Fragility

Can be a beautiful thing. Is it something that comes to you later in life when you have a different understanding of your purpose, your position, your connection and context in the wider setting of the world? I am not certain. I only know now that it is something that leaves me feeling unsure. 

I recognise in others that fragility can be a beautiful thing. 
A breath of vulnerability perhaps. 
Humility. 
Availability. 
These are rich and alluring qualities with which I associate fragility. 
A chance occurrence to see an element of something real and raw in another. 

But when I feel myself drifting, slipping towards something other than strength, I resist this with all that I have. I don't know why, but for a long time I have struggled with the idea of showing weakness. 

Perhaps I am not comfortable with the idea that somehow I may be fragile. 

I think that showing vulnerability is a learned thing. 

And maybe, just  

Hidden Strength

Maybe this is the time to learn...

Moments that change everything that came before... (Part One)

And I have just experienced one of them. 

Right now. 

Tuesday evening; such an unassuming day of the week. 

It all started perfectly normally. Well, what is normal for me. A god-awful buzz-buzz-buzz on my wrist from my fitbit at 5:45am, signalling that I should well and truly leave the pillowy warm depths of my sleep to shimmy ungainly into a pair of Lorna Jane tights. Seriously, just the sheer effort to get into these bloody things should count for some form of fat burning exercise. But there you have it. Within fifteen minutes, I am hair tied, sports-bra'd and trussed up in enough body sucking material that even I may say I look a little svelte. And I am back out amongst it. Early morning commuters manoeuvring silently through the car parks and into some orderly fashion as they head train bound for their day. 

Walk and run. Songs filtering through my mind. My mind dancing between warm make-me-happy-memories from the weekend and the sharp hard corners of tasks yet to be done. Work. Most of us have to do it. Some of us really enjoy it. As for me, I remain fickle in my conviction to the cause. Don't get me wrong. I am passionate about what I do but certainly far less so about the pseudo-managerial misfits that can sometimes get in the way. 

But back to the walk-a-run. There is certainly something rather invigorating about weaving your way through those who are already work destined before 6:15am. Here I am, pounding the pavements just because I can. With my own time constraints that chase and chastise me on a daily basis, this first early morning chunk of my day is one to be savoured. I would enjoy it more if it wasn't for the painful pull from my lungs as they protest with enough pant against the demands that I make. I am not that fit. Yet. 

Card swiped, towel draped and bloody too tight tights hitched. I am ready for my personal training session at the gym. Or am I? I am one who needs to see visible results and FAST. It is not about the money or the time but oh my god, it is about the pain; physical and mental. And possibly what's worse is the personal sense that I stick out just like that proverbial sore thumb. Except everything I have is sore; not just a bloody thumb. So 3 reps of for-god's-sake-don't-let-me-get-a-repeat-prolapse lunges followed by 3 reps of step up and step downs with some ridiculously long metal pole that is barely balanced on the nape of my neck. Wait. Did my PT seriously say that it was 15kilos? Is she totally mad? For most days I struggle to hold the weight of my heavy head; let alone the occasional weight of the world on my shoulders. But here I am doing this stuff and all in the fully glory of some beautifully polished, gleaming floor to ceiling mirror against the backdrop of an equally pristine clean shop window. Me, self conscious? Never. But wait, a series of sprints backwards and forwards. Yep. It definitely gets better. Not only do I have the sensory pleasure of feeling my muffin top jiggling up and down, I now get to see the less than rhythmical rise and fall of my souffle similar midriff  as I come puce faced, puffing like a seriously fat-clad kid who is in serious danger of self combustion. 

And I pay for this pleasure. 

So walk-a-run - tick. Gym - tick. Home to find the painter is still painting something or other in the house. The three day budget has now been totally blown and if I had more time, I could probably calculate that this is his ninth day of painting. Erm, yes. I actually do think it is now nine days. But my god, I am just so tired that I am passed caring. Money. Yes. It will cost me but that is why I tolerate the crap that happens at my workplace, just so I can pay bills such as these. And anyway (hastening to cheer myself up), I have a totally new vibe in the house so for once I will be paying a tradie for a job that actually generates a visible result. I mean, let's see. Last year, yes there was the roofer guy. I ain't going up on that thing just to see if he did replace the tiles. Then there was someone who was doing something or other in the roof space. The last time I ventured up there I came face to face with Rufus-Ratus and that didn't work out well for either of us. So yes, I guess it comes back to needing to see visible results and preferably fast...Well, nine days, perhaps not that fast. 

Let's just see if the pavey-type peeps will be able to transform the front verge in record time. Currently, I am casting for the re-make of the Triffids out there but I don't seem to be moving forward with this one. I just keep lining up the weeds like an identity parade but getting no closer to picking out the culprit. I frickin' hate weeds and I am sure that my tolerant neighbours feel the same. So still sweaty and slightly nauseated from my pre-brekkie exercise, I have made more calls to set up quotes, listened to painter guy as he tells me what he had for tea last night and did I mind if he comes again in the morning just to touch up the ... now what was it again? Oh yes, touch up the same bloody window frames that he did on Monday this week and Wednesday last week. I should really be a tougher customer but you know what? I can't be bothered to challenge anyone at the moment. Life is short and I for one am slightly disturbed with the amount of angst in our world so if it means I am doing my bit by being a sucker as a soft-touch, so be it. I will pay the price. AND keep going to work.

So 7:57am and I am still Lorna Jane clad and wishing that I could somehow take myself back to a warm place where it didn't matter if I was sweaty and still in my sports gear... But, nup. It is Tuesday and I actually should already be at work safely ensconced behind my grey desk, with my grey 'phone and growing grey hairs as I check the increasing backlog of work to be done. But I am still at home and trying frantically to work out my best way to shower and change without having to discuss it with the painter. 

8:06 and I am out the door, hair flying and a trusted sachet of good ol' Uncle Toby Oats slung into my bag for sustenance at some point during the day. Yes. A normal day. Arrive at work to see that my team are almost all assembled with increasing poise and precision that could be construed as slightly disconcerting. Hurried handover of information followed by the usual flurry of "Can I have a quick chat please?" through my revolving door of my grey office. And sigh. I made it. 

9:00am and a visit from my first student of the day. Pinnacle stuff really. On the brink of manhood and with just 2 weeks left of school to navigate, my job is to keep this kid calm. I have been working with him for just over 5 years now and I have been privileged enough to walk alongside him, even during the most turbulent times of his life. Yes. We have been through a lot. There has been a LOT of TALKING and endless hours of LISTENING. Interspersed with CAJOLING and COAXING and persuasive prompts to see the world from alternative perspectives. Yes. It is a cool job that I have. I really do have a good gig going on. Trying to meet the individual needs; students, families, staff and agency workers and all within the constraints of budgets, resourcing, educational systems and politics. Yup. A nice tasty challenge. Oh and of course, my goal is to continue to do this without burning out... I need to be useful to the next person, you know. 

So 9:10am and I have convinced the head of the Canteen that I so should have percolated coffee and a cookie for myself and the student. Yes, yes. Put it all on my budget. This kid needs to know how well he has done and this is kinda special to have proper coffee right bang in the middle of the school. And while all other students and teachers are learning and teaching and teaching and learning, here I am celebrating the educational, emotional and physical journey of one seriously gentle hearted kid who was dealt a tough hand somewhere along the road of life.  Seriously. I am passionate about what I do.

9:45am. Work done with said student. Onto more task-type things. Transition meetings, discussions about just how do you meet individual needs on a shoestring budget and staff support. Yes, even my own staff need more support on a daily basis. And that to me is just a sign of the pressures that we are all facing on a daily basis. By 1:00pm, I have done 3 meetings, written 46 emails and sipped at least two more cups of something resembling coffee. 1:30pm and I am onto my final 2 meetings. 

And then done. Leave work long after the final cloud of choking black smoke from Transperth buses with squashed student type faces up against the rear windows. Back home to find the painter still err-umm painting. Oh good. Pave-type peeps arrives to give me a different quote and comment on the ridiculousness of my summation that I do have enough spare pavers.. Evidently not. 

4:45pm. Bags finally put down. Yes, I manage to do much these days with a laptop bag and trusty supermarket canvas bag swinging crazily from my rapidly stooping left shoulder. 

5:00pm and the visit from my daughter. Oh. Had I not mentioned this? Well, I believe that she had tried to pop around to see me first thing this morning but I have failed to inform her that I am attempting to get fit. So I fobbed her off until tonight.

House still full of painter-man and ever increasing paint fumes so we head off. I know that she has not come around to just say, 'hey.'

I know that it is going to be one of those 

moments that changes everything that came before...

Why is Life Just So Frickin' Painful?

What I really want to ask is...

Why the hell is life so flippin' complicated?

It's a bit like school and the holidays. 

You spend your entire time waiting for the holidays 
but once they come, 
you are worried that they will be over too soon. 

This is how many of us spend our lives; 
basically wishing them away.

 And for what? 

In the hope that what is around the corner 
will be better than the now?

As for me. 

Well, for the first time in a long time, 
I feel what I can only presume is contentment, 
happiness or just a sense of being okay 
(ok, quite a bit more). 

But the more I start to relax,
 enjoy and 
<what the hell> 
even savour the good times, 
the more the crap 
seems to pour 
from that little tiny crack in the ceiling. 

You know the one I mean, right? 
That near-invisible
 hairline curling fracture 
that runs somewhere along 
the far cornice of your bedroom.

Why is life so frickin' painful?

Deux Nuits et Puis....

....il sera...FRIDAY ....

I'm pretty sure that each of us has a favourite day of the week. Am I right? And yeah, it doesn't matter which continent I have lived in or frequented (OK, I am not that well travelled but... it sounds good and adds substance to my train of thought). I cannot ever recall meeting ANYONE who loves a weaky-weekday. I mean, why would you?

Monday - just the name in itself conjures up Meh, Moan, Must I, Maybe Not... just plain ol' MUNDANE to me.

Tuesday - yes, a choose-day indeed. And I choose not to like it. I choose another...

Wednesday - when's it going to be the weekend? (This one only works if you don't have to say Wed-ness-day to help you with the spelling btw)....

Thursday - a long - 'errrr' - brings this to my mind - uugggh. Your tongue pushes forward, and 'bluh...'

And then there it is...

The first and only day of the week with a bright, shining, long 'i' sound... And I for one, certainly give this day a very, very long 'aye.' I friggin' love Fridays!

I cannot help but respond to pure phonetics. 

Go on, you look in the mirror and try to say Friday with a dreary, totally not into it tone. Did it work? Betchya it didn't. And come on, 'fess up. Did your eyes open wider?  And was there just the slightest smudge of a reflective eyebrow raise? Or were you totally grinning like a wild eyed maniac anyway? 

Friday is my day ...



It probably stems from childhood (like most things). 

Fridays - the first day of the week that was a breather from school work. The first day of the week that I really recognised my mother relaxing as she went about her business in the home. The day that you could truly throw off your school uniform and ditch it for the next two days. The day that you had time to pet your pet, bash the hell out of your ridiculously undersized Casio keyboard or practise the throw and catch solo routine against the wall of the house... and then...

There was always a family ritual of fish and chips in my family home. The heat of the oven from the kitchen as the expectant plates were warmed, the large bottle of tomato sauce, the freshly brewed tea (yes, we had cups of tea with this meal; nup, never understood that) and the promise of the largest gherkins ever seen were all overshadowed by my slice of childhood heaven; a frozen chocolate dessert. And that tasty little dessert in a brown plastic pot sat on the placemat while my dad went to get the fish and chips.  Yes, the desserts were paraded with some provocation on the dining room table before we even sat down. And as a child of about 7, I could not resist that dessert that melted from the outer edge inwards. I can still feel that nervous anticipation and excitement as I would casually circumnavigate the table, checking out the circular pots of chocolatey goo, teaspoon at the read secreted about my person.

I can only liken the pud to the chocolate custardy thing that you can buy at the supermarket. Awesome chocolatey-ness; liquidy, luscious and lingering on my tongue. I may just have snuck the edge of a teaspoon around the rim of EVERYONE's pot and had a little taste as it gently melted in preparation for when it was supposed to be eaten... YUM. And, I have no idea why I never got busted. AND why would you leave them all out there, tempting my little tastebuds as I simpered around the house unsupervised?  I guess I had more self control and decorum then because if I was presented with the same situation now, I would probably eat all four of those desserts, back to back without an iota of guilt. With deliberately left smudges of choc on my lips. Mmmmm, I can be taken there now. Yes, baby... And for those of you who may have witnessed me sampling any warm or velvety sweet sauces, yes - I may just disappear somewhere else - mind and body - And as the sugar hit coats my tongue and slides sensuously down my throat, I know that it touches me all the way to my toes. Mmmmm.

And now I cannot concentrate enough to finish this post... Darn. I had so much to say, so much to share...... Nup. Can't do it.

Chocolate anyone?



Post Script:             Sigh - And I'm back. 

I just wanted to say that Fridays still hold a certain thrill for me.  And as I sit here in my snug, freshly painted study, I know that I may be as electrically and enthusiastically charged just as I once was when childishly armed with that teaspoon ready to dive 

lips first

 into that 

chocolate heaven. 

And the reason for this effervescent excitement?   

Well this FRIDAY coming may just be

 'Quite the Thing...'  

Post Post Script: I'll keep you posted.  On second thoughts, no promises.

                                To kiss and tell?                                                               Maybe. Maybe not....  

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.... 

A Lifting of a Layer?

Solitary Solace in Shanghai

T’s Tuesday Talk

2nd June 2015

                                                                                           Be Gentle and Be Here 

I am here on a journey of a lifetime - and you have squeaked into my life somehow just now - so unforeseen, unexpected and unanticipated. And with this ‘squeak,’ has come a renewed flame, passion and sensibility - maybe not even renewed but actually new… I am being candid here and with that I feel exposure and vulnerability. 

It is not something that I show very often.  But, I want you to know that you have encouraged and enthused me and this has led me to write, express, share, tell and laugh and FEEL. No one knows what lies ahead of each of us or what may come as a speed bump, detour or ‘pass GO’ and collect the winnings. I just want to say HI and THANK YOU. I don’t know if you are affecting this planned journey of a lifetime - but…

You ask me things; causing me to live in the moment, to reflect and to consider. I enjoy that. 

You also react differently and show your ‘cut and dried/did I miss it’ side which, for some very odd reason, makes me smile… You can go from ‘here is my emotion, I am feeling it and this is what it is,’ to ‘I emptied the shed and will be putting it in my neighbour’s bin at MIDNIGHT,' (would there be any other time??) in less than a blink of an eye…but I can’t. When I put myself out there-  it sits, lingers and nudges me until I look at it some more. Who is right? Neither. We are who we are but I think that we are seeing, learning and teaching - that has to be a commonality perhaps? There was a sentence here that followed but I backspaced…too many people tell me that I over think. Perhaps I should listen more?

It is late-ish and I have a date with a tour bus tomorrow. My god. I have never done stuff like this solo before. I stayed to eat breakfast on my own in a foreign country, I walked the streets in the pouring rain and fought off hawkers selling me brollies, I have been writing for myself and I have been dreaming for myself. 

This is totally new territory. 

I am and have always been independent, fiercely so, but there is something that is different after a long, long relationship. I have given myself time. Time to be. Time to cry, to hurt, to anger and to reflect and time to heal. Time to rediscover me. I am capable; I am strong and I have skills, ideas, visions and aspirations but there is a BUT and I have not quite fathomed it out just yet. The last time I looked inside here, I was probably 18 and I had all the feistiness, zest and naivety that made me feel alive.

You know what it is? I am starting to feel stuff - life and people stuff and that is so incredibly empowering, exciting and nerve wracking. If I was 18, I would just up sticks and change stuff because I could and I would not have the cautionary curtailment that I feel today. 

OKAY - totally exposed ramblings. More of a Dear Diary entry - shit, I should so have kept one all these years…..

Sometimes I should be this softer side of me.
But it is too hard.

. 

It is like a long look into my eyes; people may really see and feel me. 

Not even my family do that. 

I just wouldn't let them.