What is this "Blog", of which you speak?

.... she limps over the finish line, of blogging daily for a whole month. (I missed two days last week, whoopsies.)

Why did I do that? Why do I even blog?? Why? Self-importance? Self-absorption? Working shit out? Feeling connected with amazing people? To just write? All of these things? None of these things? Why do we all blog?

I think the answer is ... I blog because it feels good. Simple.

I'm taking a break just for a little while ... I need to catch up on reading and commenting, need to catch my breath. I've been a pathetic wanker lately, and need to go build a bridge and get a grip. I also have over seven hundred emails in my inbox. Tempted to go the 'delete all' button.

I'm in negotiations with Dave, to post a video of him on here. I say "negotiations", because he is so vain that anything I tape will need to be vetted by him. And, he still doesn't understand the concept of blogging. Thinks I send out "group emails" to everybody. Heh.

He thinks I would make fun of him. Whatever gave him that idea? I mean, come on. Personally I'm insulted that he'd ever think I would make fun of anyone in my family, on my blog.

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(I will take this down, soon. But it's just so frickin' CUTE! He wants to help mummy in the kitchen already.)

Suicide Watch

The baby wants to kill himself.

I'm not kidding when I say he's tough ... he's frickin' unbelievable. Last week, he got stung by a BEE. He cried, a bit. And then watched with fascination as mummy dug deep into his finger with a sterilized needle to get the stinger out. I told my sister Leigh about it, she laughed so hard and thinks he definitely suits his name. She said "Actually, I thought of a new name for him ..... Rocco Balboa!"

Which has kind of stuck.

It's like he's superhuman or something ... like the IVF people accidentally created a Superbaby. He pulls himself up people legs ... anyone's, it doesn't matter. Random strangers in the street. They always think he will spin out when he realises he hasn't climbed up me .. umm, no, he's just checking you out!

He does backflips when I change his nappy (NOT funny), goes berserk when in the bath, and squeals with delight when Dave dunks him under the showerhead. He crawls on the big fat gravel in our driveway ... with no pants on. Leaps up stairs, and pushes his highchair across the room. He bashes all of us up .... endearing for 2.1 seconds and then plain annoying. And then, scary! He hurts, grabbing flesh with his bare fist and turning and pulling on it. You half expect him to say. "Go ahead, punk. Make. My. Day."

He's had so many spills down the two steps in the middle of the living room .. but he never cries for long, and is off and scooting around in no time. He tries so hard to jump out of my arms when I'm carrying him .... that the other day he almost did, I freaked out and yelled out "NO!" Really loudly which made him cry and made me feel like an arsehole. A woman in the car next to us frowned at me .... I felt like a terrible baby-shouter-atter.

Until I walked past her car and smelt the cigarette smoke wafting out, noting HER baby strapped in the seat behind her.

People in smoke-filled glass houses should not throw stones.

He's a joy, this baby 'o'mine. Still hard hard hard work ... and I'm counting down the months til he turns one. He won't be a baby for much longer ... sometimes I wonder if he ever really was.

"She Chose Down?"

My heart and head are duking it out as to who is the saddest.

My heart is winning.

A lot of different reasons why. Some days I hate how incredibly fucked up I feel, like the most damaged person in the freaking planet. Like I got broke, but then put myself back together and there were a few parts left over and instead of working out where they go I simply threw them away. So now I have missing parts that I'll never get back.

So today, I took the boys to get some DVDs, bought meat pies, and tried to ignore myself. Because I'm just so damn ANNOYING sometimes, chrissake.

Max and I sat down to watch a movie together - the baby was asleep, Dave was down at the beach, and Widdle Timmy Guyo was working. I told Max I had an AWESOME movie for him, that I first saw many years ago "in the olden days."

Labryinth.

OMFG he adored it, as did I. He still has his soccer gear on, we both had our feet on the couch, eating crackers and getting the crumbs everywhere. We are bachelors, when left alone.

I remembered everything in it, the songs, the "hardships un-numbered" speech, the Dance, Magic Dance song. (I didn't realise exactly how tight David Bowies pants were, sheesh. Packed lunch indeed.)

I watched from the eyes of a thirty-seven year old, instead of a fourteen year old. Interesting, seeing how my life has panned out.

The difference was, I DID choose down, in my life. And down and down, over and over again.
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I haven't chosen down, in a very very long time. But sometimes, it sure feels like I have.

Stupid feelings.

Choosing My Battles

Today I put my back out taking a SWISS BALL class. I do not know how this happened ... Swissball is for pussies! I am the Pump champion, for Gods sake.

I have a post brewing on what it's like, living in a house of men. (Hell, I could start a whole BLOG on the freakin' subject.)

This conversation occured earlier between my stepson Tim and I. (Is there another word for "stepson"? I hate it.)

Tim: "Hey Eden .."
Eden: "No you can't go on my computer."
Tim: "I know that. Hey, can I teach Rocco how to punch?"
Eden: *Sighing* "Well you taught Max, I'm sure you will teach Rocco at some point."
Tim: "I mean now. I've started teaching him now ... just some little jabs and that ..."
Eden: *laughing*
Tim: "I'm serious."
Eden: *not laughing*
Tim: "It's fine! I'm just teaching him to look after himself. If I teach him now can you IMAGINE how tough he'll be when he starts school!"
Eden: "He. Is. Ten. Months. Old."
Tim: "Ha! He's a freakin' champ already I swear! He'll SO be able to hold his own when he goes to daycare."
Eden: "Noyoucan'tteachthebabytofightchristssake!!!!"

Eden and Tim look at each other, both knowing that when Eden is not in the room, Tim will, indeed, teach the baby to punch.

Wordless Wednesday: The View from my Office.

(Alternatively titled: "Why I Can't Work from Home Anymore ....."

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It Felt So Good ...

There is a new post up, over at my other digs.

Meow.

We Are All Made of Stars

.... today, Alexa at Flotsam made me laugh, feel relieved, laugh again, then feel HUMAN.

Thank you, Alexa.

I love blogs.

Perfect Moment Monday

My perfect moment was definitely not when a COCKROACH crawled under my towel in the middle of pump class today. Nor was it when the baby woke at 2am, 3.30am, and finally again at 5am SCREAMING his head off ... I put a pillow over my head and used Jedi mind control to will Dave to get up which he finally did, but it took so looooooong that I almost imploded.

My perfect moment was totally not when I searched high and low for my mobile phone, which is still missing. I started to cry - not about the actual phone, but the priceless pics and video footage I took of Rocco when he was tiny. Nobody else really took any other pics of him, thrust so cruelly we were into Daves Cancerland Hell.

I need to find my phone.

My perfect moment was most certainly not when I slammed the door on Dave for pissing me off, or when it rained after I washed my car.

And when my most glorious seven year old tearfully told me that "Nobody talks to him during dinner," and I realised that we are all so loud and obnoxious and he just sits there soaking it all in. Much like myself as a child. The pain with which he told me that was the furthest from a perfect moment you could imagine.

And googling "heartburn non-hodgkins relapse?" .... was not perfect. It was terrifying. Dave sees his oncologist in April for a checkup. Much as I like to proudly sprout I refuse to live in cancer's shadow ... well, some days I pitch a freakin' tent in the shadow and crack open a soda pop. (I said soda pop for you Americans HAHA. We call it fizzy drink.)

I've had a fucked day. Can you tell?

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For weeks, I've wanted to do Lori's Perfect Moment Monday. I've always had so many to choose from ... and Lori is just such a warm and beautiful gal. I emailed her once that if Dave ever met her, he would call her "Lozza". She told me that a New Zealand boyfriend used to call her Lozza, and I totally felt more of a kinship with her because New Zealand is almost Australia. (Right, Pix!?)

Earlier I sat on my bed, using all my Spidey Senses to "feel" where my phone is. Useless. I then tried to think of a perfect moment on this Monday, and all I could think was all the bad shit that happened. And then, I realised there were heaps of perfect moments. My brain just latches on to the bad shit automatically.

My many perfect moments:

1) Rocco being fawned over by a million people in the street, told how handsome he is.

2) Dave and I FORGETTING the name of his oncologist. Both of us could not remember the guys name to save our life.

3) Tim playing with Maxie on the trampoline for ages, in the pouring rain.

4) Dave holding Rocco out in the pouring rain, making up a funny song: "Have you ever ... felt rain before?" And kissing him seventy times.

5) Dave walking straight up to me after he hopped out of his ute, to kiss ME. Even though I slammed the door on him and was so very mean.

6) Me realising that if my phone is lost, all we have is right here right now. I can smell Rocco and touch him and look at him. It doesn't matter about the pics. (But then I secretly thought I was putting on an acceptance show for Universe and as soon as I had "accepted" the lost phone I will find it *ahem*)

7) The cockroach in pump class turned out to be a grasshopper.

Today, I totally got what Lori is asking for .... there are perfect moments all around us. Sometimes we just need to adjust our focus.

A Guest Post from Max (Verbatim)

"I love going to the park on weekends, and going for walks with Dad.

I love my mum so much.

I love playing with my little puppy dog toy called Bones. I love my little brother, and sometimes he always grabs my mouth. - Mum! You're so fast at writing!

My big brother Tim and Dad always tickle me. I love playing with my baby brother and my DS.

I want to kiss my mum.

BYE!!

-The End

(Mum, make sure you type BYE in big letters, 'coz I said it big.)"

Dance Like Nobody's Watching

An oldie but a goodie .... I ADORE this video. It's saved in my favourites, I watch it every now and again just to laugh, and remember how important it is to not take life so f*cking seriously. This guy rocks.

Worlds Lamest Post

Whistled "Down Under" all day, realised I've never really liked that song. Thank you for your responses, I'm just proud to do my bit for Australia. Even with my big cauliflower nose. Just showed Dave the video .... he shook his head in utter disbelief. It's locked in .... I am going to BlogHer - next year. WOOOOT! By myself. I can scrape up airfare, surely there are a few couches I can sleep on? ;)

Dave: "Where is BlogHer exactly? I've never actually heard of that town."

Because I Can.

How to make lamingtons.

In Da Hood

Some pics I took today .... I have decided the baby is actually a forty year old stuntman trapped in an infants body. He thinks he can do ANYTHING. Toughest baby on the planet. If I don't hold on to him tightly, he tries to jump out of my arms. No shit.

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So, tomorrow I will be answering all Australia themed questions using a video camera. Why not today? Well, that's because I have not got all my props ready yet. Seriously.

And the Dog Ate My Homework I SWEAR

The most wonderful Wordgirl emailed me recently, asking me to recommend a good book about Australia and its origins.

I had no fucking idea. For someone so smart, sometimes I'm pretty dumb. I texted my friend Naomi and she text back "The Fatal Shore" by Robert Hughes. Of course I've never read it, so I Wikiepedia-ed it.

I've had a slew of Australia-related questions lately .... what is Vegemite, ummmm, what's a good Australia book, .... what is Vegemite ......

Now, I know I'm woefully behind in reading and commenting on blogs, I am a rude arse. But I vowed to blog every day and I've been so hectic and the baby has been up every night at 12.30am, 1am, 3am, 3.30am ... etc. And then I'm up and walking around in the day wondering what life means and I look at Dave and think wow, your hair is so dark and thick right now, amazing. I'm applying for jobs and cooking meals and trying to parent Tim properly. I need to help Max with his homework which I haaaaaaate, and I'm on the hunt to find a decent care provider for the baby because the term "working from home" does NOT occur when the baby is crawling around the house in search of donuts. And danger. And I need to earn some serious money, because my whole freelancing plan fell apart last year, coincidentally on the exact same day Dave walked in the house and said the immortal words .... "Hon, what's lymphoma?"

I'm going to finish my every day blogging thing if it kills me. and it is. It's 11.22pm ..... time for the Crying Baby Show any minute, bless him.

So do you have any questions about Australia? Or Australians? Like, me, for example? The last time I asked for questions was about a year ago ..... nobody asked me a darn thing. Not one thing. So embarrassing. PLEASE ask me something. Anyone? Bueller? I'll totally talk my answer out re-ally slowly in a Vlog. Using my non-existent accent.

Infinity's a Great Place to Start

I once had a panic attack standing in the self-help section of a bookstore in Sydney. Because I couldn't decide which book to buy, and the guy was closing up the bookstore, and I needed a book so badly because I was so fucked up.

Ended up choosing a dud book that sits in my bookshelf to this day, unread.

Sometimes I rest on my laurels, thinking I've done so much work on myself already that surely I'm done, don't need to do any more?

Somewhere along the path of the last decade, I had a spiritual awakening. I found all this stuff in me that I had never actually lost, it had just never been acknowledged in the first place.

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Yesterday after Tims soccer game, we all drove down to the big shopping centre. Dave and I were so delirious ... we walked in, looked at each other and both said "What the HELL were we thinking!" Tim needed new clothes, and I promised Maxie a new Mr Men book. I took Max and the baby into the bookshop.

Confession: I have not been able to finish reading a book for over a year now. And I don't know why. I'm in the middle of some awesome books ... Anne Lamott, Julia Cameron, even Marion Keyes. I can't finish any of them. My unspoken theory is, maybe I have read so many books in my life that I'm full. And unless I write one myself, I won't be able to read any more.

Strange, I know. I did kind of write a childrens book, last year. I keep putting off posting about it, because it's not "proper." And who the hell do I think I am? How dare I start achieving my dreams?

Anyway we were in this bookshop yesterday. Max was choosing between Mr Wrong and Mr Clever, the baby scooted off and I found him in non-fiction, hunched over something. Walking up, I realise he was eating somebodys discarded donut from off the floor. He saw me and shoved the whole thing in his freaking mouth, because that's what Cavemen Midgets DO.

How luxurious is it to buy new books? Max bought Mr Wrong and Mr Clever, Rocco bought The Tale of Peter Rabbit, and I bought Wayne Dyer's Change Your Thoughts, Change Your Life: Living the Wisdom of the Tao. I've started reading it and it's bloody awesome. I think it picked me, and I really hope I can finish it. I hope I can always remember to stay teachable.

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Driving home, munching on Rocky Road, we were all content. Talking about how great the party was, our upcoming camping trip. I blasted U2s latest album, telling Dave not to worry, the baby loves loud music.

No crisis, no arguments, no cancer. Just clarity and gratitude and love. Dave kept wanting to hold my hand. I said to him, "Wow, how come we love each other so much?"

"Dunno hon. I think we always do. Just go with it."

The simple things in life can make my heart burst open.

Renew

This morning I brought the baby into our bed, and he wrestled with Dave for half an hour. I almost cried .... we've never done that before. Watching them together, was something I thought I would never see.

I am the luckiest woman in the world. Every day is a bonus, a gift. Every single day. I refuse to let Life swallow us whole, again. It's like my husband is my lover, and the world is shiny.

I need permission to up load certain video of certain karaoke hijinks. "Baby Got Back" is apparently very hard to sing .... I am the biggest sober karaoke show off on the planet. XO

Midnight is Where the Day Begins

... it was awesome.

Thank God it's over.

Lost my voice.

Can't wait to catch up with everyone.

There are Some Nasty Pics of Headless Chickens on Google

Stepping in to the supermarket today to do some shopping .. with no list, I thought. "Hmmmm. What WILL forty+ people eat at the party tomorrow night? Hoovers doovers? Cheese? Dip? Quiches? Pastizies? I just loaded the trolley up until Rocco's face was in the basil and the ice cream melted.

We are having a spit roast tomorrow night, with some pork and lamb. I'll make salads and pesto, baked potatoes .... and hope for the best.

I'm walking around from room to room, bedazzled at what needs to be done. So is Dave. We have not been social for so long the house went to shit .... he is installing a new soft-close toilet seat, weeding the veggie garden - all the vital things.

I'm off to transfer three piles of paperwork and clutter into a cupboard somewhere. Then shove my clothes in my wardrobe unfolded. Take food items out of boxes and pretend I made them, put some luxurious toilet paper in the bathroom, collect dustbunnies, etc.

Who Are You Not to Be?

"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented and fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be?

You are a child of God. Your playing small doesn't serve the world. There's nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others."

- Nelson Mandela

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- I am overwhelmed and gobsmacked at all the lovely words and thoughts aimed at me the last few days. Thank you. If I were to get hit by a truck today and die, I would have the BEST funeral. I'd totally perch my bony dead ghostly arse in the front pew, and listen to everybody cry and talk about what a wonderful person I was. (Of course, I can be an arsehole too ... but you can't talk ill of the dead at a funeral. Whisper it, maybe .... "She thought she was soooooooo cool!!" Shhh.)

- 37 is NOT old. I retract that statement. Sorry!

99? Now THAT shit is old.

- Ok so now I need to upload more ve-ry cool music onto my party playlist. Any suggestions? Yes Dora .... I will TOTALLY post video of me and my sisters singing bad karaoke. If they let me. They'll so let me. Where do you think I learnt my shamelessnessness from?

I'm Old

Exactly thirty years ago, I slipped on some thin, rusted stairs at the side of my house, and sliced my shin neatly open. There was not much blood, and you could see the bone. To this day I can't touch my scar.

Exactly seven years ago, Max was three months old. Dave and I drove down with him to see a movie, Dave and I ended up having an argument so he went by himself, while I pushed Max around in his pram at the shopping centre. I was so, so angry at Dave. I called a friend, telling her I wanted to get a baseball bat and smash Daves car up and get the train home. Alarmed, she talked me off the psychopathic ledge (gee, there are a LOT of ledges in my life!) ... and Daves car emerged unscathed. Lucky.

Exactly thirty-three years ago, my mother packed me and my two sisters up in the car. I remember feeling scared and hurried, like someone was after us. I had buried a bulb in our garden and it was just starting to sprout. I quickly dug it up and rushed over to the confused neighbour and asked her if she could look after it. Then we all drove off without looking back. (I will never, ever understand why my mother chose my fourth birthday to leave our father. Couldn't she have waited one more day? I mean really .. the marriage had been shit from day one).

Exactly three years ago, we all drove down to the Norman Lindsay Art Gallery, where the boys collapsed in a heap on the front lawn so patrons had to step over them. I remember saying through gritted teeth - get up GET UP. Then we went and played 10 pin bowling and Max won. I had the biggest shiniest yearning for another child that I can't describe.

Exactly one year ago, my belly was big and round and I did not need any presents because I had everything I ever wanted plus so much more. Fuck I was happy. (Until, you know ... CANCER. What a big lesson to learn - do not wish for too much, or life will fuck you over.)

So.

Thirtyfreakinseven .... I AM OLD. I'm calling it, "Beginning my Early Late Thirties."

Last year, during yet another night where the whole house was black because Dave couldn't handle ANY lights on, I thought to myself, if we get through this .... I am gonna chuck the biggest fattest party.

And we did, and I am. This Saturday, actual, real - live PEOPLE are coming over to our house. For a big fat party. I'm not even scared/freaked out/paranoid about it. (Yet). Bring it on. What a way to smudge a house! I think maybe forty or fifty people are coming. I did have a celebrant organised, to renew our wedding vows as a big surprise for Dave. But he shit me so much this week that I cancelled the celebrant and got a karaoke machine instead. Why yes, yes I did. That is how things are done, in my life.

The last year, from the age of 36-37, has been the hardest, despicable year of my life. Thank God it's over. Thank God we get to have a party on Saturday.

Most of all, thank YOU. For reaching through my computer and giving me love, hugs, chocolate, funny stories, warmth, compassion. You are all wonderful.

And you are ALL invited to my big fat party on Saturday. Starts at 6pm .... I will provide the food, but you can bring your own alcohol. Fuck it if I'm paying for other people to get drunk! :)

Now, I must go. I need to exchange every single birthday present my wonderful husband bought for me.

My Husband is a Turd, and other funny stories.

Dave knows I blog. So does Tim, and Max. I asked them all for their permission to write about them on here, providing I don't embarrass them. None of them ever come and read, anyway. I started reading out a post to Tim one day, until I looked over at him slumped in the chair faux-snoring. "You're boring me." ... was all he said, before he walked out of the room.

Sometimes, I see myself in Tim. Which is pretty freakin' cool, considering I'm "only" his stepmum. Once at dinner recently, Max was talking about his new found love of Pokemon cards. (Which I can't stand, they are hideously ugly) .... Tim started reminiscing about how, when he was younger, he used to collect Pokemon cards. And how his mum used to tell him they were all sold out at the shop. And than tell him to go look under his pillow .... where she would have put Pokemon cards there.

Then he thought some more .... "Hang on - that wasn't my mum. That was YOU!" Pointing his fully-laden fork accusingly at me. Bits of his dinner went flying across the table.

It was such a wonderful feeling. We have had our ups and downs, but my goodness I love him so much. I met him when he was seven, I was twenty-seven. I had a LOT to learn! We "get" each other, sometimes in more ways than him and his dad do.

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The above pic is what happens whenever I drag Dave into a bookshop - he heads for the nearest chair. In this case, it was an actual couch, so he was in heaven. He reckons he does not like books, I'm like, mate, how can you not like books? Books?

So I went running around the bookshop determined to find something he would like. Got him interested in an architectural book, which he loved and almost bought.

Then I found another he might like, so I ran back, put it on him, and of COURSE snapped a photo and uploaded it here.

It's the Kama Sutra pop-up book.

Serves him right for not reading my blog. (Actually, I don't want him reading my blog. He's just a turd.)

Lacklustre. Lacking in Lustre

Stupid daily blogging. How am I supposed to hide the fact that I feel like shit and am SO CRANKY at my husband right now? The last few posts were all true ..... yet missing the enormous black hole of seething in my belly.

I would like to state that marriage is overrated.

I look ugly today, with a big pimple on my forehead to prove it. The house is a pigsty, we have no food, and Max left my car door open ALL NIGHT. It was pissing with rain. Not to mention the fact that an army of huntsmen spiders are probably living in my car now.

Ugh. I have to go. Dave just got home and I need to act busy.

Like Mother, Like Son

Yesterday afternoon I was driving with the boys. Max was in the front ... suddenly, without ANY warning, my usually placid guy yells out ..."ARRRGGGHHHHHH. I JUST WANT TO PUNCH THE SUN IN THE FACE."

Apparently, the sun had dared to shine straight in his eyes, the nerve of it!

We were silent for a while, and then I said:

"You know, if you DID somehow manage to punch the sun in the face, your arm would probably melt off. Then you wouldn't be able to play Playstation."

We laughed and laughed, all the way to Subway. (Where she put RAW BACON on my roll. I said, is that raw? She goes, oh, do you want it cooked? Ummm, YEAH).

Wow, these daily posts are FASCINATING, no?

World's Laziest Saturday .... A Photo Extravaganza

The two boys and I have found ourselves ruling the roost for the whole weekend. Awesome. Max and I pushed the couches together last night and watched TV and ate all the chocolate. We kept saying we'd go to bed after the next Scrubs episode, and then changing our minds for "just one more."

Today we went for a big walk to the lake and back, then Max played Playstation for the rest of the afternoon, while I did something I NEVER do - slept while the baby slept. I don't like to waste my baby-free time, but I was so tired I had a nap with my face on the empty M&Ms packet on the huge bed/couch we made.

I woke up feeling like I always do when I nap during the day ... like I'd ingested 10 acid trips and been clubbing all night, with a pit of doom and anxiety in my stomach. HOWEVER, I talked myself down off the ledge, reminding myself I was an honest and productive member of society, and the only thing I had done wrong was to let my seven year old watch an M-rated TV show.


Here are some pics I took about ten minutes ago. The baby LOVES it when he is allowed into Maxs room. The tiny bits of Lego to choke on ... the fake axes ... baby bliss ..

He pulls himself up to standing ALL the time now. A baby on legs. Help me.

Max "just had to play this little bit more," so could not look at the camera for this pic. Here are the four of us ..... Max, Rocco, Me, and my overbite

Ok I went outside to try to get some snaps of Rocco's eyes in the sunlight. They are the most intense blue eyes I've seen. But he saw something and just took off

- so quickly. Left me in his baby dust -

Ahhhhh, the gas bottle. Of COURSE -

Scrubs, Chocolate, and an Almost Flat Cat

Look, I don't really have much to say today. I'm sitting here, stuffing my face with M&Ms. For the third time I have hired out the complete seventh series of Scrubs and I intend to watch it. Today has been hot cold hot cold hot. My beloved summer is leaving *SOB*.

I wish I lived in the tropics.

I feel very in tune with the Universe, lately. I keep joking with people that I'm ready and waiting for the next crisis to appear. But f*ck I feel strong. No more falling to pieces, at least this week.

I almost ran over a CAT today, it was sitting in the middle of the road. I pulled my car over, and got out to pick it up. It was very old, poor thing. Suddenly I hear this truck ROARING up the freaking road, for a second I thought he was going to smash into my car. With both boys inside. He drove past .... I smiled and said look, there's a cat on the road. He yells at me "Move your F*CKING car."

I love it when people give me reason to hate them. Makes me feel better about .... hating people.

The Fires

"Why don't the newscasters
cry when they read about
people who die?
At least they could be decent
enough
to put just
a tear in their eyes."
- Jack Johnson
"Lullabye."

Imagine this: you're in your house, the kids are watching t.v. It's a hot day ... super hot. There are bushfires around, but no threat to you. Or so you think. Suddenly, with absolutely no warning, the sky turns black with smoke and ash. You hear the whoosh of the fire approaching .... like a wave, travelling at the same speed as the ferocious winds.

You have no hope, the fire comes and you all die.

Or, you make it to your car, panicked and hysterical. Race through smoke, travelling along the only road leading out of town .... and smash into five other cars that have crashed into each other. You all burn to death in your cars.

Or you're a firefighter, who gets called to help fight the fire that day. Your own house ends up burning down, killing your wife and children.

Two beautiful, blonde-haired sisters perish, trying in vain to save their beloved horses in the burning paddocks.

An elderly woman is found dead in her car, next to carefully packed boxes of her best china and glasswear.

Four children from the same family found dead in the bath.

A firefighting truck races through town, lights and sirens blaring .... and sees people stumbling around the street, dazed, confused and scared. This truck, heartbreakingly, cannot stop. One firefighter spoke of seeing a man and his two small sons, standing bewildered in the middle of the street, barefoot. I often wonder if that man and his kids made it out alive. I hope so.

Imagine running for your life, your grandparents leading the way. Your brother and sister die ... you could have sworn they were right behind you. You are just 13 years old.




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My February 7th, 2009, was hot also. In temperature and temperament. Dave and I were arguing, he was sitting in his ute about to leave, but I wanted to get the last word in. He ended up driving over my foot, which swelled up immediately. I knew it wasn't broken, and I knew it was an accident, but my God it went purple.

Dave ended up going to his mums house with Tim, I had the two younger boys with me all weekend. I took Max to soccer registration, round about the time the winds changed in Victoria. We went for a swim at Blackheath pool, and stayed for ages. The baby loved splashing in the water, Max met up with some mates there and spent hours having "funny jump" competitions. I text my sister a pic of my purple toe, laughing. (Me, not my toe.) It was so damn hot, we stayed at the pool until evening ... just as the first of the doomed towns got absolutely annihilated by fire. Hell on earth. One woman said it was literally raining big chunks of fire.

We got home, and I saw on the news that around 20 people had died. It was DREADFUL, I thought, "Oh, no. Those poor people."

And hugged my boys close. Why does it take a tragedy for us to be reminded of how precious life is?

That night and the next morning, the death was climbing, climbing. Max saw my reactions to the TV and wanted to know what happened. I switched it off, and tried to think of something else.

I couldn't.

It was so hot that I couldn't even return the DVDs to the movie store. We stayed inside all day, with the curtains drawn, conserving energy.

A horror show was unfolding before Australia's eyes .... the likes of which we have never seen before. News footage of big tough Aussie men and woman, cracking and crying, in shock. Traumatised beyond words, living in the aftermath of a terrorist attack.

I rang Dave, in tears. All was forgiven. "I love you, hon! Please come home!"

He couldn't come home til the next day, as it was just too hot to drive.

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It hasn't even been a month, yet. Weeks ago, The Fires were pushed off the front page. By the looming recession, shark attacks, and other useless things. There has been a low chorus of people ... I have heard it with my own ears .... "Oh, I'm SO sick of watching all this stuff about the bushfires .... ahhh, not the f*cking fires again, isn't there something else on? .... Is this thing STILL going?"

Funny how some people turn their heads. It must just be too much for them.

I have thought about The Fires every single day, since they have happened. There's not much I can do. I can buy this, or donate here.

210 people comfirmed dead so far
1100 homes lost
Tens of thousands of native animals killed

A grandmother received some precious photos of her grandchildren, via email. Due to a computer glitch, she got them four days after the fires had claimed their lives, and the lives of both their parents. Two happy, smiling babies. She said it was like they were telling her from heaven that they were ok. She wept, saying quietly how she replied back. Even though it was a bit silly.

I cried for her, thinking it was not silly at all.

The best thing I can do, is to send my love and positive thoughts towards all of the people left behind. I know this works. I know it's hard to think about what happened that day, but, out of respect, I just don't think we should ever, ever forget.

Wordless Wednesday - Idiocy Runs in the Family

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Oh - if you DID want to read some words, go check out the comments to my last post. You will laugh. I just laughed so hard I almost crapped my pants. I just laughed so hard that tears were streaming down my face and I couldn't breathe .... and I woke the sleeping baby up but didn't even care because that shit was just so damn funny. (Literally).

I LOVE laughs like that, they're good for the soul.

XOX

Same Old Shit

I asked everyone at the kitchen table.

"What is your very earliest memory?"

Mine is trying to pick some food up from the tray of my high chair.

Tim said his when he lived in the small blue house with his dad and mum, and Dave asking whether he wanted chocolate milk in a bottle or cup. He chose bottle.

Max said driving on his toy truck.

And Dave?

Dave thought for a while, stretched his arms at the back of his head, thinking.

He was so serious. "Well, look I can't be sure .... but I think it was the feeling I got straight after my mum changed my shitty nappy. Yeah. (Broad smiles). Just that feeling of .... clean, no more sitting in crap."

The boys all fell about laughing, testosterone and boy laughs that only a poo joke can create.

If there was a camera in the room I would have looked at it and mouthed "HELP ME."

Housecleaning

This is one of my favourite photos ever. It's Max and Daddy, taken in 2003 when Dave was building our house. Max and I would come and visit and bring coffee for everyone. I love the look of happiness in Dave's face ... and I still have that hat that Max is wearing. Max was the most divine, beautiful little baby. I'll have to dig out some of his baby pics, as him and Rocco are very alike.

It took over a year to build the house .... it's BIG! A big, showpony house. Dave's dreamhouse, something he had been working towards for many years. I have just been taken along for the ride!

I've been known to apologise to people when they walk in the door, gobsmacked by the beauty and surroundings. I get embarrassed, that we dare to live in something so grand. Ashamed, that I ever complain about ANYTHING.

I've never aspired to be a mortgage person ... it just happened. Some people were funny about it, when we finally did the big move from the shitbox rental house to here. I could always tell who ... they would usually just look around silently, then say something like .. "Well, you've got your work cut out for you. It's a big house to clean!"

Speaking of which, my sister Linda's baby gift to me was a house cleaner. The god-damn bliss of it.

The haters were right ... it is a PRICK of a house to clean. Especially when nameless males in the house (TIM) scrunch up empty cardboard toilet rolls and toss them in the corner.

Yeah.

It took a while, to get used to the cleaner. I felt SO mortifyingly guilty. Her first ever clean here, I kept offering her cups of tea, and lunch, and ... "My husband has cancer and my sister paid for a cleaner." Inappropriateness, thy name is Eden.

And now?

She still comes, once a fortnight. I'm used to her now. My God she works up a sweat cleaning this prick of a house. I don't feel guilty anymore .... ice is totally broken. Last week, I even stood there, in the kitchen, laughing to her as she swept up the mountain of crusts under the high chair. "Do you just think, man, what filthy slobs!"

She smiled, and diplomatically said, "Oh, well .... it's great that you keep me in a job!"

I stood there laughing, one leg cocked on my kitchen table, dressed in gym clothes.

Just like a stuck-up mole.

Goodbye, Summer. I Will Never Forget You.

Yesterday, as I was sitting in the massage chair getting a pedicure, I wondered what I would do if a random person walked in and started shooting the place up. Hide behind the chair next to me, probably. And, if I made it out alive and my shopping bags were blood spattered, would I still take them home?

Welcome to my brain.

Then, I heard a baby squawk, and it sounded so cute. Ahh, newborns. A little later, I heard a baby crying so full-on and loud, I shuddered to my core. Newborns, ahhhh!

I don't miss Rocco as a newborn anymore ..... yet, I still wish I could build a time machine and travel back to May 08 and just cover him with kisses and love and my undivided mother-ness. Instead of being so, so SO entirely traumatised. Instead of taking this photo ... just to see what terror looks like.

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(PHOTO REMOVED ..... sorry, but it kept FREAKING ME THE FUCK OUT.)



I took that photo at midnight, on the worst day of my life. The day of Daves surgery. For some reason, I led my head into believing he wasn't going to make it through the operation. Curse you, vivid imagination. That day was even worse than the day my dad killed himself. Worse than anything. (Check out the pink heart on my shirt ... it looks uncannily like a vagina.)

I'm so totally ok ... just, fascinated by it all, really. Admiring my scars, as it were.

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It's 11.16pm and I have been trying to finish an article all day. The deadline is tomorrow ... I'm back in high school again, writing my homework the night before. I am ridiculous.

It's also March 1st, and I'm blogging every day for a month. March ... I kept thinking that March was the last month of summer. No. No it's not, it's the freakin' first day of Autumn. It's still warm ... but the jig is up. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.

Here is a happier photo. It's what happens when your baby stays up the entire day with not one nap. Not-a-one, nay nay nay.


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Thank you for your too kind comments on my voice, in the previous post. When I was a child, I had the smallest, peep of a voice. And high pitched, and uncertain. I was painfully shy as a kid. It wasn't until my last year of high school that I toughened up ... when the Anger really started to kick in. My voice got lower, louder, and tougher.

And ha .. I would bat for the other team for all of you, too. You are all hot.

HOWEVER ..... I know naught of this accent of which you speak? Surely you jest? It is not I who has an accent ... I think it is YOU!

Heh.
xo