The Long and Winding Sippy Bip of Life

On the weekend I went for a long run on the beach. Not sure if I was running towards, or away from myself ... but either way it felt good. Winter pretended it was gone for a while, but it's back again now, to give us one long icy blast as it says goodbye.

Then spring will come. I notice seasons more and more every year .... it's amazing how all the green buds have been hiding in the bare sticks all along! Trickers! Can't believe that I'm 37 and only just realised this for the first time.

Also on the weekend, Dave and I fought like a pair of wild alley cats. It was mainly my fault .... poor Dave. Two days of stupid, pointless arguing around the same old circles. I wondered how other people fight. Surely not as messy as us? A lady walked past me in the shopping centre mid-fight with her husband, and I just felt so much better. We are not the only ones fucked up, I thought.

We each spiralled and fell down, separately. We were at his mums, where it's very difficult to ever have a good time anyway .. but on the last day, she confided in me about something so big and scary for her that I was humbled and ashamed of myself. Told her we may have had our differences over the years but I was there if she ever needed.

Dave having a quiet lie down at Nana's -

I forced Dave to come with me to the movies, we NEVER get the chance together anymore. I knew it would shake us out of our reality and it did - Inglourious Basterds was dark, violent, and twisted. Exactly like Dave and I. We fucking loved it, got back in at 12.30am and made sexy love time.

We drove home and I made a baked dinner to welcome my brother back from overseas. Tim's friend stayed over too ... six guys and me, sitting together around the dinner table. I wondered why I was the only girl in this house, and what that teaches me. Tim and Max were arguing over who had done a fart. "You done that fart" ... "No, YOU done that fart!!" I said, "GUYS!" And they both waited to get into trouble. "It's who DID that fart, not done."

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In the paper yesterday I read that half of people who get diagnosed with cancer are dead within five years. It freaked me out ... especially since Dave had to see his oncologist today. He got a blood test, had a chat. We've been concerned ("concerned" meaning TERRIFIED) about his recent bouts of reflux and indigestion. I was thinking it could be all of his tumours back again, badder than before ... the doctor advised Dave to stop drinking coffee for a while, which really makes sense, considering he drinks four double-shots a day. FOUR.

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I went to Max's reading circle at his school yesterday, for Book Week. I bought him a brand new Enchanted Woods book, which was my all-time favourite series as a kid. Max was happy, but pulls out his Simpsons comic. "Ummm, can we actually read this, mum?" We lay together on the pebblecrete, sharing a cushion, holding the magazine up to block the sun from our eyes. The other children were reading Roald Dahl, Green Eggs and Ham, and Mr Men books to their parents.

I lay there with my son and we both pissed ourselves laughing at Monty Burns bossing Smithers around.

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Last Sunday, Dave stood at the local fair, watching Max slide down the huge slide. Max loves slippery dips, one of his first words was "sippy bip." He kept saying "Come on, dad! COME ON!" But he didn't feel like it and kept saying no. I walked over and bought them both a ticket, saying well, you have to go now. He took his morose butt over, grabbed a sack, wearily climbed the stairs. They went whooshing down together.

Dave came over to me munching my corn on a stick, waiting by the pram, Rocco asleep and the strains of "I was working as a waitress in a cocktail ba-ar .. when I met you."

Dave had a half-smile, we were still re-connecting. I said, "See? You just needed a big slide. All better now?"

As if one slide could take away all the pain and fear of last year and all the damage it caused. I looked him in the eyes, the same crinkly, wonderful eyes I've been looking in for the past ten years.

And we laughed and laughed.

I'm F.I.N.E.

I'm FINE - Fucked-up, Insecure, Neurotic, and Emotional.

Having a bloggy break due to my "fine-ness", because while it would be fascinating to live-blog my various meltowns, it doesn't feel very nice in my head. Or my skin. Or heart, spirit, etc.

So here is my Wordless Wednesday picture. I know it's not wordless, because I'm writing this. But it's not fucking Wednesday either, so whatever.

I call it: "Blue and green should never be seen except with mummy in between."

Just a woman, holding her two boys, happy. That's all. That's all I'm aspiring to, just for today. Surely it's not that difficult?

A new, improved Edenland will be back next week. XO

Homecoming

As soon as any of the guys get home .. from school or work, Rocco goes crazy. Mummy becomes invisible (by that time of day, mummy does not mind this one bit!) .... he loves all of his guys. Two amazing big brothers, and one helluva dad. Rocco is a lucky guy to have landed such strong role models. They are all a tight unit.

Last week, I was giving Rocco a bath, when all the boys came home together. I watched the recognition and delight in his beautiful little face.

Hmmm, I hear something -



Hey, I know those voices! -

And here is where I try to leap out of the bath -

Into daddy's strong, tough arms.

Babies Never Make Passes at Girls Who Wear Glasses ..

I look like a piece of shit because Rocco is NOT SLEEPING PROPERLY and I hadn't had my morning ten coffees yet. Also I have a stupid cheesy grin. And age spots, overbite, etc ....



So totally irritating yet thoroughly cute at the same time .....




He knows it's wrong but still does it. Again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again ...

As far as anyone knows, we're a nice, normal family.

We finally replaced our broken camera ... this is my wonderfully descriptive little boy having fun at the park yesterday.

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I have so many things to say .... but life keeps getting in the way of blogging. Darn you, life! Also, one of my sisters is having a rough time today, so I will share this story, then tell her to read my blog. How wanky is that? .. "Hi, it's me. Read my blog. Bye"

So, last night, Dave, Tim, Max, myself ... and even Rocco, were all watching the first episode of Australian Idol. Which meant we were watching seventy million ads as well. This one ad was for a panty liner. It's so STUPID. A woman is getting dressed in skin tight clothing, reefing her tight jeans on, and yells out to her boyfriend to please pass her one of her pads. (Or panty liners, I get confused. I am 37 years old and STILL buy myself the wrong pads, the wings stick to my seventies bush ... I frickin' hate wings).

So the boyfriend comes in holding up a choice of two pads. Of course she chooses the thin one, to fit into her skin tight clothing ... it may be thinner but it is more absorbent! Wow!

By this stage, I'm sitting there in Rocco's little green chair (because all the good seats were taken) .... writhing around, shouting how much I hate this stupid ad.

Max pipes up. "What are they?"

Tim starts sniggering, Dave smiles, and I go thoughtful. It's probably a little too early to explain a heavy flow to a seven year old. Max asks again. "What are they? Seriously, what are they?"

At the same time that I said "Womens things," Dave goes, "Bandaids."

Tim loses it and falls off his bean bag, I shift in Roccos tiny chair. (I would need one of those pads/panty liners, to fit into that chair.)

Max turns to me. "What ARE they mum??"

Every effort was expended to not guffaw next to Tim. I didn't want to make Max feel stupid ... but then Dave just says, "Ladies put them on their bum."

Simple. Crisis averted ....... UNTIL ........

Max nods, understanding. "Ohhhhhh ..... a vagina nappy."

VAGINA NAPPY.

(In Australia, nappy means diaper)

I laughed so loud that I fell off my stupid little chair. So I stole Tims beanbag.

Redecorating

Last night I dreamt that I could see into my head. There were all compartments there ... my thoughts, my family, childhood, etc. Over in the corner ... crouching down and hiding from me, was a demon. He was just a regular guy, with his faded face painted as a clown.

I told him I could see him, so he stood up, going "Awwwww!!" Like he was a kid and I'd just found him during a game of hide and seek. He left. (I don't know how ... crawled out of my ear?)

Coincidentally, I woke up this morning feeling better. It probably has more to do with me shining the light on my shit this week, but I think I should apply for a job at my local church as an exorcist. As soon as I find out where my local church is. Is God still a Catholic?

I'm still shocked at how low I actually went. Told Dave I have not felt this bad since before I got pregnant with Max, eight years ago. Reluctantly I have started the hunt for a therapist. The kids have suffered a bit, what with mum being a total NUTJOB for a while, so I must bite the bullet and do it. I'll bring her some popcorn, maybe some cushions to get comfy. (Thank you, thank you, for your comments and emails. I've tried to get back to everyone ... thank you, anons.)
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So, here is the pic of what happens in my house when a hole gets made in the wall. How did the hole get made? Well Rocco pulled off the plastic cap on one of those sproingy things that kept his door from banging into his wall ... so his door banged into his wall and the handle went through the wall.

I will never know who actually banged the door so hard ... one of life's great mysteries. All I know is, they saw their fuck-up and tried to make it look pretty, at least.

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I picture us around BBQ in twenty years time ... all the boys will be grown, so I can finally find out the answers to this stuff that nobody ever admits to.

Life is Hard. Easy.

I'm usually ok.

I've been doing this recovery business long enough to know myself .. knowing myself is vital. I may even get another tattoo one day, that says "KNOW THYSELF" in cool swirly letters or some shit. Just to remind me.

However lately, I've been on the down and down. I'm not actually sure when it started, or even why. Maybe it's because I haven't liked where I live for a few years now. Or Rocco back to his old tricks of getting up seven times a night. Maybe it's that I can't get a crap job at the moment to save my life. Perhaps it started at the cancer? Or the self-hatred I felt at feeling like I hated my baby? I want his babyhood back ... sometimes my mind screams at me.

Sometimes my mind tells me dreadful, shameful things. Reminds me of all the bad I have done in my life ... reminds me of the pain I carry around, it is just so heavy. I think about certain things at 2am and blush. My sisters agree ... it's hard, this head of mine. I swear it tries to plot my downfall, if I am not careful. The price to freedom is eternal vigilance.

I have a friend, who I've know for almost ten years. She has gone back to her Old Ways. She has four children ... four hostages. I recently bumped into her in the street. Her eyes, black and flashing and angry. Screaming and rageful in the middle of the street and everybody was watching but I stayed calm and I did not give a SHIT about the people watching. I told her I was sorry I had been avoiding her ... that this past year was brutal and I had to keep myself safe. That I was worried Dave would not make it ... and so if I chose to go back to my Old Ways, then I would be abandoning my children and I couldn't do that. (How the call was strong, this past year! Surely I can have just a little something, take the edge off? Surely people would understand. Surely God Himself would understand?)

But I continued on, doing the right thing. Slogging it out, and ignoring the motherfucking red wine in the cupboard (spaghetti bolognaise). Ignoring the codeine underneath Daves jumpers (pain relief for his tumours).

Instead, I ate a fucking truckload of chocolate, drank seventy gallons of coffee.

My friends mother died, then her auntie died. Two big fat excuses masquerading as tragedies. She did not keep slogging and she strayed off the path. She hugged me close and stank of unwashed and cigarettes but I hugged her tighter and told her that I don't want her to die. And she walked off with the shifty people who I didn't know, yet knew so well. In search of more drugs. How easily I could slip in, with that crowd! How I used to be such a chameleon! I was so good at being spectacularly fucked up. You would not recognise who I used to be. Am I still her? Who is she? Where did she go?

Lately, everywhere I go I feel like a fake.

I came here just now to write the most hilarious post, you really would have laughed ... but it just did not feel honest. Like I'm lying by omission. "Hey ... I wish I was dead so I couldn't feel anything, but you should really see the cute way the boys covered over the hole in the wall in Rocco's room!!"

Every day I have been filled with this terrible Sad that won't go away. Deep weeping has occurred. Everything is just so STUPID.

So today, I give up. Not on life, or recovery ... just on trying to hold myself together. Fuck it. Fuck you, terrible thoughts.

You may have won this battle, but I am winning this motherfucking war.

Real Men Carry Babies

Dave is a big tough bloke, a real man's man. I love that about him. I love his sandpapery stubble, his strong hands (marginally bigger than mine) ... and the way he speaks like a true-blue Aussie. Lot's of "g'days" and "mates".

So I found it confusing but very cool whenever he wanted to wear Rocco in the sling. He was very ill when Rocco was a newborn, but gradually, we started walking together again and he wanted to carry him.

Here they are last year, Rocco is a few months old and Dave was pretty bald from chemo ....

Actually, that is my cool green hat I got from Deus but Dave stole it. He was like, "Oh come on hon, let me wear it!" With all the cancer excuses, I mean really. I found that hat recently and threw it in the bin ... fucking chemo ridden, I swear to God it stank of cancer and sick and yuck.

So there's this thing called the Winter Magic Festival. Held every year on the Winter Soltice, it's a parade of colour and hippies and drummers, stalls and live bands and art and busking. Dave and I had been going to it together every year for eight years. Until last year ... last years Winter Magic Festival sucked baaaaad. Rocco was seven weeks old, Max was traumatised, and Dave had just had his second ever chemo treatment. He couldn't come, so I went by myself. It was a wicked day, windy and just wrong. I drove around for an hour trying to find a park ... and had to resort to staking people out in the carpark. (Something I never do, but Rocco was hungry and Max just wanted to play.) I asked this guy if he was leaving .... he ignored me. I knew he heard me so I asked him again. He twirled around, so angrily, and yelled, "Oh for goodness sake no no NO I'M NOT LEAVING."

My baby was crying from hunger, I wanted to show my six year old a good time, my husband was home shaving his head because his hair had fallen out so unevenly. And this fuckwit yells at me.

I dealt with it in the appropriate manner, and tried to run him over with my car. I swear, no shit .... I was blinded by a fury so intense that I sped up and lurched at him, grazing him slightly. He was so, so shocked. I drove past, screaming profanity and curses (because I am an awesome mother).

After I eventually found a park I breastfed in public and dared any strange stares to come my way. Then I paid a small fortune keeping Max busy on the jumping castle, clowns, and horses. It was such a lonely day. I drove home and primed Max, told him daddy is going to have no hair. He was so scared to see him that he didn't want to get out of the car.

Oh, those were fun times!

This Winter Magic, we all climbed in Daves ute, ready to show Rocco his first parade. There's nothing worse than trying to push a pram through a crowd of people, so we took the sling that my lovely friend Tam lent me, and hoped he still fit in it.

He did .... I crammed him in there like a frickin' origami goose. Dave was hanging to wear it - is there nothing sexier than a big tough guy carrying a baby in a sling???

Rocco kept looking down at his legs, incredulous and running in the air -

No scary bald Daddy for Max this year -

I LOVE this picture -

Just before the Heavens opened -

And this. This photo makes me emotional ... no bald, no sick no chemo. Standing proud and tall. As soon as I snapped this pic, I knew I would add it to Lori's Perfect Moment Monday -

We still couldn't find a car park ... but, Dave had his trusty ute that he drove up over some mulberry bushes and parked at an almost 90 degree angle -

We were all laughing so hard.
Me: "Hey Max, remember when we tried to find a car park last year!?"
Max: "Yeahhhhh .... and you nearly drove over that guy!"
Dave: (Alarmed) "What??"
Me: "Nothing."
Max: "Oh man he was so scared. Mum went CRAZY, Dad!"

Dave looks at me, knowing he will never really know what happened.