like a liar. Because I promised him that about his dog, just six months ago.


Thank you all so much for your support and love, as always. I’m still a bit flabbergasted… seriously, what the f*ck?

On the upside, the Bumpy thing had an absolutely fabulous birthday party. Evidence here provided by my lovely Sarie….

Cute, hey? More on the Bump soon. She’s a big girl now.

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Chantelle {fat mum slim} October 24, 2011 at 9:11 am

I've only just read this now… and I am so sorry.

After losing her Poppy this year Lacey is constantly scared of death. If we get a sore toe, or a headache she frets that we're dying. It's so hard.

I just wanted to share that, because I know it's nothing like what you or your children are going through … but it's something. And sometimes there is comfort in that. xx


Sophie September 28, 2011 at 1:37 pm

She is so beautiful! Glad she had a super birthday. :) xx


Lindseywishinguponstars September 28, 2011 at 8:30 am

Lori, I've been reading your blog for just a few months now…but I've read all of it. Every post…from Before…and After. And I couldn't quite put into words what I wanted to say…until today. Part of what I want to say is: No one can tell you how to mourn. You've said yourself you've never had to grieve or mourn the loss of anyone before Tony. So how are you supposed to "know" how to "do it the right way"?? There is no right way! Everyone deals with loss in thier own way. However YOU need to grieve or deal with the pain or cope or mourn is FINE!! Don't let anyone tell you that you have done or are doing anything wrong. You aren't. You're surviving a traumatic, tragic, event that 99% of people have never experienced. So fuck them if they don't understand. I think about you and the kids all the time and I pray that where you've moved, you have more emotional support around you. I'm so sorry to read about your dog. My pets are my children and I'm facing the reality of losing one of my cats within a year or so (untreatable heart disease). Perhaps you should all go pick out a puppy together? From a shelter of course. Fuck puppy mills and petstores. Or maybe a cat, could snuggle with the kids as they sleep..or maybe you. Sometimes all we need is a good snuggle through the night. God Bless.


Natalie September 28, 2011 at 8:02 am

Just read your latest entry and watched your video and I am in awe of you. You are amazingly resilient with everything that is going on. Thanks for sharing and being so inspiring. I will am thinking of you three.


Shellye September 28, 2011 at 1:10 am

The Bump looks so pretty! Glad her party went well!

I'm glad that Chop took it so well. He's right, you know. She's up in Heaven with his daddy. I'm glad he understands and accepts that as comfort, however I agree that someone his age shouldn't have to be faced with such knowledge.

As always, I'm praying for you (every time I'm here, I always say a prayer for you, good days and bad, and every time you pop into my head, I ask God to be with you) and I love you.


Amy C September 27, 2011 at 5:13 pm

Hi Lori, I'm really sorry you and your kids have to go through losing your dog as well. Your poor dog. That's so sad, losing a pet can be every bit as devastating as a human death in my opinion because they are a part of the family. Best wishes x


Penny@Wildlife Fun 4 Kids September 27, 2011 at 1:57 pm

I'm thinking of you and your family in this really crappy time. I just want to give you all a big squeeze.


alliecat September 27, 2011 at 9:40 am

That is some serious cute going on there!!


Anonymous September 27, 2011 at 9:38 am

So sorry to hear about your Doggy.
They provide such love and companionship.


Amy xxoo September 27, 2011 at 7:17 am

Aww the Bump looks like a rainbow fairy princess! Glad to hear she enjoyed her day, and hope that made your heart feel better for a while….


Kelloggsville September 27, 2011 at 6:54 am

Oo My Word, you've got your hands full there. That look says it all…she's living life to the full :)


Glowless @ Where’s My Glow September 26, 2011 at 9:58 pm

There would be a seriously emo comment from me here but I'll spare you. Bump looks gorgeous x


Miss Pink September 26, 2011 at 9:05 pm

Ahhh Bump is ADORABLE. She seems like a lot of fun!

Ugh. Fuck death. It's got to be the hardest thing to talk about, to kids, to adults, to anyone, at any time. It's just such a fucked up thing.


Anonymous September 26, 2011 at 8:51 pm

Thanks for the update, I was wondering how you and the kids were getting on. I'm getting lost for words, I keep starting and deleting sentences. Just know you're in my thoughts. xxx


monsoonsandmangoes September 26, 2011 at 8:51 pm

So sad :( my girls often ask how long our dog (3) will live and it breaks my heart to tell them the truth (maybe another 10 years, at most). Why don't they live longer? :(


Bambi Kay September 26, 2011 at 8:50 pm

Your little pumpkins are adorable! I pray that in spite of all the storms, you will find incredible grace and strength within you to carry you through.
Love and hugs to all three of you!


Melissa September 26, 2011 at 8:43 pm

You know, your resilience is pretty remarkable, too :)
I can't imagine how awful and scary that flashback must have been – you have amazing presence of mind.
Looks like the Bump had a great birthday – despite the sad circumstances.


Shelley September 26, 2011 at 10:31 pm

Your little girl is gorgeous! Im glad she had a fun birthday :) Im so sorry to hear about your dog, thats so sad xxx Ive been thinking about you & your kiddies a lot lately (hope you dont think thats weird?)


Crystal September 26, 2011 at 10:13 pm

Your Bump is absolutely beautiful, and I'm glad to hear she had a happy birthday.

I hold you all in my heart, Lori.


Good Golly Miss Holly! September 26, 2011 at 7:56 pm

That child melts my heart, she does!

The Bug and I have conversations about heaven too. We've talked about it often when she's ask about my dad and my nan but Candy's death has made heaven a hot topic. She doesn't understand how my heart skips a beat when she innocently asks if she can go to heaven too. Bless their curiosity but there are just some things that I don't want to talk about x


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