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.