Instructions NOT included....

There is no manual…..

Seriously, there isn’t. When you have a kid, there is no frickin’ manual. It is as simple as that. And may I politely point out right now, that remains the only bloody simple thing there is when it comes to parenting. Right?

So, if you are a planner, you will have known that you were going to be a parent. Whether you planned it right around the first Sex Ed lesson given by Barnacle Bill or some other crusty-creepy male teacher who seemed to take far too much pleasure in uttering the word ‘vulva’, or when Tommy To-Die-For-I-Like-Knockers aka Stephen King first brushed up against you as he asked you if you had learned the periodic table backwards or when you finally moved in with trustworthy Sam after a decade of dating, the outcome was the same. You knew you were going to be a parent at some juncture in your life.

If, however, life dealt you a different hand, well you are probably still trying to get your head around it all and are still none the wiser. I guess, you may have gone 'All In,' -  "Nah, we don’t need a condom,  trust me, it will be fine." You know how it is; caught in the moment. Or perhaps it was more of a game of 21 or Twist. "Twist." "You sure?" Yeah, Twist. Oh shit, bust." (Or do I mean burst?) Well, you get the picture...If not, perhaps there was the Royal Flush or just plain ol' Poke’r – come on, work with me here. Enough said? If you did the former, that would explain just how you have ended up becoming a parent. 

So back to the crux of this.

Planner, folder, scruncher, whatever… it is all the same. Your life as you know it is going to go down the toilet. Don't get me wrong, there are lots of benefits in having a child. Lots and lots. Just too many to list quite frankly. A new dimension in life for one. I mean, come on, who doesn't have that undefined love for their child, the one that just makes you sigh and look in total wonder? Yes, sure it starts with the first touch, first look, first real sense of connection. Baby Bliss: The dimpled hands, the dribbly, moistened cherry lips, the exquisite little nose (oh that is until the nose grows too fast and you have to wait for your kid to grow back into it), the soft, fairy-floss hair and - the smell of a baby's skin - it is akin to nothing else on this planet. Then the Early Toddler phase; sigh. The arms that come out of a tiny morphing body and flail around as they take their first steps. The look of sheer surprise when they fall but then just get up again (I wish that we maintained this simple approach to blips in our adult lives). This is just the start of their developing understanding in the world. The first time that you witness their wide-eyed realisation that they are their own person; they are not just an extension of you. This leads to the 'Why-why-why-why' period that seems to last an eternity - but as painful as it is, deep down you celebrate their thirst for knowledge and life... You just wish that you had some of the answers on auto-play for just a teeny-weeny percentage of the day - just to save your sanity. But there is the first trip to the park where they make it down the curly-whirly slide unscathed, the time when the gumboots are worn but little else from the winter garment collection and they parade around the house with total gay abandon, the first signs of independence... and, holy moly, that is some powerful stuff right there. Toddler-dom - it goes on for a while but there is so much excitement, anticipation and huge, huge gains as you watch this small person grow in mind and body right in front of your eyes. It is just this huge chunk of chocolate cake; layer upon layer of tastiness that you just don't want to stop enjoying. Then comes the Early School-Goers; that time when stuff really happens. You do know the time to which I refer, don't you?  Example: when your child suddenly likes to eat greens (because the teacher said to) and yet for the last six years, they would not even poke at a pea with a metre long stick from the tree at the bottom of the garden. Example: when your child starts to spout stuff at you and clearly demonstrates that they know how to do this and that and <dramatic pause - roll of eyes > don't you? And finally, when they start to look at you as if you are the most dense person they have met and the look of disdain when they realise that they still have to spend time with you. Urgh. And all this before they are 7, seriously? 

(In My Prime) Top-Primary School Agers - And here is where the fun really starts.  How much back-chat should you tolerate? Your child is now a 'Big Fish' as they hit the final years of Primary School. And with that inflated sense of importance, comes the onslaught of family conflict. Doesn't matter how clear you are in your expectations, how firm and consistent, you will undoubtedly be assaulted with, 'Well, why? None of my friends have to do that...' 

Ah yes, let the games begin. You somehow have become estranged from the shoal and are now swimming in a totally different stream; paddling fiercely to get back to your  former 'Angel' Fish. Personally, I would much rather be like Dory from Finding Nemo:-  'I don't know where I am... I don't know what's going on. I think I lost somebody but I, I can't remember... and I can't remember...' I mean come on. Who wants to remember this time of trial and tribulation? Doesn't matter what starts it, you will inevitably be drawn into battles at dawn, noon and night. And homework - oh my god. You will seriously be doing spinning tops around the house on the afternoons when there is definitely no homework. On the other 6 nights a week, you will be cursing the teacher for inflicting such blood-curdling yelling matches in your home. At some deep level, you do know that that your precious little one is just trying to exercise some early decision making skills. But, it still presses your buttons and you so, so want to be right all the time. I mean, how did you get your own way as a child? Negotiated, blackmailed, sulked, attacked? Take a good hard look at yourself and you won't be surprised. Not even when you hear those god-awful phrases spill out of your mouth that your own parents used on you... You know, the empty threats and demands that you swore you would never ever - EVER say to your own child.  

But here you are, wooden spoon raised (not the spoon... I'm still holding the spoon), puce cheeks puffing and streaks of bolognaise sauce dripping down your forearm... your mouth snaps open and... here it comes:

1.  What part of 'NO' don't you understand?
2.  If you keep pulling that face, the wind will change and you will stay like that forever...
3.  When I was your age....(insert your own response; I for one don't want to give my age away!)
4.  How many times do I have to tell you?
5.  As long as you live under my roof, you will do as I say...
6.  Because I SAID SO (yes, that ol' chestnut)
7.  If your friends jumped off a cliff, would you?
8.  I have had it up to here with you
9. Just wait until your father/mother comes home
10. Well, life isn't fair

And all of this before your cherub hits their true stride in the Teenage Torment-n-Tease-n-Trauma Testing Times...  I think that I will have to leave that chunk of childhood challenge for a whole other blog... 

Despite all the joys, just-becauses and just-plain-fun-and-heart-warming that comes with parenting, it doesn't make the journey any easier. You have to basically reconstruct your life to try to fit everything that you had before your little bundle arrived back into different slots and add a shit load more. 

Yep. I never was good at puzzles. (Something to do with spatial awareness. Right, MD?) 

There always seemed to be one piece that wouldn't go back in no matter how hard I shoved it. (Okay and it may be a good time to confess that I may just have peeled the coloured stickers off my Rubix cube to show just how clever I was...yep. sad; very, very sad). 

You do your best to manipulate those tiny pieces back into a semblance of ordered chaos but your life and its reconstructive surgery well, they didn't work out so well. You end up with a mish-mash of great-ideas-broken-dreams-why-me-what-the-hell-and-it's-not-working that looks far worse from the outside. Yep.  SCARIER than an identikit challenge taken on by a bunch of 3 year olds.  

Children are curiously complex and challenging creatures. Just when you think you have a handle on parenting, they reach another 'developmental milestone' or enter another 'phase.' Whatever the hell that may mean. And with that, your last game plan, fluky move or carefully constructed plan of consistency with your co-carer is just blown to smithereens. Gone. Quicker than the whiff of nappies... okay, not the best example. THAT always hangs around far too long...

And to top that, you always seem to be surrounded by cooing well-meaners, mainly your friends, who try to soothe, reassure and allay any fears you may have by frequently and fervently informing you that, 'you will get through this...' And then you have those from the darker side: you know who I mean. Those members of our society who seem dead set on inflicting further misery into your existence by effusing with far too much emphasis that quite simply 'You ain't seen nothing yet. 

This is the easy part. Just wait until they turn 2, (or was it 3 13, 15, 18? Months, years or was it just minutes? I dunno). 

WHATEVER> But just you wait.

Imagine if there was an IKEA instruction manual for kids. What the hell would it be called? Ikidunotte. Calmurslfdown. Innfordalonghaul. Giveituppnoww. Nohopeatall. Wotthefuu**.... 

The mind boggles. You may well fniss (this means giggle in Swedish) – Honestly, it is true, Ikidunotte – oh for god’s sake don’t start me back there again… 

Now where was I? Yes, you may well laugh but, this is a good thing. I am doing my community service right now by lightening the load. Parenting is a tough gig. Not only do you have to learn to put your needs so far down the list that they are into the street four blocks down, where the cat lady lives, you also have to grow the hell up and fast. 

How on earth are you going to be a role model when the mere word 'model' trips your brain malfunction  button, ricocheting you right back to your childhood where you spent hours trying to perfect the art of plaster-cast just so you could finally pour Mickey Mouse out of its mould (and no, I never managed it so those pathetic set of acrylic paints that came in the diddy pots were never even opened so that I could paint afore-mentioned plaster-cast AND I AM TOTALLY NOT HUNG UP ON THAT). Or where you painstakingly glued four thousand, five hundred and sixty two matchsticks together to create a replica of one of the Egyptian pyramids. LOL.

Your life is doomed.

Most of us parents have spent many a moment with a respective partner, colleague, counsellor, taxi driver, Dr Phil re-run, an ostensible Oprah offering, self help guides, bottles of tequila/vodka/wine or any other rocket fuel-esque liquid, meditative mind-map monologue and the like, just to try to FATHOM how to be a good parent. 

What is it that these small people require from us? They often look so unassuming. Cute hairstyles, palpable plumpness, soft cuteness that totally belie the ridiculously over-wired, short-circuiting inner hard drive that makes them tick and whir.

I mean, we need to know this stuff right? How do you know what to do?  You can see that your parenting techniques are failing somehow. You have a sense of failing too before you actually fail. But how do you know if the hard drive is failing? That is, how do you know if you are not supporting the holistic development of your cherished child? All you want is what is best for them. And you want to know that you have done your best. 

1. It is important that you keep an eye on this. The hard drive of your child is invaluable. You don't want to corrupt that baby.
2.  You need to have the chance to back-up your data before you seek out that professional help, right? 
3. Hard drives are incredibly sensitive bits of kit so you don't want to try to crack it open and have a good look inside unless you know what you are doing. And that is the point. Often, we don't know what we are doing. We are relying on 'winging it,' 'flying by the seat of our proverbial pants' or 'going blind.' None of which inspires much confidence. 
4. Check for strange sounds, noises or anything that resembles a malfunction. You know what I mean; thrashing, grinding or the like. Seriously... if you at this stage, it could be almost beyond repair. 
5. Watch for disappearing data or disc errors. What was there yesterday is gone today? Things that were working well suddenly stop altogether with no warning? Your child does not respond to you as they normally do? Gee - these are potential signs of serious danger. Parents be alert. You need to change your mode of operation. Intervene. Right now. 
6. Your child stops recognising you altogether. They fail to respond. You are almost on the brink of no return.  It could be a logical failure but -meh- I am no I.T. chick. I work for the 'emotional-touchy-feely-team,' so, I say it may seem obvious but if the relationship has become this dysfunctional dial a number; any bloody number.  (Message me and I will pass some helpline numbers on). 

So, what is the point of this missive? Well, simply this. Sometimes LOVE alone is not enough. We have all heard the term, "You are a natural." I always took that to mean the parents who are brave enough to forgo the hair colour treatment that is SO required after their kids have turned them grey before they even hit 28. The parents that is. (Not the child). But I am not sure that even those of us who make parenting look relatively harmless, really get it. We are still left scratching our heads and wondering how on earth to mentor, support, guide and co-exist with our children. It is a frickin'  huge responsibility to bring a child into this world and to be there for them at every turn. And for the most part, we are willing participants, trying our best to work this stuff out and problem solve when things are not quite on the right pathway. And you know what, no matter how many people you ask, self-help books you digest or crystal balls you fondle, you may just never work it out.

And yes, you may well be wondering what the hell do I know? Well, let me tell you something Sonny Jim... 

I have had one child. A gorgeous girl. She is still upright and breathing and yet to have her own children. She is a strong, independent individual; full of fun, life and sensitivities. I must have done something right, right? But OH MY GOODNESS, she has challenged me to within an inch of my life.

Sigh. 

Let me re-frame this. 

My daughter is the most beautiful thing that ever happened to me. I have shed blood, sweat and tears (not necessarily in that order) to provide her with the best foundation I can so that she can enjoy her life; be happy, feel fulfilled and be positively challenged. To dream, believe, live, learn and LOVE. She has fulfilled my aspirations as a mother and made my life complete in such a way that I didn't even know would be possible. We have learned so much from each other and will hopefully continue to do so. And we have the most extraordinary bond... Seriously, we do.

But, you know what? 

I maybe a bloody good parent but even after 19 years (almost 20), that is 7,271 days, I still don't get it. I have tried and tried to stay one step ahead of her; to understand, interpret, mind-read, support, guide, step back, ignore, cajole, coax and exasperate but you know what... I GIVE UP. 

There is no frickin' manual. 

I swear it. 

When I had my child, I checked the box... 

NUP. 

 INSTRUCTIONS NOT INCLUDED...

Disclaimer: No children of ANY age were harmed during the creation of this blog... As for us adults, gee - casualties a-plenty.... 

Identity Crisis

 27 mins...

Like a sticky web, intricately woven, tight knit and indestructible; an individual’s identity is not often laid bare. 

Rarely questioned, unpicked or unravelled but accepted as a whole entity. Never challenged for what it appears to be. An unassuming but powerful existence; the all encompassing sense of self. It is not until something traumatic, large and overpowering comes to crack this wholeness, that the fragility of identity is truly realised. 

To be an unwilling paralysing participant of this un-relentless unravelling is to lose a sense of control. This loss is tolerable but as the thread continues to be tugged and pulled, it leads most significantly to a loss of self. To experience that tremor, the first deep crack that resonates deep within, penetrating the pure core of one’s existence, is nothing but surreal. 

It is easy to embrace denial. Hiding from the cold and clinging clamour of fear. But it takes hold; silently and deadly as it snakes systematically through the body. Subtly attacking and invading. It is a dichotomy of emotion as the constriction commences. Denial deepens, ironically feigning familiarity as it rewires the body signals. Symptomatically, it will become a reassuring reminder of feelings and senses when the rest of you remains detached and cold. What and who am I? Questions. Thoughts. Doubts. All interspersed with periods of nothingness. 

It is only when you are forced to recognise that you are truly broken that the slow process of picking up the proverbial pieces of your former self starts. The fragments that lay scattered around you appear both alien and alienating. 

To lose the central core of character is worse than death itself. After all, death promises peace and tranquility; a never ending silence. To question who you once were and who you can now become is an endless terrifying silent scream, wrenching through your gut, ripping out your cortex. 

Denial deepens, befriending you as a doppelganger of death. Fatigue is rife and you cannot fight as denial once again feigns familiarity. You slip subconsciously further into the depths of denial. Pretence protecting you from the pain.  

Identity is a person's conception and expression of your own self. Own - that paradoxical word meaning it belongs to you, to have rightful possession and also is of your own doing. But something external has raped you of this self expression. Those around you travel alongside, failing to recognise the onset of the inner turmoil that you face. Maybe, just maybe, one day they will understand. But for now, you are here. Physically and emotionally isolated. The cliched shadow of your former self. 

When in public arenas, you scramble to reassemble those projected pieces of predictable personality. The automated responses and the shiny outer shell of front, unite to ward off unwanted attention. 

Who has the right to rob one of their own identity? Who is prepared for this ongoing arduous assault?

Part of the painful, probing process is the gradual realisation that the fabrications of self are so delicate. 

To pull on one single thread can be the deconstructive demise of decades of a determined dedication to life. 

Now you simply resemble that one loose thread; 

weak, undefined and simply drifting...

Six Jours

So right about now, I am resurfacing from a few days of ‘meh-ness,’ having been kept afloat by the warm glow that is genuinely generated from knowing that you are in the thick of your travels.

It is something rather special to share the wild-eyed wonder of the world with someone else without even being there. 

But a connection is what brings these two worlds together. 

Not colliding but intertwining. Playfully orbiting around each other and with the strangeness of time travel, we have met along the way in our days and nights. Australia to France – gee, it is a small world. And we are right there together in the middle somehow.

And as for me, your travels are meaningful. 

And like a parchment map, you will savour the delicate unfolding of each corner as you gently trace well-trodden trails through a significant slice of history.  And with each day, those map creases will become experiences to be etched eternally somewhere in that brain of yours.

And I like that.

I guess there is perhaps an unspoken understanding of just how important these travel times are. Having been on my own life journey, I know how I felt as I stood somewhere in Europe, on a patch of vegetation that yielded scratchy softness, familiar greens and browns and left me feeling grounded yet revitalised with new brimming and grinning enthusiasm for what might just be around the corner of my own life. Hell, in fact time stood still just as I did; rooted to this one spot in a field protected by hedgerows somewhere in the tantalizing throes of Tuscany. It was just as if the haze-wrapped skies suddenly cleared allowing the raw sun to bore down on me. And with this penetrating heat, clarity filled my own mind. My world suddenly made sense. It clicked somehow. Just like that. 

And now there you are. 

Criss-crossing your way through France in search of a missing dimension from your own world. You have read those books, felt stuff and now it's real. You are there to stand still where others stood before you; to connect, comprehend and quantify what occurred in the past.

I want this journey that you are on to be what you hoped for and more. Perhaps as I did, you may too stand still somewhere and reflect on life. It is one thing to traipse around the world to broaden horizons and learn stuff. BUT it is quite the thing to feel a connection that is so strong to something so far away. 

But a connection it is. 

And I think that is ...extraordinary.

Wake up and she has gone...

Waking up in the morning to see your daughter’s sleeping face right there next to you. Soft and peaceful. Childlike. Slightly obscured by the bedding that surrounds her but you can still see her. Sense her.

Looking closely, it takes you right back to when she was a small child. Snugglicious. The same tell-tale signs. The softly arched eyebrows set above the to-die-for dark lashes and below, the sleeping eyes that you achingly wish will give her visions and dreams that will make for a very happy, long and fulfilling life.

I didn’t know if I would ever have this experience again.

To steal a moment or two with her has been a challenge ever since she left home. But now here she is. Right next to me in a darkened bedroom, buried in the bowels of a bed like she and I have always seemed to do.

Mother and daughter. It’s quite the thing.

I dare not move, get too close, look lovingly for too long. I just want to breathe in this moment. Drawing this comforting completeness right down into my lungs. It takes me back to the chambers of a past life when all seemed warm and safe. A time when she and I shared unspoken moments, undefined by time or responsibility. Freedom to just be us. To laugh, play, learn and live together.

God I have missed this.

It’s been a tough time over the last three years. Change and challenge, things that I have always sought out, embraced and enjoyed have betrayed me. They threw me full pelt, headlong into a dimension of life that quickly spiraled out of control. Downward I plummeted so fast that I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t see my surroundings as they blurred with the speed of change. I couldn’t seem to find my place or get my foothold to stop the relentless fall.  I couldn’t recognise where I was. And throughout this unexpected free-fall from my life of equilibrium, was my daughter. Right there beside me.

But only for so long.

As I found the edges of my life, I began to climb back up; one hand, one foot after another. Feeling my way against the bumpy sides of life, I pulled hard, testing the safety of the surface before I took another upward step. And all the time, I had my daughter’s soft delicate hand in mine. Pulling her along with me when needed. We took it in turns, trusting each other as we navigated the climb back to safety. When I tired or lost my way, she would take the lead. Gently but confidently, taking me by the hand motivating me to keep pushing upwards. We were a team. Well balanced and comfortable in our space that we shared together. But somehow, as we neared the day-lit drenched summit of life once again, she began to pull away. She felt the need to disengage. Disconnect. Find herself.

She was choosing a different path and I knew that this was her bid to find her own slice of life. But despite knowing, understanding and supporting this, the inner pain was unbearable. We had come so far.

With one final pull, I had reached firm ground. I was out of the darkness that had shrouded me. And as fresh daylight blinded my eyes, I felt her hand slip from mine and she was gone.

Just like that.

And I had to watch as she became smaller in the distance and as we continued to travel in different directions, she became just a faint figure. The tiniest dot against the backdrop of life. And with this growing distance, a dilution of all that we had ever experienced.

Together we had lived a life. Shared dreams, childhood giggles and ridiculous hysteria. Played games, sat in the safe surrounds of a life that was comfortable, inviting and full of expectation.

And now it is my turn to watch as this significant speck of specialness tries to navigate her own path without me. That is quite a thing. 

And I am still learning...