The "BIG" Birthday...

I’m having a birthday soon and it’s safe to say that it can be called a “big one”.  I remember when turning 18 was the “big one”.  And that disappeared in a cloud of smoke as soon as they lit the fuse on the Flaming Lamborghini cocktail I sculled in “Cocktails and Dreams” on the Gold Coast.  You know you’re in trouble when you’re stumbling into the toilets to throw up said cocktail, and you hear someone say “that girl is FARKED!”.  You also know it’s not going to be a great night when you spend the night lying in the backseat of your girlfriend’s car parked on Orchid Avenue while your friends skip back into Cocktails and Dreams without you.  Their only concern being that I might vomit in the car.  But they cracked open the back window a touch, like good friends do, asked the bouncer to keep an eye on me and headed back into the club.  Love those chicks.

Anyway.

So here we are 22 years later and I’m staring down the barrel of another “big” birthday.  Suffice to say that it will be vastly different from my 18^th.  There will be daylight.  There will be a backyard.  And there will be children.  Lots of children.  Yes people, one of my celebrations will be with my book club, and it will be during the day in the backyard.

Nice.  Quiet.  Sedate.  Responsible.  Another celebration I’m having will be later that night with the same girls who left me in the backseat like a dog all those years ago.  Not that there’s any ill-will.  Hand on my heart - I would have done the same thing were I in their shoes.  And did I mention that we had only been there about ten minutes when I had that damn cocktail?  Totes ridic.

So where was I?  Oh yes.  These celebrations will be different to the 18^th birthday celebrations, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.  Some may want to relive their youth and be out til the sun comes up.  But to me that just sounds horrific.  I plan to do what makes me happy, and that is to be surrounded by friends I love and who love me.  Sans the flaming cocktail.

For you crazy cats wanting to relive it, here's a how-to tutorial on how to make a Flaming Lamborghini.  Can I just say that the one I drank did NOT look like this towering inferno - mine was just in a martini glass, but good luck to you!

So here’s cheers to all my class of 1990 who are turning 40 this year.  Happy Birthday everyone xx

Book Review: Bay of Fires, Poppy Gee

Bay of Fires is situated on Tasmania’s east coast.  It received its name from Captain Tobias Furnes in 1773 when he sighted many fires lit along the coast, leading him to believe that the area had a large population.  It is this gorgeous part of Australia that Poppy Gee sets her first novel, a murder-mystery.  The body of a backpacker washes ashore in the Bay of Fires, a small, close-knit community and so begins our journey with Gee.  Sarah Avery is a local, returning to the Bay of Fires after a stint running a prawn farm up in North Queensland.  Her reasons for returning are a closely guarded secret, but as you continue reading, you realize that she isn’t the only one with secrets.

The body of the backpacker serves as fodder for the locals to gossip, speculate and rekindle old prejudices.   There are many potential suspects and Gee keeps you interested and guessing all the way through.  For me, the part of this novel I enjoyed the most was Gee’s character descriptions. Every single character in this novel is flawed, deep and innately human.   There is no glossing over and no beating around the bush with Gee's writing.   She brings you a real view of humanity and all its potential ugliness.

Gee lost me a few times moving quickly from being in one scene in one paragraph, and in the next sentence being in a totally different time in a different scene.  This left me feeling somewhat disjointed, almost like watching an avant garde movie.  But perhaps I’m used to be being molly-coddled and having my hand held throughout other novels.

Overall I enjoyed Gee’s first novel and I look forward to reading the next one!

#aww2013

One year on...

What a difference a year makes!  Last year I made a New Year's Resolution to blog once a week.  Back then, starting a blog was a huge deal for me.  But I loved it.

And so I blogged.  I blogged once a week, sometimes twice a week.

Bloggity blog blog...

And from the blogging I found confidence.  And as the year went by, my confidence grew.  Tentatively, but still - it grew.

Then in August, clearly drunk on my own self-confidence, I dared to dream: could I start my own business?  Would anybody pay me for my professional skills and knowledge?  Turns out they would.  And they did.  And they still do.

And I thought "well shit, this is pretty good!"

So I enter 2013 with my whiteboard covered in scribbled quotes ("There is no elevator to success - you have to take the stairs") and goals ("attend one networking event per month").  Behind me I have an army of supportive friends and family and I look forward to the journey that 2013 will bring me.  I'm gaining in self-confidence and the sky's the limit when you believe in yourself.

Happy New Year everybody :)

xx

Time is of the essence...

Anyone who has a child that still needs a nap during the day will know that that sleep is important.  Most other Mums I know who are in the same situation, don’t even need to say anything about timing.  It’s a given that we have a window between 9am and 12pm for playdates, shopping, or catching up with our friends.  And then at midday – boom!  We’re all hermits.  The parks and shopping centres of Brisbane all become bereft of toddlers and babies.  Off we scurry home, secretly hoping that bub will fall asleep in the car so we can just transfer straight to bed (if you’re one of the lucky ones).  For about two hours we are housebound, and then re-emerge between 2pm and 3pm.  Those of us who have older ones in school, this means that we spend the two hours preparing for whatever after school activities that have been planned.  Ballet, gymnastics, swimming lessons, playdates and the list goes on.

When I was pregnant I remember someone saying to me “please don’t turn into one of those Mums who can only do one thing a day”.  I scoffed and swore that I wouldn’t be.  And yet here I am.  My ‘one thing’ a day, HAS to occur between 9am and 12pm in order for Little Warrior to be a nice Little Warrior in the afternoons.  And if we have a nice Little Warrior, then we generally have a happy Mummy.  And if we have a happy Mummy, then as we all know, everybody’s happy.

If by some chance, I’m still stuck out at midday, I can feel the anxiety rising inside me.  I’m watching my little man for signs of complete meltdown and may as well be looking in a mirror when I see him start to yawn and rub his eyes.  We are both so conditioned to his midday sleep that whenever something happens to change it, we don’t function very well.  As with anything, you get through it.  It doesn’t happen often when we’ve had to drop his sleep, but I keep reminding myself that it’s only every now and again and it won’t kill us.

Nobody gets it less than people who have never had, or don’t have toddler children anymore.  It’s funny.  I assumed because my friends had had toddlers before, that they would remember the days of getting bub home for a sleep.  But recent experience tells me otherwise.

I have a friend who is from India.  She's the loveliest person and also happens to make the most delicious food.  I always enjoy eating there, so whenever she invites us over, I say yes.  She has a daughter the same age as the Polynesian Princess, so for her it’s been about four years since there’s been a toddler in the house.  She invited Little Warrior and me over for lunch and we arrived at about 10am.  It was going to be an awesome morning.  Gorgeous Indian food, then home in time for the little one’s sleep.  Not so.  The universe had different plans for the Diva and the Little Warrior that day.  By 1pm my friend was still cooking and I saw the window of opportunity for Little Warrior’s sleep ticking by.  Surrounded by delicious aromas coming from her numerous pots and pans bubbling away, my anxiety levels were rising.  I was mentally calculating how long Little Warrior would get to sleep if we left in 30 minutes, in one hour.  Such was my worry that he wasn't going to get a decent sleep.  As it was, he got an hour’s sleep and didn't wake up when it was time to pick up his sister.  I carried him like a rag doll up the steps of the school and he stayed that way until I put him back in the car for the return trip.  The poor little thing was just shattered.

Another friend was recently trying to organise a lunch BBQ for a group of us.  The other three families coming all have toddlers, and so I suggested a 10am start.  Most of my friends with children would understand that a 10am start means lunch at about 11/11:30 and then home by midday or thereabouts.  Just in time for a sleep, albeit a late one.  But for this friend, it’s been a long, long time since she’s even had to think about, let alone remember babies who need a sleep.  She was mortified at a 10am start!  It’s now been pushed to 2pm, which sits on the other side of our nap-time and hence helps all us Mums a little more.  I know.  It’s complicated – but for those of us who like our kids to sleep, it’s innate.

I can’t tell you how much I long for the day when we are not ruled by his midday sleep.  Some people would tell me to just drop it.  To forget about it.  And believe me, I have tried.  But he continues to fall sleep during the day.  Lately, if we’re at home, he’ll take himself to bed and sleep for two hours.  So this tells me he still needs/wants it.  So for now, we work around it. 

One day in the not-too-distant future, the midday sleep will be dropped and we will emerge, blinking into the midday sun.  That will be a joyous day!  And no doubt, worries about sleep will be replaced with something else.  But until then - time is of the essence.

What I should be doing, what I've been doing and what I miss...

Right now I should be reading my book club book.  This book is enormous, and we’re meeting in five days.  I’m sure when Barbara Kingsolver wrote La Lacuna, she didn’t intend to have someone feverishly flicking through it in three days in order to meet a deadline.  I have 472 pages to go, which, if you’re as anal as I am, works out to be approx 157.7 pages per day.

So that’s what I should be doing.  What I am doing is venting.  Sharing.  Purging.  Expunging.  It’s been too long between blogs and I have missed it.  I’ve been busy working on my Hardcastle Social Media business and vaccilating between exhiliration and terror in equal parts. 

I continue to get immense (I repeat: immense) support from The Architect.  Some nights, when the demons come, and I am flooded with self-doubt, he’s there to prop me up and remind me why I’m bound to succeed.  It’s endless, the support he gives me.  And it’s endless, the gratitude I feel.

I’ve been making progress in my business, in that I’ve been successful in procuring a few clients and I can’t tell you how much I’m enjoying this journey.  Yes,  I have my moments of self-doubt, but I know that I’m exactly where I should be, doing exactly what I should be doing.   I just wish I could be doing it with an IT Support person.  Oh how I miss having IT support...

In my previous life, working in a recruitment company, we had IT support on tap.  I knew the IT phone number off by heart and would happily swing about in my chair while they remotely accessed my computer and fixed whatever ailments I was suffering at the time.  Not so when you work from home alone.  When you’re the sole employee, YOU are the IT Support.  And if you’re as clueless as I am, then you can say hello to the emotions of anger and frustration as they march on into your day and make themselves at home, swinging about in their chairs.

Oh grrrrr!!  Grrrrr to the disappearing emails.  Grrrrr to the printer constantly pausing itself .  Grrrrr to my webhost’s server being down or overloaded.  Grrrrr to it all!  But in my usual fashion of trying to turn things around and look at it in a positive light, I welcome the opportunity to practise my patience.  Over and over again.  Breathe it all in and love it all out...

I should probably get started on my allotted 94 pages reading for today.

Shoulda, woulda, coulda.

International friendships...

In a galaxy far, far away called my early twenties, I lived in Scotland.  Glasgow, to be precise.  I was there for two years and did the normal Antipodean backpacker things.  Drank, travelled, drank, travelled, drank…you get the drill.  And along the way I met the most wonderful people.  I still miss them today.  Alison, Lorraine Prentice, Gil Harvey, Charlie Kearton, Brenda, Eva Jacob, Brian O’Rourke.  An endless list of people who made me feel welcome in their rough, working class city.  A city I fell in love with.  I will forever be glad that I got off the bus a little early in Glasgow instead of Edinburgh.  If by chance, anybody reading this happens to know any of these people – please let me know how I can find them!

Anyway.  This post was meant to be about international friendships.   So I made a lot of friends and it was gut-wrenching to say good-bye to everyone.  I’ll always remember how sad I felt as the bus pulled out of the Glasgow depot and all my friends were waving me good-bye.  I was homeward bound.  And I was miserable.

My bus was headed for London where I was going to fly out for Brisbane the next day.  My friend Alison said she cried all the way home from the bus depot, and begged her boyfriend to drive down to London with her so she could see me one last time.  That’s how close we had gotten.

That was 17 years ago.  And now I’m the one who is befriending people who have moved here from another country.  I have met some wonderful people who, inevitably, will move back home.  For isn’t that the way it is?  Doesn’t everyone eventually go home?

And when they do.  When these friends eventually leave and return home.  It will be me wanting to drive to the ends of the earth to say one last good-bye.

But they're still here now.  And we'll always have Brisbane :)

Buzzword Bingo

I hate meetings.  Despise them.  And I don’t mean one-off meetings that you have when meeting somebody for the first time.  I’m talking about the recurring meetings that would pop up in my calendar in my previous life when I was in full-time work.  The Monday morning meeting.  The Wednesday afternoon meeting.  And then the Friday meeting.  They drove me insane.  I know I’m not alone when I say that these kinds of meetings are, for the most part, tedious and pointless.  I read once that some people would conduct their meetings standing up, which I thought was pure genius!

In a galaxy far, far away, when I worked in recruitment, there was a game that went around called Buzzword Bingo.  I don’t recall having ever actually played this game, but in my head, anytime I heard a buzzword or buzzphrase I would make a mental note of it.  Words or phrases such as:

• Cherry picking;
• Moving forward;
• Take that offline;
• Slippery slide
• Deliverable;
• Quals;
• Touch base.

The list is endless and can vary from industry to industry. Whatever industry you're in, there was a perception that if you used these words, you were...how do you say it.  Well, you were considered a bit of a wanker.  And seriously – I wish somebody had actually provided bingo cards in our meetings, I think I would have paid more attention.

Re-entering the workforce and having some meetings recently, I found myself going to use some of these buzzwords and being physically unable to get them out of my mouth.  On the fly, I replaced “touch base” (which is what I went to say) with “give you a call”.

But the buzzword bingo of yesterday would be vastly different today, surely.  All my bingo words would date me back to when Friends was on TV every Tuesday night at 7:30pm.

So could you please enlighten me.  What are the buzzword/phrases of today?

The Black Cloak II

Yesterday was one year since I wrote this post.  For those who can’t be bothered clicking on the link, I’ve cut and pasted it here.  It’s called:

The Black Cloak

“Winston Churchill was definitely onto something by referring to his depression as the black dog.  For me, a “black cloak” is probably more befitting.  It’s definitely black, this heavy cloak that I wear.  When I’m wearing this cloak, nothing seems to be able to shift it.

My husband tries to remove it for me, but I pull it closer around me, as if to protect myself from feeling better.  Sometimes I feel comfortable in it.  Lost in it.  Almost as though I’m home.  Which is madness, right?  How could anybody feel comfortable feeling nothing…

And yet…”

It was one of my first posts on the Dilettante Diva Blog and as you can see it’s very short.  This was back before I started writing as much as I could, and including an image.

Clearly I wrote this ‘in the moment’.  You can feel it when you read it.  I wasn’t in a very good place when I wrote that post.  It’s so bleak and heavy and suffocating.  But that’s exactly how I feel when I’m having these moments.  When I’m wearing this black cloack.  It hangs around me like the proverbial albatross around my neck, and it takes days (sometimes) to shift it.  Often it will come on from something I’ve seen on television.  For the regular readers, you’ll remember my post about crying my contacts out whilst watching Love My Way.  That episode drove me down to the depths of my soul and I wallowed around there for almost a week.  I came up for air, and haven’t been able to watch another episode of Love My Way ever since.  Let’s call it self-preservation and leave it at that.

Apart from the Love My Way episode, I haven’t really worn the black cloak often lately.  There was a time, back in my 20’s when I regularly shrugged on the cloak and didn’t remove it for weeks.  I dropped weight.  A lot of weight.  Despite the fact that I was eating my normal amounts.  Rumours were going around my work that I was bulimic.  Somebody even told people she smelt vomit in the toilet after I’d been there.  None of it was true.  The truth was I was in a depressive funk, but when people don’t want to look very closely, they’ll see whatever they want to see.

But I’m better now.  I surround myself with positive people who love and care for me.   These are the kind of people who ask how you are, and actually wait for the answer.  The following people have been culled from my life (or contact has been severely limited): the whingers, the fatalists, the narcissists and the victims.  All gone!  And it’s cathartic.

I understand now that I am prone to depression.  I understand that there are steps I can take to try and avoid it.  But I also understand that sometimes “the only way out is through”.

I'm not alone here, I know I'm not.  So for anybody who's interested, next week is Mental Health Week (7-13 October).  There are some events happening around Queensland and you can find a list of events on the Mental Health Week website. 

Stay happy everyone.  And when you're not happy, know that it will pass.

xx

Image credit: Poofy / 123RF Stock Photo

These are my rules...

Somewhere in my twenties, ‘rules’ started appearing.  These weren’t created by any government, or any authority.  These were my rules, that I created as I went along.  Sometimes I didn’t even know I had these rules.  They would just suddenly appear when the situation called for it.  All it took was for one huge night on vodka slammers and boom!  There’s the birth of my “Sorry, I don’t drink vodka” rule.

One of these rules was that I wouldn’t have long hair after the age of 30.  And just for the record – the photo above is me at the ripe ol’ age of 39.   So clearly these rules are dynamic.  Organic, you could say.  They move and change with the times.  Or my age.  And just for the record, I still drink vodka.  But only in cocktails.

I always thought I would cut my hair at 30 and keep my hair short(ish) until the day I died.  Then I got closer to 30 and I moved the age to 35.  And now here I am at 39.  And my hair is the longest it’s ever been.  I don’t have anything against long hair.  I just believe(d) that long hair was for youth.  That once you hit a certain age, the tresses should come off and you should start growing old gracefully.

I recently discussed this with a close friend.  She was all for Team long-hair-after-40.  And I was arguing the case for short hair.  I used terms like “mutton dressed up as lamb” and “growing old gracefully” and she fired back with “look at Elle McPherson” and “I don’t buy into that stuff!”  She argued a good case.  I started looking around at my friends and a lot of us still have long hair, despite 40 breathing down our necks.  And maybe it’s because I’m older, or maybe because it’s true, but I think we’re rocking these long tresses quite nicely thank-you very much!

So instead of booking myself a hair appointment to get may hair cut short, I learnt how to style it properly, bought myself a GHD and some product and worked on getting my hair looking ‘salon fresh’.

And as for when I will actually chop these locks off – well I’ll just cross that bridge when I come to it.  But just quietly – I don’t think I’ll have long hair for my 45^th birthday…

I cried my contacts out

So today was not a normal lunch for me.  Usually on a Tuesday I’m having lunch while Little Warrior sleeps and doing things on the computer.  But today was different.  Recently I’ve gotten hooked on the Australian television drama series “Love My Way”.

A friend recommended it after I’d devoured the entire seven seasons (plus the two movies) of Sex and The City and was left adrift in my television watching.  “Just don’t watch it when the kids are around” she said.  Another friend actually lent me Seasons One and Two, and when she handed them over, she also said “don’t watch it with the kids around”.  The word “bleak” was used and I was left with the impression that this clearly wasn’t going to be on par with Sex and The City.

So I started watching.  And I was hooked.  I just love, I mean LOVE watching these wonderful Australian actors doing their stuff.  I think they are just wonderfully compelling, extraordinary and touching.  And no more so than in today’s three episodes that I watched.  If you haven’t seen it, I won’t ruin it for you.  Suffice to say that something happened that made my heart stop for a bit.  It was a tragedy so awful and real that I was ugly-crying at my Halle Berry best.  I might have wailed a little.  I cried so much that I still have a headache.  And we are five hours post-incident.   I cried so hard that I had to take my contacts out.  They were seriously swimming around in my bucket o’ tears I was shedding.

I literally cried my contacts out.

I went to school pick-up today with my darkest sunnies on.  I saw my friend who recommended this series to me.  I whipped my glasses off and exclaimed “LOOK AT ME!  Just look at me!  I’m a friggin mess!”  We both agreed it was awesome Australian drama, but Jesus – it was just too close to the bone for me.  I’m not even sure I can watch Season two, but my friend assures me that the worst is over.  I’m not sure.

I haven’t been this distraught over a television series ‘incident’ since Molly died on a Country Practice.   I even started crying while I was explaining to The Architect how they filmed it when Molly “died”.  I still see Brendan running up that hill screaming “Molly!!!”

Oh God.  Here I go again…

And would I recommend it?  Yes I would.  If you haven't seen it - get a copy and watch it.  There's a reason it won the AFI Award for Best Television Drama Series for all of its three seasons.

Just don't watch it when the kids are around.

Is this a date?

So the Polynesian Princess had a friend over yesterday afternoon.  This friend is a boy.  This fact in and of itself doesn’t really mean anything and shouldn’t even be relevant.  But let’s take into consideration the following points:

• Polynesian Princess announces to me weeks ago that “H is my boyfriend, Mum – he’s a good boy”.
• Yesterday morning she said  “Mum, my heart was beating real fast because H is coming over today”
• They emerged from the classroom holding hands.

When I look at all of this, then I think we’re dealing with a little crush.  But she’s only five.  Is this normal at this age?  And does it even matter?

There is a part of me that does worry that she's taking an interest in boys a little early.  And there's the other part of me that tells me to chill out and relax.  She's only five and so what if her friend happens to be a boy - this is all very innocent!  Right?

When I picked them both up from school yesterday the first thing I noticed was the hand-holding.  They looked so ridiculously happy - it was just the cutest thing. They held hands all the way to the car, and they just chatted away happily.  It was only once we were in the car and there was lots of whispering and giggling going on (and a very dramatic "don't tell my MUM!" from my daughter) that I allowed a stray thought float through my mind: “is this a date?” -  “am I on my daughter’s first date?!”

 Ridiculous to think, and I know that it’s not.  But seriously.  If you added 20 years to both of them, they were acting EXACTLY like I would have on a date!

They had such a great time together yesterday afternoon.  The hysterical laughing coming from the trampoline was such a delight to hear.  They both screamed and shouted “yeah!” when I announced that H would be staying for dinner.  I love it.  I love the enthusiasm and happiness children exude.  And I was so happy to watch them on their first playdate.

The following was what I wrote to finish off my post - because I actually wrote this yesterday, while H was over:

I’m not going to look too hard into this.  I’m going to let Polynesian Princess enjoy this time and not push my interpretation of things onto her.  So breathe Mama…all will be well.

And the following is actually the end of my post because there were developments after I hit "save":

During dinner, they both announced that they wanted to have a sleepover sometime soon.  Before I could answer, H started listing off his pending calendar appointments, ticking them off on his fingers.  “Well, I’m going away this week, and then we’re doing something that week, buuuut you could just talk to my Mum”.  Polynesian Princess in her excitement started yelling out "you could sleep in MY bed!".

Right.  Uh Huh.

And now I’m back to “breathe Mama…all will be well”….

To pay or not to pay...

Image: FreeDigitalPhotos.net

A flyer was included in Polynesian Princess’s newsletter today.  It was about pocket money, and it got me thinking.  When do people start paying pocket money, if at all?

As a child I didn’t get pocket money, but I had chores.  I had to help clean the house, I made the lunches (for my Dad and myself, and when the time came, my baby brother) and I washed the dishes after dinner.  But I never felt like I was missing out, not getting pocket money.  If I ever needed money, I just got it.

But now that I’m a parent, I’m wondering whether it has some merit.  This flyer goes on to say that giving children pocket money from a young age can help them to learn about managing money.  This is a drawcard for me, because I used to be terrible with money.  Horrible.  Infact, when I first moved in with The Architect, he caught me throwing envelopes in the bin that clearly had red lettering on it.  He asked me what they were and I gave some kind of vague answer.  After fishing the envelopes out of the bin (oh yes he did), I finally confessed that I had an overdraft in Scotland, a credit card bill in New Zealand and two (count ‘em, TWO) huge credit card bills right here in Australia.  Just looking back at that sentence makes me cringe.  He was incredulous.  “I don’t understand”, he said “what do you use your credit card for?”  I was totally dumbfounded by his question.  Speaking to him like he was the village idiot, I said “I. Use. It. To. Buy. Things. I. Can’t. Afford”.  I mean d’uh….isn’t that what they’re for???  To say we had opposite views on this topic was a total understatement.

That night changed my financial life.  The Architect helped me manage and pay off all my debts.  It took me months to do, but that feeling of freedom when I was down to only one credit card with no money owing on it, is definitely up there on my “proud moments” list.  It changed the way I spent money.  I now have no credit card debt.  None.  Ever.

When we went on an around the world trip in 2005, I spent thousands upon thousands, and when we returned to Australia I owed nothing.  Why?  Because I was busy jumping online every few days to pay off whatever amount I had used in that period.  I actually became quite manic about having a zero balance.

But I digress.  This is about children and pocket money.  And I’m genuinely curious.  Do you give your child/ren pocket money?  How old were they when you started?  How much do you give? And is it directly related to chores?

End of August

Things are happening quickly.  But at the same time they’re moving slowly.   Since my last post, where I described my desire to start my own business, I’ve been inundated with kind, supportive words from friends and family alike.   It’s been truly humbling and it’s helped me take steps towards realising my full potential.

A business plan has been written.  A name has been chosen.  The name has been registered and an ABN has been acquired.  All of these steps have involved me sitting in front of the computer, nervously filling in details and then procrastinating when it comes to hitting the “submit” button.  The giant step of starting my own business has involved tiny incremental steps of filling out forms, sending emails and researching.  Hour by hour, day by day, I am getting ever closer to beginning operations as a business.  Eeeek!

In amongst all this, The Architect took me away for the weekend and we rediscovered us.  It was a weekend that was meant to be for my birthday (in July) but due to constant illness, we weren’t able to get away until almost a month later.  Anyway.  That’s a first world problem if ever I’ve heard one.

That weekend away was the breath of fresh air we both needed.  I don’t think either of us realised how much we would get out of it and a huge thank-you goes out to our friends who took the Polynesian Princess and Little Warrior for the night.  In a galaxy far, far away, in a time long, long ago, The Architect and I would regularly go away for weekend jaunts.   We thought nothing of it.  The same cannot be said for the last five years.  But after this weekend away, we’ve both said that we need to do it more regularly.   Translation: maybe once a year.  At least it’s on the radar though!  And we know that it’s “doable”.

I’ve missed blogging, and it’s taken me three attempts to get this one finished.  It’s not flowing as easily as others, but I’ll persist and will be back in the swing of it this Spring.  As in tomorrow.

Happy First Day of Spring everyone!  And Happy Father’s Day all you Papa’s out there.

xx

Where am I?

Hi!!!  I’m still here…I’ve just been a bit preoccupied lately.  That, and the fact that I’m still sick.  Yes, I know.  It’s getting old.  Just when I thought I was getting better, I decided to go for a walk with a friend.  I huffed up hills I’m normally fine with.  I struggled along stretches of road and finally almost collapsed when I reached our front steps.  The next day I woke up with another razor blade throat and aching body.  I’d laugh, if I knew it wouldn’t start a coughing fit.

And I’ve been a bit preoccupied because I’ve allowed myself to dabble in the thought of starting my own business.  Even typing it makes my stomach clench in anxiety.  When I first thought about it, I was excited.  Full of confidence.  Full of verve!  “Before I roll over and DIE and take an admin role I could do with my eyes shut, I want to try something I REALLY want to do” I have been proclaiming to anyone who’ll listen.

And then I sat down and did some serious thinking, which involved visiting the Queensland government’s business.qld.gov.au website.  This site has a plethora of information that I am so thankful for!   I decided to take their business readiness quiz and was shallow-breathing with anxiety by the end of it.  There was so much I hadn’t considered.  So many things I just didn’t know.  I closed the laptop, secure in the knowledge that I would NOT be starting my own business.

As a Stay at Home Mum, I struggle with self-confidence when I think about returning to work.  Despite having a background in admin, recruitment and marketing, I still feel as though I’m unable to return to the workforce in any other capacity other than admin.  And can I say, that I am proud of my admin skills.  Very proud indeed, but I feel I know that area, and I really want to work on my experience in other areas – those being social media.  I want to do it part-time and I want to offer my services to local small businesses.  I would be managing their social media presence and would only want a handful of clients to begin with, so I can manage my time at home as well as at work effectively.

A friend I admire said to me recently, “the only problem you’ve ever had is you”.  “You always worry whether you’re doing things right, even when you’re being Mother of the Year”.  She knows I constantly doubt myself, despite the fact that I’m a smart and good person (that was so hard to type).  So currently I’m struggling with thoughts like “do I REALLY have the nous to start my own business?”, and “maybe you should just get a data entry role somewhere – you’d rock at that”…or is this my inner-voice laced with self-doubt talking?  A year ago I didn't have the courage to start a blog.  But with some fantastic compliments from friends, a little encouragement from others and a huge leap of faith on my part, Dilettante Diva was born.  I'm glad.  I'm so glad I took that leap of faith.

I've decided to proceed tentatively with my idea, and now I find myself thinking strategically.  Where am I?  Where have I been?  And, more importantly where do I want to be?

I know where I want to be.  Now I just need the guts to get there…

Death becomes her...

This morning I woke up at 2am.  I went to the toilet and then settled back into bed.  This is the point that I would normally go straight back to sleep.  But then this thought floated through my head: 

Every year we pass the anniversary of our death

I know.  Random, right?   Do you think I could go back to sleep after THAT?  Thoughts like “will I die in August?”, “will I die by myself?” and then the morbid thought “I wonder how I’ll die….”.

Blech.

This thought haunted me and interrupted various parts of my day today.

Every year we pass the anniversary of our death

I read this sentence recently and it was in the context of W. S. Merwin’s poem “For the anniversary of my death”.  I read it about a week ago, and I didn’t think much of it at the time.  But clearly my subconscious filed it away to be retrieved at the most convenient time of 2am today.

This isn’t the first time I’ve thought about death at length.  The first was when I was about 12.  Shaka Zulu the tele-movie was on and when he died, I cried myself to sleep.  It suddenly occurred to me, as I watched Shaka Zulu die from the multiple stab wounds, that one day I will know what it’s like to die.  And that thought made me spiral into a despair and depression that didn’t shift for days.  Pretty bloody heavy for a 12 year old.

And so it has continued through to my adult years.  At various times through my life, I've found myself back down the black hole and depressed about dying.  Let me share with you how deep my disturbing preoccupation with death can run. I actually wonder what I will be wearing when I die.  I wonder if it’s already in my wardrobe.  I mean, isn’t that just crazy and pointless?

But these days when thoughts of death come visiting, all it does is reinforce to me to live each day as if it’s my last.  Try to be the best me I can be.  Love this life.  Love those I’m with.  Try not to be the crankiest bitch on the earth.  And try to let everyone I love, know that I love them.

Because death will come to all of us and as I get older, I am more at peace with this fact than the little girl crying for Shaka Zulu.

And so, let me share with you the poem that got me thinking.

For the Anniversary of My Death

By W. S. Merwin

Every year without knowing it I have passed the day  

When the last fires will wave to me

And the silence will set out

Tireless traveler

Like the beam of a lightless star

Then I will no longer

Find myself in life as in a strange garment

Surprised at the earth

And the love of one woman

And the shamelessness of men

As today writing after three days of rain

Hearing the wren sing and the falling cease

And bowing not knowing to what

So I beg you.  Live this life to the absolute full.  Let go of those grudges, don't stress about the kids not sleeping, let your husband do the washing...his way.  And smile.

This life of ours.  It's short.

It is just. too. short.

What's your current musical crush?

You know what it's like.  You get a song in your head and, like a real-life crush, that's all you want.  All you want to listen to.

Mine changes every few days.  I get a hankering for a certain song and that's it for me.  Don't ask me why, but the hankering usually hits as we're about to leave for the school run.  I know.  It's weird.  But who am I to question my musical needs?  So this usually finds me downloading straight to my iPhone as I'm ushering the kids out the door and into the car.  By the time we get into the car and we're all buckled in, I've got myself a new tune to listen to all day.

My latest musical crush comes direct to me from Sex and the City.  Lately I've been working my way through the entire box set of SATC and somewhere in Season 3 I came across Charlotte on Staten Island, drunk and singing Carol Douglas's "Doctor's Orders" - I love it!:

And can I say, I have not listened to anything else.  You know that moment when a song can make you smile like an idiot, dance around in your car like nobody's watching and make you incredibly happy all day?  That's how my musical crushes always makes me feel.

I've had so many musical crushes over the years.  Oh What a Night by Frankie Valli & the Four Seasons, Starships by Nicki Minaj and most recently Gimme Hope Jo'anna by Eddy Grant.  Are you still with me? Judge me though you will, but these songs have all made my day somewhere in the past.  They have made me happy, and for that I will always love them.

Carol Douglas's Doctor's Orders will get relegated to one of my playlists on my phone after the shine wears off, and another song will fill its place.  But with a bazillion songs out there, I have no shortage of choice for my musical crushes.

And you?  Do you have a crush at the moment?

Packhorse

I have just unpacked the last bag from our weekend trip to Sydney.  We went down to visit The Architect who is down there for work at the moment.  It was such a nice, whirlwind visit but I am tired.  We packed Taronga Zoo, breakfast with friends, Surry Hills Markets, Luna Park, Darling Harbour and a catch-up with my cousin into the weekend.   I’m so tired I almost feel dizzy.  And!  This is my first time traveling on my own with the two chilluns.

I know girlfriends who do long-haul trips with two or more children on their own.  I know they do it with the aplomb of a veteran.  This is mainly assisted by them residing overseas, meaning regular visits back home to Oz (and these visits are often on their own with the kids).  I always applaud their efforts, which they shrug off with the ‘it’s no big deal’ attitude that only somebody who does this regularly can possess.

I used to sit in awe of them, secretly assuming that I will never, ever be in that position.  With my myopic vision, I thought there wouldn’t ever be a time that I would travel with the children sans The Architect.  So imagine my surprise when I found myself in just such a position.   The Architect is currently down in Sydney working, so we flew down this weekend to visit him.

I worried about Little Warrior.  I worried about his current stage of screaming and throwing things.  I worried about how I would discipline him and keep him quiet on a plane surrounded by strangers.  And most of all, I worried about how I was going to carry all the in-flight entertainment we would be BYO’ing.  The ticket was for hand luggage only, so you can see my dilemma.  DVD players, iPads, bento boxes full of snacks, asthma medication, drink bottles, toys, surprise presents (in anticipation of breakdowns), Chupa Chups, jelly beans.

The. Works.

When there’s two adults to share the carrying duties, it doesn’t feel like much.  But with just me, I ended up sharing the love with the two children.  I loaded their hand-luggage up with their entertainment, food and drink.  And despite doing this – my handbag still looked like it was nine months pregnant with triplets.  But I did it, and it all went (relatively) well.  The only downside I would say, was boarding from the tarmac.  With two little ones, three pieces of luggage and schlepping all this down stairs, across the tarmac and then back up again, success hinged on whether Little Warrior would walk on his own.  The first time he did it.  The second time he refused, which resulted in my walking like Quasimodo carrying/dragging two pieces of luggage in one hand and my bulging handbag and a 13kg child on the other arm.  Polynesian Princess, God love her, dutifully pulled her luggage and carried her little handbag.  She’s a good one…

And so tonight I will pour myself a congratulatory drink and then, this packhorse is packing it in and calling it a night.

Until next time peeps...

xx

July - the month that was

I shouldn't say this about my birthday month, but July sucked.  Big time.  It felt like the entire month was spent looking after sick people, or being one of those sick people.  The month began with Polynesian Princess being struck down with gastro, closely followed by Little Warrior taking his first ambulance ride to hospital with severe asthma.  And for the past two weeks we have all been sick with the flu.

By some miracle, I managed to have a birthday this month and wasn't actually sick on the day.  Truly a miracle.

Even now, sitting here and blogging after a week's hiatus, I am feeling quite blah.  August will be better.  I'm sure of it.

But through it all, I continued to take photos and participate in the Photo a Day Challenge.  Thirty-one days.  Thirty-one photos. The list for August can be found here.  

See you all in August!

x

Mirror, Mirror

So today’s Photo a Day challenge word is “Mirror”.  And I chose the photo above of me and the Polynesian Princess.  Let me explain.

Growing up I never thought I would have kids.  Ever.  I had my reasons, all of them supremely personal and some to do with feeling insecure and lacking confidence in successfully raising another human being.  Like everybody, I’m not perfect and I tended to focus on my shortcomings.

But have kids we did, and the day came when the hospital let us take this precious bundle home to raise, love and nurture.  Eeek!!

The first couple of years passed in a blur and she was (mostly) a delight.  Such a gorgeous, happy baby who was so good that we figured, what the hell, let’s do this again!

The ‘mirroring’ probably started happening around the time she was two (possibly even a little earlier).  She was at daycare one day, bossing some of the little kids around.  She pointed her finger in their faces whilst issuing directives in a stern tone.  I sat, wondering where she got that behaviour from, when I saw her throw sand at someone.  I called out to her, pointed my finger in her face and sternly said “we don’t throw sand, that’s not nice”.  And Boom!  There it was.  She was me.  And I didn’t like it.

Three years later, the ‘mirroring’ is at times hilariously funny and embarrassingly uncomfortable.  Recently, she started frantically tidying up the living room and declaring “we need to clean up all of this CRAP!” and I winced.  Not only am I passing on my language, but I’m also passing on my OCD of tidying up.

It’s one thing knowing what you don’t like about yourself.  It’s another thing having it mirrored back to you, and knowing that this is what your children see.  The part of you that you wish you could bury or change, is the part that seems to stand out to them!

It’s not all bad though.  She does tend to copy a lot of my good points, and those are the times when I think good things about myself.   But even when I hear or see the bad ‘mirroring’, I try to cut myself a break.  We're all just doing the best we can, and if bossing people around and a slight OCD is as bad as it's going to get, then I think I'm doing okay.

xx

Me and my girl

A few weeks ago, the Polynesian Princess and I found ourselves with a whole day to ourselves.  Little Warrior was in daycare, The Architect was at work and it was just the two of us.   I couldn’t remember the last time that had happened.  A Mummy-daughter day!

So I thought it would be nice to do something special.   We took the bus into the city and headed to Room with Roses in Brisbane Arcade.  It was a very cold morning in the mall and the wind felt like it was blowing through us as we headed up towards the arcade.  Polynesian Princess kept pointing to various little coffee nooks as we were walking saying “can’t we just go there?”, but no.  I was on a mission.  I knew where I wanted us to go and I was determined to at least try.  I had no idea whether we needed a booking, or if the place was still open.

As a younger adult, I remember wandering through Brisbane Arcade and knowing with utmost certainty that I couldn’t afford a button from Anthony Leigh Dower, let alone some lead from the Pen Shoppe.  But sitting atop all these glamorous stores was a little café that I had always wanted to go to.  I never went though, and I think it was because I assumed it would be too expensive for little ol’ me.  Better for me to head downstairs to the KFC that used to sit underneath all these gorgeous shops, safe in the knowledge that I could afford a meal down there.

But this day, I was determined to go to this cafe.  And go we did.   It was still there, we didn’t need a reservation and it was everything that I had imagined it to be.  Serene, peaceful and warm.  We had tea, a mini-cino and one raspberry scone.  The scone was $9.95 and even though I thought that was expensive for a scone, I was determined to have the whole Mummy-daughter experience.  But the scone was huge, almost a brick!  And it was delicious – just delicious.  The Polynesian Princess just adored it.  There was roses on every table and she thought this was divine.  Being the “all things tea lover” that I am, I adored the silver teapot and strainer.

The Polynesian Princess wanted to play “guess who I am” while we waited for our scones.  Her clues were “it’s beautiful, it’s loving, and it looks after me”.  When she pointed at me and said “you Mummy!”, the whole Mummy daughter morning was complete.

I want this to be a tradition for us.  I want us to have more Mummy and daughter time, and some of these times will involve this Room with Roses.

 

Just me and my girl, and a room with roses.