Shot through the heart

A not untimely letter from my estranged mother arrived today.

In it, she apologises profusely, sincerely (for the umpteenth time) for her misguided habit of confiding in me when I was just 11 the kinds of affairs of the heart that should never be voiced to your child at any age, let alone that one.

She goes on in the letter to tell me we all have choices. And proceeds to deliver me what my choice is. How silly I was for the first page of her letter to almost have me convinced she really meant her apologies this time. See, she thinks that apologising (again) should be enough. I do understand that in her mind, I should be thankful I have a mother at all. Her mother died when she was a teenager and it was a sudden unexpected death. So I do appreciate she thinks I am shunning the gift of having a mother with my 'choice' not to have contact with her. And when she states she had no choice in her mother dying, I feel for her.

But she's again only considering herself in this latest correspondence. She writes about choices I have made (and even monopolises that by telling what my choice is...) and yet likens it directly with the fact that she didn't have a choice about her mum. Yet she writes to me as one mother to another, because "after all, you're a mum now". I wonder how she'd counter my reply (if I were to give one) that I too know a thing or two about not having a choice in things - but I'm not going to enter into the murky area of comparing one's feelings of loss and grief to another's.

I find it impossible to reason with someone who sent me a card for Christmas the year Ella died asking me why we had no children yet (she had obviously forgotten about Ellanor and in some respects I didn't expect any more of her, she is challenged with mental illness of some description that continues to go undiagnosed) and put in capitals, underlined and all, "Don't you have the guts?" They are words that, while from a rather crazy person, are really hard to read from your own goddamn mother.

Disregarding that last paragraph, though, the main point I am again stuck on now is, by my very upbringing I am delivering, in some ways, her view of things via this book I am working on. I am unnerved today. Not using it as an excuse to not continue, but the echoes of words and hurts and grievances she's had and bleated on and on about for more years than I can recall, are haunting me as I see unfolding before me a book of feelings that might appear to be sounding familiar to some others of my family. I fear admitting that I am writing a book to them. To anyone, actually. My mother has written several autobiographies just this century, it's a bit of a family joke we talk about in mock pious tones occasionally. What if I become the latest amusement?

More importantly, I look at the subject matter I've got down on paper just in the last 24 hours and because of its content, I wonder if I have judged situations I have perceived as hurtful too harshly these past few years. See? Such was my upbringing and teachings in childhood that I've somehow managed to not allow myself to trust my own feelings - they always came from Mother when I was under her roof. They were always either approved or rejected by her. She would tell me how I felt. I clearly remember disagreeing with her and her shouting me down and telling me I did feel whatever it was she'd decided I was feeling. So I would simply allow her to talk and believe whatever reality it was she was spinning in her mind. Rather, I just let it happen, because to deny or disagree was only to be told I was wrong so there seemed no point really. All I could do was wait it out and endure. Such has been the method of my survival thus far in life. It's little fricking wonder I have such trouble defending myself against the aggressors I come across from time to time in my life.

It all comes back to upbringing and temperaments (even if you try your best to remove yourself from your family, I believe you are a product of it, a bit o' nature, a bit o' nurture - well, I am anyway - if anyone knows the secret to sidestepping this one, preferably a non-alcoholic one, do whisper it in my waiting ear). Where did my acceptance of others go since 2004? Where is my tolerance level, of people and their shortcomings? I had one. I know I had one! A bloody good one, too.

I'm so confused. That freaking pendulum. Why the fuck won't it find centre gravity?

What's the matter, Colonel Sanders? CHICKEN??

I can't go another post without giving thanks to the *whatever* out there that has brought such dear people into my life. So... thank you.

I've had a few days now to process my doubts and fears about my writing and also the responses here. Pretty unanimous and resounding "Get on wiv it!" from the crowd. So I will have to just gulp down the tears and.... well, get on with it. It's hugely emotional. Sometimes I can hardly understand myself on the voice files I'm making and having typed up. It is hard to say to begin with, yet harder still to hear myself sound so upset.

In order to write this honestly, I have had to shift into a sort of parallel timeframe and get myself back into the me who was 'back then'. Mighty emotional to do and a fairly heavy duty task. I can switch back to the present easily enough, although it does make me rather foggy/heavy sometimes.

I guess this must have been what "they" meant when I was forewarned Lolly was coming to help me with my work. She does give me the strength. If I didn't have her beaming face to go and get up after sleeps or big sleepy hugs before I put her down, I wouldn't then be able to come out into my backyard and do this other work. I wouldn't have the stomach to go traipsing through my old archived thoughts and memories of those days with and after Ella. I would be physically ill. As it is, it is fairly impacting anyway even with a 'babe in arms'.

Yesterday I stood with a dear, dear friend as we looked at all (and I mean all) of Ellanor's photos. We took some time away from the party to step into the quiet study and make a brief moment to connect with her - and each other - and it felt good. It was bittersweet but it didn't impact me so immensely that I couldn't control my sadness. This was Lauryn's day. But Ella is a part of that too. And if my friend hadn't approached me, I might not have stopped still at all to say hello to my dear Boo.

I'm getting better at this. I was a crying mess doing work on my book this morning, then went and got the LGBB ready to take to playgroup and immersed myself in her world there without even noticing a shift in gears.

I am a mum to two busy girls, after all.

The Grand Finale of the Birthday Week

God, what a festivus this week has been. The crescendo being her actual party today at home, the LGBB delighted one last time, until who knows when Mummy/Daddy will succumb to the ways of introducing more sugar, in a fist full of sweet cake. Sweeeeeet.

I've never seen her so relaxed in a crowd. Maybe it's because we were. Steve and I have been chatting tonight, over left over gourmet pies for him and dips and chips and sparkling pink for me (blergh I feel like a bloated skanky pleb for scoffing food but we didn't have much all day). And we have decided we are finally getting it right; the balance between obligatory and necessary attendees to important days for us. It was great. The necessaries outweighed the obligatories 10-1. We also decided it's nice when your obligatories are also your necessaries.

Lolly was an utter delight. I was so impressed that she didn't seem too phased by all the people. She's not appreciative of anyone being in her face, less so of people standing over her to watch her perform and play. Oh how thoroughly stifling. But she took everything in her stride and when she implored with her little open-close fists for me to take the cue and ask if she wanted to go to bed, the relieved whinny told me she'd be better for a quick kip before cake time.

Her cake eating scene was inspired. Despite feeling ill just watching her hoe into that Betty Crocker chocolate iced number and then cramming a fistful of cupcake in her gob, it was awesome to watch something I helped create devour carbs so unashamedly. In front of a crowd. And I prayed for her like never before that she has inherited Daddy's metabolism.

Cake time over, she delighted in more of this intriguing surprise-inside-crinkly-stuff business, exclaiming graciously over every single gift she opened, with a splay of hands and a "aaaah!" squeal or sigh at every one. I could have melted into the floor I was sitting on to help her open them.

And now, one last flurry for the time being, I give you pictures of Lolly (make my life so wonderful) and her last birthday hurrah:

Bears and their silly fart jokes.


Sometimes a girl's just gotta roll up her sleeves and get on with the job (of eating).
Yes, it's another bear cake. Yes, we made it (the 79c non-name butter cake mix trick worked, Ms Taters!). And yes.... those are cupcakes with tiny teddies on them.

Why would a girl want to tackle the big daddy when a mini version is within easy grab?


Can't talk. Eating.


Why use one hand when you have two? Decorum is soooo overrated.
The LGBB discovers the art of loving your food so much you have to hug it.


Will clap 4 cake.


Grandpa, you pop up in the strangest of places.

Business as usual as of tomorrow, I'm sure. Have a tonne of things to sort through now that this excellent distraction of a party has used up the last of my excuses, dishes to do, books to write, floors to clean. You know, the usual. Things to compartmentalise and trains of thought to capture before they vanish.

It's all good. Thank God for friends. Today was made very safe and warm. Will have a nice long sleep (one can only hope).

Looking for a bit of Divine intervention

I am getting used to this two steps forward, four steps back thing WRT writing this book now.

I get a burst of incentive. Then nothing for weeks. During these weeks, I meander aimlessly through what I already have down on paper. And while in the beginning I was so sure of my intent and what I was doing this for, now all I see is me looking like I'm complaining about everything.

I'm not! I'm SOOOO not. But it seems so.... so, I dunno, terribly self-indulgent. I need focus. I need a slap in the head.

I've read snippets of passages and gone "Geez, this thing is writing itself". But then others where I've obviously just been reliving too much - it's too bogged down in sadness or something - and it just doesn't feel right.

How will I ever strike the balance? I'm not in the doldrums all the time. But I'm not chipper 24/7 either by any stretch. I thought I was going to be able to present a really frank yet uplifting view of how my life has been enriched. Perhaps it's the first person bit. I think I am mighty uncomfortable writing in first person, as if it's .... oh help, here are those words all strung together .... "all about me". That is not, and never has been with this book, my intention.

I won't finish the damn thing and it'll never see the light of day despite all the work that's gone into it so far, not just by me but my Trusty Toypist Extraordinnaire *hair flick*, if for one second I believe it's coming across as little old me just doing her narna for 200-something pages. My aim is for it to have meaning, enlightening moments - where I've been hit square between the eyes with the good, the bad and the putrid, I want to share that. I feel a sense of duty to, more's the point, in case it might bring not only comfort to kindred parents but also broadening of understanding for the wider spectrum.

Of course, it doesn't help that I've tentatively, almost apologetically, admitted to a couple of people in person that I am doing this. The reaction has been somewhat patronising, I must say. It doesn't give me confidence. Then again, I can see where this is coming from. My true friends are really sticking to their guns and urging me on it, so it just makes the other naysayers really stand out actually. Still......... my nature being what it is, I am very timid about making such a bold claim as "I am writing a book about our journey". Ugh. It sounds almost precocious. And I'm losing my drive on it because I feel like I'm floundering in self-something-or-other. Instead of just bloody well getting on with it.

I. Don't. Know. I feel like I am, if not wasting my time then certainly, wallowing in my own dung somewhat. I need a swift bit o' straight talk. Time for the wagons to circle *rolls up sleeves and looks pointedly*

Anybody in The Know, preferably with editing skills who can give me some pointers on what to do with the Juggernaut, are more than welcome to email me (if you don't care to post a message here) to partake in the booting. Or coaching. Or even pom-pom rustling. Gimme a ...

Whatever.

Once upon a time

A little girl read a story to her dog (a dog who was supposed to be in hiding until Christmas but her mummy caved and didn't even last a day and gave it as a first birthday present doggy instead).



















She read and she read to him.
And he listened and listened.




The little girl pointed out things of interest to the little dog. A xylophone here, a starfish there.

And when the little doggy became tired, the little girl rocked him in her arms.

All of a sudden, the little girl decided the little doggy needed a lesson in deport-
ment.

So she grabbed the little doggy and put the book on his head, with the strictest instructions to balance it perfectly there.





Which he did. Sort of.







Bye bye, little doggy.



The End.

DON'T try the veal

There was a bout of food poisoning yesterday morning on the plane.

It set off, as usual, once passengers, their luggage, a duck and an odd assortment of wooden blocks were carefully stowed (via the open-air ceiling, mind you). Cabin crew did cross-checks, the pilot said "Ready for take-off" and it whooshed into the air with the inflight music cranked up... "High and low, high and low, off in the sky and away we go with a cloud over here and a cloud over there, high and low, away we go."

The passengers looked settled. The duck was happy.

And then it happened. A tidal wave of blueberry smoothie, 3/4 digested, sloshed down the aisle. Up the walls, out the windows. All over the carpet and also down the operator's growsuit.

Somebody, who shall remain nameless but who goes by the name of a very delectable pop corn snack, vommied. Big-time.

F-F-F-F-F-FIRE

I. I don't know how to say this.

Ok, I'll just say it.

I set fire to my kitchen. My beloved kitchen that I haven't used in quite some months *phew* There, I feel better for getting that out.

Last night, on Night 3 of Change the Routine So She Doesn't Notice There's No More Boob tactic, whereby a breastfeed has been replaced by a measly cup of water and a book from Daddy, was the first night I've actually been home during the process. So in an attack of the guilts, I ditched the usual work (I normally perform paid work tasks in that teensy window between dinner and after-bath time with Daddy) and decided to start a pot of water for the spaghetti. It was the least I could do.

Now, I know it's bin a while since I was all haute cuisine in the kitchen, like, but I assumed I could handle filling a stingey pot with water from the tap and sticking it on the stove to boil. Hell, I was even prepared to do the spaghetti part.

So I got out a pot. I put it in the sink, resting it on one of the LGBB's used bowls for the day while I filled it with water. Stopped the tap, stuck it on the stove, whacked on the gas. I was prepared for some crackle and sizzle as the water droplets from the sink on the underside of the pot evaporated in the heat. I heard it start to do a familiar pop and fizz as I wandered off, back to the computer and my headset.

Not more than 20 seconds later, I heard a loud POP. Not a pissy pop. A balloon-popping pop. A balloon popping in an empty corridor pop. Loud. Vigilant like you should be of coconuts, but not yet alarmed, I wandered back into the kitchen, my curiosity aroused.

Ok, flames. FLAMES. FLAAAAAAMES. Big flames. Scary fucking flames.

I have discovered that I am NOT a cool cucumber in a moment of crisis. That I would, in fact, wet my very own pants even if the bladder was not full (not that I did on this occasion, but anywho...).

What ensued for the next two minutes was me yelling out to Steve and interjecting my cries with the simple, self-explanatory (or so I thought) "Shit! SHIT!!! SHIIITTTT!!!!!" Note to self: the word "shit" does not douse flames.

In my defense, I did attempt to go near the flames under the pot. I picked it up. I faced my fear as if a hundred huntsmen were under the damn thing. When I did, a mutated purple plastic LGBB-bowl lid flopped back onto the hotplate and continued to burn unabated. That's when the "Shit"s began in full flight.

Thankfully, Steve came out, LGBB still in hand (bleary-eyed and soooo close to sleep from her bedtime book routine, oh dear), and told me that no, that glass of water I was holding was NOT a wise idea to fan the flames of a plastic fire. Once I saw him, it was as if I magically regained my composure though. Weird. I went from Damsel to Dragon.

The fire out, Steve continued with the routine for the Girl, she went off to sleep as if she were none the wiser, despite being dumped unceremoniously in her drowsy state on the couch for a few seconds while we flapped about the kitchen talking loudly. And I paced the lounge room and sobbed. What a big girls' blouse I am.

Steve came back out, by the way, and giggled - yes, giggled - that he expected to come out and literally find a pile of shit. Such were my incessant and apparently convincing exclamations of said matter.

Oh and p.s. The lid? A mangled melted piece of useless polymer chains. HEH!!! I learnt something in Chemistry! I think.... Until someone smart corrects me.

There'll always be juss you n' me, the two ovus

The first ever photo of Steve and I in existence. As in, together in the same photo. Circa 1993.

Before I convinced him the fringe wasn't working for him. And before I let go of my in-need-of-a-makeover Amish look.

We weren't fooling anyone with the "Look, we're not sitting right close-like, there's no hanky-panky exchanging here" poses.

Q: When is a bear not a bear? A: When....

..... it's your CAKE.

We think the LGBB's first real taste of anything sweet (excepting of course the ice cream monstrosity from last weekend which went down just fine, thank you very much) was a hit. Well, unless you ask the poor bear, that is.

The hand and arm are paying for the painstaking piping today, but the result was certainly worth every ache. Funny, it looked so teensy when I got it out of the oven, but it appeared positively huge on the highchair tray. Forgot it was made for a tiny mouth.

Birthday love

Jazz: One sniff for you (FFF-FFF-FFF)

Jazz: And one for ..... this hairy skinny teddy bear

So as the clock ticks over at midnight tonight...

I will be high-fiving somewhere in my dreams and counting my blessings thus:

• I'm not in labour (euuuuuurgh posterior labour and no drugs make me vewy vewy angwy)

• Our golden haired little sprite is tucked up safely in her bed either with or without her dummy

• I've officially spent a whole 12 months not pregnant for the first time since 2002

All short and to the point and extremely worthy of celebration in my books.

A moment of clarity

Geez, these days I hardly get time to get my feathers all ruffled and the realisation comes *pouts* Where's the fun in that?

I am joking, of course.

It's time to fly the nest. I didn't see before that I am not seeing my family as individuals, not beholdent or responsible for insuring my safe passage through my life after experiencing death.

Wise friends are like beacons to me and I appreciate every singular (and collective) one of them (you).

After a build-up of incorrect energy delivered upon me (again) today when I least expected it, in very poor form I perpetuated its effects by purging/dumping, if you will. Like most things viewed in hindsight, I don't know if simply seeing my hurting words on screen and knowing they'd reach a sympathetic ear was what catalysed the enlightenment. But in one fell swoop, I've made another bounding leap in knitting the wound closed.

I can't expect anyone not living my life to fully realise what I feel. No matter how many times I explain or spell it out, it's not for anyone but me to solve the riddle that's been niggling at me. Everyone has their own life. They don't owe me anything. But... in the reverse, nor do I owe them. This was my sticking point thus far, I believe. I expected to be expected to deliver. Seeing as I can't these days, such is life with a gaping hole I will in some respects never fill, I was beating myself up all this time that I can't possibly hope to repay in kind (or otherwise) that which was granted me as I healed in the early days of Ella dying. What's ensued is a flogging of myself to explain myself to, most of all, my family. I don't think they expect it, but I did it anyway. They're all individuals. They are all different (ok, ok, for the Python fans I have to echo... "yes.... we ARE all different"). They are neither responsible nor answerable to me nor me to them.

It's time. I'm on my own now. I finally. FINALLY. Realised it. Not more than 10 minutes ago.

The LGBB's first (of three) 1st birthday party

All dressed up with her Muppet legs on and ready to go party.

Go for the cake! *Lolly hip-and-shoulders her way to the front*

'Ats my grrrl.

Meet ... the LGBB's latest BFF

That's right. Bender from Futurama.

One for all the babies out there

Here's how it's done. By a professional.

I never said I could sing

I was driving to a friend's place, sans child and husband, last week and had the obvious occasion to crank up the stereo.

A bit like that (single solitary) amusing scene of Tom Cruise as Jerry Maguire when he's driving home and feelin' pumped, tries to find a song, any song, on the Hicksville radio station band and comes up with Free Fallin', my song was Let's Hear It For The Boy.

Now before we go dissin' Deneice Williams (for just the spelling of her name alone), I am here to proclaim that try as I might, I can never get those last top notes she goes to at the repeat-to-fade part. Lord knows I have attempted over the years too. And I'm impressed with her vocal range, I have to say. I can pretty much keep up, can sort of hit most of the notes when she starts doing that kind of cutesy 80's-inspired stuccato-breathy, broken words thing.

But when she does that last trail of notes starting already crazily high and going right into the startosphere? No way can I follow. I realised *slumped at wheel, dejected* that when I did it, I was trying to be so pitch-perfect (for Mark Holden) that I slowed it right down so got all out of time and, not only that, the heights of those notes were so damn out of my reach that in order to even attempt to get close them, I sounded like a chimp.

So there you have it. Every time I hear the end of that song now, I'm going to be picturing a cheeky jumping chimpanzee doing the "Hoo haa haaa HAAAAAA!" thing up a tree.

Take THAT

I'm going insane

Ok this is driving me nuts. I have stared at this so long that I got sick.

Steve stood behind me gaily saying "Ooh she just changed direction for me. Oooh! Now she's changed back" so there went my theory that the looped gif was rigged. It's not rigged. I just can't see it change.

7th of the 7th '07

How did you pull up after the weekend? Strange things were afoot at my Circle K store, I tell you.

The triple digit date on Saturday created a bit of an impact and something big shifted that day. Any triple number is a Master number (444, 777, 111 and so forth) and they carry with them very important energetic factors. I'm not even going to begin to explain.... I haven't the proper experience to be going into it and this isn't quite the forum anyway I guess.

But I was absolutely spent yesterday - and the feeling is still not quite passed today yet. It was pointed out to me on Saturday when I went up to do some work for the day at Peace Space that the date was pretty significant. I hadn't even thought about it, no more than the awareness that the global Live Earth concerts were going on. As the weekend panned out, though, and events of the week before settled and did their various fizzing out, I saw that there were actually quite a number of people I knew or had heard of who had been feeling attacked or singled out. Sometimes I don't think these things have a finite starting point but depending who you are, I guess you can pinpoint a moment when you feel like you've been really unjustly dogged on.

I realise like never before that it takes so much of one's energy to maintain one's position, especially if it involves high emotion. In my particular situation, my personal boundaries were tested. I was disappointed in myself that I entered into something I realised was bigger than just me - it's too simple (and too easy) to say that what I say is to blame. I hope in time personal responsibilities of others are realised as I have realised mine. A leopard never changes its spots. I have remained consistent with what I write about and what I stand for. People must know that of me by now.

It's very important - vital - to me that I keep my own lines of communication open. There are dozens of posts on this blog that highlight the importance of tracking my journey since 2005 and I see, reading back over early entries, the progress I've made personally with regards to life after Ella. This gives me great comfort at how far I've come - not unscathed, but learning all the time. It's interesting and sad all at once that whenever I've had to write something like this (as some sort of clarification to my self and to any regular loyal readers), it's usually come about in some way because of how people have reacted to me expressing my perception of something - and this something without fail is tied up with the subject of loss/grief. I am still learning this one, obviously, but at least I'm making tracks.

Most of all, I really hope that everyone is taking great care of themselves and their energy levels. If you feel like you've been hit by a truck, join the club. And I hope whatever is happening for you passes soon.

Is it wrong?

The answer is yes. Well, I reckon it is anyway.

How can you have a commercial for the New Dodge High Ridge Bush Bash City Street Dominatorrr in the middle of the Live Earth concerts for environmental awareness?

I've often wondered what kind of global revolt would ensue if the car manufacturers of the world simply stopped churning out "BIGGER! BETTER! MORE POLLUTING!" vehicles that serve no purpose than to extend a man's appendage (in his own mind) and do their bit to deplete the world's fuel resources.

But no. Big Business doesn't have a heart. So it'd never happen. At least, not until it's too late.

I can't really see the drivers/consumers of these sorts of vehicles sitting down and watching Ian Thorpe explain about changing incandescent light globes over to energy-saving fluorescent ones. Once again, the preaching is being done mostly to the already converted.

And the madness continues.

Flick-ball-change

Knowing what's important is what's important.

Smart fish

More here

Praying online

I hear a local radio station (Christian... don't ask me, I just like the music) encouraging listeners to pray for rain and break this drought. "You can even pray online at www....."

I started to scoff, thinking this praying "business" was a little out of hand. Sort of indignant that this recent spate of rain spells could be attributed by some of this station's listeners to their devout prayers.

But then, it occurred to me: no shift happens "just 'cause". There is a big school of thought ('scuse the pun) that the globe's weather is mastered by universal thought and attitude. I must remember in my spare millisecond to try and hunt out some further information on this theory. But is it a theory?

If people want to pray for rainfall and then rainfall happens.... is it because of them?

Or it just because it's actually winter, when rain is likely to happen anyway? Hrmm yes, I think I'd be more impressed if they prayed in the height of summer: "Unseasonable rain has filled the ebbing reservoirs..."

This isn't to say it's not good, nice, willing of them to do something, anything, because I'm of the belief that, hell yeah, many many things and not just the weather would be a lot smoother if collectively, people's minds were more geared towards thinking positively and therefore lightening the mood of the world. But then, I also believe that'll never happen so I can stay firmly in this belief and never be proved right or wrong.

Ha hah. I ... win ... I think.

Don't say I don't love you

For I give you.....

Japanese Tetris


Sparklinuxlover, you'd better not even try to open this one cos it's on YouTube and, though I heart you, it's so infuriating I haven't worked out a work-around because dang, if there aren't the coolest clips I want to send you numerous times a week. What are we to do about that dang-diddliang dilly of a pickle?