I've had a blah yucky week. Scratching the surface a bit deeper, I realise it probably has something to do with the death of my favourite uncle. My sisters and mum are going there today, for the funeral/memorial service. But I'm not going. I have heaps of excuses ... six hours to drive there, no childcare for my kids, I'm still on antibiotics, etc. Or, it could be my vow to not go to any more funerals. At last count, I'd been to seventeen. I have known a LOT of people who have died. Odd that the word "fun" is in funeral. Funerals make me want to howl at the moon ... every time I go to one, just triggers all the other ones and I am grieving a big, big grief and it's too hard.
I wrote in a card to all of my cousins, telling them that Uncle Vince taught me and my sisters what a "real" dad was. He would challenge Dave for the Ocker Aussie Bloke crown .... we spent many school holidays on his farm where we would help get all the sheep ready for shearing. I rang him a few weeks ago, he told me how proud he was of me and how far I have come. "You were always a delightful little kid, Eden. Always had joy in your heart."
Was I? Did I? I've never really had adults to mirror back to me what I was like as a child, so his words were a gift. (Never a day goes by when I don't tell Max some quirk or funny something he used to do when he was younger).
It would never cease to amaze me how much Uncle Vince would heap love and more love onto his four daughters .... that you could have a parent like that, who wanted to know you and play with you, didn't get cranky unless you really did something wrong. He died from cancer, which was a bit too close to home for me.
But I'm thinking of you, Uncle Vince. Thank you for throwing some love my way .... it helped sustain me like those crazy fucked-up trees that grow on clifftops and only need a few drops of rain each year to survive.
Anyway, here are some totally random pics I found on my computer -
Mum holding me as a baby. Is it just me, or does my big fat Charlie Brown blockhead scream "Mother of Rocco!!":
Not happy, Max! (Taken when he was four):
This is a picture of my bath. I'm not joking when I say you need to pity me:
....... try bathing a baby IN THAT FUCKING BATH. Also, it is a prick to clean. Also, in winter, our bathroom is the Antarctic. Max and I made up a song to sing to Dave: "The penguins, they get too cold, in this baaaaaaath-room." Dave sang back in the exact same way: "The penguins, they need to be graaaaaaaateful they even HAVE a baaaaaaath-room."
Dave dressed up as George Michael for a friends party last year. He gives great gay, don't you think? His faux brown leather jacket covered the "W" on his shirt, so he walked around all night with it saying simply "HAM". (Which made me hungry, as I was eight months pregnant at the time):
Lastly, this is what I would totally try to do if I were a guy: