Wednesday, 12 April 2017

Parunting.


Smoking a fry ciggie at On a Roll

This guy is a modern-day sage. I called him a psychic and straight away he shoots back "No I'm not I'm the big guy!" because he thought I said side-kick. We always talk about what we dreamt the night before. He knows too much about everything just like all my other kids, mistakes were made. Mummybloggers, wait till your babies grow up to teenagers. Completely. Different. Universe.

However this guy is still young. Eight years old, almost nine .. he's the whole reason I started writing online to begin with and I documented his journey as an IVF 4-celled embryo to where he's at today.

                                           Where he's at today.

He's an extraordinary human, young enough for the world not to have fucked him over yet. It's a joy being around him. He makes me look at things differently. Recently he cottoned on to the fact that Uncle Cam left a suicide note. "CAN I READ IT MUM!" .. I said no way mate and he got so pissed off because he likes to know everything. About everything. "Why not? When can I read it? You have to let me read it one day." I told him I would but he's too young right now. He thought for a while and said "Jeez. Uncle Cam killed his self. I thought he was smart."



My mum came up and they bonded so hard it was awesome. He's *so* impressed at her footy tipping skills. And chicken soup. And the rubiks cube she bought him. They text each other, both emoji champions.

                                                         SCALPEL.

Rocco thoughtfully helped out in the doctors surgery yesterday when I got stitches taken out of my shoulder, putting on latex gloves, telling me don't worry it'll only be excruciating for a little while. (Exact words.)


These two are currently splayed on my living room floor watching Ferris Buellers Day Off together. Cousin Morgan is his new bestie and favourite holiday playdate. The three of us are planning on going to the Royal Easter Show tomorrow - I've always been the parent who takes the kids to the big fun places. They've already talked me into going into the haunted house - frankly I'm looking forward to seeing the cake decorating winners #old

                                          Nostrils Riley.

If anybody fucks with any of my kids, I fuck with them. It's my duty. My whole parenting career I've stuck up for all of my children and taught them how to stick up for themselves. I told off a lady in a supermarket once when she refused my stepson a sample yoghurt. I got up close in a bully's face in primary school and told him to lay off my kid or else. I've taught all the boys to be respectful to other people or else. They are. They're caring and empathetic and kind. I did that. Roc tells me all the things I've taught him about life so far and it blows me away how much he remembers. I'm an inappropriate unconventional mother with a penchant for answering my kids questions way too honestly. Can't help it. And kids always find out the truth anyway so I figure I'm just saving time.


We had to get the train to school recently which was basically the best thing that has ever happened to him in his life. He's frustrated he's the youngest but I tell him it's cool he'll be big soon enough, don't wish your days away sweetheart. At parent teacher/interview it was all glowing reports. His teacher is so happy with how he's doing even though he's the youngest in his class. He's excellent with words just like his mumma. (He writes raps with swear words holy shit they are AMAZING.) His first one was about his parents divorce, just wrote it out in five minutes and blew me away. He told the teacher that sometimes he comes to school feeling a lot of emotions and I explained he's had a pretty rough few years. The three of us all agreed he's doing so well.

After the teacher interview he did the pissbolt and his teacher turned and said how lucky Rocco was to have me. She said I was a really aware mother.

Out of all the adjectives in the world she used the word "aware." I thanked her and turned away .. she didn't see me cry.

Chased him down the street to the car trying to beat him but I never can because he ALWAYS wins in a fucking running race. And he always will.


Tuesday, 4 April 2017

We (Still) Don't Need Another Hero.

I checked back to what I was doing on this day exactly five years ago, had to hold my breath ... WINCING, prepared to meet some kind of painful memory. (Painful because it's a painful OR happy memory, if that even makes sense.)

It's not a painful memory, and in the midst of my Big Writing that I'm doing at the moment which I'll share here very soon, I just wanted to put this post up. Because five years ago today I'd just turned forty and found my superpower and was doing this, whereas tonight I'm eating a cheesy crust pizza after getting a huge whack of a skin cancer cut out of my shoulder (FOURTEEN STITCHES) ... and I'm watching my favourite show ever in the entire world. Shameless - my god this show just makes me feel ok and better and normal about my life choices and who I am. I may be crazy but I'm not Monica crazy.

So yes. Entire empires have fallen in five years but that's the thing about fallen empires .. they always get rebuilt. Especially my fallen empires.


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4TH APRIL 2012

We get to these places and the sweat drips down my back and it's uncomfortable and hot and kind of sucky. I have a stance here in Niger ... it's called the Dorky Pigeon-toed Stance. I do it when I am unsure. Like, I'm in Africa??



There is totally Hope here. Thank GOD ... because I was starting to arm myself up with nerves of steel and a metaphorical suit of armour. I can drop that.

I am ok - really. Some of you know me more than I know myself, keep telling me to be careful and protect my heart. (How *does* one protect their heart? Shut it off so it doesn't feel?) My blessed jetlag is saving my arse, giving me a buffer zone of haziness ... last night I skyped my boys which was cool. When I first got here I was all, my boys! How could I leave them how are they oh mah gawwwdd.

When I saw how the children here are living? My boys are FINE, man. They are wearing clean clothes, have clean water, food and friends and love and too many toys. They live like princes. Their cups overfloweth, and I am not worried one shred more about them.

The children here accept things their white western counterparts would not, which is both amazing and sad.

Every day we travel out into the field, watching and learning so, so much about what World Vision actually does here. About a two and a half hour trip each way in a jeep. I'm like ... seriously? But - it's bumpy and uncomfortable! SO worried I was getting sick because my lungs felt congested and my throat sore and dry ... but it's just breathing in all the dust. Africa is in me, like I am in it.
I watch Good deeds, manifested by Good people actually doing the hard work. And other Good people back home in their safe houses, donating and caring. It is all making a difference. I have seen it with my own dusty eyes. We need more help and more Good.

I believe that if you give of yourself in the world - your time, your energy, or of course your money ... the Spirit behind your motive for giving is more powerful than you think. When I see a bum in the street, I always give money. I don't question his motives ... what he does with the money is entirely up to him. (Or her. Being a bum is an equal opportunity employer.) They might be buying booze or drugs with it? So bloody what. I'm not going to stand there, weighing up the pros and frickin' cons. I can spare the gold dollar .. I'm not the one standing there begging. You think that person *likes* standing there asking for money? No. If you can give, you give. It should be some Universal Human law.

Which brings me to other ways you can help. Someone just left a comment saying they had pulled out photos of their two sponsored children and placed them on the fridge, in full view. YES. That.

You can also:

* Start a dialogue with your children about how people struggle in other parts of the world. When you open a dialogue, you open their eyes.

* Give gold coins to bums. Why? Because they are not robbing your house, they are begging instead. Kudos, man.

* Don't waste food.

* Care more. About everything. Wake the hell up, oh beautiful blinkered ones! Life is real!

* Touch feet with people you love.

A couple of years ago in Bali I got the word "redemption" tattooed on my arm. Being here makes me believe in redemption more.  For everyone.








That feet photo is one of my favourite photos I've ever taken. Some ladies were spread out before us on a mat, next to a translator. Their feet were all touching ... they were self-conscious and nervous, so doing this probably made them feel better. LOVE. IT.





I just sat here for TWO HOURS waiting for my video to upload and there was a communication error. Entirely too frustrating .. am having a first world problem in a third world country. Hey ... where's the second world? Did I miss one? AM SO IGNORANT. And all these other pics I wanted to upload aren't working but now I have to rush downstairs to start another Big Day. I keep making the people wait for me, because I am a bumbling, late fool. They are so gracious. Turning forty recently has made me accept that no matter how hard I try, I will never be as organised as most people. I'm down with that.

This BBC article HERE is one of the best written about what's going on in this country. Um, can somebody please read it and email me through some facts about it? Asking for a friend.

Lastly, I begged our World Vision Africa correspondent Adel to please take me to a supermarket so I could buy some junk food. Needed to dive naked into a vat of cheese and bacon balls .... to swim in a sea of doritos and prawn crackers and the carbiest carbs in the land.


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I used my head in this photo, for scale.

Told you I was ok.

PS I purposely kept the tone of this post light. There will be hard-hitting full-on ones coming up soon. Worried that people think I don't take this seriously ... worried about what the people coming to my blog for the first time will think of me. But, if we all worried about what people thought of us, we would be on our guards all the time and not get shit done, not say anything at all.

I'm off to get shit done, in a caring, bumbling, tattooed, redemptive way. Hope you're down with that.



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