Friday, 27 February 2009

Video Killed the Radio Star

If this actually works, I will dance up my street clanging a cow bell with a freaking tea cosy on my head. Naked.

(And then I will upload THAT). I've only been trying to upload video for, ohhh, four months now.

I have not been in Blogland ALL WEEK. I need to buy some more time, mine keeps running out on me. I am a will of a wisp, a flibbedy jibbet, a clown. So much to say ... so much to read. I am truly sorry. I hope everybody is doing well, in this crazy world. (CRAZY! My personal theory is, the instant I die, I'll be like, ohhhhhh, now I get it! And understand all the secrets of the Universe. Until then, I will feed my baby hot chips driving along the highway and grease up my steering wheel and then use a baby wipe to mop up the grease. All because I left the house with no baby food. Because my brain broke a while back, and I have NO IDEA.)

Tuesday, 24 February 2009

Stuff and Bother

Remission. It's a funny kind of word, really. Lately I have been looking at Dave, at his cool sideburns that he grows for me because he knows I love them ... looking at his hair, and I just can not believe that he was so bald and so sick and we all got through totally SCATHED, but we are still alive.

I remember coming home from hospital with Rocco last year, and a whole big fat juicy plantation of mushrooms were in the front garden. Huge, motherfucking mushrooms that must have been growing for AG-ES. Months. Instantly I grew FULL of rage, and smashed and kicked them all one by one, not even stopping to put the baby down. Oh my goodness I was so angry - at the mushrooms, at Dave, at myself ... mostly at his tumours, that secretly grew and grew right under our noses and we didn't even know.

I'm only just now, just this morning, in fact .... turning to look towards Dave again. I had to pull back so much from him .... all I could do was be a mother and that's it. Nothing else. Sorry sweetheart, you must save yourself. I have my hands full of nappies and school homework and weeping despair. Go away. And take your cancer with you.

I went to a womens meeting yesterday, which was so frickin' awesome. Somebody was sharing about how she cried when she came to this meeting, and she didn't know why. I know why ... because it's real, and true ... we come together to talk honestly and openly about trying to live our lives the best way we know how. It is raw and ugly and beautiful, our shared stories and pain. It helps.

I shared last, and accidentally had everybody in stitches laughing. I let loose a bit when I share (surprised?) ..... sometimes shit comes tumbling out of my mouth and I had no idea I was even feeling that way. I only had five minutes to talk, so I was like this machine gun of swearing, craziness, and inappropriate laughter. About how I keep getting addicted to things, anything that makes me feel good I just abuse the hell out of it. I now SALIVATE on my way to pump class. I freakin' pump those weights so very hard, it just feels so bloody good. And how tired my poor body is after the assault I give it four days a week.

I shared, laughing, how I randomly wished lately that I was in a dingy hotel room getting wasted ... how utterly vile that would be but the wanting to do it still brought pain. After all these years! How I know that underneath the surface of that it's just my desire to turn off, to have no feelings, no emotions, or sadness, just numb.

But, I don't really want numb. I am living a life beyond my wildest dreams. I have so much to be grateful for, beautiful children, beautiful house, beautiful hubbie (when he's not being a know-it-all-turdburger) .. and not just stuff ... things deep and real. Self-worth, acceptance, and self-respect. You cannot buy these things from any shop. I'm so blessed.

The music guy for Slumdog Millionaire won a few Oscars yesterday, he spoke of how, travelling through his life, he always had two choices. Love and hate. He said it would have been easy to just hate hate hate. But he chose love ... and ended up right where he was.

I need to stop hating so much, and just love. It's probably more simple than I think.

Blogging crisis lately .... wondering how many more haters are out there, why do I even blog, it's just silly, etc. My answer .... as usual, I will do the EXACT OPPOSITE of what my brain tells me. So for the whole month of March I will post every day, like my own personal NaBloPoMo.

Because the world needs more gibberish from a nutjob.


Nine months old .... Baby has his first tooth! Mummy had to explain to Baby that millions of babies across the entire world are teething every single day ... for the love of God, Baby .... you are going to be ok.

I need to go now, I can hear him playing with the toilet again.

Tuesday, 17 February 2009

The Woman Who Dreamt She Was a Flea

.... or, I could be a flea who is just DREAMING I am a woman.

The other day I was talking to my sister about fleas. "Remember our cat Buffy? Remember how many fucking FLEAS she would have on her?"

Linda remembered. We used to look down at our feet, and our ankles would have about ten fleas each on them. Disgusting. We all had our own methods to kill them ... I would pick mine off one by one and wash them down the sink. Or, slice them neatly in half with a fingernail and flick them off on to the carpet.

"Remember how the fleas used to go nuts after de-fleaing!!" Linda didn't remember that bit, but I sure as hell did. When the fleas got so bad that mum had to call the flea guy, he would come and spray. For a few days after, the fleas would go PSYCHO. It was repulsive, you could see them jumping through the air, trying to bite everything they could. They never went without a Last Stand.

It dawned on me recently, after the herbs from the naturopath sent me SO TOTALLY CRAZY AND FUCKED UP and Daves all like, HOW much did you pay for that again??!!! I lost the plot big time, and accidentally forgot to blog it. Wailing, gnashing of teeth, etc.

And then?

I am better. I am now officially off the looney list, and expected to make a full recovery. (Whoops - can I use that word? Is it trademarked?)

Last year I would google random phrases containing the words "wife pregnant husband cancer help all fucked up" .... I really wanted to find somebody out there like me. I didn't, but recently I have found two other women in a similar circumstance that I was, so now I can be their trailblazer.

I remember a guy sharing in a Knitters Anonymous meeting a few years ago .... "I am where someone else once was. Someone else will be where I am now." He was talking about the ebb and flow, how we move and grow, learn and change. Sometimes trailblazing, sometimes following the trail marked by others.

It was the herbs that pushed me over the finish line, in the end. At first they sent me spinning around with wild emotion, like one of the scores of fleas I met in my childhood during the eighties. Except, of course, the fleas died. I have gotten well. It feels so good, true, and real. Of course, nothing will ever be the same again. My sense of safety will probably never return, I will not be surprised by anything ever again. Anything can happen, in life. Good or bad, we never know. Half of the people who learn they have Non-Hodgkins lymphoma are still alive five years after their initial diagnosis. So, whatever. I'm with Dave on this one ... totally doing an ostrich with my head firmly in the sand. At first I thought, "OH MY GOD YOU WILL NEED A FULL BODY SCAN EVERY FREAKIN WEEK."

But that is impossible. So. There we have it. Somebody once told me that "Happiness is the space between problems." Guess I'm happy, then.


Our Valentines weekend away was good. I sat in the car on Valentines Day, plucking my chin hair in the rear view mirror while Dave was sitting right next to me, on the phone to a client. Ahhhhh, true love.

I missed the boys dreadfully. We saw Slumdog Millionaire, which was fantastic. Then I saw He's Just Not That Into You by myself ..... Dave got bored by Valkyrie, ha ha. We met each other in the lobby afterwards, and I hugged him and said ... "You are my Ben Affleck!" But, then we had an argument in the car on the way home and I jumped out and stomped off in the rain, crying, thinking, "Who does this? Who goes away with their spouse and ends up crying in the rain!?"

Apparently me. I ended up going back to the car, I was getting too wet. Was a ve-ry silent trip home.

We got home and my mother had cooked up a storm oh my God the food. We've lived off her meals all week, blessed relief not having to come up with meal ideas every freakin' night.


Yesterday I walked in to the kitchen to see the baby sitting in the highchair, next to Dave. What was littered all over the high chair tray? Why ... it was roast peanuts, almonds, and cashews of course! The baby was just sitting there, playing with his nut stash.


After I scooped my exploded brains from the floor, I demanded an explanation from Dave. (In a really calm way, promise.) He said that he gave Rocco the box of nuts to "shake", like a rattle.

I tried my hardest but could not find "nut rattle" written in ANY of my baby books. Anyone?


I'm getting this pic blown up and giving it to Dave as a surprise. The other day I went "MATE! You have THREE sons!!"

He laughed and said "No I don't."

Sometimes, I quite envy his brain.

Thursday, 12 February 2009

Evolution, Baby

The baby. THE BABY. He came into the world kicking, screaming, and royally pissed off. Nothing much has changed. Around these parts, he is affectionately known as "The Mongrel". He's into EVERYTHING, has to know what's happening with everybody. I call him my little FBI Agent.

It's remarkable how different he is to Maxie, Max is so vague and dreamy.(Like me). Rocco is his father incarnate - right down to his Little Big Blockhead. He pulls himself up to standing now, and is doing the Commando Crawl everywhere. Lucky we have a sunken living room with two big steps - I guess he'll eventually learn, though. Our entire house is so baby un-friendly it's ridiculous. We bought him a big playpen, but he hates it and tries to push it around the room.

The baby has no teeth, yet chews his food. OMG his food - he's sending me broke. Three square meals a day, since the age of four months. He is the baby who thinks he's an adult. He's hilarious. I was holding him, and went up to Dave saying, "Omg we have a bay-bee!" Dave stepped backwards, saying "Don't, hon. You're freaking me out."

The baby's first few months on the planet are seared into my soul like a red-hot branding iron. I don't mean that in a good way, either. But, I gave time time, things have evolved. We have all changed, Tim came back to live with us, Rocco is bigger ... the dynamics of our family are always on the move. This is good. My sister Linda just rang as I was uploading these pics, I told her I was looking at photos taken on the day of Rocco's birth and I wasn't even spun out! I even managed to find a photo of Dave where he didn't look like he was going to pass out from the pain of having all the tumours pressing so hard into his abdomen. We both had matching hospital bracelets. He got to hold Rocco for a while, and then his friend came to pick him up and drive him straight down to the big hospital. I soon went into shock, as they had not given me enough painkillers after my c-section. And so the horror began.

I can't do much lately, I am behind in every single thing in my life. And I honestly don't give a shit. Dave and I are going away tomorrow, and not a moment too soon. I need a break from here, I need to stare out the window for five minutes straight and go to some random place in my head, uninterrupted. I need to get away from my children, so that I can miss them. I need to miss them and appreciate what I have.

My sensitive Max has been upset lately, having "daydreams" that his family will die in bushfires. I've had to veto the nightly news, so now he is allowed to watch the Simpsons on the big TV instead. He can't believe his luck. I told him that if there was ever a fire anywhere close to here, I would scoop him up and drive far, far away. Last night, we all sat eating our T-Bones, talking about the one item we would take if a bushfire came up here. "My lego." "My phone". "My car." .....

I said, "Well, the most important things in life aren't things." Dave rolled his eyes and Tim groaned, but I knew they agreed with me. Max knew straight away. "The answer is US. Our FAMILY." Even the baby agreed, sitting quietly (FOR ONCE), gnawing on his bone. Like a freakin' Caveman Midget.

Tuesday, 10 February 2009

A Post in Two Parts

I was doing some filming last Saturday, out on our back deck. Our land goes all the way down to the gully, some four acres of it. Such a beautiful view, but we are all too aware up here that we live in prime bushfire zones. There were a few fires up here, so the air was a bit thick and hazy. I was filming the baby, talking about the smoke in the air, at one point I looked at the camera and said "Gee, I hope everyone's houses are ok." We live in NSW, not in Victoria, so we are all safe.

Todays toll is at 171. The newspapers are full of people smiling in family photos ..... so, so many are children. The nightly news is unbearable, tough Aussie men with broad accents breaking down ... children crying for their mothers ... shock and grief is just massive. The 7th February, 2009. It is the worst natural disaster in Australia's history. They are saying that a lot of the fires were deliberately lit, the arsonists - will hopefully get caught and charged with murder. Mass murder.

Our hearts are heavy, down here. Please send your love and thoughts to the many families who have lost so much.


"Kathy', from "Illinois" .... seriously? This is the only time I will ever address you in my blog. At first I was livid, but "honey" - there's too much unbearable suffering down here to maintain any anger to you. I don't care, I'm tired. Last week, I wrote some stuff. This week, I feel different about the same stuff. I am not who I was last week, I will always hopefully change and grow - be more fluid, and much less rigid than someone like you. The women at school are quite nice - if anything, the anger I directed at them last week was simply because I wished I was more like them, instead of my own messy self. Simple.

Listen carefully: I have not broken any traditions. I have not once mentioned the name of any meetings I do. I could attend 'Knitters Anonymous" for all you know. Yes I am in recovery .... aren't we all!? Everybody is recovering from something, and if there are not, they bloody well should be. Food. Sex. Exercise. Internet. Dysfunction. Arguing. Swearing. (Ahem). Terrible childhoods.

I'm trying to be open to you, with a Spirit of Kindness, but you've just been rude. The supportive comments must have set you off. I have gotten to know these women over two years, we support each other. Don't come here and bag us all out. Start your own blog, get your own network. I fully intended to close my last blog down, when the baby was born, because it would just be boring. It didn't turn out that way. How I wished it was just boring! How I wish I didn't have the awful worry seeped into my head, hoping to God that my husband never gets sick again.

You mentioned what I do with my time - you don't know what I do with my time! Because I haven't told you - I'm too busy minding the baby, parenting, step-parenting, trying to work from home, look after the house, cook dinners, etc. Also trying to handle all of these pesky emotions that have come up lately. (UNDERSTATEMENT). Life is exhausting right now. That is not a whine, either. And why use Bonos lyrics against me? Why would you try to deliberately piss me off? In the past, I loved having people to blame about everything. I would accept responsibility for nothing. Sometimes I can still do that. I believe it's called "being human".

You can never zap me. You do not have that power! If I want to blog about the Scientific Studies of Dungbeetles, then I will. I will write anything I want to, here. I give myself full permission. I don't need yours.

And lastly, if you really do have 17 years up, like you say you do ... then you have my deepest condolences. I hope I am not filled with such bitterness and arrogance, if I am blessed with that many years up. I hope I am helping to build people up, instead of tearing them down.

I'll do you a favour and turn off comments for this post, 'mkay? I wouldn't want you to get all jealous again.


Having said all that - I am so behind in blog reading! I am so sorry. BUT - Dave and I are going away this weekend. ALONE. OMFG I'm so excited. Poor Dave - he's all like, "Hon! We can go on runs together, go to the pictures, do whatever we want!" Little does he know that all I want to do is to catch up on blog reading, sleep, and then catch up on blog reading. HA! It's nine years today since we started our relationship. Nine years. Longest relationship ever. Most turbulent, most hard, most rewarding. I bought him a Valentines Day card - on the outside, it says: "You really should thank me for putting up with you."
The inside reads: "Oh, that's right, I forgot. You put up with me!"

Truth is, we both put up with each other. Even though he frustrates me more than any person on the planet, we may as well stay together. In his own words ....
"F*ck it, hon. We've come too far to give up now!"


Sunday, 8 February 2009


Whiney: Someone who exemplifies rather large amounts of crybaby-bullshit in order to: 1) get sympathy from the people around him/her. 2) make them self feel like less of a dumbass

Well, finally I have made it as a blogger! I have received my first drive-by, woooot!! By anonymous, no less. Telling me my blog is starting to sound "whiney". Anonymous, I couldn't agree more! I HATE myself at the moment. Can't stand myself. I am full of self-centred, self-obsessed, whiney drivel. It totally sucks to be me right now, my defects of character are in overdrive. I'm pathetic, I really am. I need to get the fuck over it already .... I'm trying so hard though, it seems to be taking waaaay too long.

Thing is, I started off my last post saying I shouldn't write when I'm so cranky, but did anyway. A few days later, I have some perspective on it. But, I can't address the "perpetrators" who have gossiped and said things about me, as I don't know who they are. People are too scared to tell me. So it's all heresay anyway. It still sucks, though. I could say I don't care, but I do. Of course I care what people think of me. Walking around my sons school is hard anyway, as I can be quite a social retard. I'm terrified of small-talk, like some strange phobia. I'm sure people think I'm a stuck-up snob. I have issues ... a lot, and have never pretended otherwise.

In a few months I will have been blogging for two years. You get your own vibe about it after a while, anonymous. I know for a fact I piss people off. I'm a show-offy, narcissistic, angry, negative bitch.

Blogging can be quite odd. I started this one under my real name, because I feel like I have been hiding my whole life. I'm sick of hiding. I also don't censor myself very well, so if I put it out there, it's at the risk that someone wants to criticize, or disagree. Which I totally don't mind, but when it's under the guise of "anonymous" ... well, that's just plain silly.

You sound a little ..... familiar, anonymous. Don't I know you? Oh - did I mention that there's no such thing as an anonymous comment? You left your IP address behind - What a surprise - you are from Australia! I see you use Windows Vista, how's that going for you? I've heard it's crap.


On a serious note, it's been one of the worst weekends in Australia's history. Bushfires in Victoria have claimed so many lives - entire families, entire TOWNS. Last night, the death toll was at 26. This morning it was 35, now it's 84. And rising. Watching it on the news was heartbreaking. Terrible and brutal. I hugged my boys close, suddenly filled with perspective and gratitude. I'll be donating to the appeal tomorrow.

Friday, 6 February 2009

Way Cool

My sister Linda sent me this.

Very cool and clever!

Is It National Piss Eden Off Day?

I'm so cranky right now, I know I should cool down for a bit before writing.

But I won't.


Hi, Eden here. A.k.a. The freakshow! Yes, it is true ...... that is how I met my husband! And, also ... all the parts about him are true too!! OMG!! And ... ME TOO!!

You can all kiss my arse. I have no time for people like you. Some women think the instant they become mothers, they must cut their hair short and wear frumpy clothes, be all mumsy and boring. And bitch about other people behind their back - say, when their husbands are undergoing chemotherapy and OMG did you HEAR!!

Someone told me today what some "rumours" have been, so I called another mum from school and she confirmed it and told me more.

Like, my whole life history was broadcast over the loudspeaker at assembly when I wasn't there. At first I was mortified, then ashamed. Now I honestly don't care. I have nothing to hide from, oh gossip mongers. I have a very good idea where it all came from, too. But I don't know for sure, lucky for you! (Can you imagine if I ever find out for sure!)


I used to have a blog, under an assumed name. I started it because I went through IVF to fall pregnant with my gorgeous baby. Some women find it hard to get pregnant .... some woman can't. I discovered the world of infertility blogs, written by women all across the world. I fell in love with them all, started to document my own IVF/pregnancy journey. In a happy-go-lucky way.

I always knew, through my own pregnancy, that something bad was going to happen. (Just ask my sisters, they were SO over me worrying, heh.) I thought the bad thing would be something to do with the birth/baby, didn't realise the bad thing was multiplying in my husbands body cavity.

My assumed-name blog got very serious, very quickly. I got some of the best, most honest, raw, AMAZING support in the Universe. I got heard, cheered on, supported, listened to. My rants were sometimes full of rage and venom, or love and hope ..... sometimes I would write in graphic detail, the shady parts of my past.

The shady parts of my past ...... of which there are many!!

People IRL (In Real Life) ... started to find my blog, which made me uncomfortable. It is now set to private .... there are around sixty women in the world who can read it. I still post there occasionally. I started this blog, under my real name. I enjoy blogging, it helps me write better. But mostly, I feel the love from people who do not judge, who share their stories, and their pain, and their heartbreaks.

Two days ago, I stood outside the gym, reading all the comments to my last two posts. Alternately crying, and laughing ...... I marvelled at the Wise Sages. I wish I could marry my comment section - I am so privileged to get feedback when I write. Blogging is a writers wet dream.

The women in my comment section would never talk out the side of their mouths at school ... "Look, that's the one. Did you HEAR!?" Never.

The women in my comment section most CERTAINLY don't live small, suffocating lives in a small town - and if they DID, they would be honest about it and laugh at themselves.

The women in my comment section have been through more pain than you could dream of. And they still don't give up.

Yes I have lived a life that sometimes even I am amazed at. When I am with my sisters, they egg me on -

"Go on, tell us another story!"

And I do, and we all fall about in mortified laughter.

I will touch on some things in this blog, but never fully, because I don't want that reflected back onto my children.

BUT: I have nothing to be ashamed at. Talk away - follow me with your eyes when I'm pushing the pram to pick up my son. I don't care. I have felt things you never will, touched the sky and made it safely back to orbit. Have you?

I bet you wish you have.

Sucks to be you.

Tuesday, 3 February 2009

So a Baby, His Mother, and Her Mental Breakdown Walk Into a Naturopaths Office ....

I tried to ignore it, really I did. But it wouldn't BUDGE! Darn you, post-traumatic stress. I knew I had to do something drastic when I started crying - uncontrollably, in a fucking Spin class. Spin is an amazing form of torture where you ride a stationery bike with a group of people. I thought it would be easy. I was wrong .... I was heaving, struggling, gasping to keep up. After five minutes.

I felt like such a loser, everybody else was gaily pedalling and SINGING along to the songs. But I had rivulets of sweat mixed with tears, falling all over my bike. I was stricken, didn't know why I was crying. Then I realised it was because it was such a struggle, and I am SICK of struggling. I did a Pump class straight after (I know ... but at least it's a healthy addiction. Dave and Tim sure can't grab my armfat now.)

The tears continued in my pump class, so mortifying. I pretended they were sweat. Then, I thought of that scene in American Beauty where Annette Bening's character just slaps the fuck outta herself to get a grip after she had been crying. So I mentally did that to myself, put more weight on my bar, and got on with it.


This morning, for the first time in my life I went to a naturopath. If I'd have known how much it was going to cost, I wouldn't have gone. So, I'm glad I didn't know how much it cost, because I went. And it went well.

Funniest part was giving a "brief rundown" of my childhood and early adulthood ... her look of shock and horror almost made me ask her if I could mix up some herbs for her. Ha! I said, look, I'm OK now, I'm very in-tune and aware of myself, blah blah dysfunction blah addiction, but that's not why I'm here.

And she goes, well, why are you here? (In a nice, naturopathy way).

And I started crying my eyes out and feeling sick again, and telling her what happened, and that I don't think it's depression but it was just so BIG , and I sobbed into her tissues and couldn't breathe, and it was hard to tell her about the Day the Tumours Came.

But I did tell her about That Day, and her eyes went wide, and she didn't agree with the voice in my head that asks me "Aren't you over this yet?!" She was SO lovely.

She asked a lot of questions, mentioned words like "adrenal" "hormones" and the Big Kahuna ... "GRIEF." I'd forgotten that the body stores memories.

I usually hate labels, because over the years I have been labelled so much, but I welcomed it today. She left the room for a while, so it was just me and the baby. Her office had an American Indian dreamcatcher in it, some Buddha stuff, and a really nice vibe. After much questioning, muttering and mixing, she came back into the room and plonked all my Shiny New Herbs on the table.

Magnesium for my headaches. Ignatia. St Johns Wort. And a big fuck-off container of some stuff that is for "Nervous Exhaustion." She also told me to buy some dandelion root tea, peppermint oil for my temples, and goats gonad cream.

Ok, kidding about the gonad cream.

I had to grab the baby and run to the nearest ATM to get more cash out ..... I'm still wondering how to tell Dave that his wife feels much better after a mere $193 worth of herbs? Whoopsies! I don't spend money on myself like that lately, as I'm not "working" that much right now.

It was time to leave. The naturopath offered to help me get the pram (stroller) and baby downstairs, as there were lot of stairs. Of course I said no, because, you know ... I hate getting helped. But she helped anyway.

She pushed the pram down the first few stairs, I was holding the baby .... the bag slung over the pram fell sideways and all of the herbs and containers I had just bought off her went clanging down the stairs. Then my purse fell, and all of the tissues I had used during the session littered the stairwell.

She was like, oh, my! Trying to grab everything. I was laughing at myself, and my own Bumbleness. I nearly said "See! This is why I need to see you! I am a MESS!!"

We picked everything up, said our goodbyes, and I went bumbling down the street.

A busker was singing "Hotel California," I still know every single drunken lyric to it. I stopped in the street and pulled the baby close and danced and sang to him and he laughed. Fuck I adore my baby. He is so strong and tough. He shall conquer the world, I know it. My GOD he loves himelf some vegemite toast. There is not ONE food that he doesn't like. He's a machine.


I took this photo of the banner in the naturopaths front reception area ... how it spoke to me! We have the biggest TV in town - it does not make us happy. I wondered if the size of your TV was in direct proportion to the size of the hole in your heart?
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