This woman has reappeared again.
The almost harassing phone calls had suddenly stopped recently. Messages were not being left so frequently. I heard nothing pretty much straight after I posted last time about the situation.
Hmmmmmmmm....... she rang last week and I absent-mindedly (read: stupidly?) answered the phone, deep in thought working at the computer. That sounds harsh, now I read it back; I don't mean that in any other way than, I simply haven't the energy to allow her to bounce off me at the moment. I find her abrasive on me now, almost cold-hearted (though she's not, I know it's a heeeeeuge defense mechanism she's got built up there and good on her for finding one if it got her through her life, that's not my business) in her drilling for information. Actually.... thinking about it some more, I realise now that the feeling I get is kinda like she's cheating on her homework and looking to me for the answers she's been stuck on. I almost feel protective of divulging my 'stuff' about healing regarding Ella with her, as if she's trying on my answers to see if they fit her and I don't know why that makes me hostile, but it does. Perhaps because I don't hear anything back from her about her feelings. She won't go there. I will, and the fact that she won't and I do is fine, but I draw the line at her pressing me to offer up what she won't give me in return.
Anywho, it started to slowly dawn on me that perhaps she's back around for a reason. Seems a bit more than a coincidence that she's been virtually hounding me, albeit because she's probably wondering why I'm avoiding her calls, since I've started really getting stuck in to my writing.
I don't know if I mentioned, but she too lost a baby. About 20 years ago now, I'm aghast to count. I can still remember asking my friend (me being the biggest baby-crazy adolescent around) where her little sister was because I knew her mum had had her and that she was in hospital but that's all I knew and it had been weeks and weeks that her mum was back but no baby. Always no baby.
She'd been the same gestation as Ella, born in the same hospital, died in the same NICU. Bits and pieces have come out over the conversations I've had with this mum over the past few years and I gather that she was being told by "them" that there was no brain activity (she used a rather more vulgar term, I guess it's her way of thumbing her nose at life in general, and possibly to buffer the hurt of the knowledge of the brain damage), due to complications during the birth process - botched, but I can't remember specifics - and she emphatically swears she knew there was something behind her daughter's eyes. For three months, she waited and paced. And then they switched off the machines. It gives me chills to think what she went through and what she saw and heard, especially if she knows (as a mother does) that "they" were assuming to know more about her daughter's condition than she felt she could stand up to and disagree. I know all too well what it's like to advocate for your child and her best interests, so soon after giving birth and coming to the realisation that it's not all warm and fuzzy and Kleenex and Huggies with all newborns, and trying to appear unfrazzled and coherent enough to argue with the white coats about best interests. Oh God Oh God Oh God.
Back on that night, my friend said simply, "Baby (name) died. That's all there is to say and we don't talk about it." It was an instruction, not a sharing of information. She was telling me not to ask any more questions. I think I must have just said "Oh" and kept eating. Her family were all there, as I recall we were all sitting round the table as her mum was busy in the kitchen, within earshot.
How sad for them, as I think about it now. I had never seen my friend's mum as anything but positive, light-hearted, fun (though I was assured it wasn't 'fun' to have a mum who was seen as fun... I think I understand that now), trippy hell yes but very big-hearted. And since losing Ella, I see her as so much more fragile than I ever did before. The mum, not my friend (I don't actually see my friend, haven't in so many years I don't think I'd recognise her).
Her mum was supposed to come to Ella's memorial. She was a no-show. She phoned some weeks later and gave her apologies. She'd been so matter-of-fact and "You've gotta celebrate! Have fun! Rejoice her life!" Bit too much yee-har for me but I just took it on board because that's what she has always been like. But when she didn't turn up to our not-so-whoop-whoop celebration of Ella, I wasn't all that surprised. She told me when she called that she was all ready to come but when the morning came, she just couldn't do it. No big revelation there. So the good-time fun-girl can be serious after all??
It was after this that the conversations, rare thankfully, when she phoned started getting weird and unnerving. Hence why I now try to avoid contact with her. I don't think she is grounded much in reality (well, not mine anyway) and has been hit pretty hard between the eyes with things she probably couldn't or wasn't given the space to deal with over her own daughter's death, after I lost Ella. It's a gift I hope she has found useful but I don't know.
And now, back to my point *rummages through brain* Maybe I'm supposed to utilise her reappearance again after a couple of years of silence. I'm going to be sitting quietly with this one and really asking the Whatever, am I meant to seize this chance to work with a mum who lost a baby all that time ago and ask her some questions relevant to my work and possibly quite healing for her? Is that it?
Cos otherwise, it's about as useful as having a mozzie in your tent.
Thursday, August 02, 2007
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
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?
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?
Monday, July 30, 2007
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.
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.
Sunday, July 29, 2007
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.
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).
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).
Friday, July 27, 2007
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.
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.
Thursday, July 26, 2007
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.
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.
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.
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
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.
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.
Monday, July 23, 2007
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.
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.
Friday, July 20, 2007
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.
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
Thursday, July 19, 2007
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.
• 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.
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
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.
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.
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
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.
'Ats my grrrl.
Saturday, July 14, 2007
Friday, July 13, 2007
Thursday, July 12, 2007
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.
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.
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
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.
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.
Monday, July 09, 2007
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.
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.
Sunday, July 08, 2007
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.
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.
Saturday, July 07, 2007
Friday, July 06, 2007
Tuesday, July 03, 2007
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.
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.
Sunday, July 01, 2007
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?
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?
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Pardon me, stewardess...
Just how much exactly is a breastfeed?
Why, the answer is approximately 5 kilos. Yes, siree, I have noticed a giddying trend south on the scales which coincides with each feed I drop. With no discernible change in diet or exercise. I'm on a winner, baby. Well, actually, for the weight-conscious among us, I suppose that isn't solely true; I have avowed to, wherever possible*, stick to smaller portion sizes and whether this combined with the lunchtime feed for the LGBB being dropped had anything to do with the other, I don't know but think I ought to mention for the sake of full disclosure, if nothing else.
On top of THAT, I dared try on The Jeans** today. A fanciful whim. Two weeks ago, The Jeans wouldn't even do up, let alone look comfortable around the upper thigh area. Talk about camel toe, shit, I had a fucking bloated, too-much-dairy camel toe sticking out down there. And I promised myself that no more, no more would I be so bold as to assume The Jeans would fit for at least another year. But in a move designed to beat myself while I was down this morning, I tried 'em on. And blow me down, they fit. ZOOOOOOOIPP. The zip went up with such graceful ease I had to actually check I had tried on the right pair (for we all know, one pair of jeans only a woman doth not own). And they were. The right pair. The Jeans West (fits best, bweah yeah) Wide Flairs. SHIT!!!!!
Added to this, I've heard almost a year's worth of breastfeeding furphies mostly surrounding the "fact" that "all" breastfeeding mothers lose weight whilst performing the duty, but have also heard worrying reports that you actually gain weight again when you stop. Eeeeek. A sombreing thought for a lass who was a bikkie short of a Magda. Ok, not quite, but I said love, I said pet I said puh-leeese. I see their looks, when they tell me you lose weight when you're feeding... and there's me all puffy to the eyeballs nodding and going "Yuh-huh" like I'm part of the In (skinny breastfeeding mothers) Crowd.
Now, when those skinny minny breastfeeding girls whinny about how their weight dropped off so fast from breastfeeding, I can be quietly smug in the knowledge to hand that my body, at least, is enabling a weight loss heading south juuuust enough to pique my interest and then WHAMMO! When I drop these last two (morning and night) feeds, I will be lookin' spiffy. And they? They will be gaining. And I will be sailing down with a wave and a "See ya! Sucks to be ya!" (I do what I've gots to do, with my still-heavy frame on my side, go with me, people please)
Ok, again, not quite but at least I'll be able to see my feet again without leaning over.
*excluding any meal partaken at a Hog's Breath Café, oh. my. FREAKING. God. The chicken. It's the best.
** The Jeans: those jeans from your former life deemed impossible to be fit back into after childbirth.
Why, the answer is approximately 5 kilos. Yes, siree, I have noticed a giddying trend south on the scales which coincides with each feed I drop. With no discernible change in diet or exercise. I'm on a winner, baby. Well, actually, for the weight-conscious among us, I suppose that isn't solely true; I have avowed to, wherever possible*, stick to smaller portion sizes and whether this combined with the lunchtime feed for the LGBB being dropped had anything to do with the other, I don't know but think I ought to mention for the sake of full disclosure, if nothing else.
On top of THAT, I dared try on The Jeans** today. A fanciful whim. Two weeks ago, The Jeans wouldn't even do up, let alone look comfortable around the upper thigh area. Talk about camel toe, shit, I had a fucking bloated, too-much-dairy camel toe sticking out down there. And I promised myself that no more, no more would I be so bold as to assume The Jeans would fit for at least another year. But in a move designed to beat myself while I was down this morning, I tried 'em on. And blow me down, they fit. ZOOOOOOOIPP. The zip went up with such graceful ease I had to actually check I had tried on the right pair (for we all know, one pair of jeans only a woman doth not own). And they were. The right pair. The Jeans West (fits best, bweah yeah) Wide Flairs. SHIT!!!!!
Added to this, I've heard almost a year's worth of breastfeeding furphies mostly surrounding the "fact" that "all" breastfeeding mothers lose weight whilst performing the duty, but have also heard worrying reports that you actually gain weight again when you stop. Eeeeek. A sombreing thought for a lass who was a bikkie short of a Magda. Ok, not quite, but I said love, I said pet I said puh-leeese. I see their looks, when they tell me you lose weight when you're feeding... and there's me all puffy to the eyeballs nodding and going "Yuh-huh" like I'm part of the In (skinny breastfeeding mothers) Crowd.
Now, when those skinny minny breastfeeding girls whinny about how their weight dropped off so fast from breastfeeding, I can be quietly smug in the knowledge to hand that my body, at least, is enabling a weight loss heading south juuuust enough to pique my interest and then WHAMMO! When I drop these last two (morning and night) feeds, I will be lookin' spiffy. And they? They will be gaining. And I will be sailing down with a wave and a "See ya! Sucks to be ya!" (I do what I've gots to do, with my still-heavy frame on my side, go with me, people please)
Ok, again, not quite but at least I'll be able to see my feet again without leaning over.
*excluding any meal partaken at a Hog's Breath Café, oh. my. FREAKING. God. The chicken. It's the best.
** The Jeans: those jeans from your former life deemed impossible to be fit back into after childbirth.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Work on, work off
So it's a little bit of an indulge yourself, work it off present from Steve and the LGBB.
A box of milk chocolate Lindt balls
A packet of their scrumdiddliumptious 70% cocoa (hey, if you're going to be good and do the dark choc for anti-oxidant thing, this is the chocolate to get)
A silicone mini muffin tray (WOOT!)
A mini trampoline
An exercise bike
See where it went?
And, oh. Just THE most gorgeous, LGBB-selected card - Steve asked if she was suuuure and apparently she kept over-reaching in the trolley to point it out - which she still seemed keen on this morning and tried to wrestle from my grip as I tried to read it (You're 1 Today! from Bambi and friends). My heart is bursting.
Is 9.15am too early for Lindt?
A box of milk chocolate Lindt balls
A packet of their scrumdiddliumptious 70% cocoa (hey, if you're going to be good and do the dark choc for anti-oxidant thing, this is the chocolate to get)
A silicone mini muffin tray (WOOT!)
A mini trampoline
An exercise bike
See where it went?
And, oh. Just THE most gorgeous, LGBB-selected card - Steve asked if she was suuuure and apparently she kept over-reaching in the trolley to point it out - which she still seemed keen on this morning and tried to wrestle from my grip as I tried to read it (You're 1 Today! from Bambi and friends). My heart is bursting.
Is 9.15am too early for Lindt?
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Silly stuff
Why is it that when you don't make a huge fuss and go flailing about the place, sometimes it's assumed you wouldn't just like a bit of an effort made for you anyway? I am one who tends to go "no worries, I'll be right, you go and attend to the people who are making dying sounds" even if it's quite obviously bad acting on their part. And off go the people to save the damsels and (male version of damsels) in distress.
I don't want to sound brattish, but I do wonder why I don't make a more blatant go of rocking the boat. I know why: everyone else in the boat would look at me from under withering eyebrows and go "Kirrooool, what are you playing at? You're fine. We have to go over here and help XYZ out. Again." So I don't really bother. I don't bother making a fuss and saying "Dammit, I am your bloody daughter, I will really miss you being here." That, and, it's just not me. I don't do it because I don't think to do it and wouldn't have the first clue how.
More's the point, I am put out that come hell or high water, the parent in question ensured they saw a more elusive sibling on their birthday last year. But me? No, I'll be right. I'll understand. You have to work. You have deadlines. It can't be helped. And seriously, realistically, of course it can't.
But why, then, do I feel that somehow I'm not "as important"? I know I'm looking at this irrationally. I know I should look on it thus: by the very fact that I've been ditched by someone very dear to me, it's obvious they have a high regard for my capacity to roll with the punches (like this one), otherwise they probably wouldn't have been game enough not to be here and instead, making sure they found a way to make the drive and the effort because I seemed like I needed it.
How's that sound? Convinced?
It's just that.... I wished they would have at the very least made plans to see me soon after my birthday. I didn't get that either. I just got a "sorry, I can't be there". And yeah. I feel really babyish and sad about it *pouts*. Is it because my birthday is mine, all miiiiiine? And when you're a mum, there's nowt much you could claim to be "all yours", for you only?
Perhaps I should start the playing-hard-to-get game. It seems to make people come running. I know I sure as hell used to.
I don't want to sound brattish, but I do wonder why I don't make a more blatant go of rocking the boat. I know why: everyone else in the boat would look at me from under withering eyebrows and go "Kirrooool, what are you playing at? You're fine. We have to go over here and help XYZ out. Again." So I don't really bother. I don't bother making a fuss and saying "Dammit, I am your bloody daughter, I will really miss you being here." That, and, it's just not me. I don't do it because I don't think to do it and wouldn't have the first clue how.
More's the point, I am put out that come hell or high water, the parent in question ensured they saw a more elusive sibling on their birthday last year. But me? No, I'll be right. I'll understand. You have to work. You have deadlines. It can't be helped. And seriously, realistically, of course it can't.
But why, then, do I feel that somehow I'm not "as important"? I know I'm looking at this irrationally. I know I should look on it thus: by the very fact that I've been ditched by someone very dear to me, it's obvious they have a high regard for my capacity to roll with the punches (like this one), otherwise they probably wouldn't have been game enough not to be here and instead, making sure they found a way to make the drive and the effort because I seemed like I needed it.
How's that sound? Convinced?
It's just that.... I wished they would have at the very least made plans to see me soon after my birthday. I didn't get that either. I just got a "sorry, I can't be there". And yeah. I feel really babyish and sad about it *pouts*. Is it because my birthday is mine, all miiiiiine? And when you're a mum, there's nowt much you could claim to be "all yours", for you only?
Perhaps I should start the playing-hard-to-get game. It seems to make people come running. I know I sure as hell used to.
Saturday, June 23, 2007
Everybody say Ahhhhhh
I'm demure, I'm being 'cutesy', I'm Lady Di...
BWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHA fooled ya
Want to see me in 360º profile? *boing*
And you can blame my Aunty Nic for this latest fascination:Poking out my tongue.
MLAAAAH.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Thought it was sore...
My wrist was dislocated.
Just had it popped back in *Here, miss, bite on this bullet now, will you* Actually, the adjustment wasn't that bad at all, especially when compared to lugging around a writhing, teething bowling ball who refuses to hug my waist with her legs, so enforcing me to bear the full weight of her person on my one arm.
Tried swapping arms but she just slips down the valley that is my boobs, lumps, bumps and stomach. So no joy on the left hand side.
I'm on strict keyboard time watch. I have a measly 20 minutes in every hour in which to write to my friends, twirling gum in my mouth and lazily curling my ankles while I'm at it, type for work and type for other purposes. And mousing? Left handed, baby. You wanna see someone unco? Move their mouse to the opposite side they're used to and I'll show you.
Just had it popped back in *Here, miss, bite on this bullet now, will you* Actually, the adjustment wasn't that bad at all, especially when compared to lugging around a writhing, teething bowling ball who refuses to hug my waist with her legs, so enforcing me to bear the full weight of her person on my one arm.
Tried swapping arms but she just slips down the valley that is my boobs, lumps, bumps and stomach. So no joy on the left hand side.
I'm on strict keyboard time watch. I have a measly 20 minutes in every hour in which to write to my friends, twirling gum in my mouth and lazily curling my ankles while I'm at it, type for work and type for other purposes. And mousing? Left handed, baby. You wanna see someone unco? Move their mouse to the opposite side they're used to and I'll show you.
Tip:
Freshly ground coffee floats on the surface of milk. Milk that's in your mug. Waiting for you to make the coffee by putting it in the plunger, as is the usual custom.
Or you could, you know, distractedly tip it all in said mug.
Or you could, you know, distractedly tip it all in said mug.
Monday, June 18, 2007
Business as usual
Can't. Type. Long. Like girl. In horror. Movies. Who sprains ankle. And. Is. Useless.
Got me an old-fashioned RSI (presumably from lugging about the LGBB and compounded by my recent writing flurry and also paid work, which is speed-typing... yuh, it's an extreme sport). It is making everything quite painful, although there's nought much to do but suck it up and keep on truckin' regardless. Slightest flex of the wrist or thumb and I'm wincing like a puppy.
Speaking of puppies, everything else here is as usual:
Still teasing the dogs, still like a silent pressure cooker fooling itself it has grace in the face of a whinging child, still pissed that I didn't watch Big Brother from the start so now don't even want to know what's happening because I needed to be in on the goss from the beginning.
And in other news, I bought some stuff for Lolly's first birthday today. I had a moment in the shop, all to myself, where I looked at the punk glitter wig and thought "Why not", then the glowband bracelets and thought "Yeahhh why not" and then the lolly bags for the other kids and thought "Holy shit, I'm buying things for my daughter's birthday. Fiiiiinally, I get to organise a birthday." I know I'll probably be a wreck afterwards but man, I am loving the preparation so far. Just because I get to do it. Even if I stress, I'll be grateful that I have the reason to.
Got me an old-fashioned RSI (presumably from lugging about the LGBB and compounded by my recent writing flurry and also paid work, which is speed-typing... yuh, it's an extreme sport). It is making everything quite painful, although there's nought much to do but suck it up and keep on truckin' regardless. Slightest flex of the wrist or thumb and I'm wincing like a puppy.
Speaking of puppies, everything else here is as usual:
Still teasing the dogs, still like a silent pressure cooker fooling itself it has grace in the face of a whinging child, still pissed that I didn't watch Big Brother from the start so now don't even want to know what's happening because I needed to be in on the goss from the beginning.
And in other news, I bought some stuff for Lolly's first birthday today. I had a moment in the shop, all to myself, where I looked at the punk glitter wig and thought "Why not", then the glowband bracelets and thought "Yeahhh why not" and then the lolly bags for the other kids and thought "Holy shit, I'm buying things for my daughter's birthday. Fiiiiinally, I get to organise a birthday." I know I'll probably be a wreck afterwards but man, I am loving the preparation so far. Just because I get to do it. Even if I stress, I'll be grateful that I have the reason to.
Friday, June 15, 2007
Dare you to not spring even a tear... just one
The little contestant from Britain's Got Talent who's now all over YouTube.
Despite the unnerving Bindy Irwin similarity in features, she's soooo adorable I could squish her.
Despite the unnerving Bindy Irwin similarity in features, she's soooo adorable I could squish her.
And now the end is near
And so they faced
Their final curtain.
From the moment the show went on air, I thought The Catch Up would be yet another huge embarrassment for Australian television. Their last show is airing today. I see they were even beaten by another network's rerun of Anne of Green Gables (damn! how did I miss that??? bugger!)
I tell you, it's been rubbernecking at its best. Last time I tuned in, they had a scrolling text bar across the bottom showing latest "news"..... it displayed chintzy, cringe-worthy gossip stories as the panel chatted, things like what was happening in J.Lo's neck of the woods and what colour dog collar Paris Hilton had bought for her pet pooch. Glad they got rid of that, at least. Worst of all, I was just left with a horrid taste in my mouth - that of being sold out again if this was what was being served up as "fresh and new and intelligent" for mums at home during the day. What do they think we are? Makes me fume that they pitched it at a lower than average intelligence level, it was actually rather a disgrace in that regard. And yet, so typical of the station it aired on - the Boys' Club with flagships such as Who Wants To Be A Millionnaire and The Footy Show. Blergh, really. A phrase often heard in this house is "typical bloody channel 9" and this daytime show was no exception.
The show has been a mess since it first aired in February this year. I'd hurriedly flick past it if I happened to have the telly on at that time. It's certainly not must-see tv for me (though my bar has been raised, it's true, such is the small screening time I give new shows these days due to my heavy reduction of me-time).
I went from vowing I'd watch the final one right through, to considering just having it on in the background, and now I'm itching to change the channel altogether. I can't watch it. Yet I can't look away. At any rate, after 1 o'clock today, it won't bother me either way will it!
It was always doomed, wasn't it? I mean really. Libby Gore, Mary Moody (who I only know as the mum from Kingswood Country), David Oldfield's wife Lisa (of Pauline Hanson-related fame) and Zoe Sherridan.... whoever she is. I am possibly showing disgusting ignorance, but I just don't know how they (at that station) thought it would work. Was it because they were trying too hard to be a poorman's version of The View (in itself a bit of a joke but certainly more palatable on the whole)? Was it because they were a panel of women on a testosterone-charged station?
Whatever, I won't miss it because I never watched it. Apologies to anyone who might have found it entertaining. I'd rather watch a shoe.
Their final curtain.
From the moment the show went on air, I thought The Catch Up would be yet another huge embarrassment for Australian television. Their last show is airing today. I see they were even beaten by another network's rerun of Anne of Green Gables (damn! how did I miss that??? bugger!)
I tell you, it's been rubbernecking at its best. Last time I tuned in, they had a scrolling text bar across the bottom showing latest "news"..... it displayed chintzy, cringe-worthy gossip stories as the panel chatted, things like what was happening in J.Lo's neck of the woods and what colour dog collar Paris Hilton had bought for her pet pooch. Glad they got rid of that, at least. Worst of all, I was just left with a horrid taste in my mouth - that of being sold out again if this was what was being served up as "fresh and new and intelligent" for mums at home during the day. What do they think we are? Makes me fume that they pitched it at a lower than average intelligence level, it was actually rather a disgrace in that regard. And yet, so typical of the station it aired on - the Boys' Club with flagships such as Who Wants To Be A Millionnaire and The Footy Show. Blergh, really. A phrase often heard in this house is "typical bloody channel 9" and this daytime show was no exception.
The show has been a mess since it first aired in February this year. I'd hurriedly flick past it if I happened to have the telly on at that time. It's certainly not must-see tv for me (though my bar has been raised, it's true, such is the small screening time I give new shows these days due to my heavy reduction of me-time).
I went from vowing I'd watch the final one right through, to considering just having it on in the background, and now I'm itching to change the channel altogether. I can't watch it. Yet I can't look away. At any rate, after 1 o'clock today, it won't bother me either way will it!
It was always doomed, wasn't it? I mean really. Libby Gore, Mary Moody (who I only know as the mum from Kingswood Country), David Oldfield's wife Lisa (of Pauline Hanson-related fame) and Zoe Sherridan.... whoever she is. I am possibly showing disgusting ignorance, but I just don't know how they (at that station) thought it would work. Was it because they were trying too hard to be a poorman's version of The View (in itself a bit of a joke but certainly more palatable on the whole)? Was it because they were a panel of women on a testosterone-charged station?
Whatever, I won't miss it because I never watched it. Apologies to anyone who might have found it entertaining. I'd rather watch a shoe.
Thursday, June 14, 2007
Old mother Turtle
I have no idea where this is going to end up but need to log it in this timeline I seem to have going here on this blogspace.
I've been clearing a space each morning (energetically more than anything) to enable me to carry out work on this writing I'm doing. I go in with a ritual of shifting and clearing any incorrect energy - and must admit I've become very slack at this, despite doing it more than daily only a few weeks back when things first started to shift again - surrounding myself and anyone else I feel responsible for, or at least in my immediate "zone".
It's usually the same old subjects: myself, Steve and the LGBB, our home and belongings. They all get thrown in there when I do a clearing. The past few mornings when I've gone to do it, though, Ella's name has inched its way into my consciousness. One of those inclusions that just flowed so easily that I knew I wasn't forcing it in there. I've been hesitant to include her, wondering why or how on earth my doing a clearing could possibly pertain to her. I see her as a soul far wiser and more capable than me down here doing my bit.
But I think that's where I've gone astray a bit. Perhaps just misguided or naive.
I included her in the process this morning before I got started and was confused and a bit uncomfortable about it, only in that I felt like I didn't have the "right" (if that is in fact the correct word) to assume she needed clearing as I was doing it. An hour passed without feeling like even a minute had gone by, when I raised my head out of it again I realised I'd hand written four pages without stopping. Such is the way I write when I really need to, it's so much more constructive too when it comes to me like that.
Anyway, I started back on the computer for a brief moment before Ella's name popped into my head again. It wasn't "her", per say, not like old times - certainly no dialogue was exchanged - and I had the presence of mind to give the bods at Peace Space a call. They've been without a phone (embarrassingly, it's a phone/answering machine that I donated to them and it's since gone kaput.... oops) and I was clutching at straws thinking anyone would answer at all. But eventually, the phone did pick up. Neri. Sounding rather distracted, as you do when dragged back to the present after being deep in thought "somewhere else".
What ensued was a lightbulb moment of a conversation. Just incredible. I said I needed to ask a "brief" question, not wishing to disturb her or me more than necessary from our respective tasks of the morning. And once I had finished explaining that Ellanor kept wanting to be put in my clearing and protection, she said "Whyever would you not?" Hearing it in such simple, factual terms - "she is a part of your family, you, Steve, Lauryn. You're her mother, you represent her connection to Mother Earth in this lifetime, of course she would come to you when she feels the need for some added protection" - just made me crumble. I don't know why it took her to say it, after all, I have been struggling (it feels like) for so long to retain the title of "Ella's mum" to anybody who's still willing to hear me rant about it. And then, something so easy and flowing as a simple morning ritual is the thing to really bring it back into perspective for me.
I've not felt the need to include Ella's name before. It's only been literally the past three or so days. Usually happens when I am preparing to get five minutes of time for myself (and that hasn't come about til this morning, I've overlooked doing it for at least a week now) and I'll mentally start my checklist of who I need to include. Me, Steve, (Ella), someone will pop in there, Lauryn... hang on a minute! Ella?? Then consciously to myself, I'll go, "Ella. Why not Ella?" But it's been bugging me as I try to work out whether it's me doing it or her!
Now I have my answer.
And the turtle connection? When I rang, Neri had been researching and meditating with Turtle, who had come to her first thing this morning. Her mother passed away (herself a mother who had experienced a neonatal loss, back in a time when there was no such thing as expressing oneself on the accepting internet or anything similar) and she was drawn to uncovering a bit more about Mother Earth today. My phone call came right in the middle of this dawning - all I have received so far is that Turtle, who lays her eggs in the sand, where they hatch and many not make it to the ocean as they fall prey to predators, never loses her threads of connection to all her babies. I blubbered. Hell yeah, I blubbered silently on the phone as she explained it briefly.
I've felt the pressing urge to make a visit back up to Peace Space for a while now. I organised a time only yesterday with them to make a day of it, this Saturday. Manuscript (for what it's worth so far) in hand. And now it's becoming more clear to myself and Neri what we'll be doing this weekend. She is working on a topic not dissimilar to my own: Mother and the mother connection.
More after Saturday as it comes to hand.
I've been clearing a space each morning (energetically more than anything) to enable me to carry out work on this writing I'm doing. I go in with a ritual of shifting and clearing any incorrect energy - and must admit I've become very slack at this, despite doing it more than daily only a few weeks back when things first started to shift again - surrounding myself and anyone else I feel responsible for, or at least in my immediate "zone".
It's usually the same old subjects: myself, Steve and the LGBB, our home and belongings. They all get thrown in there when I do a clearing. The past few mornings when I've gone to do it, though, Ella's name has inched its way into my consciousness. One of those inclusions that just flowed so easily that I knew I wasn't forcing it in there. I've been hesitant to include her, wondering why or how on earth my doing a clearing could possibly pertain to her. I see her as a soul far wiser and more capable than me down here doing my bit.
But I think that's where I've gone astray a bit. Perhaps just misguided or naive.
I included her in the process this morning before I got started and was confused and a bit uncomfortable about it, only in that I felt like I didn't have the "right" (if that is in fact the correct word) to assume she needed clearing as I was doing it. An hour passed without feeling like even a minute had gone by, when I raised my head out of it again I realised I'd hand written four pages without stopping. Such is the way I write when I really need to, it's so much more constructive too when it comes to me like that.
Anyway, I started back on the computer for a brief moment before Ella's name popped into my head again. It wasn't "her", per say, not like old times - certainly no dialogue was exchanged - and I had the presence of mind to give the bods at Peace Space a call. They've been without a phone (embarrassingly, it's a phone/answering machine that I donated to them and it's since gone kaput.... oops) and I was clutching at straws thinking anyone would answer at all. But eventually, the phone did pick up. Neri. Sounding rather distracted, as you do when dragged back to the present after being deep in thought "somewhere else".
What ensued was a lightbulb moment of a conversation. Just incredible. I said I needed to ask a "brief" question, not wishing to disturb her or me more than necessary from our respective tasks of the morning. And once I had finished explaining that Ellanor kept wanting to be put in my clearing and protection, she said "Whyever would you not?" Hearing it in such simple, factual terms - "she is a part of your family, you, Steve, Lauryn. You're her mother, you represent her connection to Mother Earth in this lifetime, of course she would come to you when she feels the need for some added protection" - just made me crumble. I don't know why it took her to say it, after all, I have been struggling (it feels like) for so long to retain the title of "Ella's mum" to anybody who's still willing to hear me rant about it. And then, something so easy and flowing as a simple morning ritual is the thing to really bring it back into perspective for me.
I've not felt the need to include Ella's name before. It's only been literally the past three or so days. Usually happens when I am preparing to get five minutes of time for myself (and that hasn't come about til this morning, I've overlooked doing it for at least a week now) and I'll mentally start my checklist of who I need to include. Me, Steve, (Ella), someone will pop in there, Lauryn... hang on a minute! Ella?? Then consciously to myself, I'll go, "Ella. Why not Ella?" But it's been bugging me as I try to work out whether it's me doing it or her!
Now I have my answer.
And the turtle connection? When I rang, Neri had been researching and meditating with Turtle, who had come to her first thing this morning. Her mother passed away (herself a mother who had experienced a neonatal loss, back in a time when there was no such thing as expressing oneself on the accepting internet or anything similar) and she was drawn to uncovering a bit more about Mother Earth today. My phone call came right in the middle of this dawning - all I have received so far is that Turtle, who lays her eggs in the sand, where they hatch and many not make it to the ocean as they fall prey to predators, never loses her threads of connection to all her babies. I blubbered. Hell yeah, I blubbered silently on the phone as she explained it briefly.
I've felt the pressing urge to make a visit back up to Peace Space for a while now. I organised a time only yesterday with them to make a day of it, this Saturday. Manuscript (for what it's worth so far) in hand. And now it's becoming more clear to myself and Neri what we'll be doing this weekend. She is working on a topic not dissimilar to my own: Mother and the mother connection.
More after Saturday as it comes to hand.
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
Only have time to feel guilty
OK. So we're into the second week of my Lean Cuisine style of living (making sure I'm looking after myself). And I thought it was going smashingly well. On reflection, this is because a) the LGBB was gracing me - most days - with at least a 1 1/2 hour sleep in the morning, with the usual "don't expect more than 40 minutes out of me" nap in the mid afternoon, and b) there was a three day weekend in there where Steve was terribly helpful and I relaxed. A. Lot.
Lucky I did do all that relaxing so I don't feel totally melted down already because we're into a new week and, uh..... I'm back to feeling guilty for not spending lots of time with the LGBB when she's awake and yet she hasn't slept more than about an hour and 20 minutes for the ENTIRE day.
Took her to occasional care when she woke up from her sleep (read: when she'd wailed for 20 minutes after having a 10 minute bit of shut-eye, but at least I managed to gulp down half a coffee and go to the toilee in that time). She wailed there the entire time as well, except when her very nice carer carried her around the room. Still, better them than me. Just for 20 minutes.
We're home now and I just want to know how many others think it's unreasonable of me to just want some time to myself. Without feeling guilty. The LGBB is currently listening to her friends in the stereo (it's a Play School cd, dammit she loves it and I'm a slave to anything that soothes the beast lately) and I am hiding(?) in here. We've been home 15 minutes and I literally plonked her there and myself here.
Just. Need. A. Breather.
It's not like I'm in her face all day, she gets loads of time to amuse herself (and she's only been happy to do that again these past four or five days - before that, it was the whole Greek tragedy thing every time I left her side for the previous 2 or more months and that was difficult in itself to balance). I've no idea what other people do in terms of leaving their babies to "it" - I have tended to do the 50/50 thing, splitting her awake time into part play and/or reading with her then the rest on her own. But now she's awake for such a long time..... there's no way I can do that. It's not healthy for either of us, for one thing.
The nurses way back at sleep school told me one of my long term goals would be to try to find ways to assimilate the loss of my first baby with living with my living second one. It's difficult to explain just why it is that I feel so obliged to stay by her side, or at least allow her to see me, from wherever it is she is sitting. And I know the day will come when there is nothing I will be able to do and she'll be off into this room and that, then friends' houses, school, leaving home, yada yada. It's a very strange thing to live with this dichotomy between feeling desperate for space and yet needing to insure we are getting "enough" of each other. I think in all this, my cellular memory is calling out desperately for Ellanor. And I cannot hold Lolly to that flame.
But what am I to do? I do feel despairingly isolated. It's not something I wish to keep bringing up. It's not something I try to find in everything. And yet... it is in everything. It's only when I try to work through and peel back the layers to the source of why I am doing some of the things I am - and even when I don't see it, I've had professionals, like those nurses, gently suggesting it could perhaps be because we lost a daughter - that I discover it's sought me out again. I feel trumped constantly by this interwoven grief.
And I feel so, so, very guilty about the LGBB having to bear witness to my healing as I go. It's like a Painting By Numbers picture.
More physically pressing, though, someone recently asked me if she's dropped her morning sleep "yet". I think I weed my pants at the thought.
Lucky I did do all that relaxing so I don't feel totally melted down already because we're into a new week and, uh..... I'm back to feeling guilty for not spending lots of time with the LGBB when she's awake and yet she hasn't slept more than about an hour and 20 minutes for the ENTIRE day.
Took her to occasional care when she woke up from her sleep (read: when she'd wailed for 20 minutes after having a 10 minute bit of shut-eye, but at least I managed to gulp down half a coffee and go to the toilee in that time). She wailed there the entire time as well, except when her very nice carer carried her around the room. Still, better them than me. Just for 20 minutes.
We're home now and I just want to know how many others think it's unreasonable of me to just want some time to myself. Without feeling guilty. The LGBB is currently listening to her friends in the stereo (it's a Play School cd, dammit she loves it and I'm a slave to anything that soothes the beast lately) and I am hiding(?) in here. We've been home 15 minutes and I literally plonked her there and myself here.
Just. Need. A. Breather.
It's not like I'm in her face all day, she gets loads of time to amuse herself (and she's only been happy to do that again these past four or five days - before that, it was the whole Greek tragedy thing every time I left her side for the previous 2 or more months and that was difficult in itself to balance). I've no idea what other people do in terms of leaving their babies to "it" - I have tended to do the 50/50 thing, splitting her awake time into part play and/or reading with her then the rest on her own. But now she's awake for such a long time..... there's no way I can do that. It's not healthy for either of us, for one thing.
The nurses way back at sleep school told me one of my long term goals would be to try to find ways to assimilate the loss of my first baby with living with my living second one. It's difficult to explain just why it is that I feel so obliged to stay by her side, or at least allow her to see me, from wherever it is she is sitting. And I know the day will come when there is nothing I will be able to do and she'll be off into this room and that, then friends' houses, school, leaving home, yada yada. It's a very strange thing to live with this dichotomy between feeling desperate for space and yet needing to insure we are getting "enough" of each other. I think in all this, my cellular memory is calling out desperately for Ellanor. And I cannot hold Lolly to that flame.
But what am I to do? I do feel despairingly isolated. It's not something I wish to keep bringing up. It's not something I try to find in everything. And yet... it is in everything. It's only when I try to work through and peel back the layers to the source of why I am doing some of the things I am - and even when I don't see it, I've had professionals, like those nurses, gently suggesting it could perhaps be because we lost a daughter - that I discover it's sought me out again. I feel trumped constantly by this interwoven grief.
And I feel so, so, very guilty about the LGBB having to bear witness to my healing as I go. It's like a Painting By Numbers picture.
More physically pressing, though, someone recently asked me if she's dropped her morning sleep "yet". I think I weed my pants at the thought.
Monday, June 11, 2007
Tell me no lies, am I like Lorelai?
Gilmore, that is.*
That was the question Steve had to struggle through an answer for last night.
Me: Do you think I am like Lorelai?Him: *looks over, confused*
Me: I mean, you know how sometimes people have said I remind them of Lorelai? Am I really?
Him: *unsure how to answer, a little exasperated but amused and frowning* Wwwha... umm...
Me: *continuing without hearing the attempted reply* I guess if I talked a bit faster I might be. But I just don't see that I might be. Do you think I'm like her? Isn't she annoying though?
Him: *laughing now* Lenny. Yes. You are like Lorelai.
Me: Is it because she'd ask a dumb question like this?
Him: *sighs and turns back to the telly*
* So I still miss them, what of it? They were friends, no matter that they were fictitious, I truly believe I've missed out big time by not being born anywhere near Stars Hollow.
That was the question Steve had to struggle through an answer for last night.
Me: Do you think I am like Lorelai?Him: *looks over, confused*
Me: I mean, you know how sometimes people have said I remind them of Lorelai? Am I really?
Him: *unsure how to answer, a little exasperated but amused and frowning* Wwwha... umm...
Me: *continuing without hearing the attempted reply* I guess if I talked a bit faster I might be. But I just don't see that I might be. Do you think I'm like her? Isn't she annoying though?
Him: *laughing now* Lenny. Yes. You are like Lorelai.
Me: Is it because she'd ask a dumb question like this?
Him: *sighs and turns back to the telly*
* So I still miss them, what of it? They were friends, no matter that they were fictitious, I truly believe I've missed out big time by not being born anywhere near Stars Hollow.
Sunday, June 10, 2007
She's a maniac, maniac on the phone
Ok, so there's not much time for back-stories. I'll just have to put in as much as I can to bring you up to speed. The main points are:
• Old, old friend's mum became my friend by default over the years.
• When I say "friend", I mean like I felt obliged to continue to use her services (House de Beauté type stuff) even after it was most inconvenient when she moved about a 30 minute drive from me - heaven knows I can get anyone within a 5 mile radius to tear hairs off my legs and nethers without having to drive so far for the privilege.
• So really not a friend at all. But more like, yeah... an old friend's mum.
• Not even friends with the old friend anymore.
• Relationship, for what it was worth, with the mum got reeeeeally scary for me. Particularly after Ellanor passed away and she began to call when in an obviously altered state and tell me all sorts of strange things that were very confronting to me (in terms of my ability to conceive/carry a child and what we were "doing wrong" to lose so many).
• After I contacted aforementioned long-ago friend (and we were very very close, but years ago) just out of the blue in 2005 to see if the old familiarity was there, it was very soon apparent it was not. In fact, I was a bit confused that she seemed not to even know I'd had a daughter, despite the mum telling me she had and even going so far as to say my old friend had been upset for us.
• The mum moved two states away at around the end of 2005, a sea change I guess, and I admit to feeling very relieved for even though the contact was sporadic (and always instigated by her), she seemed to be one of those people who had assumed a place for herself in my life that I'd never invited her to take up - that of "mother" to replace a bit of a gap I had (willingly, consciously) made.
• I didn't get any more than one or two of those uncomfortable kinds of telephone conversations that seem to be her forté, while she was away.
• She doesn't have any clue about the LGBB, although I think I did mention I was pregnant again (which could mean "anything" has happened).
• I'm now stuck like a bit of a slave to the answering machine-slash-caller ID. I find her calls bordering on the side of harrassment, she was verbally rather confrontational and certainly there to push her points across last time we had any decent length of conversation and I would have thought my lack of returning her messages, which have been alarmingly frequent lately and getting a bit haughty, should have indicated to her that I didn't want her to contact me anymore.
• I'm too big of a wuss to answer and tell her just that. I am still, despite everything that has gone before, not the kind of person to state my needs and where they're not being met - not with someone so distant from me but who still assumes to know all about me (oh yes, she's one of "those"). But still, I think I've been creating these monsters in my life all along. With each occasion that it hits me out of the blue, I realise that sometimes certain types are going to assume that because I don't verbally state each time I disagree with them, that I am right behind whatever they're saying - it's my nature, I accept whatever's being said to me because I believe that that's the other person's opinion and I take it as nothing more than that.
But this is all besides the most important point:
• The last rather terse message was more detailed - she's a "grandmother" now, which I assume means my old friend has had her first child. This is possibly the sole reason the mum was trying so hard to contact me and in hindsight (the nasty thing that it is sometimes) I feel a touch dreadful and selfish that I didn't return any of her umpteen calls over the past couple of months. See, the mum and I share a bit of a blaring similarity - we both lost our babies, at the same NICU no less. And I can only imagine the kinds of skeletons that are flying out of her closet at seeing her daughter with a child now.
She also mentioned she is moving back home.
And now I'm shitting myself she's going to knock on my door. The one thing that keeps going through my head, somewhat annoyingly and nowhere near helpful, is that St John's Ambulance ad woman.
"Would you know what to do? Know what to do." See? Not helpful. Any suggestions?
• Old, old friend's mum became my friend by default over the years.
• When I say "friend", I mean like I felt obliged to continue to use her services (House de Beauté type stuff) even after it was most inconvenient when she moved about a 30 minute drive from me - heaven knows I can get anyone within a 5 mile radius to tear hairs off my legs and nethers without having to drive so far for the privilege.
• So really not a friend at all. But more like, yeah... an old friend's mum.
• Not even friends with the old friend anymore.
• Relationship, for what it was worth, with the mum got reeeeeally scary for me. Particularly after Ellanor passed away and she began to call when in an obviously altered state and tell me all sorts of strange things that were very confronting to me (in terms of my ability to conceive/carry a child and what we were "doing wrong" to lose so many).
• After I contacted aforementioned long-ago friend (and we were very very close, but years ago) just out of the blue in 2005 to see if the old familiarity was there, it was very soon apparent it was not. In fact, I was a bit confused that she seemed not to even know I'd had a daughter, despite the mum telling me she had and even going so far as to say my old friend had been upset for us.
• The mum moved two states away at around the end of 2005, a sea change I guess, and I admit to feeling very relieved for even though the contact was sporadic (and always instigated by her), she seemed to be one of those people who had assumed a place for herself in my life that I'd never invited her to take up - that of "mother" to replace a bit of a gap I had (willingly, consciously) made.
• I didn't get any more than one or two of those uncomfortable kinds of telephone conversations that seem to be her forté, while she was away.
• She doesn't have any clue about the LGBB, although I think I did mention I was pregnant again (which could mean "anything" has happened).
• I'm now stuck like a bit of a slave to the answering machine-slash-caller ID. I find her calls bordering on the side of harrassment, she was verbally rather confrontational and certainly there to push her points across last time we had any decent length of conversation and I would have thought my lack of returning her messages, which have been alarmingly frequent lately and getting a bit haughty, should have indicated to her that I didn't want her to contact me anymore.
• I'm too big of a wuss to answer and tell her just that. I am still, despite everything that has gone before, not the kind of person to state my needs and where they're not being met - not with someone so distant from me but who still assumes to know all about me (oh yes, she's one of "those"). But still, I think I've been creating these monsters in my life all along. With each occasion that it hits me out of the blue, I realise that sometimes certain types are going to assume that because I don't verbally state each time I disagree with them, that I am right behind whatever they're saying - it's my nature, I accept whatever's being said to me because I believe that that's the other person's opinion and I take it as nothing more than that.
But this is all besides the most important point:
• The last rather terse message was more detailed - she's a "grandmother" now, which I assume means my old friend has had her first child. This is possibly the sole reason the mum was trying so hard to contact me and in hindsight (the nasty thing that it is sometimes) I feel a touch dreadful and selfish that I didn't return any of her umpteen calls over the past couple of months. See, the mum and I share a bit of a blaring similarity - we both lost our babies, at the same NICU no less. And I can only imagine the kinds of skeletons that are flying out of her closet at seeing her daughter with a child now.
She also mentioned she is moving back home.
And now I'm shitting myself she's going to knock on my door. The one thing that keeps going through my head, somewhat annoyingly and nowhere near helpful, is that St John's Ambulance ad woman.
"Would you know what to do? Know what to do." See? Not helpful. Any suggestions?
Saturday, June 09, 2007
Is it a bird, is it a plane, no it's...
Peter Pan?
Lolly enjoys the late afternoon sunshine reflections in the kitchen
Lolly enjoys the late afternoon sunshine reflections in the kitchen
So simple it's childs' play
The poor LGBB.
Playing on the floor with Daddy this morning, he noticed that she doesn't have that same innocent "If I do A, B happens" mentality. It's not that she doesn't know how. She just doesn't want to. Wild horses couldn't make her. There's not much delight happening with the whizz-bang showy toys (not that we have many), she's happy to watch us play with the ball-down-the-slide giraffe flashy lights and music toy. And we get a rather pained smile from her when we say anything about the music or where the ball has gone, etc. You get the picture.
I tied one of her prized wooden bees on a string. Now, if there's one thing the LGBB will do anything (or try her damndest) for, it's her bees. I read somewhere that if you tie a toy to a string or ribbon, then put it under the couch and let your baby pull the string til the toy becomes visible, joy and rapture will ensue. Well, it worked insofar as she was gleeful that she saw her bee again (after all, it had been so long since she'd seen him, 20 seconds at least) but only if I was the one doing all the work.
So back to this morning. Steve tried the same "trick" with her and he observed that she has a bit of a challenge... well, looking at things like a regular, 'excited by the little things' baby. Instead of sitting there going, "Oh LOOK! My cherished bee is moving", her look more says "Oh I see, that string is attached to my toy so when forces are applied to said string, the force must be greater than the force of the friction and gravity holding the toy in position. Hence, a light tug on the string is not enough to break this force and the toy remains stationary. However, a greater force allows it to move. How quaint of Daddy to show me."
Playing on the floor with Daddy this morning, he noticed that she doesn't have that same innocent "If I do A, B happens" mentality. It's not that she doesn't know how. She just doesn't want to. Wild horses couldn't make her. There's not much delight happening with the whizz-bang showy toys (not that we have many), she's happy to watch us play with the ball-down-the-slide giraffe flashy lights and music toy. And we get a rather pained smile from her when we say anything about the music or where the ball has gone, etc. You get the picture.
I tied one of her prized wooden bees on a string. Now, if there's one thing the LGBB will do anything (or try her damndest) for, it's her bees. I read somewhere that if you tie a toy to a string or ribbon, then put it under the couch and let your baby pull the string til the toy becomes visible, joy and rapture will ensue. Well, it worked insofar as she was gleeful that she saw her bee again (after all, it had been so long since she'd seen him, 20 seconds at least) but only if I was the one doing all the work.
So back to this morning. Steve tried the same "trick" with her and he observed that she has a bit of a challenge... well, looking at things like a regular, 'excited by the little things' baby. Instead of sitting there going, "Oh LOOK! My cherished bee is moving", her look more says "Oh I see, that string is attached to my toy so when forces are applied to said string, the force must be greater than the force of the friction and gravity holding the toy in position. Hence, a light tug on the string is not enough to break this force and the toy remains stationary. However, a greater force allows it to move. How quaint of Daddy to show me."
Friday, June 08, 2007
Too little too late, sunshine
Today marked a most auspicious occasion: one hour of care in the hands of strangers without tears being shed. Mind you, there were tears at the beginning and while I waited just outside the door in Reception, a carer had to stop, drop and roll to the LGBB, perch her on her knee for the next 50 minutes and do nothing (that was one smart worker - if there is one thing I learnt whilst working in child care, it is that you always go for the kiddie who "needs cuddles", as it means the other poor sod has to do everything else including rescuing babies from themselves and each other, not to mention attending to any whiffs of anything unsavoury-smelling).
The good thing is, it means I can get something resembling a life back again, I'm aiming for around three precious hours a week. I plan to use this time, at least initially, to clean the house to within an inch of its paintwork.
I've been building up to this relief for weeks. Things just got in the way - my things at first - and then I realised the LGBB was playing the situation (they were all coincidences, of course, but I prefer to think she's smart enough to know I've threatened occasional care outside of the home and that's why she suddenly started to sleep longer in the afternoons and throw sicky fits, etc. etc.).
It seems now, after the change in sleep routines didn't work for her, in one afternoon all of a sudden she has come ahead leaps and bounds in her development. All from one hour at child care?
Today, I have witnessed the following for the first time:
• A pointed index finger, pointing at things.
• A pointed index finger poking things, mostly my nose.
• Constant stream of verbal chit-chat rivalling a teenager on the telephone (she could babble before now, but not like this).
• Scooting around on her belly - I wouldn't go so far as to say commando crawling, however if anyone needs a new spinner for their Twister game, she's your girl.
• The closest she's come to sitting up on her own from a prone position I've seen.
• Marley being given her dummy to "suck" when tucking her in to bed for the night (oh dear LORD, could the cuteness factor be any higher? My breath was taken away) - usually it's me who has the stinky thing put in her face to "suck the dummy", but no apparently now it's Marley's turn to go along with the game.
It's as if she was saving it all up for such an outing. See, I can do all these things, you don't have to send me away for me to do them. I wanted her to do something, anything, new for what seems like months - her frustration and certainly my patience couldn't take much more of the inaction and snail's pace slowness of the motor skills stuff. And yet, I'm feeling like I've been told to put the book down for the night, in the middle of the most exciting chapter. I wanna know what happens tomorrow! Today!
The good thing is, it means I can get something resembling a life back again, I'm aiming for around three precious hours a week. I plan to use this time, at least initially, to clean the house to within an inch of its paintwork.
I've been building up to this relief for weeks. Things just got in the way - my things at first - and then I realised the LGBB was playing the situation (they were all coincidences, of course, but I prefer to think she's smart enough to know I've threatened occasional care outside of the home and that's why she suddenly started to sleep longer in the afternoons and throw sicky fits, etc. etc.).
It seems now, after the change in sleep routines didn't work for her, in one afternoon all of a sudden she has come ahead leaps and bounds in her development. All from one hour at child care?
Today, I have witnessed the following for the first time:
• A pointed index finger, pointing at things.
• A pointed index finger poking things, mostly my nose.
• Constant stream of verbal chit-chat rivalling a teenager on the telephone (she could babble before now, but not like this).
• Scooting around on her belly - I wouldn't go so far as to say commando crawling, however if anyone needs a new spinner for their Twister game, she's your girl.
• The closest she's come to sitting up on her own from a prone position I've seen.
• Marley being given her dummy to "suck" when tucking her in to bed for the night (oh dear LORD, could the cuteness factor be any higher? My breath was taken away) - usually it's me who has the stinky thing put in her face to "suck the dummy", but no apparently now it's Marley's turn to go along with the game.
It's as if she was saving it all up for such an outing. See, I can do all these things, you don't have to send me away for me to do them. I wanted her to do something, anything, new for what seems like months - her frustration and certainly my patience couldn't take much more of the inaction and snail's pace slowness of the motor skills stuff. And yet, I'm feeling like I've been told to put the book down for the night, in the middle of the most exciting chapter. I wanna know what happens tomorrow! Today!
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
Yes, sir, that's my baby
There are certain signs that the LGBB has more than a physical resemblance to yours truly. The things Steve is alarmed with most are (in no particular order):
• The way her entire highchair tray must be devoid of crumbs that have fallen before she takes another mouthful (I hate when my highchair tray is dirty.... I also have to eat every shred of lettuce, sesame seed - and I mean EVERY - or hair that falls out of my burger before I take another bite, don't ask me why, I just do).
• The way she locks her feet together at the ankles, intertwining them like some gnarled trunk.
• The rhythmic slow rubbing of one foot against the surface of whatever she's lying on, for comfort (I do this at night and I believe it was only because Steve accepted I do this not to annoy but to fall asleep that we're still sleeping together).
Sleeping, people, sleeping.
• The way her entire highchair tray must be devoid of crumbs that have fallen before she takes another mouthful (I hate when my highchair tray is dirty.... I also have to eat every shred of lettuce, sesame seed - and I mean EVERY - or hair that falls out of my burger before I take another bite, don't ask me why, I just do).
• The way she locks her feet together at the ankles, intertwining them like some gnarled trunk.
• The rhythmic slow rubbing of one foot against the surface of whatever she's lying on, for comfort (I do this at night and I believe it was only because Steve accepted I do this not to annoy but to fall asleep that we're still sleeping together).
Sleeping, people, sleeping.
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
Wishful thinking
*harnessing his inner geek and at the point in the conversation where I was reminded that geekdom is never far from the surface, even if it's covered over with staff-speak, pithy side anecdotes about whose birthday was today and recounts of the day's events*
K: But why did you move your old computer in there? I thought the screen on the new was was bigger.
S: Nah but once I installed Teleporter...
K: You don't work across two screens now?
S: *not listening* ...I can move my mouse to the edge of one screen and keep typing in the next.
K: But why?
S: *more to self than me* I want to eventually set eight screens up and work across them in Filemaker.
K: But why?
S: That way, I'll be able to set each screen up on the wall, each with a different run. And colour code them once it's away and...
I think he may still be dreaming. I can hear talking in there. I've walked away.
K: But why did you move your old computer in there? I thought the screen on the new was was bigger.
S: Nah but once I installed Teleporter...
K: You don't work across two screens now?
S: *not listening* ...I can move my mouse to the edge of one screen and keep typing in the next.
K: But why?
S: *more to self than me* I want to eventually set eight screens up and work across them in Filemaker.
K: But why?
S: That way, I'll be able to set each screen up on the wall, each with a different run. And colour code them once it's away and...
I think he may still be dreaming. I can hear talking in there. I've walked away.
Monday, June 04, 2007
Think I'll go and eat worms
It's official. Apparently a general consensus is forming that the LGBB loves Justine Clarke so much because she looks like me. Or I look like her. I wish I was the pre-pregnancy, so without the thunder thighs in very fitted pants (nasty wardrobe lady) but with the later natural wavy-haired era, Justine.
Today marked the worst day yet in terms of my patience with her. Lolly, not Justine. Though the try-hardness of Ms Clarke got under my nails like slivers of bamboo today too. Now I'm even psycho-analysing this, suspecting my disdain for her is because I recognise bits in her that are so chirpy, so giddy, that hell yeah I want to smack her down a size. Because I wish I was that "happy" - not for one second is the irony lost on me that apparently she is how some people obviously still see me (or perhaps they just can't let go and accept that that once-chipper, innocent me has long chirped her last cheep... might be time to stop holding out hope, people). Though I do admit to unashamedly overanimating when singing countless songs a day and making up stupid ditties and pointing out the most mundane things in simple words, all because I delight in the wonder I see in her face. Lolly's, not Justine's.
In my now crazed state, I am actually thinking I'm taking out on her some of the anger I've been carrying for years. Lolly, not Justine. Indignant anger stemming from the fact that I've put others first so much in my time, anyone I've constantly given an inch to who then gaily assumes a mile or 10 - it still happens, although rarely now. I tend to discern my friends more wisely since the experience with Ellanor.
And yet, of course I know it's right and it's a given that the LGBB would take so much of me - I had so much I was prepared to give a baby, any baby - but here I still find myself grappling for any morsel of time to be me and starting to feel deeply resentful about it. And just when I thought I was just starting to reach the precipice and choof merrily down the other side of the slope into parental bliss too. Tra-la.
I realise there are things I can do to ease the load, within reason. For instance, I'm still attempting to organise occasional care, that blissful mecca that still eludes me because a) they ask that new babies come after 2.30pm the first couple of times while the parent waits in Reception, "in case the staff can't settle her" (wow, gee, instills a lot of hope), and b) the LGBB changes her pattern and time of afternoon catnaps anywhere from 1-3pm and I daren't take her if she isn't well rested or the whole exercise might prove futile. But the wily little minx isn't going to get out of it tomorrow, ho no. Not after today. Tomorrow, she will be woken from her sleep (yes it's that important to me - I've made it an unspoken rule that I never wake her once she's down, and nor have I had to, she has an uncanny internal clock that wakes her even if I was going in to do so) and taken down to the place where I've chosen to drop her off. So that I can come back home and ... do anything else other than attend to every whim of Ms Whinge-a-lot.
I could also drop the work I currently do in the one decent block of sleep Lolly takes, usually in the morning anywhere from 45 minutes to 2 hours. Usually somewhere in between. But paid work, in the name of my business, is too important to me. It's essential in terms of not only some financial independence, but moreso because I honour Ella by doing what I can to make the business thrive. It's a tough call. Of course, I'll never deny the LGBB's needs to feed the business side of my life. But I don't underestimate the power and the pull of what the business means to me, on a much deeper level, than simply earning money and making it work. It replaced the daughter I wasn't raising, for three years now. It will be a very hard one to ever let go and I hope that time never comes. That even if I am not strictly doing what it is I do under that banner of ERW Design now, and I'm not taking on much new work lately as I simply do not have a moment to dedicate, I am at least hopeful of retaining it as a working entity.
And now, to sleep. Perchance (not) to dream, because I want an uninterrupted comatose kind of experience. In order that I am refreshed to confront tomorrow.
Today marked the worst day yet in terms of my patience with her. Lolly, not Justine. Though the try-hardness of Ms Clarke got under my nails like slivers of bamboo today too. Now I'm even psycho-analysing this, suspecting my disdain for her is because I recognise bits in her that are so chirpy, so giddy, that hell yeah I want to smack her down a size. Because I wish I was that "happy" - not for one second is the irony lost on me that apparently she is how some people obviously still see me (or perhaps they just can't let go and accept that that once-chipper, innocent me has long chirped her last cheep... might be time to stop holding out hope, people). Though I do admit to unashamedly overanimating when singing countless songs a day and making up stupid ditties and pointing out the most mundane things in simple words, all because I delight in the wonder I see in her face. Lolly's, not Justine's.
In my now crazed state, I am actually thinking I'm taking out on her some of the anger I've been carrying for years. Lolly, not Justine. Indignant anger stemming from the fact that I've put others first so much in my time, anyone I've constantly given an inch to who then gaily assumes a mile or 10 - it still happens, although rarely now. I tend to discern my friends more wisely since the experience with Ellanor.
And yet, of course I know it's right and it's a given that the LGBB would take so much of me - I had so much I was prepared to give a baby, any baby - but here I still find myself grappling for any morsel of time to be me and starting to feel deeply resentful about it. And just when I thought I was just starting to reach the precipice and choof merrily down the other side of the slope into parental bliss too. Tra-la.
I realise there are things I can do to ease the load, within reason. For instance, I'm still attempting to organise occasional care, that blissful mecca that still eludes me because a) they ask that new babies come after 2.30pm the first couple of times while the parent waits in Reception, "in case the staff can't settle her" (wow, gee, instills a lot of hope), and b) the LGBB changes her pattern and time of afternoon catnaps anywhere from 1-3pm and I daren't take her if she isn't well rested or the whole exercise might prove futile. But the wily little minx isn't going to get out of it tomorrow, ho no. Not after today. Tomorrow, she will be woken from her sleep (yes it's that important to me - I've made it an unspoken rule that I never wake her once she's down, and nor have I had to, she has an uncanny internal clock that wakes her even if I was going in to do so) and taken down to the place where I've chosen to drop her off. So that I can come back home and ... do anything else other than attend to every whim of Ms Whinge-a-lot.
I could also drop the work I currently do in the one decent block of sleep Lolly takes, usually in the morning anywhere from 45 minutes to 2 hours. Usually somewhere in between. But paid work, in the name of my business, is too important to me. It's essential in terms of not only some financial independence, but moreso because I honour Ella by doing what I can to make the business thrive. It's a tough call. Of course, I'll never deny the LGBB's needs to feed the business side of my life. But I don't underestimate the power and the pull of what the business means to me, on a much deeper level, than simply earning money and making it work. It replaced the daughter I wasn't raising, for three years now. It will be a very hard one to ever let go and I hope that time never comes. That even if I am not strictly doing what it is I do under that banner of ERW Design now, and I'm not taking on much new work lately as I simply do not have a moment to dedicate, I am at least hopeful of retaining it as a working entity.
And now, to sleep. Perchance (not) to dream, because I want an uninterrupted comatose kind of experience. In order that I am refreshed to confront tomorrow.
Sunday, June 03, 2007
Same
Same clothes.
Same routine.
Same hair.
Same pattern to the day.
Same walls.
Same view.
Same mess.
Same work.
Same complaints.
Same cry.
Same pain.
Same arguments.
Same ailments.
Same silence.
Same rejection.
Same husband not motivated to go out on days that SHOULDN'T feel the same.
SAME SAME SAME SAME SAME
Same routine.
Same hair.
Same pattern to the day.
Same walls.
Same view.
Same mess.
Same work.
Same complaints.
Same cry.
Same pain.
Same arguments.
Same ailments.
Same silence.
Same rejection.
Same husband not motivated to go out on days that SHOULDN'T feel the same.
SAME SAME SAME SAME SAME
Friday, June 01, 2007
It's my birthday in a few short weeks
And if you love me, dear reader, you will get me Wing Sings Carpenters. Namely, the hauntingly beautiful Yesterday Once More.
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