Thursday, 28 January 2010

Eight, Eight, I forget what eight was for

Max asked me a very pointed question in the car yesterday. Regarding my brother, our fathers, and all the muck.

I was driving in the rain, and must have totally forgot that Max is .. you know, EIGHT YEARS OLD.

"Well sweetheart, we all had a pretty tricky time when we were growing up. Your aunties, uncle and I ...... ummmmm, Uncle Cam was only eight when his dad died."

Max's eyes grew wide, so shocked. "The same age as me!"
I've always been deliberately vague with him regarding the deaths I've experienced. He is a big thinker and worrier, like me.

Turning on to the freeway in the pouring rain, I suddenly felt the urge to tell him everything ... how they died, what it felt like. I saw the wheels in his brain turning, so before he asked me, I blurted out "Mate do you know what the word suicide means?"

Raining raining harder now.

"Yes! I mean, I've heard it but I don't actually now what it means."

Here I go, I thought ... and then *BANG* the biggest, freakiest thunderclap in all the land. Lightning, hail .... the heavens opened on our car of truth. We both screamed, it was cool but scary. The biggest thunderstorm I've seen in years. We parked and got saturated, picking Rocco up and strapping him back in the car. Max was scared of the thunder, kept needing reassurance. I was PETRIFIED of the thunder, but just made up silly songs about it, told him we wouldn't die if our car got hit by lightning. (Would we???)

Anyway, the timing of the storm was impeccable, and I decided it was a sign that I shouldn't tell Max all the gory details just yet. How would I describe what suicide is, anyway? "Sometimes people choose to end their own lives?" ... that sucks! And the drinking to death of self by my real father .... another form of suicide, really. My sisters and I have told our children bits and pieces of things. It'll all come out in the end, anyway. It always does.

By some strange kooky coincidence, when we were all home together after the storm yesterday - my brother was talking about something he did when he was eight. I felt Max look at me, remembering our half-finished conversation.

I know he'll ask me about it again, soon.

I'll probably tell him. Yes, eight is too young for him to know.

Just like eight was too young for my brother to actually experience it.

I guess we all learn how cruel life can be. Just in different ways.

Wednesday, 27 January 2010

My son.

This is one of the best photos I've ever snapped. It shows everything ..... his fanatical shoe obsession. His determination. His scraped knees. His boldness in going up to complete strangers and looking - really looking, at whatever they are doing. His MASSIVE feet. The look on his face has not an ounce of fear. The boy in the baby ... or is that the baby in the boy? I suspect he was born an adult, anyway.

We love each other so hard. It's been a long road, but we got there. He teaches me things I never knew. Drives me to the wall of frustration but I careen through it and come back again and look at the world through his eyes .... his baby blue innocent eyes. He just has a particular way of doing things. He ran before he walked.

Rocco the Conqueror.

Tuesday, 26 January 2010

Australia, your Chicketti ..... she's a-ready*

Rocco and Tim aren't the only action hero guys around these parts.

Max is jumping on a giant Haviana thong, green and gold in honour of Australia Day. Or is that Invasion Day? I have a lot to say about this, but I'm too emotionally spent.


Today we drove home, Dave and I had a blazing row in the blazing sun in front of three shocked kids. Awesome. I watched the Australian flag I had attached to the ute get wrenched off by the wind and land onto the busy freeway, tears rolling down my cheeks. It was a bitter and sudden argument, that took both Dave and I by surprise. And feeling like crap.

Angry words ricocheting around the car like bullets. The kids dodged and got quiet. As soon as we stopped ...... Rocco started. Miming us, pretending to yell, getting all of our ugly inflections downpat. It was terrible. And fascinating. Max was trying not to laugh, acting all serious in the back seat.

We came home to an uneasy truce .... but then I bit the bullet and hired out a DVD, bought chocolate, and surprised Dave with a cup of tea. We sat there in the sweaty night, watching Samson and Deliliah.

A beautiful film, stunning and raw. Now THAT is Australia.

Dave sipped his tea in stupid spurts and I wanted to punch him but I held back. I am *such* a nice wife.


* This is a line from a very retro Red Rooster ad in the 1980's. A chicken/pasta dish. My sisters often make me sing it to them, in this weird deep falsetto voice I have. *sniff* Is that a vlog I smell??

Monday, 25 January 2010

Any tougher and he'd rust.

This photo was taken yesterday ... he did not care at all that he had a mouth full of sand. Dive-bombing into it like he was an action man, making everyone around him laugh.

He is so tough. When we are at the beach, Dave always takes Rocco's nappy off, so he's walking around half nekkid. Walked straight up to a gang of teens one day, staring them all down, baby balls swinging in the breeze. I crept over and picked him up, and addressed the scary gang. "Guys, you better watch it. He's pretty tough."

They all laughed and laughed, said, "We thought he looked pretty hard core!!"


We all came away again, for the Australia Day weekend. It was a bad idea. I'm annoyed, sick of boys (except Max) and just want to go home. Oh .... my husband has a cold. The man can battle cancer, do chemo for six months, lose his hair and almost die .... but a cold?

Whiniest, pathetic man EVAH. I vow to do all of my sons' future wives a favour, and not mollycoddle them when they are sick.

Serves me right for being such a holiday greedy guts. I love the beach, but can't go in the middle of the day because my Scottish skin sizzles .... Flicka, even the warm weather is a bit "meh" lately. Apparently we need winters, to prove how awesome summer is. Who knew?


I've turned off comments to this blog, temporarily. For a few different reasons ... nothing major. Ironically, it's making me want to blog more. You're welcome HA.

Sunday, 24 January 2010

The Rhythm of Life

This is way cool.

People In Order: 1. Age from James Price on Vimeo.

Friday, 22 January 2010

The lasagne and all it stood for.


How yummy does that look. Sometimes I'm in the middle of doing something, remember what I used to be like for almost, oh, MY ENTIRE TWENTIES ... and shake my head at the absurdly different way my life is lived now.

Once upon a time, I would keep an overflowing ashtray on my bedside table (that was actually a crate). Light up a smoke first thing in the morning, wondering how on earth was I going to get through another stupid day on the stupid planet.

Today, I cooked THE BEST LASAGNE EVER. I usually cook them well, but sometimes they are too dry. I had the brainwave of pouring some chicken stock over it after the assembly, before you put the cheese on. It tasted so beautiful. I got so excited. Dave got excited. We all did. We are big on food, in this house.

I am so different to who I was.

This was after Rocco "helped" mummy put the dishwasher on. Straight after he'd eaten a chocolate biscuit.

I'm continually blown away by the huge bond between Tim and Rocco. I am so very proud of Tim ... he has come a long way. Rocco calls him "Bim" .... and calls Max "Mak." I love the way the woman in one of my favourite paintings is on Tims shoulder. Like a guardian angel.

I'm still treading water. Dave and I both are. Truth is, we worry. About Dave's health. About what's going to happen. Some people are blatant in asking about Dave .... so, how's Dave? Is everything ok? So he's ok?? Some people look at him like he's Lazarus.

It's tricky, navigating a busy life. I keep spectacularly failing. Pffffft. If I owe you a parcel I'm sorry. If I owe you an email I'm sorry. If I owe you a comment I'm sorry. The last batch of presents I sent over to the Americaz got returned to sender ... because I hadn't signed the bloody forms properly. I am now losing sleep. It's like I create things to worry about.

I tried to socialise with some other mums the other day .... small talk makes me stabby. I want to talk about your darkest dark, and how it compares to mine. They all laughed at my wrist tattoo, thought it said "I love myself" instead of "Know Thyself." One of them said, "Hah! Imagine if it DID say I love myself - and you had all scars there from trying to cut yourself!!"

Ha indeed.

Imagine if I blurted the truth, to the room of straighty-one-eighties? Imagine if I said "Actually, it says Know Thyself because it's a continual process to know ourselves. And I feel like if I don't, I'll die." And I let them all peer closer to the slash marks I made one drunken night in a locked bathroom. I didn't say that, of course. Just feigned a migraine and went home.

Man that lasagne was good.

Wednesday, 20 January 2010

All the Prayers

So many people have said to me, "Oh, I'm so SICK of hearing about the Haiti earthquake!"

Why do people feel this way? I don't understand. I feel the opposite - I need to know what happened, where it's at now, what is being done. Usually when something like this happens, people spring into action with rescue services, army jeeps, help from everywhere.

This doesn't seem to have happened. I wondered if any trapped people were still alive as I sat at the hairdressers the other day. I drove around my town, sun shining, surplus food, happy days ... wondering what will become of all the people with broken, infected limbs. Orphaned children walking around - the prisoners escaped from the prison. A melting pot of hopelessness.

Haiti is a world away from Australia. I failed geography at school, and didn't even know it was a frickin' island until this week. What can I do? Nothing.

Dave is going through a particularly hard time lately, I bought him some prayer flags. We decided to put them up to pray for all of our troubles lately, our stress and uncertainty.

I put the prayer flags up - but not for us. There is nothing godamn wrong with us. We are the whitest of white westerners, living in a 1st world country. We actually never have anything to complain about for as long as we live, ever.

This is why I couldn't write here - anywhere, for a while. Everything seems trite and inconsequential.

So I put the prayer flags up, but not for us. For Haiti. Max looked at them fluttering and said, but what language is that? I can't even read it.

I said mate, God can read them, and every single prayer on every single flag is for the poor broken people and children in Haiti. All of them. I pray that God knows every hair on their heads.

I believe in an afterlife where you forget all of your past pain. I hope it's true. I was watching an Australian news correspondent, live on air the other day. They heard a baby crying in the rubble, his translater started to help get the baby out, wedging himself in the dangerous rubble for over half an hour. They pulled her out, alive. Her name is Winnie, almost the exact age as Rocco. I imagined Rocco lying under rubble with his family dead around him, for three days and nights.

Rocco went up to the TV and said, "bubba!" In years to come, they will probably track Winnie down, see what happened in her life. The same age as Rocco. I'll always pray for her.

Max sat and watched me put the flags up, bored. He was waiting for me to play cricket with him. (Because I'm so sporty HAH!)

I gave thanks that he gets to sit there bored, in the sun, not a care in the world.

Tuesday, 12 January 2010

My husband thinks "vagina" is a swear word. He can be *such* a penis head sometimes.

After a week of staying in an INTERNETLESS cabin I needed to get to a shopping centre, STAT.

The boys and I headed to a Borders bookshop/cafe, where you can choose from rows and rows of magazines and books, park your arse down at the Gloria Jeans Cafe, read, drink coffee, and walk out without buying a goddamn thing. (Except your coffee.)

I had just done a pump class, Dave was getting a massage. I was talking to Tim and Max, turned around to find Rocco standing up in his stroller just as it was tipping over. I put my leg out to cushion the fall ..... the handle caught my ankle and I keeled over in pain. Rocco was fine, I said some very nasty swear words. Tim and I looked down to find blood pissing out of my ankle.

I scalped my ankle.

Tim was SO impressed that I didn't cry ... I held up the big fat piece of skin that came off, and it made him gag. He's like, "Eden! That is disgusting but SO COOL! You could use that as bait and catch the hugest fish!"

I wrapped up the bit of skin in my Gloria Jeans napkin but Max came over. "MUM MUM SHOW ME!" So I showed him, and he was suitably in awe.

It was like they had Rambo for a mother.


It is 10.32pm here, the last night of our holiday. We need to go home, be the boss of our own domain and our own remote control. We'll walk into our house tomorrow and marvel at it. You know how home is always shiny after you've been away for a while? And you promise yourself that you'll hold onto the holiday magic in your heart and slow down and live more and do heaps of things differently.

And it lasts for about a week - if you're lucky.


The other day I used the word vagina in front of everybody.

Dave was repulsed and disgusted. This is the man who uses the f-bomb with wild abandon, CONSTANTLY.

He was so angry. I just laughed at him, then showed him my game of scrabble later. "Look! I made the word vagina and got 52 points! VAGINA VAGINA VAGINA."

He thinks I'm the worst mother ever.


So much has happened. It's so hot. I'm sweating right now. We drove somewhere tricky the other day ... and used my new boring SAT NAV. (GPS). It was so bloody good. I sat there, shamefully realising the symbolism behind Daves gift. I will never be lost again.

I thanked him, he held my hand and said, "Hon, when are you going to start realising that I always got your back?"


We all saw Avatar, before the hype around it started. I was thinking, why in hell would I want to see a film about flying dragons? But we all loved it. LOVE.

It has Spirit in it, possibly why it's connecting with people so much.

I brought my 3D glasses back to my MILs house for Rocco to play with, he couldn't believe his luck at actually getting to wear them. He put them on, got on my computer, and came up with some *AMAZING* mathematical equations.




All the boys have discovered spear fishing. So now I stand on the beach forlornly. A spear fishing widow. I have no mofo interest in spear fishing ..... I can't even swim in the water tank at home for fear of sharks, for goodness sake. I really was the loneliest vagina in all the land. At the holiday park I saw other groups of women all holidaying together with their husbands and kids .... I wanted to skip over and make friends, like I used to as a kid. Remember how easy it was to make a friend when you were a child? By the end of the day you knew everything about each other.

Mental note: be less of a social retard this year.


Now it's almost midnight. I must go and put antiseptic on my ankle. Then creep into bed and hope Dave doesn't wake up, I accidentally promised him sexy love time, but changed my mind.

Don't spear fish and expect to eat your cake too, sunshine.


Saturday, 2 January 2010

Vlog: Finding God in a swamp in the Bronx on the Central Coast.

Disclaimer: I had my foot on the stroller the whole time, I swear. Those cars sound DANGEROUSLY close I know. Also, I sound like the Turkish woman at my local kebab shop with the shrill tone in my voice. "Meat or bean or half-and-half."

Happy New Year. It's all shiny and new with no stains yet! Woot!

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