Hehe i'll be back soon.
Back with the sunny and the funny and the warm and fuzzies.
First to fight the urge for coffee and late nights, and have water. And sleep.
Soon. :)
Monday, September 2, 2013
Tuesday, August 20, 2013
Anaesthetic
Every year, i do the flower run. The birthday, and the death day.
This year, the multicoloured roses i got on her birthday, ended up staying on my kitchen table. I didn't make it to the cemetery.
Today, it was shades of white, the colour of weddings and grief. Why's that i wonder, while the man was wrapping and calculating the costs. I find it hard to focus on the anniversaries. So i zone.
From the corner of my eye i see someone slow, and stop- i instinctively move out of her way.
'Look at them' she says, 'Aren't they beautiful, those roses'.
It takes me a while to realise she's talking to me. I smile at her, she's small and leaning on a walking stick.
'Yeah.' I respond absently.
She walks on and into the post office.
The man behind the counter is showing me his calculator.
I look at the number, at the cash in my hand - remember a Gratitude Challenge, a generous gift from the lovely Toni Powell.
'I'll take these as well.'
Pink roses, a bright but pretty pink. A lovely pink.
He takes the payment.
I balance the bunches in my hand- 'Careful with the orchids' he tells me as i leave.
When i walk into the post office she's at the counter.
'Hi, these are for you.'
She looks at the pink roses, looks at me and says 'Oh No no, i can't!'
'Please, take them' i awkwardly shove them at her '...and have a great day!'
She's holding them and i turn and leave, and she's smiling and telling the man behind the counter that she doesn't even know me.
I walk to the car, kind of thinking, i maybe should have explained that.
Should have explained that my mum - she loved flowers too.
I'm buying all these other flowers to put on her table at home, at the cemetery where she's buried, at the temple where they pray for her. For eight years i've bought these flowers to watch them die and be taken away a week or so later.
It's only been this year that i thought - i miss the way i'd always buy flowers home for her randomly when i went out, or cut flowers from her garden- I'd arrange them and put them in the kitchen. She would tell me how beautiful they were, she would tell people i made pretty arrangements of flowers.
I miss giving flowers to someone who loved flowers.
So when Vinnie messages me about feeling odd today- we talk about how sometimes cliches Lie.
Time hasn't made things easier.
I tell her it feels like the anaesthetics worn off, and the pains just coming through.
She tells me of guilt at being sad and not being able to stop it. It's been 8 years, why aren't we over this.
We talk about crazy.
We shrug, we sigh. We do all the things we should do, and wait for this day to pass. This month to pass.
I tell her about the lady at the shops- about the roses- about an idea... that maybe we should shift our focus.
Maybe we should remember the good things - the things we miss about her. Maybe we should celebrate it. Re-focus the crazy. Make it good crazy.
Because really She wasn't about that one night.
Maybe next year, instead of going over all the things we've been over... maybe we can buy the white flowers, and then the bright ones... maybe we can find the tired mother in that shopping center, and give her those flowers. Like the grandmother who stops to admire them before posting her letters. Maybe the living can appreciate the day. The gifts. The pretty things.
A few weeks back i have a solemn talk to a boy whose heart is broken, he apologises to me for voicing his thoughts of ending his life. I tell him that his life will always be his choice, and not a reason to be sorry.
I tell him that i think that what people hold inside them- is released to the world the moment they die. In desperation sometimes, the people who love you - will hold onto those pieces. Suicide in all it's sadness- sets free that part of you, and those who live on - they carry those pieces with them. What they do with it... is their choice.
We can only make choices.
In the 8 years since, i've chosen to be busy, i've chosen to be numb. I've chosen guilt. I've chosen sad.
Then, there are these moments, when i talk to people... when they talk about her.
My friends who remember her as kids, my sisters friends who remember her.
Everyone that remembers her always talks about these things: Her laugh. Her generousity. Her warmth. Her food.
No one really knew the other bits. The bits that haunt us on these anniversaries. The moments where we might have changed something and it all could have been different.
Today, my sister pours out her feelings in text. I do that too... but lately i've been quiet.
There's not much that can be said about it- other than what has already been said.
She says she's tired. Feels weird.
We talk about positivity sometimes. We try to focus on it in our own ways.
I go through the dates in August, just kinda waiting for this one day to come and go. All the birthdays blur into motions of getting cakes and mandatory 'celebrations'.
All it's leading to is the re-run of befores and afters.
It's only occurred to me today... that when it comes to this, we're doing it all wrong.
And while i write this- i get a text, and it's Cat- and she tells me she's thinking of me, of my mum and her laugh and her generousity and her way of welcoming everyone into her family.
I know all our friends remember her like that. She WAS like that.
What she released to the world that night- it wasn't just pain, sorrow and darkness.
For 8 years, that's what i chose to hold onto, i protect her memory like people wouldn't understand it- all the layers of defence and offence and guilt and some kind of warped sense of responsibility for i don't even know what.
Today though, i think... we should let it go. Let it be swallowed up by the 10 thousand other moments, all those people who ever knew her remember.
Dilute it with the light, with her laughter that carried through doorways and into the rooms of our home, the home that somehow became several degrees colder from that one night.
One night, that for 8 years, i've allowed to define the memory of someone who wasn't always sad, who wasn't always lonely and broken and without hope.
I stop by the house one afternoon and the neighbour across the road is in her yard. We chat about the magnolia tree we planted for her the year that we moved to New Zealand. She says to me, Your mum was a beautiful woman, she was always so happy. She loved her garden. Loved her flowers. She'd love that tree.
So, gradually all the memories of others- they remind me- of a mother i'd somehow forgotten.
I think to myself, when i die... is that the memory of her i want released to the world, is that the part i will choose to carry of her.
Or do i choose now, to remember the moments her laughter rang through the house, the big bright smiles she always had for everyone who walked through our doors, the flavours of her brand of kindness - the sort that filled your stomachs and surrounded you with the knowledge that her place- was always the safe place, where you'd be fed, be warm and be loved. Unconditionally.
'Your mum', They'd say to me -'Remember the way she always picked us up and us off.. and she'd wait for you after school for like an hour- while you sat inside and chatted to us.'
Yeah... she was pretty patient.
I miss her.
I miss her too.
As the anaesthetic wears off- you feel pain. When the pain wears off... you just feel... things.
The things... they can be good things. You just have to choose how to remember.
Thank you all for reminding me.
Little Sister, i think we'll be okay. We'll make plans for the crazy. We will be awkward together, and we will practice being kind, and we will be generous, we will laugh, we will learn to cook and we will feed people, we will be warm and we will be- just like her... eventually.
This year, the multicoloured roses i got on her birthday, ended up staying on my kitchen table. I didn't make it to the cemetery.
Today, it was shades of white, the colour of weddings and grief. Why's that i wonder, while the man was wrapping and calculating the costs. I find it hard to focus on the anniversaries. So i zone.
From the corner of my eye i see someone slow, and stop- i instinctively move out of her way.
'Look at them' she says, 'Aren't they beautiful, those roses'.
It takes me a while to realise she's talking to me. I smile at her, she's small and leaning on a walking stick.
'Yeah.' I respond absently.
She walks on and into the post office.
The man behind the counter is showing me his calculator.
I look at the number, at the cash in my hand - remember a Gratitude Challenge, a generous gift from the lovely Toni Powell.
'I'll take these as well.'
Pink roses, a bright but pretty pink. A lovely pink.
He takes the payment.
I balance the bunches in my hand- 'Careful with the orchids' he tells me as i leave.
When i walk into the post office she's at the counter.
'Hi, these are for you.'
She looks at the pink roses, looks at me and says 'Oh No no, i can't!'
'Please, take them' i awkwardly shove them at her '...and have a great day!'
She's holding them and i turn and leave, and she's smiling and telling the man behind the counter that she doesn't even know me.
I walk to the car, kind of thinking, i maybe should have explained that.
Should have explained that my mum - she loved flowers too.
I'm buying all these other flowers to put on her table at home, at the cemetery where she's buried, at the temple where they pray for her. For eight years i've bought these flowers to watch them die and be taken away a week or so later.
It's only been this year that i thought - i miss the way i'd always buy flowers home for her randomly when i went out, or cut flowers from her garden- I'd arrange them and put them in the kitchen. She would tell me how beautiful they were, she would tell people i made pretty arrangements of flowers.
I miss giving flowers to someone who loved flowers.
So when Vinnie messages me about feeling odd today- we talk about how sometimes cliches Lie.
Time hasn't made things easier.
I tell her it feels like the anaesthetics worn off, and the pains just coming through.
She tells me of guilt at being sad and not being able to stop it. It's been 8 years, why aren't we over this.
We talk about crazy.
We shrug, we sigh. We do all the things we should do, and wait for this day to pass. This month to pass.
I tell her about the lady at the shops- about the roses- about an idea... that maybe we should shift our focus.
Maybe we should remember the good things - the things we miss about her. Maybe we should celebrate it. Re-focus the crazy. Make it good crazy.
Because really She wasn't about that one night.
Maybe next year, instead of going over all the things we've been over... maybe we can buy the white flowers, and then the bright ones... maybe we can find the tired mother in that shopping center, and give her those flowers. Like the grandmother who stops to admire them before posting her letters. Maybe the living can appreciate the day. The gifts. The pretty things.
A few weeks back i have a solemn talk to a boy whose heart is broken, he apologises to me for voicing his thoughts of ending his life. I tell him that his life will always be his choice, and not a reason to be sorry.
I tell him that i think that what people hold inside them- is released to the world the moment they die. In desperation sometimes, the people who love you - will hold onto those pieces. Suicide in all it's sadness- sets free that part of you, and those who live on - they carry those pieces with them. What they do with it... is their choice.
We can only make choices.
In the 8 years since, i've chosen to be busy, i've chosen to be numb. I've chosen guilt. I've chosen sad.
Then, there are these moments, when i talk to people... when they talk about her.
My friends who remember her as kids, my sisters friends who remember her.
Everyone that remembers her always talks about these things: Her laugh. Her generousity. Her warmth. Her food.
No one really knew the other bits. The bits that haunt us on these anniversaries. The moments where we might have changed something and it all could have been different.
Today, my sister pours out her feelings in text. I do that too... but lately i've been quiet.
There's not much that can be said about it- other than what has already been said.
She says she's tired. Feels weird.
We talk about positivity sometimes. We try to focus on it in our own ways.
I go through the dates in August, just kinda waiting for this one day to come and go. All the birthdays blur into motions of getting cakes and mandatory 'celebrations'.
All it's leading to is the re-run of befores and afters.
It's only occurred to me today... that when it comes to this, we're doing it all wrong.
And while i write this- i get a text, and it's Cat- and she tells me she's thinking of me, of my mum and her laugh and her generousity and her way of welcoming everyone into her family.
I know all our friends remember her like that. She WAS like that.
What she released to the world that night- it wasn't just pain, sorrow and darkness.
For 8 years, that's what i chose to hold onto, i protect her memory like people wouldn't understand it- all the layers of defence and offence and guilt and some kind of warped sense of responsibility for i don't even know what.
Today though, i think... we should let it go. Let it be swallowed up by the 10 thousand other moments, all those people who ever knew her remember.
Dilute it with the light, with her laughter that carried through doorways and into the rooms of our home, the home that somehow became several degrees colder from that one night.
One night, that for 8 years, i've allowed to define the memory of someone who wasn't always sad, who wasn't always lonely and broken and without hope.
I stop by the house one afternoon and the neighbour across the road is in her yard. We chat about the magnolia tree we planted for her the year that we moved to New Zealand. She says to me, Your mum was a beautiful woman, she was always so happy. She loved her garden. Loved her flowers. She'd love that tree.
So, gradually all the memories of others- they remind me- of a mother i'd somehow forgotten.
I think to myself, when i die... is that the memory of her i want released to the world, is that the part i will choose to carry of her.
Or do i choose now, to remember the moments her laughter rang through the house, the big bright smiles she always had for everyone who walked through our doors, the flavours of her brand of kindness - the sort that filled your stomachs and surrounded you with the knowledge that her place- was always the safe place, where you'd be fed, be warm and be loved. Unconditionally.
'Your mum', They'd say to me -'Remember the way she always picked us up and us off.. and she'd wait for you after school for like an hour- while you sat inside and chatted to us.'
Yeah... she was pretty patient.
I miss her.
I miss her too.
As the anaesthetic wears off- you feel pain. When the pain wears off... you just feel... things.
The things... they can be good things. You just have to choose how to remember.
Thank you all for reminding me.
Little Sister, i think we'll be okay. We'll make plans for the crazy. We will be awkward together, and we will practice being kind, and we will be generous, we will laugh, we will learn to cook and we will feed people, we will be warm and we will be- just like her... eventually.
Sunday, August 18, 2013
The lolly dream and my big toe
This is a weird follow up post to Vinnies...
I have the August blues too... and sick and inundated with stuff to do for so many commitments i'm not even sure what i've agreed to.
But now...
Now i write so i don't forget, what keeps me moving - what reminds me that these are the moments that keep me here.
Jacie,
You wake up one night as you do, and i go to automatically take you to the toilet... you're cranky.
I ask you what's wrong.
You glare at me.
Tired, i don't press it- wait for you to wash your hands, turn the light off- go back to bed.
You climb in my bed, and hug dad instead of your nightly ritual of cuddles with me when you find your way to my room.
Oh... are you mad at me?
You bury your head in dads back and mutter I had a bad dream AGAIN! You were bad in my dream!
I laugh and say i can't help your dream, but i am sorry it wasn't good.
In the morning you rub your eyes and i ask you about your dream.
You were turning the thing for the lollies mum, and you were turning it and the lollies were coming out too fast and they shooted at my head, and it hurt and you wouldn't stop!!
I was shooting you with lollies?
Yes! It hurted! And i said owww! and you wouldn't stop!
Hahaha... oh your serious face, i could smother you with kisses.
This weekend, you were playing some kind of game that involved climbing on me.
I pretended to die.
You went to 'give me breath' - you'd seen a picture of CPR on the first aid chart at childcare. You told me weeks before that this is what you do when people are dying, you breathe into them and give them breath.
Hehe - i stop you before you commence mouth to mouth. I tell you what if i died Jacie, what would you do?
You say, i would still hug you mum.
I laugh and say will you keep me here so you can come back and hug me?
Yes.
I won't be able to play with you.
It's okay, dad will play with me.
I won't be able to go anywhere with you.
It's okay mum, i will take you to wherever you want to go. I will take you, where do you want to go mum?
Wherever you go my Jace, i want to go with you.
Okay then, i will take you with me too where i go.
Won't i be heavy?
No i will just pull you with your toe. It's just little.
Haha, you will pull me around by my toe?
Yes!
Hehehe.. i don't know- when people die you bury them, in the dirt bubba.
No mum, iffa i bury you in the dirt, you will grow into a beanstalk.
Oh? I will?
Yes, then i can climb it and find a new mum.
Hahaha good plan!
But then... i will dig you up anyway and hug you.
Haha... thanks Jace. But i will be all dirty.
It's okay you can have a shower, dad will give you a shower.
Hehehehehehe!!!
Oh you are funny... can you see if you can try and pull me by my toe?
Okay! *gets up and grabs my big toe* ugghhh can't do it.
Hehe will you really do it when i die?
Yeah, because iffa you die mum, all your air is gone, and blood and water and you won't be heavy anymore.
Hehehe... that's gross!
Yeahh... but you won't be heavy and i can pull your toe.
Tehehehehe
Oh my Jacien, you are smiles and sunshine.
I wish you would never grow up.
I have the August blues too... and sick and inundated with stuff to do for so many commitments i'm not even sure what i've agreed to.
But now...
Now i write so i don't forget, what keeps me moving - what reminds me that these are the moments that keep me here.
Jacie,
You wake up one night as you do, and i go to automatically take you to the toilet... you're cranky.
I ask you what's wrong.
You glare at me.
Tired, i don't press it- wait for you to wash your hands, turn the light off- go back to bed.
You climb in my bed, and hug dad instead of your nightly ritual of cuddles with me when you find your way to my room.
Oh... are you mad at me?
You bury your head in dads back and mutter I had a bad dream AGAIN! You were bad in my dream!
I laugh and say i can't help your dream, but i am sorry it wasn't good.
In the morning you rub your eyes and i ask you about your dream.
You were turning the thing for the lollies mum, and you were turning it and the lollies were coming out too fast and they shooted at my head, and it hurt and you wouldn't stop!!
I was shooting you with lollies?
Yes! It hurted! And i said owww! and you wouldn't stop!
Hahaha... oh your serious face, i could smother you with kisses.
This weekend, you were playing some kind of game that involved climbing on me.
I pretended to die.
You went to 'give me breath' - you'd seen a picture of CPR on the first aid chart at childcare. You told me weeks before that this is what you do when people are dying, you breathe into them and give them breath.
Hehe - i stop you before you commence mouth to mouth. I tell you what if i died Jacie, what would you do?
You say, i would still hug you mum.
I laugh and say will you keep me here so you can come back and hug me?
Yes.
I won't be able to play with you.
It's okay, dad will play with me.
I won't be able to go anywhere with you.
It's okay mum, i will take you to wherever you want to go. I will take you, where do you want to go mum?
Wherever you go my Jace, i want to go with you.
Okay then, i will take you with me too where i go.
Won't i be heavy?
No i will just pull you with your toe. It's just little.
Haha, you will pull me around by my toe?
Yes!
Hehehe.. i don't know- when people die you bury them, in the dirt bubba.
No mum, iffa i bury you in the dirt, you will grow into a beanstalk.
Oh? I will?
Yes, then i can climb it and find a new mum.
Hahaha good plan!
But then... i will dig you up anyway and hug you.
Haha... thanks Jace. But i will be all dirty.
It's okay you can have a shower, dad will give you a shower.
Hehehehehehe!!!
Oh you are funny... can you see if you can try and pull me by my toe?
Okay! *gets up and grabs my big toe* ugghhh can't do it.
Hehe will you really do it when i die?
Yeah, because iffa you die mum, all your air is gone, and blood and water and you won't be heavy anymore.
Hehehe... that's gross!
Yeahh... but you won't be heavy and i can pull your toe.
Tehehehehe
Oh my Jacien, you are smiles and sunshine.
I wish you would never grow up.
Monday, August 12, 2013
August. (Pssst, hey Vien, I'm borrowing your blog!)
So I’m borrowing this forum again because I feel like my
usual blog isn’t quite the space for these kinds of words or thoughts (it’s
more about me being self indulgent and talking about superficial/materialistic
goods like shoes and bags and clothes).
It’s August again, and I can’t believe how quickly another
year has flown by. I never really know how to feel about this month. On one
hand, there are so many celebrations – birthdays, mainly. And I’m not gonna
lie, mine is the one I most look forward to, because birthdays have always been
kind of a big deal for me – a sentiment instilled in me from a very young age.
There has never, in my entire twenty-four years of existence, been a year where
I’ve not had a party. Heck, there have been years when I’ve had multiple
parties. Sure, other family members were also born in the same month…but I was
always the spoilt, youngest child, and August was always all about me.
Until one year, two weeks after my sixteenth birthday…it
wasn’t anymore.
I still remember the week leading up to that day. I remember
it with absolute clarity. They had been fighting, lots. And with me being the only one still living
at home, with no job or car or way to escape, I found often myself huddled up
in my room. Crying, howling – praying for silence. For it to just stop. For it all, to just – stop.
Every car ride to school she’d be crying and telling me of
their problems and I – I’d have no words of comfort. I’d sit in silence not
knowing how I should respond, not having any words that could possibly make her
feel any better. So I just sat, and listened. A hug and a kiss on the way out
of the car was all I could muster. And I’m ashamed to admit, but being the
selfish teenager that I was, all I could think of was why this had to happen to
me, now, so close to the School Certificate. Don’t get me wrong, I worried for
her – for them – all the time. But I feel guilty to say, it always came back to
how it affected me.
I walked into school, two days before, to the wooden logs
underneath the trees where I’d meet my girlfriends every morning. Now, I’ve always
hated crying in front of people (though nowadays it happens more frequently
than I’d like). It’s not so much that I don’t want to appear weak or anything
like that. I just hate how it makes everyone around you so awkward, I hate
putting people in a position where they feel like they have to try and comfort
you or hug you or feel sorry for you. But anyway, on this particular morning, I
walked in, sat down on a log, and burst into tears, telling everyone about how
I was sure my parents were gonna get divorced. And they comforted me and told
me it’d be okay. The funny thing is, that I had already made peace with the
fact that they were going to separate. In fact I was pushing for it – because they
obviously weren’t making each other happy anymore. Yet still, there I was, willingly having
friends awkwardly patting me on the back and hugging me and telling me that
things would be fine.
In retrospect, so much of me wishes that they had just
gotten that divorce. But then I think, would things really have been that much
better? People talk now about how much
they loved her, how they would give anything to have her back, of all the
things they would have done differently and said differently – and while these
thoughts may be true now, I very much doubt, that if things hadn’t happened the
way they did, that their relationships would have been any different. Because,
as sucky as it is, that’s often the way life works. You don’t appreciate what
you have until it’s gone – and when it’s gone, there’s no amount of ‘would’ve’s
or ‘could’ve’s or ‘if-only’s that could bring it back.
***
That day, I got home from school, and she’d been in her room
pretty much the whole day. She hadn’t eaten a thing so I made her a bowl of
noodles and brought it to her room. She thanked me but said she wasn’t hungry.
I pushed, and she had two spoonfuls before handing the bowl back to me. You
could see the numbness in her eyes, the tiredness underneath them, hear the
defeat in her voice, and practically smell the sadness in the air.
I finished her noodles for dinner, downstairs, in front of
the television. Eight mile was on, on channel ten I think. The movie was in its
last twenty minutes when she came down and lay on the couch to watch with me.
It was a super dooper awkward movie to be watching with your mum, but I was
honestly just happy to see her outside of her room, and glad to have the warmth
of her company.
The movie ended, and I turned off the tv. And to this day,
her words as she looked up at me from the couch still ring in my head – ‘So
that’s it? It’s over?’
‘Yes mum, it’s finished. Let’s go to bed.’ I help her up and
walk with her up the stairs. She goes into her room and I go into mine to
quickly call Alex and say goodnight, and let him know that I’m going to be
sleeping in mum’s room tonight to keep her company.
When I walk in she says she’s fine, that I should just go
and sleep in my own room. She’d be okay on her own. I won’t take no for an answer, and just as I
did when I was a kid, I hop in to her bed and she cuddles me. I smell a strange,
sickly sweet smell that I can’t put my finger on, but I don’t ask her about it –
I just assume it’s some sort of cream or something that she’s been using.
A while later as we’re both dosing off, the front door
closes with a bang, and she asks me – ‘Is that Vien? Is Vien home?’ At the time
Vien had just started work at Teletech, and because she worked on a rotating
roster we never really knew what time she’d be home. I checked outside, and
came back in to report that it was Van, my eldest sister. I climbed back into
bed and mum asked if I could hug her. I don’t remember her asking me that ever
before, but I just went with it.
A few hours later, I awoke to a loud thud, and switched on
the lights to see mum had taken a fall on the way back from the bathroom. She’d
knocked over the DVD rack on the way down, and she lay on the floor with saliva
on her face. Van came in to see what’d happened – but then mum got up, and stumbled
back to the bed – and things seemed okay so she went back to her room. I was
worried, but just convinced myself mum was really tired/ half asleep.
Then a while later she started throwing up, and throwing up,
and throwing up. And I tried to wake her but I couldn’t. And I got her water,
but she wouldn’t drink. I just remember panicking and not knowing what to do and
just getting a whole load of towels. Vien came home and I ran to meet her and told
her ‘mum’s really sick and I don’t know what to do!’
She took one look and grabbed her phone and dialed 000 and it
was only then that my naïve brain clicked as to what was happening.
‘Hello, I need an ambulance…I think my mum’s taken something…’
The rest of that night is a blur. I remember it vividly, yet
at the same time everything meshes into one giant mess, of loud, chaotic….silence.
It’s weird…but when something like that happens, your thoughts get so loud and
so abundant that they sort of drown each other out, and the guilt eats away at
you and all you’re left with is this silence. This horrible, deafening silence.
Yeah, I finally got that silence I’d been praying for – but it definitely wasn’t
what I’d bargained for.
***
So every year around this time, I think about her. I mean, I
think about her all year round, but at this time of year, it’s more about
everything that happened on that night, eight years ago. About how much I miss
her. About how much she’s missed out on. About all the silly little things I
think she would’ve enjoyed doing with me. I go to the gym and see older ladies (the
nice ones, not the loud/annoying ones) on the treadmills or the bikes or ellipticals,
and can picture her coming along with me and making friends. I go to the shops
and wish she was there to tell me I have too many shoes at home already. I go
to get my nails done and think it would have been fun to treat her to mani
pedis and have some girly bonding time together. And I’m just sad. And I tell
myself I’m being silly, for being sad over not getting to do these silly little
things with her that she may not have liked or wanted to do anyway, but I can’t
help it. I’m just sad.
And this year, that I thought would’ve gotten easier,
actually hits a little extra harder. 2013 has been emotionally intense in the
last few months. It’s seen the breakdown of a few really close relationships
for me – family, friends, and recently, the guy that everyone, including me,
thought I would be with for the rest of my life. He was my rock, and he’d been
there with me through all of this. And I think that was a small part of the
reason I held on for so long – he was the one guy that mum had approved of, the
only one that she would ever get to approve of. And while he wasn’t always
great with words, every year, when it got to this time, he’d be there to listen
to my rambling, console me through my tears, and tell me how proud she’d be of
me and the person I’d become.
I don’t really know that she’d be all that proud of me right
now. I’ve made some mistakes recently. Some questionable choices. But I’m
trying, I’m really really trying to be a better person. Right now it kind of
just feels like life is a bit of a mess. There are so many things I want and
need to do but for some reason I just can’t bring myself to do them. And I’m
anxious. I’m scared. I panic. And then I’m fine again. The crazy is interjected
by these moments of absolute clarity. I just don’t know…I guess all I can
really do is ride it out and see where it takes me, and hope, that things will
work out in the end.
Sunday, July 21, 2013
An asking
A little stressed out and outta whack.
But thank you. Thank you for the little things.
Now, a bit of a reprieve. Some energy. Some space.
Remembering to breathe.
Letting go.
Smiling.
Walking on.
And so it keeps going.
Thank you for lessons.
Now for light.
But thank you. Thank you for the little things.
Now, a bit of a reprieve. Some energy. Some space.
Remembering to breathe.
Letting go.
Smiling.
Walking on.
And so it keeps going.
Thank you for lessons.
Now for light.
Tuesday, July 9, 2013
Love story
When mum first met dad, it was in an elevator.
An alligator?
Yes, at work in an Alligator.
Mum had a car accident and smashed up someone's car.
What happened to the car?
I wrote a note on it, but i was having a bad day.
What note did you write?
A note to say sorry and leave my phone number so that the person could call me and we could fix their car.
Did they call you?
Yes, and we got insurance to fix their car.
What's insurance?
It's when you pay a company a bit of money every month in case you get into an accident, and if you do- they help you pay to fix your car and the other persons car.
Did you fix your car?
Yes, eventually.
But i wasn't having a good day, and i had to run up and tell work i would be late because i had to leave the note on the car. Then i lost my card that you scan to get into work.
When i went into the building and got on the Elevator.
The alligator.
The alligator.... there was a boy on it already. And he said to me 'It can't be that bad'.
ANd i laughed.
That boy was your dad. So i told him about my bad morning and he said 'Oh' but i smiled at him And when i left the alligator he was watching me... and you know what... he had love hearts in his eyes.
HAHAHAHA... and out his mouth too mum?
Maybe... do love hearts come out of your mouth?
Yes.
That's how you know a boy loves you, when you see love hearts in their eyes Tiv.
Ewww...
Haha... and one day boys, you will meet a girl (or maybe a boy) and love hearts will pop out of your eyes too. Then it's all over. You'll have babies and be mums and dads.
Nooooooooooo
Yes. I'm afraid so.
An alligator?
Yes, at work in an Alligator.
Mum had a car accident and smashed up someone's car.
What happened to the car?
I wrote a note on it, but i was having a bad day.
What note did you write?
A note to say sorry and leave my phone number so that the person could call me and we could fix their car.
Did they call you?
Yes, and we got insurance to fix their car.
What's insurance?
It's when you pay a company a bit of money every month in case you get into an accident, and if you do- they help you pay to fix your car and the other persons car.
Did you fix your car?
Yes, eventually.
But i wasn't having a good day, and i had to run up and tell work i would be late because i had to leave the note on the car. Then i lost my card that you scan to get into work.
When i went into the building and got on the Elevator.
The alligator.
The alligator.... there was a boy on it already. And he said to me 'It can't be that bad'.
ANd i laughed.
That boy was your dad. So i told him about my bad morning and he said 'Oh' but i smiled at him And when i left the alligator he was watching me... and you know what... he had love hearts in his eyes.
HAHAHAHA... and out his mouth too mum?
Maybe... do love hearts come out of your mouth?
Yes.
That's how you know a boy loves you, when you see love hearts in their eyes Tiv.
Ewww...
Haha... and one day boys, you will meet a girl (or maybe a boy) and love hearts will pop out of your eyes too. Then it's all over. You'll have babies and be mums and dads.
Nooooooooooo
Yes. I'm afraid so.
Monday, July 8, 2013
drops of beautiful - draft from i dunno when
The crazy is broken by loveliness
I forget to write it,
I forget or i hold onto it
Because, i'm hoarding the drops of beautiful- and in the process it all goes down the drain.
I yelled at the kids weeks ago, and Jacie said he wanted a new mum. He said he didn't love me any more because i was yelling at them.
Che quietly went about doing what he was doing, and when he spoke- he said 'I love you mum, even if you yelled today. You were just having a bad day, but you're a good mum. You're the best.'
And i could have cried and maybe i did get teary.
I know that always, they have their ways of bringing my head back.
I am always surprised at kindness.
Aunty Verena stops by, and she tells me how wonderful it is to read about the kids, how funny they are, how i need to get back on facebook and keep them updated.
I don't have the words to comfort her for a loss i can't imagine.
So i hold the hug for just a little longer when we say hello, and goodbye.
I am awkward in the face of loss, but i am thankful, for all the kind words she offers ME. All the encouragements, all the faith.
Zane's family has always been free with love and kindness.
Despite my lack of tact, i hope they feel what i send to them in thoughts and in silences.
In between all the craziness, there is beautiful broken truth, there are smiles, there are hugs, there are words that are given as treasures, as keepsakes and comfort and all the things that matter... they will always sit at the core of all. And wait until all else falls.
In between all of us, there are a million days and hours and conflicting perspectives... and just one common thread. That thread is made of light, and forgiveness, and unconditional, unquestioning love.
Sometimes... i see it. And it's all okay again
I forget to write it,
I forget or i hold onto it
Because, i'm hoarding the drops of beautiful- and in the process it all goes down the drain.
I yelled at the kids weeks ago, and Jacie said he wanted a new mum. He said he didn't love me any more because i was yelling at them.
Che quietly went about doing what he was doing, and when he spoke- he said 'I love you mum, even if you yelled today. You were just having a bad day, but you're a good mum. You're the best.'
And i could have cried and maybe i did get teary.
I know that always, they have their ways of bringing my head back.
I am always surprised at kindness.
Aunty Verena stops by, and she tells me how wonderful it is to read about the kids, how funny they are, how i need to get back on facebook and keep them updated.
I don't have the words to comfort her for a loss i can't imagine.
So i hold the hug for just a little longer when we say hello, and goodbye.
I am awkward in the face of loss, but i am thankful, for all the kind words she offers ME. All the encouragements, all the faith.
Zane's family has always been free with love and kindness.
Despite my lack of tact, i hope they feel what i send to them in thoughts and in silences.
In between all the craziness, there is beautiful broken truth, there are smiles, there are hugs, there are words that are given as treasures, as keepsakes and comfort and all the things that matter... they will always sit at the core of all. And wait until all else falls.
In between all of us, there are a million days and hours and conflicting perspectives... and just one common thread. That thread is made of light, and forgiveness, and unconditional, unquestioning love.
Sometimes... i see it. And it's all okay again
Sliding doors
I found the movie lacked the depth that the concept deserved.
But the concept....
Is still good.
I've had things to blog about - things i've been meaning to get to.
I've told myself i should just start writing again and stop thinking so much about all the things i should be writing about.
Last night i woke up at 1am. Wide awake for the first time in years. The cough woke me up. Restlessness kept me up. I checked my emails- then clicked some random folders... unearthed years of history in words.
Oh my little lovely words.
So i read.
I read the words that were given to me, words written by me's i no longer recognise... all the years of events in folders and files.
The digital history of my life.
I laugh at the strange moments, the life changing moments, the friends that came and went and the ones who are part of my landscapes. Part of my internals. Part of everything that ever mattered.
I am thankful for them. For all the people i've known in all these conversations. For everything they've shown me about the world and myself.
I'll be back soon.
But the concept....
Is still good.
I've had things to blog about - things i've been meaning to get to.
I've told myself i should just start writing again and stop thinking so much about all the things i should be writing about.
Last night i woke up at 1am. Wide awake for the first time in years. The cough woke me up. Restlessness kept me up. I checked my emails- then clicked some random folders... unearthed years of history in words.
Oh my little lovely words.
So i read.
I read the words that were given to me, words written by me's i no longer recognise... all the years of events in folders and files.
The digital history of my life.
I laugh at the strange moments, the life changing moments, the friends that came and went and the ones who are part of my landscapes. Part of my internals. Part of everything that ever mattered.
I am thankful for them. For all the people i've known in all these conversations. For everything they've shown me about the world and myself.
I'll be back soon.
Tuesday, June 18, 2013
You make it real for me
Just like the James Morrison song.
They are my real.
I can't lie and say i'm not anxious still. That i don't panic in the quiet night about things i can't control.
But thank you, for the stolen days away - for the calm, for the laughter... for the quiet spaces, the beautiful blue skies, for the reminders...
Thank you Zane, for the gentle pull back to what matters.
Thank you my loves, for always and every things.
Tuesday, May 28, 2013
softly softly
One week of work, and sometimes i am tired.
One week of work and i've had these random conversations.
I've met people- and i don't like meeting people much any more these days due to the awkwardness that is my conversation skills.
But i fake it.
The confidence and the skills.
I fake it and i hope that the words coming out of my mouth make some kind of sense and won't come back to haunt me. They always come back. I run things round in my head. Oh wow, did i say that? Geez. What a douche.
But I find myself having these conversations, and wanting to help.
I see the tiredness on the faces of mothers, grandmothers, just people- the same tired i recognise from the reflection in the mirror. I feel like offering them my spaces. Give me your kids, go rest.
I wish i could offer a reprieve to everyone that needs it.
And gosh, in this craziness that's swirling around us- everyone seems to need it.
Then i remind myself- that people are made of more than the things that happen to them. That my faith in them, whether they know of it or not... well it's gotta be stronger than the fear.
Because everyone's already got the voice in their heads that doubt. They don't need me adding to that.
So i watch. I listen. I tell the words that escape my lips to be kind. Be quiet. Be helpful.
My insides feel scared, and a bit numb- a protection mechanism that's been automatic for so long.
In the quiet that's layered with fear - I hope. I hope for people and all their struggles and sadness and i hope for kindness, respite, moments of clarity, moments of real.
I hope for the kind of certainty that's different for everyone. The kind of certainty that comes with knowing who you are despite everything else.
Whatever it is you need, i hope you find it.
My insides ache. For all the suffering.
My actions become robotic, practiced. Automatic. My thoughts are frayed. My days are slipping again.
I have this urge to escape and at the same time this longing to protect everyone from all the things in the world i cannot change for them.
I find myself repeating to people the things i want to feel for myself. Speak truths. Hold truths. Be honest. Be gentle. Be brave.
I forget all the time.
Once again i'm here, in this place of privilege- surrounded by comforts and kindnesses and kids who are extraordinary blessings- and i find myself asking what the point of all these days are... and when will we ever be free.
Snap out of it.
I pick him up, and ask him in a concealed desperation. "Jacie, do you like Mondays?"
Another week that i am counting down the hours on.
"Yes!" without falter.
Why's that?
Because on Mondays i get to hug you mum. So it is a good day.
And i think briefly- you hug me everyday... then i get it.
The simplicity of gratitude.
Each day that we get our hugs... these are good days.
'Mum, today i missed you at school and i cried.'
I wrap one arm around her- she hides her face and all i kiss is hair.
My darling, i wish i could take you and just spend all our days never missing each other.
And i think why the heck not.
why... can't we be free.
Kinda spaced out, and torn between lives.
So he reminds me like this...
MUM! You're squeezing me!
But... I'm hugging you.
No mum, if you press too hard... it's sqqqqueeeeezing.
A hug is softly.
Softly softly.
And i follow his lead. Relax, and he giggles in my ear- Pulling away with his eyes shut by a giant grin.
See mum. Hugs are soft.
And there you have it...
Life... life is hard peeps
But hugs.. hugs are soft.
It's pretty deep.
One week of work and i've had these random conversations.
I've met people- and i don't like meeting people much any more these days due to the awkwardness that is my conversation skills.
But i fake it.
The confidence and the skills.
I fake it and i hope that the words coming out of my mouth make some kind of sense and won't come back to haunt me. They always come back. I run things round in my head. Oh wow, did i say that? Geez. What a douche.
But I find myself having these conversations, and wanting to help.
I see the tiredness on the faces of mothers, grandmothers, just people- the same tired i recognise from the reflection in the mirror. I feel like offering them my spaces. Give me your kids, go rest.
I wish i could offer a reprieve to everyone that needs it.
And gosh, in this craziness that's swirling around us- everyone seems to need it.
Then i remind myself- that people are made of more than the things that happen to them. That my faith in them, whether they know of it or not... well it's gotta be stronger than the fear.
Because everyone's already got the voice in their heads that doubt. They don't need me adding to that.
So i watch. I listen. I tell the words that escape my lips to be kind. Be quiet. Be helpful.
My insides feel scared, and a bit numb- a protection mechanism that's been automatic for so long.
In the quiet that's layered with fear - I hope. I hope for people and all their struggles and sadness and i hope for kindness, respite, moments of clarity, moments of real.
I hope for the kind of certainty that's different for everyone. The kind of certainty that comes with knowing who you are despite everything else.
Whatever it is you need, i hope you find it.
My insides ache. For all the suffering.
My actions become robotic, practiced. Automatic. My thoughts are frayed. My days are slipping again.
I have this urge to escape and at the same time this longing to protect everyone from all the things in the world i cannot change for them.
I find myself repeating to people the things i want to feel for myself. Speak truths. Hold truths. Be honest. Be gentle. Be brave.
I forget all the time.
Once again i'm here, in this place of privilege- surrounded by comforts and kindnesses and kids who are extraordinary blessings- and i find myself asking what the point of all these days are... and when will we ever be free.
Snap out of it.
I pick him up, and ask him in a concealed desperation. "Jacie, do you like Mondays?"
Another week that i am counting down the hours on.
"Yes!" without falter.
Why's that?
Because on Mondays i get to hug you mum. So it is a good day.
And i think briefly- you hug me everyday... then i get it.
The simplicity of gratitude.
Each day that we get our hugs... these are good days.
'Mum, today i missed you at school and i cried.'
I wrap one arm around her- she hides her face and all i kiss is hair.
My darling, i wish i could take you and just spend all our days never missing each other.
And i think why the heck not.
why... can't we be free.
Kinda spaced out, and torn between lives.
So he reminds me like this...
MUM! You're squeezing me!
But... I'm hugging you.
No mum, if you press too hard... it's sqqqqueeeeezing.
A hug is softly.
Softly softly.
And i follow his lead. Relax, and he giggles in my ear- Pulling away with his eyes shut by a giant grin.
See mum. Hugs are soft.
And there you have it...
Life... life is hard peeps
But hugs.. hugs are soft.
It's pretty deep.
Saturday, May 18, 2013
Finding peace
I officially start the real part of my job on Tuesday.
I get to work with the parents of the program.
I like and dislike the position at the same time for exactly two sides of the same reasons.
I don't like to deal with parents.
Because i don't like to deal with parents, this job is the THE perfect job to get me to push past that in my head. Remove the mindset. Break free of it.
I don't like having to keep track of things.
I have 14 families that i am supposed to be working with,
I have to keep track of where we're up to, what they tell me, and... all their names, i have to be organised and ready for each visit.
I have to visit people.
I have to make phone calls.
I dislike all these things, and the fact that i do... makes me excited because... well it forces me to get over it.
The big roadblocks in my life... i need to just get over them.
I have to train myself to pay attention. Daily i remind myself that this is what i asked for.
I realise that Jacie and i will lose our time together, that the house will be messy some days. That i need to organise dinners. That i will feel guilty for being away.
Nothing great never came from easy.
But like my new friend Glennon says: 'We can do hard things.'
So the messages i get lately are the same ones i always get- keep going, do the best you can on any given day at any given time... and forgive yourself.
Forgive yourself and forgive others. They're doing the best they can too.
So i try to find peace. By forgiving.
I try to apologise for the things i do wrong. Try to remind myself to do better.
My headspaces are sometimes empty, a survival mechanism that activates when i'm a little overwhelmed with the world. This year though, this time though- i recognise the patterns and i force myself past them.
Everyday they remind me that i'm no longer who i used to be.
I'm Che's best mum, i'm a favourite part of the day, i'm the comfort and the keeper of all the smiles and the tears and the toys and the hugs.
Today i went to bed and read. I woke up earlier than i should have, told Zane i had so much to do- he hugged me and told me to tell him all the things i had to do. I started a rant and lost my train of thought. We went out to take Tivi to school- walked around the shops.
I got home and told Zane i will go to bed and read and sleep. I ignored the couch covered in laundry. The dishes at the sink.
I finished Carry on, Warrior in my bedroom - reading in the afternoon sun of an absolutely perfect Autumn day.
Seeing parts of myself in the words - listening to the boys outside.
Loving the sounds of their 'Dad, can you help?' and the long explanations to why they couldn't pass the levels on the game they were playing.
I tell myself to stop talking so much about things, to stop thinking so much about things. To enjoy the moments. To just listen and be there.
'Keep showing up.'
I get to work with the parents of the program.
I like and dislike the position at the same time for exactly two sides of the same reasons.
I don't like to deal with parents.
Because i don't like to deal with parents, this job is the THE perfect job to get me to push past that in my head. Remove the mindset. Break free of it.
I don't like having to keep track of things.
I have 14 families that i am supposed to be working with,
I have to keep track of where we're up to, what they tell me, and... all their names, i have to be organised and ready for each visit.
I have to visit people.
I have to make phone calls.
I dislike all these things, and the fact that i do... makes me excited because... well it forces me to get over it.
The big roadblocks in my life... i need to just get over them.
I have to train myself to pay attention. Daily i remind myself that this is what i asked for.
I realise that Jacie and i will lose our time together, that the house will be messy some days. That i need to organise dinners. That i will feel guilty for being away.
Nothing great never came from easy.
But like my new friend Glennon says: 'We can do hard things.'
So the messages i get lately are the same ones i always get- keep going, do the best you can on any given day at any given time... and forgive yourself.
Forgive yourself and forgive others. They're doing the best they can too.
So i try to find peace. By forgiving.
I try to apologise for the things i do wrong. Try to remind myself to do better.
My headspaces are sometimes empty, a survival mechanism that activates when i'm a little overwhelmed with the world. This year though, this time though- i recognise the patterns and i force myself past them.
Everyday they remind me that i'm no longer who i used to be.
I'm Che's best mum, i'm a favourite part of the day, i'm the comfort and the keeper of all the smiles and the tears and the toys and the hugs.
Today i went to bed and read. I woke up earlier than i should have, told Zane i had so much to do- he hugged me and told me to tell him all the things i had to do. I started a rant and lost my train of thought. We went out to take Tivi to school- walked around the shops.
I got home and told Zane i will go to bed and read and sleep. I ignored the couch covered in laundry. The dishes at the sink.
I finished Carry on, Warrior in my bedroom - reading in the afternoon sun of an absolutely perfect Autumn day.
Seeing parts of myself in the words - listening to the boys outside.
Loving the sounds of their 'Dad, can you help?' and the long explanations to why they couldn't pass the levels on the game they were playing.
I tell myself to stop talking so much about things, to stop thinking so much about things. To enjoy the moments. To just listen and be there.
'Keep showing up.'
Sunday, May 12, 2013
Mothers day 2013
Thank you Tivi for my mug, and the other stuff you got because you wanted them, then right after i (you) opened it you asked me if you could have them. Thank you for all the hard work keeping it secret for me. I know it's hard. I'm pretty tricky.
Haha, Thank you Che for your card with the beautiful photo of you on it, thank you for writing, I love you mum... and being so proud when you gave it to me. Thank you for taking my hand and saying once again 'You, ARE THE BEST, mum.'
Thank you Jacie for choosing my present, for being so pleased when you gave it to me- even though you only got it coz you couldn't find anything you wanted. Thank you for always making me laugh.
Thank you Zane for the sewing machine, that i asked for... sorry i ruined the surprise and made you cranky. Haha thank you for drawing our initials in a heart on the wrapping paper. Haha i love immaturity.
Thank you Mum, for all things. I know it all comes back to you.
Haha, Thank you Che for your card with the beautiful photo of you on it, thank you for writing, I love you mum... and being so proud when you gave it to me. Thank you for taking my hand and saying once again 'You, ARE THE BEST, mum.'
Thank you Jacie for choosing my present, for being so pleased when you gave it to me- even though you only got it coz you couldn't find anything you wanted. Thank you for always making me laugh.
Thank you Zane for the sewing machine, that i asked for... sorry i ruined the surprise and made you cranky. Haha thank you for drawing our initials in a heart on the wrapping paper. Haha i love immaturity.
Thank you Mum, for all things. I know it all comes back to you.
Thursday, May 9, 2013
All the small things
The things that made me happy today
This girl.
The lemon Meringue pie she's holding which was an unexpected delivery from the awesome Lytha.
Finding a cheap chess set.
I don't know how to play Chess.
Tiv and i are going to learn together.
This...
It's a small circuit from the inside of one of those toys that you throw and it lights up.
Jacie broke the toy, then he brought this into me.
Then he proceeded to point out all the parts: the dried up glue, the lights, the batteries, and the little spring that if you pressed it down to the metal made the lights flash.
He didn't ask me anything. He showed me how it worked.
A new book arrived, and i know i have a stack i've yet to read, but she's lovely. The internet. Familiar strangers, and all the delicious words and thoughts.
http://momastery.com/blog/
She gave this to me the other day, but i just found it going through my pile of papers, piles that include car rego and parking fines.
Awesome.
Che's writing.
Gosh... he's come so far in such a short amount of time.
Under the writing his teacher wrote. 'Amazing!'
She says he is the only one in the class who even tried to make sentences.
Amazing indeed.
My husband is happy he got something working, that he's been fiddling with for a bazzillion years.
I am happy for him.
Then this:
Apprehensive. A little excited.
Challenged.
Zane smiled when i told him the name of the program.
You always wanted to be a Hippy!
Hehe.. yes i have.
Somehow... life works out.
I just gotta keep believing it right?
there was this: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/steve-wiens/let-me-be-the-one-who-says-it-out-loud_b_3209305.html
And Zane who actually read it, who recognised us in it, and truth in it.
All the messages tell me to be kind, be gentle, be mindful. Part of me feels guilty for not being able to be these things for anyone right now. But it all starts on the inside right.
So each day... i learn a little more about the need to forgive myself.
For all the things i haven't done, for all the things i should do, for the person i can't yet be.
Listen
They tell me of their days, and i hear them laugh as they play together. They come out to me, grab my hands, tug at my clothes, climb on my lap... they tell me of their love for me.
And i have to teach myself how to hear it.
One day at a time.
Tuesday, May 7, 2013
Fuck, shit and frikken what thes.
Okay, i'm back.
Kinda sorta.
Watch this:
I liked this page about gratitude on Facebook, and then one day... i got a friend request from the lady who owned the page.
I was kinda sure it was a mistake...
But i accepted it. Which is odd, because i don't add people i don't know in person.
She was full of awesomeness on her site... so i thought okay, yeah you're not a crazy stalker person... and i needed people in my life like this so thank you universe.
So sometimes i look at the stuff she does... like uhh... a TED talk! And i go to Zane and i say SHE'S MY FRIEND! (on facebook).
He kinda smiles and says Yes, she's your friend.
Haha and it's kinda weird but really awesome.
I was struggling to find something today.
As always it found me.
I've been all sorts of messed up lately.
Tired and crazy and blue.
This morning i yelled at the kids and i broke Che's homework folder slamming it on the table and it's all been very gah.
Then as i was yelling at them to get into the car, my pretty little daughter with the big eyes and massive attitude- she whispers to me. I'm sorry mum.
And i kneel down and we hug and i apologise to them all.
My frustration has little to do with them.
It drives me insane that i keep losing the plot over breakfast. Seriously.
For everything i read and try to convince myself i am... i can't seem to get this stuff right.
Day after day, i tell people how i do this and that and why can't they just do that and the other thing... and... well yeah...
I watched Toni's talk and i felt bad... for Zane and for people and for myself.
I felt bad that i was struggling with this stuff and as much as i think myself a good person who loves people... well... i speak a lot of negatives. Specially about and to my partner.
So i apologise.
'Speak words that Repair.'
I know this stuff doesn't happen overnight.
So i try and cut down the downtime.
And i try and explain to the kids... that i don't know what i'm doing a lot of the time.
Che says to me, 'Mum, i love you even when you yell. You're just having a bad day, i still love you.'
Jacie says to me 'Mum, i miss you when i'm not with you because I like being with you.'
Tivi, she always tells me a favourite part, then she adds 'And coming home and seeing you mum.'
So i remind myself to listen to the people that matter.
Forgive.
Be kinder.
Let go.
See love.
Thank you to friends who have always been there and by sheer awesomeness always know the ways to fix me. Even unintentionally. The universes way... of balance and awesome.
I said to the kids today, when one of them commented on 'rude words' and how Che in frustration called Stella 'Idiot'... and Zane asked him if he even knew what it meant... Che, crying shook his head.
I told them all what Idiot meant. I told them all that they should choose their words carefully. Be sure it's what they mean to say.
I told them that, and it didn't even occur to me...
The irony.
Haha, and so... we go on.
And try again.
Kinda sorta.
Watch this:
I liked this page about gratitude on Facebook, and then one day... i got a friend request from the lady who owned the page.
I was kinda sure it was a mistake...
But i accepted it. Which is odd, because i don't add people i don't know in person.
She was full of awesomeness on her site... so i thought okay, yeah you're not a crazy stalker person... and i needed people in my life like this so thank you universe.
So sometimes i look at the stuff she does... like uhh... a TED talk! And i go to Zane and i say SHE'S MY FRIEND! (on facebook).
He kinda smiles and says Yes, she's your friend.
Haha and it's kinda weird but really awesome.
I was struggling to find something today.
As always it found me.
I've been all sorts of messed up lately.
Tired and crazy and blue.
This morning i yelled at the kids and i broke Che's homework folder slamming it on the table and it's all been very gah.
Then as i was yelling at them to get into the car, my pretty little daughter with the big eyes and massive attitude- she whispers to me. I'm sorry mum.
And i kneel down and we hug and i apologise to them all.
My frustration has little to do with them.
It drives me insane that i keep losing the plot over breakfast. Seriously.
For everything i read and try to convince myself i am... i can't seem to get this stuff right.
Day after day, i tell people how i do this and that and why can't they just do that and the other thing... and... well yeah...
I watched Toni's talk and i felt bad... for Zane and for people and for myself.
I felt bad that i was struggling with this stuff and as much as i think myself a good person who loves people... well... i speak a lot of negatives. Specially about and to my partner.
So i apologise.
'Speak words that Repair.'
I know this stuff doesn't happen overnight.
So i try and cut down the downtime.
And i try and explain to the kids... that i don't know what i'm doing a lot of the time.
Che says to me, 'Mum, i love you even when you yell. You're just having a bad day, i still love you.'
Jacie says to me 'Mum, i miss you when i'm not with you because I like being with you.'
Tivi, she always tells me a favourite part, then she adds 'And coming home and seeing you mum.'
So i remind myself to listen to the people that matter.
Forgive.
Be kinder.
Let go.
See love.
Thank you to friends who have always been there and by sheer awesomeness always know the ways to fix me. Even unintentionally. The universes way... of balance and awesome.
I said to the kids today, when one of them commented on 'rude words' and how Che in frustration called Stella 'Idiot'... and Zane asked him if he even knew what it meant... Che, crying shook his head.
I told them all what Idiot meant. I told them all that they should choose their words carefully. Be sure it's what they mean to say.
I told them that, and it didn't even occur to me...
The irony.
Haha, and so... we go on.
And try again.
Sunday, May 5, 2013
the past
Okay...
I'm going to write something that scares me.
I'm going to put this shadow right in the light and hope it disappears.
Dies.
Whatever.
I know this is a space for gratitude. I don't know how to get there without getting past here. Without being honest.
So, i sometimes feel like i should really be happy. I mean, i am lucky and blessed and surrounded by family and friends and love, i have these incredible kids, who are healthy and awesome and just amazing and We are fed and housed and clothed and our days are not a struggle to survive.
I am lucky.
And this... this makes it hard, because some days i am heavy with guilt and all sorts of issues when i have to admit to myself... i'm not happy.
Sometimes.
Only sometimes.
The last post.. i don't know... i tried to say something without saying anything.
I tried and choked on the shame of it. The fear of it. The immensity and nothingness of it.
The other night... i was telling Zane off for something... for not helping, for telling me to 'get over it'... and somewhere in the half argument, half desperation...
I lost it.
And free fell. Back into this space that terrifies me.
I don't know how to talk about it.
I don't know because it doesn't really make sense.
I'm a rational person, and i can't rationalise why- or how i feel this way.
Everything i was saying... out loud... was not what i meant.
The words that kept falling from my mouth... weren't anything but noise.
Noise to drown out something i couldn't face again.
People use that term 'depression' in uncomfortable ways for me, they use it like it like an excuse, a reason for not being able to.
I hate it.
And if they had to label me, i know all these terms will come up.
So the part of me that is more intelligent than that, is offended by it's implications.
The part of me that refuses help, always screams frustration.
I've been tired, and i've been pushing.
So i fight with Zane, and i keep going through these motions and i'm not really here, and i'm not really gone.
And that night, he walked out to take the garbage out, and something broke.
Something broke and i couldn't stop it, and i did something i haven't done in a long time.
I got under cold water. In the shower with my clothes on, i stood there til i couldn't breathe because it was so cold and i was crying. A long time ago, i used the water to stop the noise. The cold... it makes it hard to breathe, and when you have to focus on breathing, nothing else gets through. It works. It's harmless. I couldn't take hurting people with a brutal kind of crazy. It'd just add to my guilt. It hides this stupid ugly part of myself behind a closed door and a daily routine.
Everything was wrong, and nothing was wrong. Everything and nothing again.
There's that space... the one i sat in for over a year.
Where there was darkness and nothing, and me. With no reason to be so horribly sad, and still feeling it.
Paralysed by it.
Taunted by it.
And all the reasons to be happy, became more reasons to be ashamed.
All these things trusted to me, all the pretending that i knew what i was doing. That i know... that i am worthy of anything in my life... well all the smiling photos and all the things i do... it feels like painting over rotting wood.
I haven't felt like this in a long time.
Kids have a way of drawing you out of your own head. Out of spaces and into everyday life.
I know the kids were my salvation for the longest time now.
I panicked that night that they weren't a strong enough pull any more.
But now... now there's so much more riding on everything. SO much more to lose.
So i'm standing under that shower hyperventilating.
Gasping for air and calm and things to just stop.
And i'm sure i'm actually repeating the word stop in between gasps and like always i see myself from outside of my self and i say mean things like ' Geez you're dramatic, get a fucking grip- cut it out and stop it. You're not crazy. Stop pretending.'
So there's one part of me that's pretending to be crazy and the other that's pretending to be normal and both these things are true. Both arguments make sense. I'm not crazy enough to be crazy. I'm not normal enough to be normal.
It's all pretence because underneath everything. I have no idea what i am.
This is what scares me the most.
The lack of anything that sits in the centre of me.
It's empty.
It's this empty space of nothingness and when i'm there. Nothing makes sense.
In the emptiness... there are echoes.
In the emptiness everything is magnified.
In the emptiness... i am frozen.
I remember it which makes it worse.
I remember the nights and the days and the weeks and the months and every single moment of feeling and not knowing how to stop it.
I remember it, and i am horrified because i cannot let it into my spaces now.
I have these kids and i am scared for them.
I know they see more than i think, know more than i say.
I can't break them.
I probably will.
Jesus.
And that fear... of not being able to be anything for anyone.
It swallows me whole.
And when Zane finds me he asks me why i have my clothes on in the shower, he tells me to stop being crazy.
I tell him to leave me alone. I can't do this right now. Just leave me alone.
I can't handle the fact that he's seen me like this. Know that there's really no coming back from it.
When i come out... i can't face him.
Can't talk to him.
No one's ever actually SEEN me like this.
He tries to say something. I am hysterical.
I say the first honest thing i have ever said to him in all my Why's and blame and all my many criticisms.
I tell him i am sorry.
I remember him saying sorry he wasn't perfect like me.
This time he just says he is sorry too.
But i am not sorry in that way, i'm sorry in this earth shattering sense that it's just occurred to me that everything i criticise about him in our entire time together or in anyone ever in my life for that matter... it's not because i'm better. It's all just this desperation to pretend i know things.
I know nothing.
Inside of it i'm hollow.
And i coat it all in why's and buts and it takes the focus off me.
I'm sorry because it isn't the stress, the pressure, the daily grind of things that's been making me feel this way.
It's me.
It's this thing inside me.
And it's always been there.
And i am scared of it.
I thought i was over it.
I thought...
Then i tell myself to stop thinking.
It's not a choice any more.
They need me.
I can't be this. Not now. Not anymore.
And i don't say anything more to Zane who is quiet.
I don't say anything to anyone.
Because if i give voice to it, will it just be more real.
I have to get on with things.
I have a job now, kind of what i wanted - and these 3 amazing kids, who look at me and how i handle to the world.
And maybe if i keep pretending, they will make it through okay.
I've done it before. I almost believed it.
So why not again. This time it might stick.
Then... there's this new part of me.
Who watches quietly and says- let it go.
You need to let it go.
I won't talk to Zane. I won't look at him.
I am afraid that what he saw can't be unseen. The things i said can't be undone.
And that quietness, it says So what.
It is what it is. And you are who you are.
Let it go.
So here i am.
Kinda trying it.
Sometimes, i am funny and full of jokes and the good kind of crazy.
Sometimes i am full of words and advice and theories and philosophies.
And sometimes, i'm full of this.
Anxiety and fear and uncertainty.
And that is just how it is.
I can still be grateful here. I just need to let it go now.
This isn't a secret any more.
It's just me.
I'm going to write something that scares me.
I'm going to put this shadow right in the light and hope it disappears.
Dies.
Whatever.
I know this is a space for gratitude. I don't know how to get there without getting past here. Without being honest.
So, i sometimes feel like i should really be happy. I mean, i am lucky and blessed and surrounded by family and friends and love, i have these incredible kids, who are healthy and awesome and just amazing and We are fed and housed and clothed and our days are not a struggle to survive.
I am lucky.
And this... this makes it hard, because some days i am heavy with guilt and all sorts of issues when i have to admit to myself... i'm not happy.
Sometimes.
Only sometimes.
The last post.. i don't know... i tried to say something without saying anything.
I tried and choked on the shame of it. The fear of it. The immensity and nothingness of it.
The other night... i was telling Zane off for something... for not helping, for telling me to 'get over it'... and somewhere in the half argument, half desperation...
I lost it.
And free fell. Back into this space that terrifies me.
I don't know how to talk about it.
I don't know because it doesn't really make sense.
I'm a rational person, and i can't rationalise why- or how i feel this way.
Everything i was saying... out loud... was not what i meant.
The words that kept falling from my mouth... weren't anything but noise.
Noise to drown out something i couldn't face again.
People use that term 'depression' in uncomfortable ways for me, they use it like it like an excuse, a reason for not being able to.
I hate it.
And if they had to label me, i know all these terms will come up.
So the part of me that is more intelligent than that, is offended by it's implications.
The part of me that refuses help, always screams frustration.
I've been tired, and i've been pushing.
So i fight with Zane, and i keep going through these motions and i'm not really here, and i'm not really gone.
And that night, he walked out to take the garbage out, and something broke.
Something broke and i couldn't stop it, and i did something i haven't done in a long time.
I got under cold water. In the shower with my clothes on, i stood there til i couldn't breathe because it was so cold and i was crying. A long time ago, i used the water to stop the noise. The cold... it makes it hard to breathe, and when you have to focus on breathing, nothing else gets through. It works. It's harmless. I couldn't take hurting people with a brutal kind of crazy. It'd just add to my guilt. It hides this stupid ugly part of myself behind a closed door and a daily routine.
Everything was wrong, and nothing was wrong. Everything and nothing again.
There's that space... the one i sat in for over a year.
Where there was darkness and nothing, and me. With no reason to be so horribly sad, and still feeling it.
Paralysed by it.
Taunted by it.
And all the reasons to be happy, became more reasons to be ashamed.
All these things trusted to me, all the pretending that i knew what i was doing. That i know... that i am worthy of anything in my life... well all the smiling photos and all the things i do... it feels like painting over rotting wood.
I haven't felt like this in a long time.
Kids have a way of drawing you out of your own head. Out of spaces and into everyday life.
I know the kids were my salvation for the longest time now.
I panicked that night that they weren't a strong enough pull any more.
But now... now there's so much more riding on everything. SO much more to lose.
So i'm standing under that shower hyperventilating.
Gasping for air and calm and things to just stop.
And i'm sure i'm actually repeating the word stop in between gasps and like always i see myself from outside of my self and i say mean things like ' Geez you're dramatic, get a fucking grip- cut it out and stop it. You're not crazy. Stop pretending.'
So there's one part of me that's pretending to be crazy and the other that's pretending to be normal and both these things are true. Both arguments make sense. I'm not crazy enough to be crazy. I'm not normal enough to be normal.
It's all pretence because underneath everything. I have no idea what i am.
This is what scares me the most.
The lack of anything that sits in the centre of me.
It's empty.
It's this empty space of nothingness and when i'm there. Nothing makes sense.
In the emptiness... there are echoes.
In the emptiness everything is magnified.
In the emptiness... i am frozen.
I remember it which makes it worse.
I remember the nights and the days and the weeks and the months and every single moment of feeling and not knowing how to stop it.
I remember it, and i am horrified because i cannot let it into my spaces now.
I have these kids and i am scared for them.
I know they see more than i think, know more than i say.
I can't break them.
I probably will.
Jesus.
And that fear... of not being able to be anything for anyone.
It swallows me whole.
And when Zane finds me he asks me why i have my clothes on in the shower, he tells me to stop being crazy.
I tell him to leave me alone. I can't do this right now. Just leave me alone.
I can't handle the fact that he's seen me like this. Know that there's really no coming back from it.
When i come out... i can't face him.
Can't talk to him.
No one's ever actually SEEN me like this.
He tries to say something. I am hysterical.
I say the first honest thing i have ever said to him in all my Why's and blame and all my many criticisms.
I tell him i am sorry.
I remember him saying sorry he wasn't perfect like me.
This time he just says he is sorry too.
But i am not sorry in that way, i'm sorry in this earth shattering sense that it's just occurred to me that everything i criticise about him in our entire time together or in anyone ever in my life for that matter... it's not because i'm better. It's all just this desperation to pretend i know things.
I know nothing.
Inside of it i'm hollow.
And i coat it all in why's and buts and it takes the focus off me.
I'm sorry because it isn't the stress, the pressure, the daily grind of things that's been making me feel this way.
It's me.
It's this thing inside me.
And it's always been there.
And i am scared of it.
I thought i was over it.
I thought...
Then i tell myself to stop thinking.
It's not a choice any more.
They need me.
I can't be this. Not now. Not anymore.
And i don't say anything more to Zane who is quiet.
I don't say anything to anyone.
Because if i give voice to it, will it just be more real.
I have to get on with things.
I have a job now, kind of what i wanted - and these 3 amazing kids, who look at me and how i handle to the world.
And maybe if i keep pretending, they will make it through okay.
I've done it before. I almost believed it.
So why not again. This time it might stick.
Then... there's this new part of me.
Who watches quietly and says- let it go.
You need to let it go.
I won't talk to Zane. I won't look at him.
I am afraid that what he saw can't be unseen. The things i said can't be undone.
And that quietness, it says So what.
It is what it is. And you are who you are.
Let it go.
So here i am.
Kinda trying it.
Sometimes, i am funny and full of jokes and the good kind of crazy.
Sometimes i am full of words and advice and theories and philosophies.
And sometimes, i'm full of this.
Anxiety and fear and uncertainty.
And that is just how it is.
I can still be grateful here. I just need to let it go now.
This isn't a secret any more.
It's just me.
Thursday, May 2, 2013
Move
I don't know how to say this.
I don't really have the words.
So i'm quiet
So i hide.
So i wrap myself up in layers of nothing
and hope it'll all be fine.
I saw her again
That girl
the one made of broken things
the one made of dark
The one that knows
where all those scars are.
i gasp, and without thinking my hands fly to my lips.
sssssshhhh
paralysed
terrified.
mute
fear.
this insane fear, it's suffocating
Why why why
how did i get here
Angrily - the other one, she's frustrated
says MOVE
Move on.
You're not that person any more.
You've beaten this.
Move.
You can't stay here.
Move.
They need you.
Go.
You can't do this again.
MOVE
i see that shadow,
it's hard to breathe.
Get up.
Move.
I don't really have the words.
So i'm quiet
So i hide.
So i wrap myself up in layers of nothing
and hope it'll all be fine.
I saw her again
That girl
the one made of broken things
the one made of dark
The one that knows
where all those scars are.
i gasp, and without thinking my hands fly to my lips.
sssssshhhh
paralysed
terrified.
mute
fear.
this insane fear, it's suffocating
Why why why
how did i get here
Angrily - the other one, she's frustrated
says MOVE
Move on.
You're not that person any more.
You've beaten this.
Move.
You can't stay here.
Move.
They need you.
Go.
You can't do this again.
MOVE
i see that shadow,
it's hard to breathe.
Get up.
Move.
Sunday, April 21, 2013
confessions
Sometimes, People call me crazy.
And sometimes... i suppose i am a little bit on the strange side.
But... I have to remind myself sometimes... to be myself-
You gotta realise peeps that sometimes... crazy isn't easy.
An old school friend asked me to take photos of her Daughters 4th Birthday.
I hesitate.
I say yes, while a voice in the back of my mind, says noooo no no no, what are you doing? why why? You don't take photos professionally. You will stuff it up.
This year, i promised myself, that i would say yes, before i allowed myself to listen to that voice.
You can freak out Vien, but you can't BACK out...
This is an entirely new process.
So yesterday, i was watching the rain pouring down... freaking out that indoor photos are never as great out outdoors in natural light. I can't control this weather.
I am not familiar enough with the camera i borrowed, because my camera... is not good enough.
I half anxiously play with the settings last night, testing it on light i'm never great at. Indoors, low light... no flash. I hate flash. I wish i could take shiney photos... but i'm better at noise.
Who knows what i'm better at.
Just coz you take a million photos- doesn't make you a photographer.
I open my eyes this morning to blue skies, to sunshine.
Perfect for a 4th birthday. Perfect for photographs of childhood.
Half my work is done for me.
Why am i still freaking out?
I know some things about myself, that other people don't/might not.
For example:
I don't think i'm any better than anyone else at what i do, Yes i take photos, but i've seen much much better photos than mine. Hence i'm not a photographer. I Just like to to take photos. Same goes for everything else; such as i'm not a great mother- there are awesome mothers out there- i just happen to be in this field and do what i can. Haha...
I am better in text than i am in person. I'm not great with actually having conversations... this is partly because i spent many years at home with little people, but it is mostly because - i can't do small talk. If i ask you how you are and how you've been. "Good" is an end game. I will not ask you any more questions if you respond with generic answers. It's just a waste of time and energy. I know this is a bit rude. I feel bad about it.
I feel bad about a lot of things. I feel bad that i sometimes come across as outgoing, when really i'm mostly not. That my words onscreen and my real like presence- sometimes (often) don't match.
I'm sunshiney on facebook, and awkward in reality.
I am riddled with self doubt. And full of angst about details. (ask my husband). I seem fun and carefree... but in the background... i'm always choking on the details.
I am not always positive. I don't think i'm awesome. And i'm always afraid people will see through me.
I don't like talking on the phone.
I don't like buying bread from the bakery.
When i leave the house, the dialogue in my head mostly consists of reminding myself to breathe. Let go. It'll all be okay.
I saw this online this morning:
I asked to be shown the way.
Now it's time to relax. And do what i love.
Yes Vien, you love this.
Now shhh... and do it.
Breathe.
Monday, April 15, 2013
Whatever dude
Sometimes, i have nothing to say.
Sometimes, these words kinda float around me, and asked to be used.
Sometimes, i have no idea what i'm doing.
Randomly these sentences fall around my feet, strung together by twine and fragments of days and thoughts.
Sometimes... i am tired.
I sleep. I sleep and wake up and i am tired.
I walk around and i am tired.
The days are made of minutes i need to get through, so that i can say that it's been done.
I survived.
I let these things get to me sometimes.
I talk about nothing.
I tell people these little things that don't mean anything.
I keep moving along.
Take photos, eat meals, feed, bathe, turn up.
Filling up my days and hours and seconds, my eyes and my spaces and this air around me... filling it up with anything so that it isn't empty and unused.
Some days this shit is so pointless.
And i'm all like... whatever dude.
Why do you like hugs mum?
Because they feel nice Jace.
I like them too, because they are funny.
Mum?
Yes Che?
I love you.
I love you too.
My favourite part was when i came home and saw you mummy.
Oh really?
Yes, what was your favourite part of me?
This part right here Tiv. That's my favourite. And all these parts too.
Sometimes, all the world outside- it makes no sense to me.
I don't know what to tell them, how to prepare them for all the uncertainty in all those spaces.
In some minutes though.. there's their smile, the giggle, the words so wise and small, the arms that wrap around my neck and wish me love and good nights.
And in these moments, i'm like Whatever dude.
This is all that counts.
Sometimes, these words kinda float around me, and asked to be used.
Sometimes, i have no idea what i'm doing.
Randomly these sentences fall around my feet, strung together by twine and fragments of days and thoughts.
Sometimes... i am tired.
I sleep. I sleep and wake up and i am tired.
I walk around and i am tired.
The days are made of minutes i need to get through, so that i can say that it's been done.
I survived.
I let these things get to me sometimes.
I talk about nothing.
I tell people these little things that don't mean anything.
I keep moving along.
Take photos, eat meals, feed, bathe, turn up.
Filling up my days and hours and seconds, my eyes and my spaces and this air around me... filling it up with anything so that it isn't empty and unused.
Some days this shit is so pointless.
And i'm all like... whatever dude.
Why do you like hugs mum?
Because they feel nice Jace.
I like them too, because they are funny.
Mum?
Yes Che?
I love you.
I love you too.
My favourite part was when i came home and saw you mummy.
Oh really?
Yes, what was your favourite part of me?
This part right here Tiv. That's my favourite. And all these parts too.
Sometimes, all the world outside- it makes no sense to me.
I don't know what to tell them, how to prepare them for all the uncertainty in all those spaces.
In some minutes though.. there's their smile, the giggle, the words so wise and small, the arms that wrap around my neck and wish me love and good nights.
And in these moments, i'm like Whatever dude.
This is all that counts.
Wednesday, March 13, 2013
Crocodile Hunter
You throw mini tantrums.
The books tell me this is just ploy for attention.
I suppose they could be right.
Today, we wandered the shops, as we do on a Wednesday.
Wednesday is the middle day between preschool and playgroup, we go to the library on Wednesdays.
On Wednesdays you stop me at your favourite 'Honey Chicken and Steamed Rice' place... since you were not even yet three and we started going to storytime at the library- back in the days of your Chicken and wice obsession - you learned that the white rice, was called steamed rice.
Haha a year later, we're friends with the people behind the counter, the lady knows your name - knows your order. Her husband today remarks that you've grown up - that his daughter who is also three has grown bigger and so much more demanding. You wait patiently while we chat about kids and their funny personalities.
We sit down to eat, and as always you have 2 forks. They put two in because they think we share it you and i... but to you the two forks mean- one for chicken and one for rice. You used to eat all the chicken first then start on the rice - purely because the rice was always too hot.
Today you say - can you blow my rice mum? and you alternate spoons. One chicken, one rice.
In Big W i look at cardigans. I need proper clothes for working i suppose- You run around the racks and giggle.
You find the crocodile in a mound of soft toys. the crocodile is as big as you. A soft toy. I love this croc-dile! You say. I pull a face at you and point out to you that you always tell me you have too many toys already. You say, but i have space on my bed for this one croc-dile!
I don't say anything.
You put him back with your head hung slightly.
Oooh... now if you'd insisted on getting it, i would have said no.
But as you walk away i tell you go get him, and you run back.
I love this croc-dile mum!
It is all lovely until we leave and get to the place where the ladies are collecting money for breast cancer. You usually love to bounce up to the buckets and put coins in. I offer you 2 dollars, and you shake your head.
I don't want to.
Instead you clutch your croc dile - and take the two dollars and throw it on the floor.
I pick it up put it in the bucket for the lady who is smiling at you and turn back to you and ask why you did that.
You hang your head, and you know by my tone that i'm not impressed with you- so you do something that you've done more and more often now. You sit down on the ground and refuse to move. You won't look at me. I say okay then, i'm going home bye Jacie. I start walking away. Usually you wait a bit then follow.
TOday, you put your crocodile on the floor.
ANd lay down on him.
You don't even look up.
I say BYE! again loudly.
The breast cancer lady is watching you surprised. He's not even looking! she says to me laughing.
The old couple on the seat in front of you laugh and whisper to each other.
You lay there.
I walk behind the sign and watch you.
You don't even look up.
People walk past and some laugh and some look around until they catch my smile and are reassured that he isn't lost.
The charity lady goes up to talk to you. You respond by laying face down on the crocodile.
I do nothing but watch you. I don't negotiate with terrorism.
Although this seems to be a silent, lay down protest.
Minutes pass and people walk around you.
I am as stubborn as any of my children can be- so i shrug at all the suggestions the lady who is trying to get you to get up is giving me and you.
Another lady comes by, this time with the crew of 'special needs' people who do their shopping there in a big group on wednesdays.
She stares at you and it's only when she starts pulling the crocodile from under your head that i walk over and intervene. She points at you and indicates up.
I tell her it's okay and indicate that she should let go of the crocodile preferably BEFORE your head hits the ground. She shrugs her shoulders and lets go. You take your crocodile and lay your entire body on top of him. I sit down and say to you calmly:
Jacie i will call dad and let him know where you are, and he can come to pick you up after work. Or you can come home with me now, because i'm going. It's up to you.'
You don't look at me, but you get up- pick up your crocodile and take my hand.
We walk away as if nothing happened.
Behind us the benches and groups of observers laugh and wave bye, you ignore them and start chatting to me about how to carry your crocodile.
I don't mention the fact that you spent 15 minutes laying on the shopping center floor.
We continue our day and you keep telling me how you love croc-diles, and you forgot to get a book about them- but at preschool your teacher read you one.
We talk about the book and you tell me what you know about croc-diles. They live in water and snap things, and some are goodie guys and some are baddie guys. We talk about the ENormous Crocodile and his tricky ways.
I tell you i know a man who also loved crocodiles. We will watch some videos on my computer when we get home.
You sit on my lap, with your Crocodile - you've named him Samily.
We watch Steve Irwin catch crocodiles and put trackers on them and release one down at a beach.
You hear that he is called the 'Crocodile Hunter.'
I explain to you that what he does is to protect the crocodiles.
We watch more videos of Australia Zoo, and i tell you that he owns the zoo- that he protects many animals not just crocdiles.
You watch thoughtfully and while other kids often get bored of documentaries, you ask me questions and make observations- ask if you can see more.
We will borrow some books next week all about crocodiles i tell you.
Yes, you say they will have some next time.
When it's bedtime i go to collect your favourite parts- and you tell me that you are going to grow up to be a lot of different things, and you will be a crocdile hunter too.
And you will have a zoo.
Oh, that sounds great, i will live with you then.
You nod, and tell me your zoo will be near the beach. But when you are big, and strong - like that man who is Steve, like Steve from blues clues too... you will be like him. Right now though you are only little. See?
You point at your body and i laugh, but i know how much you've grown and while i marvel at the depth of your reasoning, and the magnitude of your dreams - i am part anxious... of the way the world makes us forget things. While i am excited to see what you will become, i am instinctively seized by a need to want to protect you from disappointments.
I shrug it off.
You tell me your zoo will have lots of animals, but maybe not croc diles because they should go in a beach.
I tell you to sleep. Tomorrow we will learn more.
I don't know what you'll become - but i know, i can record all your dreams - even the seemingly impossible ones.
One day, when the world runs out of magic, and reason shadows imagination, I hope you read back on the ways you used to be, and remember what it felt like
To be small and brave, determined and invincible. Unafraid of impossible, and full of amazing.
Che if you read this too... at this moment you want to be a swimmer.
Tivi- you want to be a teacher.
And i... i want to be like you guys :)
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