Life and Dandelions

Goodification. Excuse me?

2012-03-02T07:29:00.002+10:00

I believe in stating the obvious. Calling a spade a spade, because no matter which way you look at a spade it is never going to be a glass slipper is it? Which brings me to the "Goodification" of KFC. The what?? Exactly. What is the Goodification of KFC? Can fried chicken be "goodified"? According to Ogilvy Sydney (the creative agency behind this campaign) "The Goodification project is bigger than just goodifying the KFC experience; it's also about celebrating the everyday moments in the lives of regular Australians. These actions will be the type of things you do that put a smile on other people's faces."

Sounds all nice and warm and fuzzy, but what does it mean? In the Oxford Dictionary the word doesn't even exist. However in the Urban Dictionary there is a meaning - A word made up by George Bush to mean "making something good" or the "the making of something good" The goodification in Iraq will be to follow the plan, the plan which we are now in the planning stages of.

How does this have anything to do with chicken covered in fifty thousand secret herbs and spices cleverly disguised in a layer of greasy yellow coloured stuff? What about the chips covered in chicken salt or the mashed potato floating in gravy? I'm not sure I get the correlation? Are they intending to make KFC a "good" food or are they going to make it taste better?

Excuse me Ogilvy Sydney, but in case you hadn't realised this, KFC is junk food. Pure unadulterated junk food. High in fat. High in calories and not very good for you. Particularly if you eat it every. single. day. Don't get me wrong here - I'm not dissing on junk food. It is part of life. There is a place for junk food in all our lives. Sometimes the only thing that will hit the spot is Big Mac or a piece of greasy chicken or a dagwood dog, especially after a big night out! But let's not confuse things here. KFC will never be fruit and vegetables or a low calorie meal. Never.

Perhaps we could extend this theme and "goodify" drinks like Red Bull to make us think we are drinking something akin to the elixir of youth? My point exactly. You can wrap anything up in fancy words and provide images of friends and family having a wonderful time, but when you open the can you are still drinking a high sugar, high energy drink that is not particularly good for you.

Why can't junk food be just that? Junk food. It is what it is. Why do we have to make is sound like it is something better? Is this going to stop people eating it? Is it going to encourage more people to eat it? I don't think so. KFC or Kentucky Fried Chicken - it is still fried chicken. It can't be anything else.

I really miss the days when we didn't have to make things sound better than they really are. When we didn't have to be so politically correct. When junk food companies didn't have to pretend they are anything but the provider of junk food.

Have we become too warm and fuzzy? Do we want everything to be sugar coated? I think we are becoming far too soft. Or maybe I'm just getting too hard and cynical as I grow older? What do you think?

An EXTRA SEVEN Years!!

2012-03-01T10:05:00.003+10:00

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Many of my friends have children much younger than mine. They are only just embarking on the scary journey that is "teenagerhood". Me? I'm nearing the end of it with an almost 20 year old and an 18 year old. Hang on a minute. Nearing the end? I should already be at the end. Why do I still have a twenty year old at home? My original parenting plans had calculated that eighteen was the end date. At eighteen, I would be cutting the apron strings, pushing them out the door and putting my feet up with a huge sigh. Right? Nope. Not so.

Times, they have changed. You see, 25 is the new 18, when it comes to boys and for girls it is a few years earlier. What the??? Do the math people, I still have seven years to go!! That's more years than high school. Nobody told me this when I signed up to be a parent. When we were growing up we couldn't wait to leave home. Once gone, that was it. A sibling had moved into your vacated bedroom before the front door had closed behind you. It was over. You were gonesky.

It wasn't that we were no longer loved, it just meant that we had left the nest. We were embarking on our own lives. We had already started becoming our own person since around sixteen years of age. We could leave school in grade 10 and, for some us (me), we were only fifteen years of age. School was finished. We were grown up now. We went to TAFE, learnt a skill or trade and by sixteen were working, usually full time. All of a sudden our parents weren't telling us what to do. We had more freedom to make our own decisions. Not always the right ones, but we were responsible for ourselves. Most of us did our own washing. Some of us had even moved out of home to share a flat with some friends. We weren't even eighteen. We were driving around, owning cars, dating and working out our own problems.

Most of us didn't go home and discuss our worries or problems with our parents. We had friends we confided in. Our parents were quite oblivious to the lives we led, and the strange thing was, they seemed to like it that way. They didn't pry, they were just happy to see us when we got home or popped in to visit. They didn't give us the third degree. It is not that they didn't care about us, they'd simply clocked off from the day to day stuff. We were eighteen!

We are a different breed of parents now. Does this make us better or worse than our parents? Have we systematically stifled our children's ability to mature? Are we too involved in our children's lives? I would answer yes to the last two questions and am undecided on the first one. I totally believe we have stifled our children's ability to mature. We don't let them make decisions at sixteen years of age. We wouldn't dream of letting them leave school and start working. Are you serious? At sixteen my boys hardly knew what day it was, let alone the ability to get out of bed on time to work! (This could be due to not owning an alarm clock and having a mother who went up and down the stairs at least ten times each morning to wake them.) Bingo!

Professor Alison Gopnik has written extensively on the teenage mind and her findings are interesting and extremely insightful. You can read what she says here.

All that said, I'm glad we are more involved as parents. I don't believe our parents or our parents' parents ever got to know the people their children became. I think that is sad. I love my children because they are my children, but I also love the people they are. I really do like them. I'd even like them if they weren't my children. They are good people and I'm lucky I get to know the real them.

Excuse me while I go and redraft my parenting plan ... with the "EXTRA SEVEN" years added in! In the meantime, what do you think? Are we better or worse parents than our parents?

PS: I do love still having my boys at home and will miss their daily kisses and I love you's when they eventually leave home. I will not miss their smelly clothes, my messy kitchen and farting.

What do dandelions have to do with life you ask?

2012-02-22T10:38:00.000+10:00

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People often ask me why my blog is called "Life and Dandelions" ... "it seems an odd comparison" they say. Not so.

Life and dandelions are much more similar than you think.

On the surface the dandelion plant is tough, rather ugly and filled with sticky sap that gets all over your hands when you try to rip them up.

Life can be tough, rather ugly and filled with stuff that sticks to you when you try to fight against the flow of where life is taking you. Sometimes you just need to let things be.

Look a bit deeper and the yellow dandelion flower is beautiful, bright and cheerful and is one of the first flowers to bloom in Spring.

Life can also be beautiful, bright and cheerful and always seems much brighter with the arrival of Spring.

The dandelion head is extremely delicate and if you don't handle it gently and with care it will be gone in a second.

Life and relationships are extremely delicate and if you don't look after them with gentleness and care they too can be gone in a second.

The dandelion plant has many health and nutrition benefits and rather than be treated as a weed, should be harvested and used for good.

A life lived well has many health and nutrition benefits. Rather than wasting precious life by being unhealthy, we should be taking very good care of the body that has been given to us and use it for good.

Like the dandelion, my life is both good and bad, bitter and sweet, beautiful and ugly, strong and delicate.

What can you compare your life to? I'd love to know.

When Life Throws You a Curve Ball ...

2012-02-15T17:21:00.001+10:00

That's just life!

Picture Credit

Life is a bit tough at the moment. I suspect it is like this for most people right now. During tough times in the past I've pedalled like mad to get through the tough spots so I can relax back in the "happy" life that should be the norm. Problem is I get there, and then as quickly as I grasp hold of it, it slips away again.

How often do you hear people say ... "If only I could pay my tax bill, I'd be happy then", "If only I could find a job doing something I like, I'd be happy then", If only we had a decent car, I'd be happy then". We hear it all the time. In fact, I say things like that myself. We are all waiting for that something to happen so we can live in happiness, just how life is meant to be. Right?

What if the concept of having a "happy" life doesn't exist - it never has and it never will? What if we just accept that life is a struggle, it is hard. Fullstop. There is no "easy" life. There is no utopia at the end of the road. We don't work hard and get through the tough bits in order to get to the good time/easy life that awaits us. It simply isn't there.

Wait for it ... what if the hard times were the norm and the happy times were sprinkled throughout to give us a break and a chance to build strength to keep going? Novel thought isn't it?

Don't worry, I've not gone all emo and traded in my optimism card for a pessimism one. In fact I'm having a mindset change that actually makes me happier. Instead of waiting to be happy, I am learning to accept that how things are right now is exactly how they are meant to be. On any given day I can always find some sparkly bits to make my day brighter, no matter what is going on.

We give our children the message that life should be easy, fun, happy. We protect them from the hard stuff as we wear the brunt of everything we have to deal with. Protecting them from life. I know. I've done this for 20 years! Just recently my sons have been going through some tough times and I realise how ill equipped they are to deal with this. When I said, "welcome to real life - it's actually hard" a light bulb went off in my mind. They had no idea how hard it is and I've spent years pretending life is easier than it really is.

Books and happiness coaches tell us that if we live life this way or that way we will be happy. Life doesn't have to be hard. De-clutter our homes, our minds, our garages and "shazam" happiness will be ours for the taking. Bucket loads of the stuff! If we "Don't Sweat the Small Stuff" all of a sudden we won't be burdened with worry and stress. And so it goes on. If we don't feel "happy" and life isn't "easy" then we must be doing something wrong.

I've got an idea. To really simplify things why don't we just accept that life is hard. Your life, my life, everyone's life. Bad stuff happens all the time. People get sad. People worry every single day. People get sick. People die. People lose their jobs. People become homeless. The problems we face today are much different to the problems our caveman ancestors had to face, yet essentially we are both fighting for the same thing ... survival. They spent their entire life trying to not get eaten by saber tooth tigers and making sure they had enough food to keep their family alive. Same thing now, except the Saber Tooth tiger comes in many forms - banks, tax office, cancer, bullying, jobs or lack thereof. There are Saber Tooth tigers everywhere!

So ... accepting that life is hard and there won't be a gold prize at the end of the rainbow or a light at the end of the tunnel, is liberating. I don't feel like I'm missing out on something or that other people have it easier than I do. Life is just that, life and we navigate our way through it with one thing in mind ... survival. That is our reward - surviving it to the end, not finding an unattainable utopia!

Domestic Violence is Never OK. Ever.

2011-11-21T22:51:00.001+10:00

Watching A Current Affair tonight has made me extremely ranty. Matthew Newton featured in a profile interview about his "mental" illness and how it has contributed to where he is now. How it was untreated for a long period of time and how he was not in control of himself.

I'm not sure what I expected to see or hear. Actually I am. I expected to see a humble man, sorry for his past actions and willing to do whatever it takes to rehabilitate. I expected to see a man who was embarrassed by his past actions and one who could not apologise enough for hitting the women he supposedly loved. It wasn't just one girlfriend, but two. No, I didn't see what I was expecting. I saw a self-absorbed person who had one agenda - to show the public that he wasn't "responsible" for his actions - he had an untreated mental illness. He had so many "issues". Noises in his head. He didn't know what was happening to him. There were no sorrys, only excuses.

I personally do not know Matthew Newton and I am totally aware my judgement of him is based on my personal perceptions and this may be different to what other people see. In fact it may be totally different to Matthew's reality. I'm sure he sees something totally different to the image I saw on my television tonight.

Matthew Newton undoubtedly has mental issues. He is also a perpetrator of domestic violence. Not once, but on multiple occasions. He might be the son of two famous Australians and he might have his own "famous" profile, but in the scheme of life this counts for nothing. He is a perpetrator of domestic violence. He hits women. Violently.

I am not singling him out, many other men hit women. The point of difference is these men are not given a chance to appear on national television to try and make themselves look and feel better, and so they shouldn't. Neither should Matthew Newton.

If A Current Affair really wants to talk about mental illness and inspire others who live with it every day, there are thousands of people they could have interviewed. Thousands of people, who haven't committed acts of violence, yet live with mental illness every single day. They have to deal with the voices in their heads, their inability to function normally and social isolation, without resorting to violence.

This Friday is White Ribbon Day - an international campaign to stop violence against women. This is a huge campaign with the key message being it is NOT okay to hit women. Profiling Matthew Newton on A Current Affair tonight is a total juxtaposition to this message. Quite frankly it is insulting to every person who suffers from a mental illness and equally as insulting to women. It is NEVER okay to hit a woman, regardless of whether you have a mental illness or not. It really is that simple.

There's a new normal a coming my way ...

2011-08-28T21:20:00.000+10:00

It is funny how life seems to meander along the same path for a long time where not much changes and, then all of a sudden, the path ends and we must go off in another direction. I am there right now. Life as we know it is ending, in all possible ways, and a new path is awaiting all of us.

My Mr 19 moved out of home 3 weeks ago. We are all getting used to him not being here now. My initial sadness has now been replaced with acceptance. He is happy and loving his freedom and independence. I am certainly enjoying the decrease in washing and price of my grocery bill. I do miss kissing his soft cheek each night and hearing him say "I love you mum" every day. Mr 17 is loving the fact that his towel is always hanging where he left it and he can sleep without hearing the snoring from the next room.

M and I are leaving for Italy in eight days to get married and have a wonderful holiday. I am beyond excited about this and can't wait to be on the plane and on our way. When we get back I will be a wife. I will have a husband. I will also have a new last name. This is a huge thing for me. For the first time I will have a different surname to my children - this makes me feel a little bit funny. I will also have the surname of the man I have loved for a very long time and I know this makes me feel very happy.

While we are away, Mr 17 is going to the USA to work. He will be staying there until mid November. When he comes back he won't be the Mr 17 I said goodbye to. He will be different. He will have spent almost 3 months in another country without his mum. For the first time I won't be an integral part of his life. He will grow up and this will be a good thing for him. I am going to miss him while I'm away and I'm going to miss the boy I said goodbye to, but I do look forward to seeing the young man who comes back to me.

The next eight days are definitely going to be busy with working and getting organised for our big trip. They are also going to be filled with so much excitement (I am literally trembling with it). Despite the excitement, the days will also be filled with a sense of nostalgia and wistfulness. I will be holding on tightly to everything from the now so I don't forget it, because when we come back a new normal awaits us. Usually a new normal creeps up slowly until one day we just realise things have changed. This time I get to cherish the last few days of our now while I also get excited about the new now that lies ahead.

So ... I'm getting married soon!

2011-07-31T19:41:00.001+10:00

It has been a crazy, busy year and I cannot believe it is almost September. The month of September is a special month for us ... we are going to be married. We won't be having a big ceremony with lots of guests, instead we will be having a BIG holiday with a little wedding thrown in.

In approximately four and a half weeks we will be boarding a plane to Rome where we will spend five days checking out the sights and having some marriage paperwork made legal. We then fly to Sicily for seven nights. M's parents were born in Sicily, so it is a special place to spend some time looking around as he has never been there before. After Sicily we fly to Naples and drive to Praiano, a little town on the Amalfi Coast, approximately fifteen minutes from Positano. While we are staying in Praiano for seven nights we are going to get married!! On the day we will visit the little town hall to attend a civil ceremony, witnessed by two close friends who just happen to be travelling through the area at the same time. After the ceremony we will be heading to Il Pino for dinner. It will be very simple. No flowers, no cake, no white gown, no confetti. Just us, two close friends and dinner in the most amazing place in the world, right here:

Two days later we head to Venice for three days, our last three days in Italy. We then hire a car to drive to Paris, stopping in Germany for a night or two while we stay with one of my closest friends who now lives there. We have five days in Paris then fly to Dubai for two nights to catch our breath before we fly back to Brisbane as an old married couple.

Perfect.

It's not what we do, it's whether we do it with integrity that matters

2011-07-20T21:42:00.004+10:00

I've been a bit busy with my new job and it has been difficult finding the balance. My poor blog has been seriously neglected of late. One of my beautiful friends, Julia, really wanted to blog tonight, so, given that my blog is a bit lonely, I decided to offer her a home over here.

My friend Julia has a gift. She is a special person. This blog post is not only about her gift, but it is also about boundaries, permissions and integrity. The essence of this post can be applied in many different circumstances and is a reminder that, no matter what we do, there are always boundaries and at the heart of everything we do, we must always respect other people, their values and their beliefs.

Please make Julia feel welcome over here and share the love.

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Photo credit http://travelblog.viator.com/why-we-travel-a-spiritual-connection/

So I don’t have the most normal job in the world. It comes with no rules, a lot of intuition, a sprinkling of science & conjecture and a wide variety of clients.

I’m clairvoyant and clairaudient. I’m psychic. Tarot reader. Whatever term feels comfortable to you.

One of the biggest misconceptions is that I’m always “on”. I love going to parties, feeling normal around my close friends and siblings. You want to talk about boys, the latest celebrity baby name (“Magic Eight”, we know its coming one day right!) or trivial matters? I’m you’re girl. It makes me feel normal, grounded and not like a freak.

I don’t ‘read’ everybody automatically. I don’t read (and never will) for my parents or for my siblings BUT if I do pick up on something or have a message for them - they have all give me the ‘all clear’ to tell them anything I pick up on. I don’t like reading for my siblings but will if asked. The reason for this is a combination of clarity vs relationship. I don’t ever want the information compromised by what I ‘hope’ for them, instead of what’s really coming. Same goes for anyone I’ve had sex with . But that’s a whole other blog post.

When a client comes to me for a reading, it is implied that they have given me permission to enter their energy/ space/ aura, whatever you want to call it. But sometimes I ‘read’ or see information from strangers and quite often I don’t let them know. Permission is important. Sometimes I can dive in without asking and there is no spiritual integrity in that. In my 20’s I ‘might’ have been able to have been forgiven, but I know enough to know that I should ask. For the sake of the person whose energy I’ve entered and as a sign of respect.

Soooooo... out of the blue yesterday a name enters my mind, the name of a girl I knew when I lived in London 15-16 years ago. We were very close. We were soul sisters. Sunday nights, we literally did each others hair. I followed my intuition, did a Facebook search (of course) and saw only one name with the cartoon picture of a girl laying on a nutella jar ... I knew it was my friend instantly. I shall re-name her Bianca. Bianca is beautiful, French and when we were flatmates she had the same breakfast every morning - a croissant with nutella.

I sent a friend request on FB to which she accepted instantly, coupled with very excited messages for my phone number and that feeling of sisterhood and friendship was back immediately. Bianca called me within 2.48 minutes of getting my FB request and phone number. It was one of those beautiful phone calls of reconnection, no time and space had passed.

Within minutes of our animated phone call I recounted to Bianca (without her telling me) that she was still single, I told her not to be worried that she’d be married within the next two years and ... an interruption ... Bianca’s calm fantastic french accent “yees yees Jewlia you are right I forgot this about you, oh my goodness but Jewlia you cannot say eennny more, you have forgotten I’m Muslim”. Actually when I think of Bianca I can list 10 things about her and her faith is probably not one of them. Bianca told me that she was grateful for the information but that I was breaking a law of the Muslim faith and could not go on ‘with what I was doing’.

I felt terrible, waited for a bolt of lightening (which thankfully never came) and carried on our fantastic conversation.

There are 5 pillars to the Muslim faith - *click here* to read more on that.

As bad as I felt ... that conversation was a fantastic reminder of Spiritual Integrity. That essential piece to what I do, to ask permission ... but most of all to ask questions, be a friend and to keep healthy boundaries between my ‘work and gift’ and the real world.

So what are you thoughts? Do you want to know what someone intuition is picking up? Do you have a spiritual life and a religious life that are different? Do you like to know things in advance or wait for life and fate to be what it will be?

Love & light

Julia

www.homeoftheheart.com

twitter: yogajg

Phone: 0488.777.123

julia@homeoftheheart.com

Our Children Should Live Forever ...

2011-07-11T21:19:00.001+10:00

(Image Credit http://www.desicomments.com/desi/angel/)

When I was handed my first child I was scared. He was so small, so innocent and so totally dependent on me. From that moment my life changed. Forever. I can't say I felt a deep, intense love instantly. I was afraid I didn't know how to look after him. I was afraid I wasn't ready to be a parent. I was afraid I might do it wrong.

Within hours, this small person I created, became a part of me. He moved into a place in my heart and has lived there since ever since. He has brought me joy. He has caused me endless worry. He has driven me crazy. He also gave me something I never ever knew. He gave me family. My family. Love.

I had a second child nineteen months later. The only difference this time is that I wasn't afraid. I knew how to be a mother. I was no longer afraid I might do it wrong. I already knew I would. I also knew it didn't matter.

I've been a mother now for 19 years. These 19 years have gone both fast and slow - at the same time. There were times when a phase seemed endless. There were other times life went too fast and I wanted moments to last forever.

Last Wednesday everything I knew about being a mother was turned upside down. Another mother, one I've known for 14 years lost her child. Her child of 18 years was taken away from her in a tragic accident. Life as she knew it stopped. Her life stood still then plummeted a million miles an hour into a ravine so deep and dark, I'm not sure how she will climb out.

Since that day I have been holding on tight to my children. Ridiculously paranoid. I keep checking on them. Wanting them to be home, safe, under my roof, in their beds. Safe. With me.

On Wednesday I am going to the funeral. I am going to watch a mother and a father bury their child. An 18 year old boy who was the school captain in his last year of school. A boy who scored an OP1 (the highest score you can get in Grade 12). He played and wrote music. He had a huge smile. He was one of those rare human beings that everyone who ever met him made room in their life for him. The world was his oyster. He had so much potential. So much to offer. Sadly the world misses out now. One night, one bad decision. Gone.

When I signed up to be a parent, I didn't sign up to the possibility of ever having to bury my child. This never entered my mind. Now it is all I think about.

RIP Leon. Too young. Too soon.

I'm just over here for the moment

2011-06-25T21:03:00.000+10:00

I've not been here much and for that I'm a bit sad because I love hanging out here. I will be back. I need to be back. In the meantime I was over here last week for a little while because my lovely friend Sarah is away on a tropical island, swimming with dolphins (see below) and drinking cocktails every night. As you do.

Head on over to Sarah's amazing blog - Ah the Possibilities - where you can read my post along with some other fabulous guest posters.

What about the kids?

2011-06-04T21:23:00.002+10:00

Last night there was a conversation on Twitter between some people I love and respect about how well boys versus girls cope when parents divorce. This conversation started off the back of a tweet by @yvettevignando regarding this article .

I agreed with the article based on the fact that I believe most girls seem to have a better understanding of other people's emotions whereas boys can be a bit clueless. Most boys don't seem to notice or sense things going on around them and an announcement of a separation can hit them like a tonne of bricks. Girls tend to feel things going on in their environment, and whilst the actual act of the separation is no less traumatic for them, they may have had a sense of it coming, lessening the initial impact. I am not a qualified pyschologist, however I have seen many of my friends and my children's friends go through separations and have watched this very situation unfold on many occasions. I also know I am generalising and in both sexes there are those who do not fit the stereotype I am describing here.

Another tweeter who I love (Zoey) @goodgoogs said "personally, I always intellectually understood my parents divorce but emotionally I was still abandoned" ... really powerful words. Made me think hard about kids and divorce. My kids and divorce. Everyone's kids and divorce.

We've all said, "don't worry kids are resilient, they bounce back, it will be ok". We say it to others, we say it to ourselves, but do we really mean it and are our kids really that resilient? Or do we just say it to make ourselves feel better? I know I said it for the last reason. I suspect most of us do at some point. We need something to hang on to. Something to justify that what we are doing won't destroy our kids.

Divorce is one of those things that often has to happen, but there is a lot of heartache for everyone involved for a long time. Once kids are part of the equation, ending a marriage does have far reaching consequences for all. So does staying in a bad marriage.

Zoey's tweet will not leave my mind. I know I abandoned my children at different times during those first few years. Emotionally I wasn't there for them. I went through the physical duties I needed to - they were always clean, fed, had a bed to sleep in and clothes to wear and they made it to school on time. They may or may not have done their homework every night - that may or may not have depended on how much time I had for them. I was living in a fog. I had walked out of my marriage. I had no money. I had no family support. I was alone and scared out of my mind. I was also free and I was also excited to be starting my own life. I had a 5 year old and a 7 year old. What was I thinking?

The day we told the boys I was leaving will never ever leave my mind. We told the 7 year old that we were getting a divorce and he literally ran out the front door and kept running down the street crying. My heart still breaks for that little boy whose life shattered into a million tiny pieces that day in October 1999. I told the 5 year old alone when we were at the shopping centre, sitting on a seat having an ice cream. Little tears rolled down his little cheeks and my heart broke again. He asked me if I would still lie with him every night when he went to bed. I know I could hardly breathe at that moment. I can hardly breathe now writing these words. The reality of what was happening hit me hard. For 50% of the nights I would not be lying with him on his bed holding his little hand while he went to sleep. For 50% of the nights I would be alone, and so would he.

Despite this, we pushed on. I packed up and left. The kids came with me for my first few nights. My 7 year old really struggled. He was difficult to deal with and I didn't have any patience for him. I know I wasn't there for him when he needed me. I know there were times I was glad when they went to their dad's house and I would count down the days until he picked them up. Then within the hour I wanted them back. I hated the separation. For the first year it ate my heart up. I was caught between feeling guilty that I wasn't able to give them as much as they needed emotionally and wishing they weren't there to wanting nothing more than lying in bed cuddling my boys when they were gone. It was a roller coaster for all of us.

If I have any regrets, it would be that I was too selfish. I spent a lot of time thinking about myself and wallowing in self pity and not enough time worrying about the emotional well being of my children. I look back at some of those times and I can see clearly what I should have done. I'm a smart, emotionally intelligent woman, I know this stuff and hindsight is such a marvelous thing.

The truth is though, when we are caught up in an emotional roller coaster such as separation, it is very hard to step aside and give emotionally to others, even our children. It takes every bit of emotional energy to get through each day. I know I didn't totally abandon my boys because in the end, despite lots of rocky roads, the three of us have ended up in a pretty good place. We are close, they are loving and we talk to each other a lot. Sometimes when we fight they will both remind me of times when I did let them down, when I wasn't the mother I should have been and each time I feel a knife slicing straight through my heart.

Kids are resilient in some ways, they get through the tough times just like adults do, because there is no other choice. But the stuff that really stays with them are the hurts caused by their parents - the times we weren't there to give the love they so desperately wanted. From the perspective of a child a parent is their world. The person who made them. The person who should be there unconditionally for them. The person they love the most in this world. To a parent our child is someone we love more than anyone ... but despite this love, and the pedestal our child has put us on, we can't be that wonderful being they think we are. We all have our own stuff going on and we can't always be their everything, despite our very best of intentions.

Being a parent is truly the hardest job in the world which you don't need a degree for. Sometimes I think a psychology degree should almost be mandatory. But then again ... maybe not.

Find the path that leads to a rainbow ...

2011-05-29T18:25:00.000+10:00

I can't believe it has been so long since I sat down at my blog and wrote a post.

I am still overwhelmed by the reaction to my Richard Fidler Conversation. Almost daily I am still receiving emails from people who have listened to it. I am still in the process of replying to each and every one. It is taking longer that I expected. I needed some time to distance myself a little from the emotion that came with doing it. It still is one of the best things I have ever done. I have helped so many people and for that it was worth it. Totally.

Since that interview, I have also started a new job. Me, the person who boldly stated that she would never work for anyone ever again. Uh huh. I really did say that. After spending the last six years working for myself, choosing my own hours and being able to socialise whenever I liked, I have now gone back to working full time at a place where I cannot leave until my shift is over. The most amazing thing is I LOVE IT.

Last year I finally realised that working for myself was having the opposite affect on my life. Rather than it being a way I could work my own hours and be here for my kids, it had beome a burden. I wasn't working as hard as I should during the day, which meant my nights were filled with guilt as I sat and tweeted while putting off doing the work I should have been doing during the day. Weekends were filled with much of the same. I felt like I wasn't having any down time. I felt guilty every time I saw my desk weighed down by the work files piling up on it. Not to mention the fact that our bank account wasn't going up.

I could have worked harder during the day and my problem would have been easily solved. Unfortunately I had totally lost my enthusiasm for my work. I'm not sure I really ever had it, but the flexibility was a big draw card. As time went on and the flexibility became less of a necessity and more of luxury, the gloss dulled and my mojo totally faded.

In December I decided it was time to make some changes I had been doing some work for a Brisbane radio station for a number of years ... nothing major, just a regular on air segment. Over the years I had learnt a bit about making radio and wished that I had been a radio producer when I was younger. It was never a role I'd ever thought about back then. After some pushing by a couple of lovely friends I went into my radio station and told them I was looking for work and if something came up that might suit me I'd like to be considered. I really didn't think I'd have a chance at producing because I am not a journalist.

As it turned out, I did have a chance at producing. I was asked to sit in on a few shifts and I was given a fill in role over Christmas, during which time floods, cyclones and earthquakes hit our world. It was a baptism of fire for me as a producer. I survived. A role came up to produce the Afternoon show on 4BC and I was asked if I was interested. I was. I am now that producer.

I am loving it. I am learning so much and having so much fun. I am totally aware of how lucky I am to be in this position. Granted I didn't get the role by pure luck ... I did have to prove that I had the skills. But I do know that I am lucky to have already had a foot in the door. I feel so blessed and so fortunate that I have been given a chance to totally change careers at this stage in my life.

What it shows me is that it is never too late to change your path in life. There is no point sticking on a path that has a dead end. Get off it and find one that leads to a rainbow. It is so worth it.

A Conversation I Never Thought I'd Have

2011-05-01T22:14:00.000+10:00

On Thursday I had the absolute pleasure of being Richard Fidler's guest on Conversations. It was such an honour to be interviewed by the man I have always called the "Andrew Denton" of radio. In my humble opinion both Richard Fidler and Andrew Denton are the two best interviewers Australia has ever produced.

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I often hear the Conversations music sting and it always makes me wonder what interesting person he is going to be speaking to. I never in a million years thought I'd be sitting across from him, in the studio, waiting for the music to stop so he could talk to me. Me?

The topic of the Conversation was "Living with Anxiety" and a side issue, which really isn't a side issue in the scheme of life, "Child Sexual Abuse". It was never going to be a light hearted chat and I was always going to be nervous about it. I do suffer from anxiety, so that is a given.

If you heard the interview, you would know I did need to prepare well in advance to minimise any chance of having an attack, either on the way or in the studio. When I arrived I was nervous, but not out of control. Pam O'Brien, Richard's producer, is the warmest, loveliest person you could ever meet. She made me feel so comfortable and I felt like I'd known her for years. In some ways perhaps I did. Just a week before we had a long and intense discussion covering the events of my life. She probably knows more about me now than most people do. Richard also came out and sat with me on the couch (this would be the equivalent to the "green room" we often hear about). We chatted and he put me at ease. This was so important and one of the reasons he is the best. I don't think you can conduct an intimate interview with someone without meeting them beforehand.

When we went into the studio I must admit I got a new wave of nervousness. It wasn't particularly small, but it was closed off with one exit. Now I was sitting near the door, which for me is a prerequisite. However, it's not like I can just jump up and run out mid interview is it? We were live on air, not just in Brisbane but in other states as well. That was the very one thing that worried me the most about the interview. There was no escape. Or was there? When I told Richard my concerns, he told me I always had an out. If I needed to go at any time I could just get up and leave. He would ensure the show would go on and no one would know. If it wasn't so inappropriate, I would have jumped across the desk and kissed him at that moment. The instant relief I felt was indescribable. For the past week, ever since I found out the interview was live, I'd been making myself ill about the inability to escape.

We then talked about the interview and Richard briefed me on the areas he was going to talk about and whether I was comfortable or not. We made a couple of adjustments and we were ready to roll. The Conversations music started and there was no turning back.

It went smoothly and Richard was amazing. I never once felt uncomfortable and he interviewed me with style and compassion. When I spoke he moved away from his microphone and looked at me and really listened. He cared and he empathised. This, my friends, is why Richard Fidler is so good at what he does.

My best friend told me she could tell he was listening intently and that he wasn't waiting to read out his next question. He took the interview where it needed to go because he listened. Good interviewing isn't something you can do because you have a list of questions and you've done a bit of research. You have to care. You have to want to know what the person has to say, and most importantly you have to listen. Richard Fidler does all this in spades.

I never intended this post to be a testimonial to Richard Fidler, however, as often happens when I sit down to write, my original intentions change once I get going.

I have received so many touching emails from people who listened to my interview. This has humbled me so much and is exactly the reason I agreed to talk about these issues. Later in the week, after I've responded to every email, I will write some more about this.

If you want to hear my Conversation, you can listen here

Irony & Anxiety

2011-04-28T06:24:00.000+10:00

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On 5 March 2011, I wrote a post here about living with my anxiety. The response to this post was extraordinary. I was overwhelmed with emails and DMs on Twitter. It truly highlighted to me just how many people are living with anxiety and how many people are too embarrassed to speak about it. It reminded me of how alone I felt when I was in the thick of it all.

Today, as a result of that post, I am Richard Fidler's guest on "Conversations" on ABC radio. We will be talking about living with anxiety.

Ironically I am experiencing heightened anxiety this morning!! Trying to remind myself this is normal "anxiety" I am feeling. Breathe.

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The art of doing nothing ... have we lost it?

2011-04-25T09:19:00.002+10:00

When did you last see someone sitting and doing absolutely nothing?

Yesterday as we were driving into the city I noticed the people at bus stops busily typing on their mobile phones. Not a single person was sitting and doing nothing while they waited. This got me thinking. When do people let their minds out for a wander these days? A pure unadulterated wander with no purpose? I'm thinking the only place this happens is in the shower. I am totally guilty of this. My "thinking" time has now been replaced with tweeting and SMS'ing and emailing. Until they make a shower proof mobile, the shower is the last bastion of nothingness for me.

Doing nothing seems to be a dying art. This scares me, a lot. What if people like Einstein and Leonardo Da Vinci didn't have thinking time? Do you think they would have been as clever as they were? Would they have sat and imagined the things they did if they were constantly typing on their iPhone or watching television? What would our world be like today if these amazingly clever people were constantly plugged into something other than their imagination?

I grew up in the country. We had two television stations, one black and white television, no telephone, no computer ... often there were endless days of doing nothing. I recall many a day doing nothing but lying on my bed and thinking. I would think about endless things. How big will my boobs grow? Who I was going to marry? What would I be when I grew up? Who my real mother was? Would look more attractive with braces? How would I make the boy up the road notice me? Why aren't my boobs growing faster? When will I have my first kiss?

Some days I would climb a tree with nothing but a book. I would read and then I would just sit. I'd look around and imagine things. I'd imagine what it would be like to live in a different family. I would imagine that perhaps I was the daughter of a princess. I would imagine what life would be like if I was richer, more beautiful, more popular. Other times I would just sit there and think of nothing while watching everything going on around the neighbourhood.

I have two teenage boys. They are always connected to something. An iPhone, a computer, an iPod or the telephone. There is always a television or a radio on. They never sit in the bliss of absolute nothingness. They would not find this blissful. They would find it disconcerting. They would be anxious. They would be looking for something to quickly connect to. It makes me sad. It makes me wonder what they could be if they had time to use their imaginations.

When they were younger they had plenty of time to use their imaginations. They played with toys and played games with each other outside that involved thinking and improvising. That seems like a long time ago now. From the time they were ten this new digital age had arrived and all of a sudden they never had to improvise again. They became plugged in. I feel like I've let them down somewhat. I should have been stricter with their online time. I should have encouraged more book reading. I shouldn't have let them have a television in their bedroom. Hindsight is a wonderful thing.

Do you ever stop and wonder where is this digital age taking us? What will become of books? Will the new generation have an imagination? Will there be the wonderful storytellers of this generation and previous generations? Will there be a Jane Austen of the 21st Century? Will someone from Generation Z have an imagination big enough to write wonderful books? Will there be whimsy? Will there ever be another Enid Blyton?

What do you think?

The Book of Me

2011-04-20T19:58:00.000+10:00

So, today I had an interview. Not a job interview, but an interview about me. An interview that started with when I was a little girl and finished with now. At the start of this interview I recall thinking how boring it was going to be. I don't have a story to tell. I'm not famous. I didn't climb Mt Everest. I've never saved a small village in Africa. I am quite boring. Just an average person.

Not so.

As I started tellling my story I realised just how complex a single life can be. So many aspects of my life forgotten in the every day rush. It wasn't until the "probing" started that I remembered things I hadn't thought about in years. Things that make up the very essence of me. Things that I perhaps wanted to forget once. Things that I now realise I don't want to forget. These things are me. These things define who I am, where I've come from and where I'm going.

Every single one of us is a book filled with stories. Some short, some long. Some funny, some sad. Some simple, some complex.

My book would fall under the genre of Epic Drama (I've created a new genre for my book) and it would be written by Jackie Collins and Jodi Piccoult.

What genre would your book fall under and who would write it?

Fat Pig - Weekend Rewind

2011-04-15T20:33:00.001+10:00

This post is part of the Weekend Rewind over at Al Tait's blog Life in a Pink Fibro. The theme this weekend is "waiting". I didn't really have a post about waiting - but I do have one about "weight". Close enough?

Original post was written on 23 June 2010 and can also be viewed at my old blog here with comments.

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Last night I went to the Queensland Theatre Company to see Fat Pig. To be honest I'd never heard of it. Horribly offensive title too. Perhaps I live in a cultural void, because my friends were surprised I'd not read about it. I'm glad they heard of it and I'm glad they invited me along. What a great play. Very thought provoking and indeed has prompted this post. Thanks to the Queensland Theatre Company I have provided a snapshot of the play below, just in case, you, like me, have no idea what I'm talking about!

Fat Pig By Neil LaBute

When Tom meets Helen in a crowded restaurant, their chance encounter soon develops into a full-blown romance. Helen is beautiful, smart, funny and just a little on the large size. But to Tom’s self-obsessed work buddies, she’s just plain gross.

I won't talk about the play, per se, just in case you want to go and see it. However I can talk about the theme of it. Essentially it highlights how judgemental we can be of a person because of their size. Let's face it, thin, perfectly toned bodies are what we all envy. A beautifully sculptured male or female body is very pleasing to the eye. We all want one. Truth is most of us won't ever get one. Some of us may have had one in the past, some of us may be working towards one for now, but many of us will never even get close.

Anything that is aesthetically pleasing will always get the most attention. We are geared to be attracted to beautiful things. People, art, scenery, animals, and even food - beauty is enticing no matter who we are. The amazingly wonderful thing about us is we are designed so that beauty can mean different things to different people. Beauty truly is in the eye of the beholder.

Same goes for the people we are attracted to. We are all attracted to a certain type of person and this varies for everyone. This is the way we are made - if we were all attracted to the same type of person our species would be in serious trouble.

I am going to talk about weight now and I'm going to use the term "fat". I'm not using it to be derogatory, offensive or politically incorrect. I'm merely using it as my word of choice for this post. Fat is fat. I can say overweight, large, big boned, horizontally challenged, full figured but I prefer to say fat. I am fat. I have fat. I have fat I don't like. Fat has become part of me. My stomach is fat. My boobs are fat (they are big but lets be honest - much of it is fat), the top of my arms are fat - they wobble. I don't really like my fat, but its part of me. Body fat is defined as - body mass not made up of bones, muscles, organs or water. I wasn't always fat and most people would say I'm not fat now - perhaps a bit overweight? Whatever. It's still fat.

It has been my experience that "most" people are not attracted to fat people. Most people don't really like fat on themselves. Fat seems to conjour up feelings of grossness and disgust in many people. There are however people out there who love the fuller figure, who prefer their partners to be rounder and cuddlier. These people rock!

Fat however is also unhealthy in excess. I know I worry that I have too much fat around my heart. I'm 47, I could have a heart attack. I know how to lose weight. I understand nutrition, I understand metabolism, I understand exercise. So, why am I fat? Why are most people who are fat, still fat? We all know this stuff.

I'm going to look at this differently. I'm going to say I like fat. Fat is comforting. Fat keeps me warm. Fat feels nice to cuddle. Fat makes wrinkles less obvious. Fat means I don't have to count calories if I am happy with it. Does this seem odd? It feels odd writing it. I'm thinking I wish I could think this way. Why don't I? Only thing stopping me is society. The way we view "fat".

Why are we so obsessed with fat? I know I am. Probably less so as I get older, but I am guilty of judging others for being fat. If I saw a fat lady and an attractive well groomed thinner lady coming towards me on the bus - I'm going to hope the fat lady sits somewhere else. Why? Because she's fat? Probably. It's how we think. My initial thoughts are "how disgusting, how can she let herself get like that?". I hope she doesn't sit next to me because she'll spill into my seat, she'll huff and puff and she'll just annoy me. That's so wrong. But, if we are really honest here, most of us do it. We shouldn't, but we do. We have no right to judge, we don't know what her life is about. We don't know if she finds comfort in her food, we don't know if she finds comfort in her fat. Perhaps her fat is a protection for her? Perhaps she was sexually abused when she was thinner, more attractive, and perhaps the fat is her protective barrier against abuse?

The play I saw last night was about a fat girl. She was fat. She was beautiful. She was funny. She was lovely. She was a nice person. She fell in love with a cute guy who wasn't fat. He fell in love with her. His friends were not fat. His friends were judgemental. His friends were nasty. His friends were obsessed with themselves and their looks. His friends were shallow. His friends, unfortunately, were many of us, taken to the extreme of course. But nonetheless I saw elements of me in these nasty people. I saw elements of my friends, my family, people I love.

As we left the play, one of these said friends said "Wow, that made me think about how awful I am sometimes. I'm going to think about what I say and how I think." Now I know that I felt the same way. I also know that we are not truly going to change, because inherently we are all judgemental to some degree. It is part of our make up. I guess it's use is to keep us striving to be better people. I know I am less judgemental as I get older, but it is still there.

Body image can cause so many problems in life. I've had friends who have been anorexic and bulimic, I never understood why - they were beautiful. I have fat friends who I love dearly, but they have self esteem issues because of this. I had a husband who would have left me if I got fat. True. He would have. Luckily I left him first. Boooyeah!!!

The reason I have used the word "FAT" so much throughout this post is to highlight how much we let a very small word define so many things about so many people. Let's not. Let's not let words like fat, skinny, ugly, beautiful define us as humans.

Amy Ingram is a fine actor. Amy Ingram is beautiful. She is funny. She is kind. She is smart. She is someone I would like to have as a friend. I don't need to describe her size to define her. Yet, we mostly do. I wish we didn't.

How would you describe yourself? Do you always add your size/shape in your description?

My Glass is Half Full

2011-04-14T13:05:00.001+10:00

Today I received an email from someone who said I appear to be a "glass half full kind of person". They are so right. It reminded of a post I wrote for the lovely Sass over at Life of Bees and I thought I'd use it here today. I've made a few changes to it so it reflects me right now.

What makes me happy today?

My first thoughts are the usual suspects; my kids, my fiancé, my dog, pretty flowers, chocolate and so on.

As I sit here thinking about happiness and adding more things to my list, I realise those same things on my “happy list” can also make me sad, angry, frustrated and a myriad of other emotions. As can so many other things in my life. Twitter for example, makes me happy, but it can also make me sad, frustrated and sometimes angry. You can apply the same to my kids, my fiance and even my dog!

The more I think about this I realise that “I” am solely responsible for my own happiness. The people and things on my “happy” list can either enhance or take away my happiness, but alone they don’t define my happiness.

I am basically a happy person. I’m a glass half full kind of girl. When things get me down I don’t stay there long. Of course I like a good wallow and can do it like the best of them, but I find wallowing in the empty half of the glass so very draining. For me, being unhappy, melancholy, angry or depressed takes a lot more energy than being upbeat.

Life has thrown me plenty of curveballs, however it has also thrown me plenty of “amazeballs” (thanks Sarah P for this word) and will continue to do so. I live by the premise that life is full of highs and lows and somewhere to rest in between.

Life can’t be perfect and sparkly all the time, if it was we would take happiness for granted. Remember the movie The Truman Show with Jim Carrey? How boring was that perfect life – same thing day in and day out? I love my life. I love where it has taken me and where it is still taking me. I am blessed to have so much and I am also blessed to have so little. I have a balance. I have enough good to make me realise how lucky I am and I have enough bad to keep me real.

Life is what makes me happy, and, the things below on my happy list add some additional “sparkly” to the life I love.

Photo by: jamie84

My Happy List J

My two boys

My dog Sammy

My friends (IRL and Online)

My books

Writing

My laptop, iPad, Blackberry, the Internet, Twitter ... all things interwebz & techy

Perfume

Flowers

Autumn

Smell of fresh cut grass

Smell of babies and puppies

The sound of children laughing

Yoga

Warm sun on my skin on a cold day

The beach

Music

Sleeping

Photo by: aida_1982

What's on your happy list?

Annie

YOU CAN'T ROLL BACK, JESUS

2011-03-29T21:55:00.001+10:00

I have teenage boys. Two of them. I love them to pieces. Truly I do. They are both on their "L's" right now. I don't love that. Not. One. Little. Bit. No siree.

Mr 18 is almost ready to get his licence. His driving is very good, if not a tad fast. The first few times out were scary, or so I thought at the time, but in comparison to Mr 17, not even a 1 on the Fear Factor scale.

Mr 17 ... where do I start? Could it go right back to when he was a little boy and not really having terrific hand eye co-ordination when it came to ball sports? Could it be the fact that he has no idea of which way is right or left? Perhaps it's got something to do with the fact that he has no idea of direction, as in he still thinks Sydney is "up" from Brisbane?

I've taken Mr 17 out a total of 4 times now. The first time we went to a little estate where there are only 2 houses. Unfortunately there were builders building the 3rd house right where we wanted to practice. It was horrendous. We kangaroo hopped 75 percent of the time and the other 25 percent was spent with me screaming and grabbing the steering wheel as he lurched towards the cement drain surrounds. That lesson lasted 10 minutes before we both melted down.

A month or so later we tried again. One lovely Sunday afternoon we decided to drive around the streets of our suburb in my step daughter's "automatic" to give him the "feel" for steering etc. I was prepared for a relaxing little drive. OMG this so didn't happen. We leave the driveway and within 3 metres we almost take out the side mirror of the neighbours car across the road. I gain composure and put my "shrill" voice back inside and we continue down the road. We live at the top of a hill. It is usually expected that you will use the brake on the way down the hill and apply serious pressure at the bottom. Not my Mr 17. I scream "brakes, use the goddam brakes!!!!!" We kind of stop and head around the corner. Thankfully it was a quiet Sunday afternoon.

May I remind you that I suffer from anxiety. The bad kind. The debilitating kind. It comes on in cars. Yes, that's right. In cars.

This particular "lesson" lasts around an hour and by the end of it he didn't take out any side mirrors, but I can tell you it was a miracle he didn't. I have never closed my eyes and screamed in a car so much ever. It was like being on a roller coaster, except it was flat.

The following day I was feeling a tad demented - I think as a result of the day before - and I agreed to let him drive my manual in the estate we visited on our first attempt. I was demented. Truly. We kangaroo along a bit and he gets the feel for the gears and the clutch and he's not doing too bad. Did I mention that he's not that good at doing two things at once? No? Oh well, there's that. So the gear changing is working a treat, shame about the steering. He totally wipes out my wheel on a cement drain - things break and crack. I possibly say the F Word and he says "it's not my fault". Needless to say the lesson ended right then.

Enter "Mike" the driving instructor. He has been Mr 17's driving companion for past 4 attempts.

This brings me to our little jaunt tonight. "Mum I've had a few lessons now and I'm pretty good. Can I drive to my girlfriend's house?". I may have been feeling a tad demented again, I did have weetbix for dinner, so possibly my brain hadn't had enough protein. I said yes.

His girlfriend lives in our suburb. I'm dressed in my Peter Alexander slip nightie - and not much else. I grab the keys and off we go. I didn't grab anything else, not even shoes. I told you I was a tad demented.

We kind of start off rocky - he swears its because he's trying to show me how good he is and he's nervous. We get to a stop sign on a small hill. Crap. Hill start. He rest assures me it's all good - he learned them today. We have a few false starts - that's ok - hill starts are hard. I don't mind him practicing. That is until a car comes up behind us. All of a sudden it is Game On. "You can't roll back, ok?" I say. He looks at me like I am speaking a foreign language. He tries again. He rolls back. I scream and grab at hand brake. "YOU CAN'T roll back OK?" I think he mutters something like Fuck. He tries again. He rolls back. I scream hysterically. "YOU CAN'T ROLL BACK, JESUS". Sometimes in these type of situations I like to call my kids holy names. It helps. I think he says Fuck again. This scenario plays out for at least another 5 minutes. Car is still sitting behind us - thankfully inching further and further back.

After the last attempt, Mr 17 says "Um mum I think you better do this." I look at him and say "do you see what I'm wearing?" He laughs. I get out of the car, walk around the back of the car, mouth "I'm sorry" to the driver and hope he's not looking at my nightie and also hoping it's not see through with his headlights shining on me!!! Mr 17 - does not get out - he slides over.

He decides he's had enough driving lessons for one day.

I've had enough for ever.

Picture credit: http://rightamerican.wordpress.com/2009/11/17/liberty-is-not-for-sissies/

Finding my tribe

2011-03-22T21:12:00.000+10:00

We've been to the conference and now we are all basking in the afterglow. And what an afterglow it is. Bloggers and tweeters all in one room, all day long with no one to give us that stern "you are really doing something inappropriate" look when we tweet at the table. No one. We all tweeted. All. Day. Long.

It was amazing. I met some of my favourite bloggers. In a beautiful moment I clunked glasses (the facial ones) with my idol. I sat next to my girl crush for breakfast. I roomed with someone who is fast becoming one of my close friends. I hugged and cried with a lovely friend who is now on a road I once traveled. I met some of my most favourite twitter friends. I hung out with some of the coolest people on the blogging and twitter block. The weekend rocked. Big. Time.

I've been reading the posts about the conference and it seems almost everyone is feeling the same way. I did not expect to come back from the conference and not be able to stop thinking about all the wonderful people I met. I did not expect to be so familiar with people I've never met face to face. I did not expect to feel so comfortable with these people. I did not expect to fit in so well.

At my age I certainly didn't expect to be so excited about finding a group of people who I could spend hours with and it never be enough time. At this age I expected that the majority of my close friends have already been made. I was wrong. I can't remember feeling this way about new friends since I was at high school, when I found my first real tribe*.

Since that first tribe I have made work friends, mum friends and other friends who might have started off as friends of friends. Some of those friends have gone on to become part of my close group of friends and some have moved on to be friends with other people.

This phenomenon called Twitter has given me the chance to find like minded people pursuing very similar dreams. These people, these new friends, this new tribe aren't my friends because our kids are friends or we work on canteen together. We don't work in the same office and have to get on. We don't live next door to each other and have forged a friendship over the back fence. We mostly met on Twitter. We have been speaking for 12 months or less in tiny 140 character snippets. We have connected through reading blog posts where we bare our souls or make each other laugh at the similarities in our lives. We share parts of ourselves we don't always share with our other friends. We sometimes show our weaknesses. We often show our strengths. Mostly we aren't judged. We are accepted for who we are. We seem to gravitate to those who are most like us. Twitter has a way of finding Tribes.

There were around 170 bloggers at the conference. I didn't meet everyone. I don't believe anyone met every single person there. I noticed there were little groups forming. We were all gravitating to our Twitter Tribes. The people we have the most in common with. The people we connect with. The people we know so well before we actually meet them. I didn't find this cliquey. I found this normal. It felt right.

My tribe is not complete yet. There are still some people I have met on Twitter who I know are part of my tribe, yet I've not met them in real life. I will one day and I will feel like I have known them forever. Just how I feel now about all the people I met at the Bloggers Conference and those I have met here in Brisbane.

What a rare and wonderful surprise this has been. Who would have thought it possible?

* Tribe is a wonderful word for a group of friends made popular by the beautiful and talented writer Rebecca Sparrow, who I am so happy to say is part of my tribe :)

Today my Cranky Pants unnerved me

2011-03-05T23:11:00.002+10:00

Today I had my cranky pants on and for no real apparent reason. Sure we had a busy day, which included an unplanned visit to the Emergency Ward of the Royal Brisbane Hospital. Nothing serious and all was ok. However despite all of this, I don't believe it was totally the unplanned chaos of the day that had me snarky. I couldn't put my finger on it, but whatever it was, I was out of control. I wasn't my usual calm rational self. I felt like something else was taking me over. Invading my being. I didn't like it. One. Little. Bit.

It made me remember a time 14 years ago when something did take over my being. When I wasn't myself. When I lost control. A time where my world caved in and the person I am today did not exist.

I was married and had two small children. I worked part time, had a lovely home, fantastic friends and a good life ... on the surface. To everyone looking in I probably had a perfect life. In some ways they were right. In some ways it was ideal. In other ways, the important ways, it was not.

I can't remember exactly when my anxiety started or what triggered it. I can't remember when I started feeling different. I can, however, remember the first time it started taking over my life.

On the days I worked, we would drop the children at my mother in law's home and drive to the City. One day as we were driving I felt hot and clammy and my breathing pattern changed. My stomach started gurgling and it felt like everything inside me was melting. I needed to find a toilet immediately. This was not so easy in peak hour traffic.

I was light headed. My face was perspiring. I was about to have a major meltdown - in more ways than one. We were approaching a factory and I literally jumped out of the car (remember it was peak hour so we weren't moving too fast here). I ran to the door and rang the buzzer and begged the lady to let me use her bathroom. She did. I survived. I was lucky. My husband managed to pull over down the road a way and I made it back to the car and we went to work and believed I had forgotten about it. No big deal. These things happen. Once.

The next week, we were driving to work again. I felt strange in the car. I started paying attention to my stomach and started thinking about where I might find emergency toilets. As we approached the factory from the week before, I felt my stomach contents melting again. I felt hot and sick. I felt light headed. I didn't want the same thing to happen so I "willed" it away". We drove past the factory and it hit me again - twice as bad. My safety zone had passed. I was stuck in the car, in traffic with nowhere to go. I started hyperventilating and begging my husband to find me a toilet. In the end we remembered a good friend who lived a few minutes away and went to his place. Again I ran in and just made it. This time I was really rattled. I felt different. What was happening to me?

From that day onward, the mere thought of going in the car caused my stomach contents to melt. I would have to go to the toilet numerous times before we left home. I would then stop at almost every suburb on the way to my destination to use a public facility. This behaviour started dominating my life.

I bought some books about anxiety. They described panic attacks as something akin to a heart attack, except it wasn't your heart. The books said that you could breathe through a panic attack. You would be ok. You wouldn't die. The worst thing that could happen was you embarrassed yourself a little, but ultimately you wouldn't die. I finally found one book that described my symptoms. It said that almost never did the worst case scenario eventuate. I held on to that thought.

It helped me for the next few weeks. Until, the worst case scenario did play out. I'm not going to go into detail, but needless to say on this one occasion I didn't make it. I was on my way to work. I was not in the car. It was all kinds of awful.

I called my doctor from work and told her I needed to see her. Urgently. They squeezed me in. I had to walk there. I made a mud map of every building and toilet from my office to the surgery. It was only three blocks. I stopped three times. By the time I got there I was pale, shaky and apparently a little incoherent. I don't recall much of the appointment. She gave me a piece of paper with the word "Imodium" written on it and I vaguely remember her telling me I might need some anti depressants. I believe she also gave me something to settle me down.

My memory of the rest of that day is vague. The next morning I woke to find I had a dark cloud shrouding my entire body. I felt smothered. I couldn't stop crying. My husband was annoyed. He wanted to go into the city to buy some shoes. I wasn't making any sense. He called his parents and they came and picked him and the kids up and went shoe shopping.

They.left.me.at.home.alone.

I was falling apart. I felt like I couldn't escape from my thoughts. I felt like I could no longer function in society. I was so scared. I called my neighbour in tears and she came and took me up to her home, where I stayed until my family came home. I don't remember much about what I did or said.

My family came back and my husband reminded me that our close friends (2 couples) were coming for dinner. I remember crying and telling him that I couldn't deal with that. He told me I should pull myself together and stop being stupid.

Our friends came to dinner. I don't remember much of it. I think I cooked, I think they helped. I think I was sociable. I have no idea.

The next day was worse. I couldn't function. I couldn't look after the children. He called his mother. She told me to "pull myself together" and that I was being ridiculous.

Monday came. I had to take my eldest child to school. After seven attempts to leave the house I gave up. I called my mother in law. She came and took me to see her doctor. He prescribed strong antidepressants used to treat anxiety. He said I was close to a nervous breakdown. The family became a little more supportive at this point.

The medication eventually helped. The first few days were hell and I felt like I was going further over the edge, then one day I woke up and the black cloud was gone. I felt different, but better.

For the next 11 years I battled the demons of anxiety. I didn't want to remain on medication because it altered me so much. It took away my creativeness. It took away my ability to feel strong emotion. It made me numb. I was on a roller coaster of being medicated, coming off, being ok, then falling again.

My psychiartrist explained that I was not a failure for having to take medication. I always thought I was. I was made to feel like I was. She explained that my anxiety was a "medical" condition and not a "mental" problem. She used the analogies that if I had diabetes I would have to take insulin. If I was an epileptic I would need medication. If I had heart problems I would need medication. This helped, somewhat.

I eventually left my marriage. I truly believed this would ultimately rid me of my anxiety. It didn't. My anxiety had become me. I learnt to co-exist with it. I had put in place some odd behaviours that helped me cope. That stopped me being in a position where I might have a panic attack. I always drove alone (other than with the kids). I was never a passenger. I always sat near a door. I always sat on the aisle seat. I always needed a quick escape. I never went anywhere there wasn't a toilet facility. If I had to leave the house in the morning I wouldn't eat until I reached my destination. I kind of managed.

My life settled down. I met a wonderful man who loves me and allows me to be me. He gives me courage and makes me feel good about myself. I thought if I had love my anxiety would disappear. It didn't. For the first few years of our relationship my anxiety was a constant companion. I tried to manage it without medication and failed. I eventually went back on it for a few years. Again, I couldn't tolerate how it made me feel and stopped taking it. The weaning off symptoms were horrendous and that last time I swore I would never take that drug again. I was not going to fail again. That was seven years ago.

A few years ago I tried hypnotherapy and this was the turning point. I was bordering on going back down the medication path and wanted to try anything I could to prolong this. I had heard good things about hypnotherapy. I had a number of sessions as well as listening to a CD every night. For the first time in a long time I felt like I might have found the cure. It all went well until I caught a stomach bug and "almost" got caught in the car again. That one moment brought the entire house of cards down and I was there again. Face to face with my old mate anxiety.

The difference this time was I felt stronger. I was a bit anxious for a couple of days and made sure I listened to my Hypnotherapy CD more often. I started to feel better. My mind was working with me, not against me. I was able to calm down. I also started carrying Imodium tablets in my bag, along with some Valium. I had been given Valium for some dental work and noticed that within minutes of taking it the nervous, anxious feeling in my stomach had totally disappeared.

That was 3 years ago now. I still carry Imodium and Valium in my handbag. I have had to use it four times. The last time was 2 years ago. I do not take any medication for anxiety and haven't now for 5 years. I no longer have any strange rituals such as planning my journey via the route with the most toilets or not eating until I reach my destination. I still however, sit in aisle seats and near doors, but I do drive with others and I am happy to be a passenger in a car.

I don’t believe any one thing has cured me. In fact, I am not cured. I don’t believe anxiety can be “cured”. It can only be managed. For me it has been a process of learning, self acceptance, self worth, hypnosis, mind games and the ability to relax. I no longer fear my anxiety, I accept it.

Anxiety is no longer the boss of me. I feel like I am in charge of it these days. I don't doubt that it will challenge me for the leadership again, and it may win, temporarily. But I do know one thing, whilst it may win for a short time, it won't stay in power for very long. This I know for sure.

Weekend Rewind - The Narcissistic Blogger

2011-03-05T20:37:00.001+10:00

It's that time of the week again. The fabulous Weekend Rewind over at Life In A Pink Fibro. Last August I wrote this blog about blogging. Not too much has changed. I'm still trying to get into the groove of regular blogging and I'm still narcissistic about my stats and comments. I was hoping it would lessen, but I don't think it has. If you want to read the awesome comments I received first time round, you will need to click here for the original post. Thanks again Al - the weekend rewind ROCKS!

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I am reasonably new to blogging. Like Twitter, I started both around April this year. I have met so many bloggers through Twitter, and to be totally honest, I am somewhat intimidated at times. These people are good. Their posts sing. I love reading them and connecting with them. I am in awe of their ability to write an interesting post almost daily. I haven't been able to master that yet. I might get two done in a week and I think on the odd occasion I have written three. But daily? I'm not sure I have anything interesting enough to say that would make people visit my blog each day.

Blogging has opened up a whole new world for me. I am finally able to write and have other people read my writing. That feels good. One thing I have learned is that I love sharing my writing with others. I love seeing my blog stats go up. I love comments. I love comments particularly when someone tells me my post has helped them, or it resonated with them. This is what makes my heart sing.

For as long as I can remember I have written. Mostly my thoughts. When I'm at my angsty best I can write pages and pages of words pouring directly from my heart. When I read them years later I can almost feel my heart bleeding onto the page. I sometimes don't believe they are words that I've written. But they are. It is my handwriting after all.

The scary thing I find with writing is that it brings out some narcissistic traits that I wasn't aware I had. I become obsessed with people reading my writing. I constantly check my blog stats. I mean constantly. I become frantic, constantly hitting the refresh key. I hope other bloggers do this, because if they don't I'm definitely in serious need of a life, or medication! I also hope I grow out of this habit. The constant refreshing ... not the medication habit. I like that one.

I want my readers to comment. I love hearing people telling me that my post meant something to them. When someone tells me my writing is good my tummy literally tingles. The very beautiful Lisa Reynolds told me my writing was like and old friend. That gave me a glow that stayed with me for days.

On the other hand, if my comment count is low I start to feel that perhaps I am a bad writer. That my posts don't move my readers enough to write a comment. I start to lose confidence in my writing. I start to panic. I look at blogs written by my idol bloggers and see their comment count and go back to mine and feel failure setting in. I tweet my blog in earnest hoping more people will read. It becomes frantic. It really is madness. This feeling lasts for a couple of hours. After a while I pull myself together and let it go.

These feelings make me question why I write. Should I write for me or should I write for others? I find this question difficult to answer. In the first instance I believe I should write for me. I should write because I enjoy it. Because it makes my heart sing. I enjoy crafting a sentence. I enjoy taking thoughts from my head and putting them onto the screen. I enjoy reading them back. I enjoy changing the words around. I enjoy writing. This is a good thing. Would I enjoy writing if no one ever read my writing? I'm not sure I would. Like any artist, I like people to view my craft. It is human nature. Am I an artist yet? Would I say I'm a writer yet? Not yet. I'm still working on it.

Prior to blogging, the majority of writing I have done has been angsty writing. The type of stuff you write when your heart is breaking and when you need to understand your feelings. Private writing. Journal writing.

In addition to writing for myself, I choose to write now because I do want others to read it. I want to share the things I think about. I want people to read what I have written and nod their head in agreement or even shake their heads in disagreement. I want my writing to make people reach back into the dark recesses of their minds and hearts and feel a kinship with me. I want them to sigh with relief that they are not the only person to feel the same way. I want to inspire people. I want them to smile. I want them to laugh. I want them to cry. I want my writing to move people. I really do.

I have been lucky with my blog writing so far in that I've never had a negative comment nor a troll visit my blog. For this I am very grateful. I know that it is only a matter of time before they rear their ugly heads. Am I ready for them? I don't know. I think I will feel a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach and I will momentarily question whether I want to keep blogging. I know that I will move on and keep writing. I've found my writing groove and I want to keep it going. Hear that trolls? You don't really scare me, but, I would appreciate you staying away. Thanks.

So, now that I've shared my reasons for blogging and the crazy things I do to feed my ego after I've blogged, I would like to ask you, my lovely reader to share something with me. The very gorgeous A-M over at The House that A-M Built wrote a post this week where she asked her readers to say hi. To identify themselves so she knew just who was coming to her blog to read about her life and her house. I loved this idea for two reasons.

Firstly, I would love to know just who stops by my blog. I'm nosy like that. And secondly, it's that ego thing - I'd like to get loads of comments. I'm being honest. Us bloggers really do love comments. It is a buzz. So please, say hi and introduce yourself. Put a link to your blog in your comment and I'll make sure I come over and say Hi to you.

It's not my place to judge ...

2011-02-25T08:09:00.001+10:00

Last week I attended a funeral. As far as funerals go it wasn't overly sad. The gentleman who passed away was in his 70's and was suffering Parkinson's Disease, so his passing was probably welcome by him. He had lived a full life.

I met this man a while back, he's a relative of my Fiancé. He started coming to visit me on Tuesdays while I was caring for my Mother In Law (who has Alzheimer's). He was incredibly lonely. Living with his 9 year old German Shepherd, who was also aging and not well. The last time he came to visit me, before Christmas, he was looking tired. He was sad that he might have to put his beloved dog down. He was sad because he was so lonely. He was sad because he didn't have any grand children, nor a close relationship with his only daughter. He was tired of being alive.He was desperate to find a woman to spend the rest of his years with. Sadly that was not to happen.

Two weeks ago he passed away. Alone, save for his dog. He was found by a friend, 2 days later. He suffered a heart attack. One week later his beloved dog was also put down.

At the funeral I saw his daughter for the first time. She was up at the pulpit talking about her father. She described a man who was a loving father, a hard worker, a kind man. She would cry every so often. At first I felt annoyed by this. Where was she while her dad was dying from loneliness? Why didn't she ever call him, other than when she wanted money? Why didn't she hug him and make him feel loved? I wanted to call her a fake, a fraud.

Then something happened.

I started thinking about regrets. I wondered if she regretted that she wasn't a better daughter to him. I wondered if she was crying, not because he died, but because she regretted not being there for him? I then started thinking about what I knew about her family. I hardly know them. I don't know what he was like when he was a vibrant man. I only knew him as a frail, lonely old man. I didn't know why she wasn't there for him. I didn't know the dynamics of their relationship. I really didn't know anything. I had no right to judge this woman crying in the pulpit for her father. Whether she was crying because she loved this man who died and would genuinely miss having a father or whether she was crying because of what she didn't have with him really doesn't matter. This was her grief and I, nor anyone else there, had the right to judge her.

I've been thinking all week about regrets. The regrets we all naturally feel when we lose someone. I wish I was there for them more. I wish I never said those cruel words. I wish I let that silly argument go. I wish I told them I loved them more.

Life is so very fragile, the Christchurch earthquake is a stark reminder of this. How many people went to work on the day of the earthquake having fought with their parter, child, parent? How many people left behind have regrets?

Do something for me today. Tell the people you love how much you love them. If you are having an argument with a loved one, let it go. Hug your kids. Call your mum or dad. Do something. You will feel good about it and you will most likely make their day.

Your biggest regrets aren't the things you did, but the things you didn't do.

Today I'm Grateful For ...

2011-02-19T10:37:00.000+10:00

Today I'm grateful for:

The lovely Maxabella Loves for giving us the chance to reflect on the things in life we are grateful for. It is something we should practice regularly.
Being part of this online community. I wish it was around when my children were younger.
Nurofen Plus - have suffered a few headaches this week and without the Nurofen it would have been ugly.
Blood - the ability to make it and share it with those who need it - I gave blood for the first time this week.
Water - it is the nectar of the gods. On a hot day there is nothing better than a big glass of iced water. I'm also quite partial to swimming in it and having showers. In fact is there nothing more versatile than water?
Books - I love to read, I love book shops, I love to write. While there are always books, I will never be bored.
Fingers - without them I wouldn't be sitting here typing blog posts, tweeting and researching.

Weekend Rewind - 18 Years Ago Today ...

2011-02-18T22:21:00.001+10:00

My how fast the week goes. Feels like I participated in the Weekend Rewind only yesterday. Thanks again @altait for doing this. It's been a great way for me to bring some of my posts over from my old blog. June is a busy month at our place. It is my birthday and my oldest son's birthday. Last June I wrote him a post for his 18th Birthday.

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This post was posted on my old blog on 18 June 2010 - you can link to it here to read original comments

Eighteen years ago today, I was 29, married and very pregnant with my first child. At 3pm I had the injection to induce labour. Exactly 5 hours later I was mum to a healthy little boy. I didn't have a clue. I was petrified. I was the first of my friends to have a baby. I'd never changed a nappy. Ever. What on earth had I done??

I remember not sleeping that night and wandering down to the nursery to see my baby. It was so surreal. He hadn't fed and I felt strangely alone. I didn't like the fact that they took him away for the night. When they brought him back the next morning I didn't have a clue what to do with him. A nurse would be in shortly to show me how to feed they said. I watched him sleep, then without warning, he exploded. I didn't even know how to change a nappy. The lady across from me took control and came over and changed my first nappy. Thank goodness she did - I had no idea!

Those first few weeks were so very hard. Reflux, cracked nipples, post natal depression. Nobody told me how hard it was going to be. Nobody told me that from the moment this little life took it's first breath, my life would never be just mine again. Nobody told me how many times I would cry from sheer tiredness. Nobody told me that at times I would hate being a new mum and I would wish for my old life back. Nobody told me just how beautiful breast feeding was (after the two weeks of cracked nipple agony that is). Nobody told me how my heart would ache when we were apart. Nobody told me just how much being a mum changes the very essence of who you are.

That little baby is now 18 years old. He's a man, yet he's still my baby. I just love him to bits. We've been through so much together. He's grown up from a baby, to a boy to a man and alongside him I've grown into the woman I am today.

It's not until now that I look back and realise what a ride parenting is. It is the hardest career ever. If we choose a career in medicine we get years of training before we get to practice. We don't go into the job of parenting with any qualificiations or training. In fact, when we have our first child we have absolutely no qualifications. None whatsoever!

Did I get it right? I yelled at him, I smacked him, I made him feel guilty, I ignored him. I always loved him and he always knew that. There were a few years where I know he felt I let him down. I destroyed his life as he knew it. I left his father, the man he idolised. I broke up his family, his sanctuary, the security blanket of his life. For years he bounced between hating me and loving me. It was really tough on all of us, but mostly him.

One moment that will be etched forever in my soul was particularly difficult. We were at a soccer match and he was meant to be coming home with me. He was 9. As his father was leaving he ran all the way down the driveway screaming "I wanna go home with you daddy". Daddy drove slow enough so he could reach out and touch him and prolong the moment. It was gut wrenching. I made him come home with me. It wasn't very exciting at my place. We were poor, we didn't go out much and we didn't have much. Nine year old boys are very easily persuaded by fun and stuff and the sheer joy of hanging out with dad.

We had 50/50 care and it was important that my children spent that 50% of time with me. This sounds hard and selfish. It wasn't. It would have been so much easier for me to let him live with his daddy. Sure I would have had my heart broken, but I know how to deal with that. Watching my little boy's heart break on a weekly basis was the hardest thing ever. I knew I didn't have a choice. Although at times I wavered. However, I knew I had to be true to who I was, what I was doing and that time would make all the difference. If we had nothing else, we had truth and time on our side.

Fast forward 8 years. We are driving in the car one day and he says "Mum, I now understand the reasons why you left dad and I'm glad you did. I wouldn't like my life if we were still together as a family. I love my life now." That was the moment I realised I have done a good job with my boy and all the pain and heartache was worth it, for both of us. For all of us. Even his daddy.

He is kind, generous and loving. He tells me every day he loves me and ends every phone call with a "love you". We are close. Don't be mistaken, he's still a boy - he's loud, he's smelly, he farts ... a lot, he gets cranky, he's hormonal, he's messy. He swears like a wharfie, he's lazy and he smokes. He was never a straight A student (not even a straight C), he never made the debating team, he never won student awards. However, he has grown into the loveliest of men. He stands by his friends. He sticks up for his brother. He hugs me when I cry. He cries when he sees animal cruelty. He stands up for what he believes in. He is a nice person. He has a kind heart and he knows how to love. And that ... is really all a mother can ever want from her son.

I love you darling. Happy 18th Birthday. xx

Give Blood ... Save Lives

2011-02-17T20:55:00.000+10:00

I thought about trying to come up with a really cool title for this blog post but decided I would stick with a tried and true slogan used by the Australian Red Cross. It means what it says. If you give blood, you save lives. It's that simple. I'm wondering why it took me 47 years to actually do it?

Was I scared? Hell no, I have blood tests every couple of months. I think it was a case of too hard, can't be bothered, too busy. In reality that is simply a poor attitude on my behalf.

Two of my favourite bloggers and lovely friends, Bern Morley from So You Think You Can Dance ... oh hang on its So Now What. (sorry I always say that in my head when I read your blog) and Sarah from Ahh, The Possibilities both recently donated blood and posted about it. You can read Bern's blog post here and Sarah's here.

After reading their posts I made a deal with myself. The next time I saw the Red Cross Van at a shopping centre I would pull in and donate blood. Today it happened. I was racing home after staying 2 hours longer at a client than I expected and stopped in to buy some meat for dinner. There was the big Red Cross Van. I knew what I had to do.

I made my way over and was asked if I'd had much to drink today (I hadn't, he was talking water too by the way) but he said as long as I drink 4 or 5 glasses before I go in I'd be ok. I did. It was going to take an hour. I was already 2 hours late home, what's another hour. Particularly if it means I help save a life.

I filled out form after form, drank cups of cordial until I was buzzing. I went in for an interview where I had to disclose all manner of sexual preferences and drug use. Needless to say there was nothing to disclose. I've led a sheltered life to date, (well that's my story and I'm sticking with it). I was then asked to make myself comfortable on the bed once I finished drinking the super sweet popper they also wanted me to drink. I couldn't get comfortable. Very hard to lie down and relax when your bladder is full of cordial and juice! I had to ask to go to the toilet. Embarrassment. They understood, apparently it happens all the time.

Finally we were ready to draw blood. Unfortunately my veins weren't in the mood. Hidey veins they called them. Three different people tried to find them. I was almost going to be turned away when the lovely Annette came to the rescue and found the slippery little sucker. I was finally donating. The needle didn't hurt (only a little) and I didn't feel the blood leaving my body. It took about 10 minutes.

Afterward I sat up and they gave me another popper! My sugar levels must have been sky high. So much for my sugar free week. I only made 2 days!! Once I finished the popper I was allowed to go to the chairs and have chocolates with cheese and crackers. Excellent.

It really was easy. Sure it took an hour, but hey, I can waste an hour on Twitter or surfing the net. This hour was not wasted. I can help someone by donating my blood. In fact my one donation will be used for 3 different people. I love the fact that I am making blood every minute of every day and by giving some of it away I can help someone else. How incredible is that?

Unfortunately so many people can't donate blood due to illness, bad veins, travel to the UK etc. Mad Cow Disease rules out thousands of potential donors in Australia. Today I feel incredibly lucky because I can donate.

I have already booked in for my next donation. It is Thursday 9th June at 3.00 pm. If you think you would like to donate, I can't recommend it enough. Contact Red Cross Australia and go for it. It's totally worth it.

Brisbane's New Normal

2011-02-14T17:15:00.009+10:00

This morning, at the request of 4BC Radio, I found myself heading down to Guyatt Park in St Lucia to board a City Cat. Why you ask?

Indeed. Why?

But first, some back story.

If you haven't heard about it, perhaps you were living in a cave, Brisbane suffered its worse flood since 1974 on 13 January 2011. The usually calm Brisbane River took on a life of its own and became an angry torrent, taking out anything that tried to stand it its way. It didn't matter if you were a pontoon, a boat or even a floating restaurant. The river was coming to get you. Mansions along the river, older homes, warehouses, unit blocks, bridges, roads, paddocks, the river did not discriminate. It either pulled things loose and took them with it or it forced its way inside buildings, stripping walls and destroying everything as it rose.

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Brisbane's flooding started literally days after unprecedented tragedy on the Monday of this same week in the peaceful Lockyer Valley. We would witness scenes beyond belief. We would see Toowoomba, Grantham, Murphy's Creek and other towns in the Lockyer Valley engulfed by a wall of water hundreds of times angrier than the Brisbane River. Lives were lost. Homes were ruined. Business decimated. Crops and stock wiped out. Lives shattered. Life in the Lockyer Valley will never be the same again.

We watched the television open mouthed and speechless as we saw vision of houses floating away, people stranded on cars roofs, clinging to each other on top of their homes and hanging onto trees. All while the torrent of angry water swirled around them, threatening to take them too. We saw bravery and courage as people put their own lives in danger to save others. We saw so much sadness as we watched lives being literally washed away by walls of water. The absolute shock and horror at what was happening was hard to take in. It is still difficult to comprehend.

Last night, 60 Minutes reporter Michael Usher spoke to a family from Grantham who have lost more than anyone should ever lose. They lost their 18 month old daughter. They lost both their mothers. Their two remaining children lost both their grandmothers. They lost their home. They lost life as they know it. What they do have left to hold onto is love, strength and each other.

We also saw incredible human spirit. Such an amazing outpouring of love and generosity of which I have never witnessed in my lifetime. A month on we are still seeing this human spirit.

I don't live in a flood affected area. I guess you could say I'm one of the lucky families. In fact many of us in Brisbane were not flood affected. It was difficult each day knowing that whilst we still had all the comforts of home, including electricity and food, many families in our city and other towns had nothing other than the clothes on their back. I suffered survivor guilt and I know many others did. It felt wrong to still have everything whilst so many had nothing. I'm sure this assisted to spur on the tens of thousands of people who volunteered their time and donated money and items to help our flood affected families. A month on and help is still forthcoming. This is human spirit at its very best.

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Now, back to the City Cats.

If you live in Brisbane you will know that from today, some of the City Cat fleet started work again on the Brisbane River. Our City Cats and some of the City Cat terminals were damaged during the floods. Many of these have been repaired and some of the terminals restored, ready for business today.

I headed down to St Lucia, battling my way through typical Monday morning Brisbane traffic. It wasn't pretty. The roads were extremely congested as people were making their way to work and school drop offs. My mission was to take a ride on a City Cat and do a live cross for the Breakfast show.

As I drove into Hiron Street, which leads to Guyatt Park where the City Cat terminal is located, I didn't notice much evidence of the recent floods. However, I know that hidden behind fences and brick walls the muddy devastation was still there.

I quickly headed to the terminal and jumped on a City Cat which was ready to leave. I didn't really notice any residual flood damage and it wasn't until I returned and had a closer look that I could see evidence of the flood. This evidence was in the form of thick, dried mud. It was everywhere.

Guyatt Park Playground - now dried mud

Look at the thickness of mud in the bottom of this unit!
It did have a front cover on at the time of flooding.

Travelling down the river this morning was beautiful. It was a far cry from the angry torrent she was on 13 January. She is still brown, but with a hint of sparkle. For many weeks the river was a dull, thick, muddy brown colour. Not so much now. Along the banks the mud paint was almost gone. If I looked closely I could see some houses were uninhabitable, but generally the river had that familiar look I remembered.

The saddest part of my trip was going past the Drift Cafe. This iconic Brisbane Restaurant literally sunk to the bottom of the river. It has since been raised up and almost gutted. The owner is determined to have his restaurant back one day. We hope he does.

The Drift Cafe

BGS Rowing Sheds - was underwater - now undergoing restoration

One month ago this city was in absolute chaos. Lives were shattered. People were lost and dazed. Thousands of people were displaced and it felt like life would never be the same again. For many it is still a long way before life is even close to how it was. For many it never will be.

As I was travelling down the river on the City Cat, I experienced Brisbane's "new normal". A normal which is different to how things were. I was experiencing the post 2011 floods normal.

I felt an incredible sense of a city just "getting on with it". It feels like Brisbane has rolled up its sleeves, picked up its shovels and is getting on with the business of cleaning up and living again.

I felt proud of my city.

(All photos taken by me.)

Weekend Rewind - How Red Shoes Taught me about Love

2011-02-13T10:46:00.001+10:00

Thank you once again to the gorgeous Al from Life in a Pink Fibro for giving us the opportunity to dust off our old posts and give them another airing with her ever popular Weekend Rewind post. This week it is May. Last May I wrote this post after a major "aha" moment.

The original post & comments are over at my old, discontinued blog, Living Life as Me. You can still go there if you want to check out some of the amazing comments.

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How Red Shoes Taught me about Love
(Originally Written 4 May 2010)

I had a mum once. I can’t really remember if she was a good mum or a bad mum. She wasn’t very loving. She only told me once that she loved me. That alone doesn’t make her a bad mum. Not everyone can say “I love you” freely. I am guessing she loved me, at some point, in her own way.

I was adopted. They also adopted another baby 2 years after me. We were told we were special because we were “chosen”. They told us they got to walk along a row of newborn babies and were able to choose the one they liked the best. Unlike other mothers, who had to keep the one they got whether they liked them or not. I believed that for a long time. Now I don’t.

I don’t have that mum anymore. She didn’t die. But she’s not my mum. I’m not sure she ever was.

I’m an odd person because I don’t really understand how you love a mother. I’m a mother myself. I totally get how a mother loves her child. I don’t get it in reverse.

The man I used to call “dad” is dead. I didn’t go to his funeral. I didn’t cry. I felt nothing. I want to say I was glad, but I don’t think I felt that either. He was just a person who died.

He was also a despicable man. He was the type of man who never should have been allowed to adopt a child. We weren’t special – we were picked for his pleasure.

I was too scared to speak up. They also had their own daughter after we were adopted. I didn’t want to destroy the only family I knew. I learnt to cope. I would booby trap my bedroom every night so if someone came in things would fall down and wake everyone up. It eventually stopped. The memories didn’t, but the actions did.

When I think back I stopped having any feelings for parents at a very young age – single digits. I never felt safe, protected or loved. I found these things in other families, with friends and with my dog. For a long time I thought it only happened to me.

Sixteen years ago, just before Mother’s Day, my sister admitted she was also a victim of this man we used to call dad. We had never discussed it. She always hated me, thinking he only chose her. I never hated her, but thought he only chose me. He never touched his real daughter.

I was a mum by this stage. I had a 2 year old and a 3 month old baby and constantly worried about protecting them from this man. I never let him hold them and I never left him alone in a room with them. Ever. I did not want these people in my life, even before I found out about my sister. I only kept them there because it was the right thing to do and I didn’t know how to push them away without destroying the life of their real child. No child wants to find out their father is a pedophile.

My sister told our mother on many occasions and she did nothing. She did nothing. I don’t understand that at all. It is a mother’s instinct to protect her children. My mother failed in that respect. From that moment she was no longer my mother.

I have purposely told this story in a clinical, unfeeling way, because that is truly how I feel about it now. I’ve dealt with it all and have come out the other end relatively ok. I haven’t ended up a cold unfeeling person though, nothing could be further from the truth. I am a very warm, loving and giving person. I feel very deeply, have strong relationships with my own children, my partner and my dear friends.

Why am I writing this today? It is coming up to Mother’s Day. There are two days of the year I don’t enjoy - Mother’s Day and Father’s Day. Admittedly Mother’s Day has become a lot better since having my children but Father’s Day – that’s a whole other story, which I’ll save up for September.

To keep this real, you need to know that I have found my birth mother, and I have a relationship with her. It’s also a whole other story which I will write another time.

I didn’t originally intend for this post to be a reveal all. The purpose was to talk about an “aha moment” where something I haven’t understood for most of my life actually crystallized. Without the background though, this post would not have made any sense.

Most people I know love their parents & siblings dearly. Regardless of how they get on with them, at the crux of it all, they love them. I read blog posts about relationships people have with their mums and I just can’t get it. I can’t feel the feelings I’m supposed to. If I read a story about a sick child or a child passing away, I’m a mess. I can feel those feelings as if it were my own child. Tell me about a parent or a sibling, and as sad/bad as this may seem I feel nothing.

I recently read a post by @CarolDuncan where she talked about her mother’s funeral. For the first time I felt something. I got it. I understood how she felt, how her mum felt. For the first time I understood a relationship between a mother and a daughter.

I finally realized these relationships weren’t a “one size fits all”. They come in all shapes and sizes. There are loving relationships, there are smothering relationships, there are volatile relationships and there can be no relationship – but always at the crux of it is this special love.

I never understood it because I never had it from my mother. I think a mother grows alongside her children – being a mother is part instinct, but also part learning. I also think the love you feel for your mum grows and changes through the different stages. When you are little you love your mummy because she comforts, provides for and protects you. As you grow older you look up to her because she is still so perfect. Then you reach your early teens and your mum is no longer an idol – she has flaws – you possibly don’t like her as much. You blame her for your problems, you find fault in her parenting. You actually realize she is a person who isn’t perfect. That comes as a shock initially and relationships go haywire for a while. As you progress through your teens to your early twenties you watch your mum come to terms with her children growing up and no longer “needing” her as much, you watch your mum go through menopause (which turns her feral at the drop of a hat), you watch your mum and dad drift apart or maybe find each other again and you gain a different respect for her as you realize just what she gave up to be your mum. With each year, through each phase the love and respect grows stronger and the bond deepens. This happens whether you are best friends or sparring partners. You have both grown together.

I now understand why I don’t feel these feelings. I haven’t “grown” with someone like that. There is nothing wrong with me, I just didn’t have that opportunity. And you know what? I am totally ok with that. I feel free.

I do have the opportunity to be a mum and I am now doing it with my boys. Whilst I am not the most “conventional” mum around, I believe I am a good mum. My boys and I are growing together on this special journey that only we can share. It can’t be recreated. It is what it is and it is our journey.

Did I mention that I finally get it? I am feeling so free about this. I am ok. I know I can’t recreate something that never existed. I know that even though I didn’t have that relationship, I have very loving relationships with many people in my life.

I also have the chance to be friends with the woman who gave me life. It won’t be the relationship I thought I always wanted – but it will still be special. Even more so now because I understand how it should be.

I hope that when my time is up my boys will wear red shoes to my funeral. You will need to read Carol’s blog post to understand what that means.

Thank you so much Carol Duncan for freeing my mind of something that has haunted me for years. We've never met, however you and your mum are now part of the tapestry of my life. Thank you for taking me on the journey of saying goodbye to your mum - it was special.

Happy Mothers’ Day to all the mums who read my blog. May your journeys be filled with much love, laughs, happy memories and red shoes.

I'm Grateful for People Who Make My Heart Sing

2011-02-11T22:59:00.001+10:00

Thanks to the lovely Maxabella Loves who gives us the opportunity every weekend to reflect on the many things we have to be grateful for in our lives.

This week I am grateful for the many people in my life who make my heart sing.

My Children

The oldest one with the softest heart
The youngest one with the wisest soul

My Fiancée, the man who loves me like no one else ever will

My Step Daughters who accepted me into their lives from day one

My Friends:

The ones who make me laugh
The ones who let me cry
The ones who make me get back up
The ones who believe in me
My old friends
My new friends
My work friends
My Twitter friends

My Psychiatrist, who for many years was the only constant in my life - 16 years later she's still keeping me sane.

My Acupuncture & Massage therapist who just knows what I need and who also keeps me sane.

I am grateful to have so many wonderful people in my life who truly make my heart sing.

My Book Club

2011-02-10T07:20:00.002+10:00

I've always been an avid reader and for most of my life it was always a dream that one day I would be part of a book club. The mere thought of a book club conjured up an image of well bred ladies gathering every month to dissect and discuss a literary great over a cup of tea and perhaps some scones. Book club always had an air of the Bronte Sisters whenever I thought about it.

Unfortunately it wasn't going to be a reality for me until I reached my early 40's. You see, book clubs are quite difficult to break into. Think of the cliquiest group at school and trying to penetrate their inner circle. Not. Going. To. Happen. It was like that for me with book clubs. Whenever I heard someone talking about "their" book club, my ears would prick up and I would suddenly be filled with questions and they had my unwavering attention, complete with lean in and constant staring. I almost became stalkerish in my interest. Looking back, it is no wonder I was never asked to join.

In 2008 that all changed.

I was finally asked to join a book club in my suburb. Me. Yes that's right. I'd finally made it into the book club elitists. I was there. I was one of them. No longer an outsider. I belonged to a book club. Me.

You would think with my desire to join a book club that I would have known what to expect verbatim. Not so. I was very fond of living in a fantasy world in my head, so all my worldly knowledge of book clubs was either a figment of my wild imagination or something I had read about in a book.

I did know that everyone is meant to buy the same book, read it over the month and then when we meet, we critique the book. I also knew that some members would not have read the book in the due time and would have to "bluff" their way through. Deep down I knew I'd be one of those women.

If I was to be truly honest it was really the "thought of being in a book club" that appealed to me more than anything. I felt it would give me official "book loving" status. I did have nerves about reading a book I didn't like and having to critique it. In fact I was rather worried about this aspect.

For my first book club appearance I wasn't required to bring a book, nor to have read a book. So far, so good. I felt quite happy that I was just going to sit and observe. This was a bonus.

When I arrived I met the loveliest group of women who were all standing around a huge table covered entirely by books. There were over a hundred books on this table. My eyes widened and I was as excited as a bookworm in a bookshop. In fact I was so excited I didn't pay any attention during introductions and it was about 3 months before I knew everyone's name. The shame.

Oh, the books. You are probably wondering why there were so many books on a table? Me too. This book club is not your everyday, run of the mill, Bronte sisters book club. This book club is "MY" type of book club. This is how it works.

Every month book club is held at a different home.
Every member (there are only 10 of us) pays $10 at each book club & this is given to the person who is the next host
The host is responsible for buying $100 worth of new books, with the $100 received as per above
The host is also responsible for providing wine & nibblies (not tea and scones) booyeah!
Members mill around the "library" table on arrival and discuss/choose books for around 30 minutes. There is no limit on the number of books you take.
Members retire to the "sitting" room to drink wine, eat cheese and crackers and natter about kids, husbands, clothes and the odd book or two for the next 2.5 hours
Members go home feeling rejuvenated, slightly tipsy and with 3 new books to read over the next month.

Awesome right? Absolutely. Each member has different tastes in books and we all take the opportunity to buy books we might not normally buy. It has definitely broadened the range of books I like to read. The best part is that the person who buys the books ultimately gets to keep them. We write our names inside the cover and whenever we leave the book club (as if you would) or everyone has read them we take them home for our own book shelf. I have been in the book club for 3 years now and have 12 new books that I haven't yet read. It is the best.

So, are you in a book club? Do you love it? Tell me, do you spend more time talking about "girl stuff" or the actual books?

This blog post is dedicated to my lovely Twitter friend @easynowtiger who wanted to know a bit more about my book club. If you don't follow him on Twitter you so should. He's ace.

Photo: John Woudstra http://www.brisbanetimes.com.au/lifestyle/the-early-bird-is-the-bookworm-20100114-m9tx.html

Weekend Rewind - Who's Your Crush?

2011-02-06T11:14:00.000+10:00

Thank you to the gorgeous Al from Life in a Pink Fibro for letting us bring out our old favourites and give them another airing in Weekend Rewind. You can also read the original post & comments here at my old blog

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WHO'S YOUR CRUSH?

Let's talk about "girl crushes". Not the kind of crush a boy has on a girl or one a girl who likes girls has on a girl, but a good old fashioned admiration of someone who you wish could be your best friend. Your "girl crush".

The definition of "girl crush" in the Urban Dictionary is:

"Feelings of admiration and adoration which a girl has for another girl, without wanting to shag said girl. A nonsexual attraction, usually based on veneration at some level."

I think this sums it up pretty well for me. I have a few celebrity girl crushes, some which I've had for years and some which are new.

Yesterday I saw some gorgeous photos of our Kylie (actually I'm going to creepily call her "my" Kylie) at the Milan Fashion Week which the lovely @sassisam posted on her bloghere. Isn't she gorgeous? She is my quintessential "girl crush". She seems to get more beautiful as she gets older.

One of my other long time girl crushes is Jennifer Aniston, however as time goes on my crush on her is waning. I also have a girl crush on our very own Kerri-Anne Kennerley. Don't judge me sisters. I think she's just lovely and she's still working it and owning it and I love that.

Some of the most popular girl crushes are:

Angelina Jolie

Jennifer Aniston

Jessica Alba

Michelle Obama

Kate Winslett

January Jones

Taylor Swift

All this thinking about "girl crushes" also got me wondering whether or not men have"man crushes"? I've never heard a man say "I love him, he's amazing" or "I have such a man crush on him". Not in blokey, heterosexual circles anyway. The blokey heterosexual man would no more say that than wear a man pearl, unless of course he lives in Broome where man pearls are all the go, I believe.

Now whilst your average man doesn't openly admit to having a "man crush" I am guessing that some or most men do indeed have secret "man crushes". You can tell when your man has a "man crush" because he is likely to start acting like his crush or dressing in a similar way.

Bear Grylls - The Adventurer Bloke's Man Crush

Type of man: A real blokey bloke who is keen on adventure, bit of a hunter, loves a knife (any weapon really), enjoys getting down and dirty and not afraid of blood or a dead animal carcass. Bear is everything this man would want to be.

Signs: If your man starts coming home with dirt over his face, blood around his mouth or he starts picking up the cat and trying to bite a chunk out of her side, he could very well have a crush on Bear.

Jamie Oliver - The Chef Bloke's Man Crush

Type of Man: A professional, possibly an accountant or a lawyer, who fancies himself as a bit of gourmet in the kitchen. He likes to make a bit of a mess while he cooks and doesn't measure any ingredients. Although he likes cooking, he doesn't really like "women's work" and therefore won't clean up his mess. He also loves to drink and swear with his mates.

Signs: If your man starts talking with a bit of a lisp, takes an unnatural interest in the kids lunch boxes as well as their friends' lunch boxes or starts calling your children Poppy Honey and Petal Blossom he could be having a "man crush" on Jamie.

Don Draper (aka Jon Hamm) - The "Would be Player's" Man Crush

Type of Man: Fancies himself a little (ok a lot), is very careful with his appearance and likes to make an effort, rarely gets dirty (unless sweating it up in a workout at the gym) and is likely to work in advertising, real estate or property development.

Signs: If he buys a Fedora and insists on wearing it to work, takes up smoking and starts staring at you with his head to the side and eyes half closed and a tiny smirk on his face I'd say he's got the "man crush" on Don.

Hugh Jackman - The all round Aussie Good Guy's Man Crush

Type of man: Good looking, loves sport, sexy mover (likes to dance), up beat, funny, everyone's mate, great dad and mostly a nice husband. The kind of guy every girl wants her husband to be like.

Signs: He starts growing long sideburns and sticky taping blades to his fingers, ok ... maybe that's a bit on the extreme side - but it would be funny. He keeps breaking out into dance moves whenever he hears music or drinks Iced Tea. Ok a bit OTT? Truth is I have nothing here. But if your man starts doing any of those things or belting out a bit of "Boy From Oz" at random moments, he could have a man crush on Hugh. Don't say I didn't warn you.

And finally ...

Mark Webber Formula One Driver - The Rev Head's Man Crush

Type of Man: Loves cars, loves Bathurst, loves Formula 1, loves the smell of petrol, loves cleaning his car, drools over cars as he's driving along, hyperventilates if he sees a Lamborghini or a Ferrari and will often (almost always) put his car before his woman.

Signs: Refer to paragraph above and add an unhealthy love of Red Bull, helmets and leather racing gear and I'd say your man is loving his "man crush" Mark.

Do you think your man has a "man crush"? If so, who?

Do you have a "girl crush"? Who is it?

Photo Credits where possible:

Man Pearl Picture from http://www.pierrettedentremont.com/man/man_jewelry1.htm

Bear Grylls Picture from Discovery Channel

I Hope My Smile is Warm Enough ...

2011-01-30T15:06:00.008+10:00

On Thursday night Mr 17 asked me the following question:

"Mum, how old were you when you learnt to cook?"

I had to think about it for a while and eventually replied that I started learning at school in Home Science classes and then learnt more after I left home. My mother was a dreadful cook, hence why I didn't learn at home. Dreadful I say, dreadful. You have no idea. No, really, you don't.

I asked him why he was interested.

His reply "Well I like to eat good food and I'm worried I will never find a girlfriend or a wife who will be able to cook it for me. No one I know has any idea how to cook. I hate eating things out of a packet or a jar and that is all my friends know how to cook. I'm worried I'm going to have to do all the cooking!"

I was totally amused that as a 17 year old this was something that occupied his thoughts. It got me wondering about the roles of men and women and how they have evolved over the years. Things are definitely different now, but is the role of the woman as the carer and the role of the man as the provider something that is innately within us all no matter how much things change?

I found some 1950's Housewife Rules and thought it might be interesting to modify for the modern women, because whilst I am a caring type of person, Betty Draper I'm most certainly not!

1950 - Plan ahead, even the night before, to have a delicious meal ready on time for his return. This is a way of letting him know that you have been thinking about him and are concerned about his needs. Most men are hungry when they get home and the prospect of a good meal is part of the warm welcome needed.

2011 - Leave work, remember you haven't taken anything out of the freezer, stop at the local IGA, pick up a hot chook and a premade coleslaw, race home throw it on the bench and tell him to dish up dinner for the kids while you go to the bedroom to get changed. While there you lie on the bed for ten minutes and catch a nanna nap. He'll be so busy with the kids he won't think to come and find you.
1950 - Prepare yourself. Take 15 minutes to rest so you'll be refreshed when he arrives. Touch up your make-up, put a ribbon in your hair and be fresh-looking. He has just been with a lot of work-weary people.

2011 - Now that you've taken your 10 minutes to nap, change into comfy shorts and floppy t'shirt, minus bra and remove all traces of makeup from face. The last thing you want after a day at work is to look remotely "doable", because fending off unwanted advances is far too tiring. When you finally come out looking pale from your sleep, feign a headache and you may earn some additional rest time.
1950 - Be a little gay and a little more interesting for him. His boring day may need a lift and one of your duties is to provide it.

2011 - I am not even going to amend this one. If he wants you to be a "little gay" so you will be more interesting, it's quite clear he shouldn't be in a heterosexual relationship and you might want to start thinking about a divorce.
1950 - During the cooler months of the year you should prepare and light a fire for him to unwind by. Your husband will feel he has reached a haven of rest and order, and it will give you a lift too. After all, catering to his comfort will provide you with immense personal satisfaction.

2011 - It's freaking cold, you arrive home and get narky because he has been home for some time and hasn't bothered to put the heater on. Wear a neck to ground nightie with socks and trackie dacks underneath and remind him that this attire "will not" be coming off when you retire to the bedroom later this evening.
1950 - Greet him with a warm smile and show sincerity in your desire to please him.

2011 - When you arrive home, greet him with a forced smile, accompanied by a "what have you been doing since you've been home? The kids aren't bathed and dinner isn't on. Do I have to do everything around here?" Be sincere in your ab-domination of him, you need to be sure he understands just what is required for next time.
1950 - Listen to him. You may have a dozen important things to tell him, but the moment of his arrival is not the time. Let him talk first - remember, his topics of conversation are more important than yours.

2011 - Don't give him time to talk. Tell him all the things you have had to deal with today. If you like you can bring up some old stuff that he needs to be reminded of, because it doesn't hurt to rehash old stuff. Let him say something every now and then, even if it is just to give you some additional fuel to keep going. Remember your topics of conversation are far more important than his.
1950 - Don't complain if he's late for dinner or even if he stays out all night. Count this as minor compared to what he might have gone through at work.

2011 - Don't complain out loud if he's late for dinner or even stays out all night. Give him the silent treatment and withdraw all forms of physical contact for an indefinite period. Leave him home with the kids every night for the next week while you go out and seek comfort with your girlfriends. What he might go through at work is nothing compared to the next month he's going to get at home!
1950 - Make him a cool or a warm drink, arrange his pillow and offer to take off his shoes. Speak in a low, soothing and pleasant voice.

2011 - Throw him a beer as you make yourself a Mojito. Lie down on the comfortable lounge and request a foot massage. Speak in a low, soothing, pleasant voice as you convince him to cook dinner while you "recharge".
1950 - Don't ask him questions about his actions or question his judgment or integrity. Remember, he is the master of the house and as such will always exercise his will with fairness and truthfulness. You have no right to question him

2011 - Don't question his judgement when he presents you with a new vacuum cleaner for your 40th birthday when you have been clearly hinting at a diamond bracelet for the last 9 months. Remember, your birthday comes before his so when his rolls around and when you present him with a $300 voucher at the poshest Day Spa in your city it is all in the order of fairness.
1950 - A good wife always knows her place.

2011 - A good wife always knows her place - even after a big night out with the girls drinking many Mojitos and dancing up a storm. She will always find her way back home, to her place, just in time for her good husband to hold back her hair so she can throw up in the toilet.

What do you think? Would your husband prefer to be living in the 1950's? Does he fancy himself as a bit of a Don Draper wannabe?

No More Pretending to be Happy

2011-01-27T10:47:00.002+10:00

On Sunday my baby turned 17. Those 17 years have brought me much joy and much angst, but most of all they have brought me much love. I love both my boys with all my heart, there is no favourite. However, there are always people who you connect with in life and it is almost like you can see into their soul. My baby is one of these people.

For most of his life he has been extremely loving. I have many love notes and cards and he has always been able to express his love through hugs and kisses, (other than a period of time during his early teens when most boys don't show affection). He is also very good at expressing his feelings verbally. He senses things about me and others that I don't even realise. We have had conversations that I would have with a friend of my own age. He is so very knowing, so very intuitive and so very caring.

As you know from my Mum I'm stuck on the Grass post, my baby has had some problems recently which totally broke my heart. Watching him suffer through this difficult time was so painful.

We are now into a new year, his 18th year, and I am so happy to say that he is no longer abusing substances. He is working out, caring about his health, caring about his body, eating healthily and exercising daily. He has a fulltime job and never misses a day and is never late. He is a different person. His moods are more stable (well as stable as a 17 year old can be) and he has joy in his eyes, again, finally. After many months of trying to give up his "habit" (he didn't go cold turkey) and many months of him questioning why he wanted to give up, he has finally discovered that a life with a clear head and healthy body is a win for him. It has taken time and it hasn't been easy - for him or I. However I am so proud that he has persevered and is now where he should be.

Many of his friends from that time are unfortunately still stuck on the grass, and he wishes they could feel how he does now. He told me this morning, after we saw one of them at the bus stop in his school uniform totally stoned, that he is so glad he doesn't feel that way any longer. He said that when you are stoned all the time you have to pretend to look happy because you don't really feel anything other than stoned. I asked him if he misses it. I got the "are you serious?" look. I guess not.

I still worry that he can easily slip back into this life. He has an addictive personality, which he is also aware of. As a mum I feel it is my responsibility to keep a close eye on him, but not fence him in. To constrain his freedom and time spent with friends would do him more harm that letting him go out and learn to live life without giving in to the temptation. It has now been 1 month since he has had any substance at all and this is a huge win. I absolutely know he is being honest with me because as he was weaning himself off it he would tell me when he had it. He knows if he does slip up, he can tell me and I won't go postal. Sure I'll be disappointed, but the fact he will be honest with me means I can help him and be there for him. I've had to trust he was doing this the best way he could. I went with my instincts and am so glad I did. He has done this on his own, but with my support. Now that he has achieved his goal, he is so happy with himself. His self esteem has risen and he feels a sense of achievement. Something he was sadly lacking before. He also knows how much this means to me and he now knows how much better life is when he's not stoned.

I don't doubt that as he makes his way through his life he will be lured by other temptations, we all are. However, for a 17 year old, he has the emotional intelligence of someone much older and understands his personality type. When he senses he is becoming addicted to something, be it chocolate, coffee or a playstation game, he stops. He goes cold turkey and walks away. He is determined not to let addictions rule his life. I truly hope he succeeds.

I've learnt a lot about parenting teenagers throughout this experience and if I look back to the mother I was when my boys were little, to the mother I am now - I am chalk and cheese. The way I believed I would be when my boys grew up back then is nothing like my reality. Those lovely innocent babies I had who were so compliant and reliant on me for direction one day grew up and all bets were suddenly off.

I am not a perfect mother and I'm sure I could have done so many things differently, however I did learn some important lessons from this experience. They are:

Teenagers will always do things you don't like (you did the same to your parents). Keep the communication lines open by not judging and yelling at them when they do something wrong. They are no longer little children. Talk to them and tell them how you feel but understand that sometimes you need to let your teenagers do things their way. If you do this, they will allow you into their life.
Dropping out of school does not make your child a failure. For some teenagers school can contribute to problems. I am not advocating dropping out of school to bum around - there should be a clear choice of school or work. Let them make the decision. It makes such a difference.
Don't wait for the "standard" things to happen to show your children how proud you are of them - life is more than sporting and academic achievements - showing your teenagers how proud you are of them just for making good decisions and for being themselves goes a long way.
Some teenagers go off the rails despite how they have been raised. It isn't your fault, it just happens. I believe that whatever is meant to happen in life always does. It's how you deal with it when it happens that affects the outcome.
No matter what is going on - tell your teenager every single day that you love them and mean it.

Weekend Rewind - Mum, I'm Stuck on the Grass

2011-01-23T12:26:00.006+10:00

I posted this on 27 August 2010 on my other blog Living Life as Me here. I no longer blog over there. You are more than welcome to pop over there and read my posts. I haven't moved them over here yet.

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Mum, I'm Stuck on the Grass ... 27 August 2010

I didn't watch the Ben Cousins Drug Story. It is too close to home. Four months ago our family was in turmoil. My youngest was a drug addict. He was a pot head. He was only 16. I'm sure you are wondering how could this happen? Me too. In a way I watched it happen in front of my eyes. I didn't know how to stop it.

At times I pretended it wasn't happening. It was hell. For 18 months I was in a constant state of worry. He would sneak out after we went to bed. He would go out after dinner and not come back for a few hours. Sometimes he just didn't come home. For eighteen months I never went to bed feeling relaxed. There was always a nagging worry about what I might wake up to.

Why didn't I stop him? How did it get to this? He was 14, 15, 16 - I should have known where he was, what he was doing. I ask myself these same questions over and over. Even now that things are different I still try and work out where I went wrong. Why didn't I have the power to stop this? I am slowly coming the the conclusion that it had to happen this way. Sometimes bad things have to happen to make the good things more precious.

I watched my son fade away to become someone I didn't know. Someone I was scared for. Someone I desperately wanted back.

He watched me slowly fall apart. He watched me spiral into a place I never wanted to go back to. We fought. We cried. We talked. We loved. Through it all we always loved. I was always there for him. That's what a mother does. That's what a mother has to do.

One day early in May I really truly fell apart. It was all too much. In a moment of anger I told him I just wanted to die. I told him this was all too hard and I wanted to smash my head on the driveway until I was dead. I also told him he was the reason I felt this way. It is still hard to think about that day. I've never seen my son more hurt than on that day.

I can't really remember too much over the next few weeks, I was in a melt down to a nervous breakdown. A place I didn't want to go. I increased my anxiety medication and managed to keep off the edge. I was just functioning. I know we were looking at pulling him out of school because there was no point. School was becoming a vicious circle which, in a way, was pushing him into the life he had chosen. I know we were talking about options. I know I was fading.

Not long after this he came to me and said "Mum you are right, I have got a problem. I am addicted to weed and I need to do something now." You have no idea how proud I was of him at that moment. That was a huge admission. We discussed options and he wanted to think about what he wanted to do.

A week or so later I was driving home from somewhere in the car with my boy. I looked at him and said "You really have to do something. This can't go on." He looked at me and said "Mum, I know. I feel like I am in between two roads - one is the road for school and the other is the road to work and doing something I want to do. At the moment I'm stuck on the grass in the middle. Hah! You won't find this funny Mum, but do you get it? I'm stuck on the grass." Funnily enough I did get the irony in that comment and I did find it funny. It was also deeply profound. It was the moment I knew my boy was thinking about coming back. It was also the moment that things began to turn around for us.

We enrolled him in the local Muay Thai gym to do a personal training course. He was now the responsibility of a big tattooed ex World Champion Muay Thai fighter who we will call J (because that is the letter his name starts with). He wanted to be there. He was scared of J, really scared. He wanted to be scared. He wanted to be accountable to this scary man. He told me he needed this. He wanted this.

He started to get fit. He put on muscle. The paleness of his skin disappeared. He looked healthy again. He started eating again. He started talking to us again. He came back. He was loving again. He called me mummy again. He hugged and kissed me again.

He had been doing this for four weeks. Starting at 9.00 am and working till 8.30 at night. Long hours that left him no time to meet the "people" he used to associate with. This is how he wanted it to be. Driving him home one night I asked him if he missed school. His answer was "I miss certain things about school and I don't miss others. The things I miss the most are the things that are bad for me. Wagging and going down to the creek to smoke bud. I don't miss the school work, the teachers and most of the people there." He then said, and this made my heart sing "What I don't miss the most is the constant guilty feeling I used to have. I used to feel guilty that I was wagging school because you would be disappointed. I used to feel guilty for lying to you. I used to feel guilty about smoking bud because I knew how much you would be upset by it. I love not having that guilty feeling. I don't do anything now that I feel guilty about." It was at this moment that I knew my boy was truly a good person. I was so proud of him. I was overwhelmed with love for him.

It has now been three and a half months and I cannot describe how different I feel. How different things are. It is not until now that I realise how scared I was every night going to bed. In the back of my mind I was convinced I would wake to find he was either gone or dead somewhere. I am good at partitioning things off in my mind. It allows me to cope day to day. It does take its toll however.

I am still cautious. I still know that if the things he loves now were taken from him, he would slide back to that world. At the moment the exercise is giving him the "feel good" feeling he loves. He told me when he was 12 that he had an addictive personality. He was so right. He is so wise.

I look back over the past two years trying to work out what I could have done differently to prevent this. I always come to the same conclusion that I wouldn't have done anything differently. This was going to happen and it was how I handled the happening that would determine the outcome.

Two nights ago he asked me to lie on his bed with him before I went to bed. He put his arms around my neck and said "I love you mummy". I told him I loved him too and that I'd really missed him. He said "I really missed you too mum, I really did".

I have my baby back. I do not take this for granted.

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Original comments can be found here

Today (23 January 2011) I will be writing a new blog post about my beautiful son. Today is his birthday. Today he is 17. Today he is not a drug addict.

Flood Relief Websites

2011-01-16T18:24:00.182+10:00

I've come across a lot of places providing help and contacts for those affected by the floods and those wishing to help or donate goods/supplies. I will keep adding as I come across them. Hopefully these are of some help to others out there.

Thanks to all below who have proactively provided so much information and help. You all Rock!

Clean Up & Volunteering

http://www.emergencyvolunteering.com.au/
http://www.brisbane.qld.gov.au/bulk-bin-locations.html Bulk bin location - for disposing of rotting foodstuffs
http://floodaid.com.au/ a useful website linking up volunteers with people who are listing the help they need
http://operationbounceback.org.au/ A co odinated response to rebuild Queensland - call on tradies to register to lend a hand. Set up by Channel 7
http://www.facebook.com/note.php?created&&note_id=174013082640163&id=80836222708 Brisbane City Councillors are listing areas the need volunteers
http://www.ipswich.qld.gov.au/about_council/media/index.php Ipswich City Council media releases regarding volunteering & flood recovery
http://qldfloods.org/article/free-vaccinations-flood-effected-and-volunteers locations of free vaccination clinics in Brisbane.
http://bakedrelief.org/ New site for all details on Baked Relief - baking food for the hard working volunteers.
http://www.nationalstorage.com.au/ Offering pressure cleaners, generators & cleaning equipment for free, plus great discounts on storage.
http://www.facebook.com/pages/Goodna-floods-clean-up-page/182389478462381?ref=mf Facebook page for cleanup in Goodna

Accommodation:

http://qldfloods.org/open-beds people who are willing to give their home to flood affected people.
http://www.communityservices.qld.gov.au/community/community-recovery/support-assistance/ for people who still need to know details of the evacuation centres
http://qldfloodsbilletoffers.webs.com/ a site for accommodation registered through Volunteering Queensland and working with Department of Community Services
https://www.ozfloodhelp.org/?sms_ss=twitter&at_xt=4d363b761999d50b,0 The Get Up Organisation also providing a match up service for accommodation in Qld & Vic

People/Organisations Collecting Donations:

http://www.qcwa.org.au/ the Country Women's Association are helping out in their usual wonderful way.
http://bellbowrie.org/Drupal/Flood_Collection collecting new items to be part of kitchen kits for Bellbowrie residents who have lost everything
http://www.facebook.com/donations.for.qld.flood.victims?v=wall a good facebook page where you can list items you wish to donate & flood affected people can contact you.
http://www.fridgesforfamilies.com.au/ you can donate money to purchase a refrigerator for a family who has lost theirs. Sponsored by Gold Coast Titans, Westpac & Harvey Norman.
http://www.schoolsuppliesforqldfloodedfamilies.net/ a group of mums helping families get their children ready for school
http://www.facebook.com/QLDfloods2011?v=app_7146470109 a list of businesses accepting flood donations
http://www.facebook.com/pages/Air-Support-Queensland/102077829868589 donations for Condamine
http://www.givit.org.au/The-givit-list.aspx A list of specific items needed by Givit clients
http://ebcc.com.au/content/ebcc-emergency-response-service-0 A community centre helping out local flood affected people. Still looking for cleaning products. They are helping people clean.
http://romanceaustralia.wordpress.com/rwa-flooded-communities-book-appeal/ Collecting books for flood affected communities
http://hannahsfoundationappeals.org.au/ providing a service where a flood affected family can be adopted to assist with back to school supplies
http://www.facebook.com/pages/Books2Floods/176092609095181 Books2Floods aims to create a contact point between flood affected childcare centres & kindergartens and publishers willing to donate children's books
http://www.basketsofhope.net/ A very practical way to help flood survivors. Put together a basket of goodies and drop off at one of the drop off points. Precise details of what is required for the basket on website. I personally love this.
http://www.facebook.com/pages/5-x-5-Underwear-Drive-Qld-Flood-Appeal/186309524730046?v=app_4949752878&ref=mf a group of people organising a drive of NEW undies for flood survivors.

I have also split these into categories to make it easier.

Food

http://cooks-notebook.blogspot.com/2011/01/baked-relief-adopt-family.html a site where you can register to adopt a family who has lost their home and cook for them
http://bakedrelief.org/ New site for all details on Baked Relief - baking food for the hard working volunteers.
http://www.basketsofhope.net/ A very practical way to help flood survivors. Put together a basket of goodies and drop off at one of the drop off points. Precise details of what is required for the basket on website. I personally love this.

Clothes

http://www.facebook.com/pages/5-x-5-Underwear-Drive-Qld-Flood-Appeal/186309524730046?v=app_4949752878&ref=mf a group of people organising a drive of NEW undies for flood survivors.

Back to School

http://www.schoolsuppliesforqldfloodedfamilies.net/ a group of mums helping families get their children ready for school
http://hannahsfoundationappeals.org.au/ providing a service where a flood affected family can be adopted to assist with back to school supplies
http://www.facebook.com/pages/Books2Floods/176092609095181 Books2Floods aims to create a contact point between flood affected childcare centres & kindergartens and publishers willing to donate children's books

Household Items

http://www.qcwa.org.au/ the Country Women's Association are helping out in their usual wonderful way.
http://bellbowrie.org/Drupal/Flood_Collection collecting new items to be part of kitchen kits for Bellbowrie residents who have lost everything
http://www.facebook.com/donations.for.qld.flood.victims?v=wall a good facebook page where you can list items you wish to donate & flood affected people can contact you.
http://www.fridgesforfamilies.com.au/ you can donate money to purchase a refrigerator for a family who has lost theirs. Sponsored by Gold Coast Titans, Westpac & Harvey Norman.

Computers

http://www.qlditrelief.org/ a group of IT professionals collecting computers etc for donation to families & businesses who have been flood affected

Financial Assistance

Assistance for Businesses

http://www.business.gov.au/Newsandfeatures/2011/Jan/Pages/Emergencyrelieffordisasteraffectedbusinesses.aspx where businesses can find information about grants & assistance available for flood affected businesses
http://www.telstra.com.au/abouttelstra/media-centre/announcements/update-to-telstra-assistance-package-for-queensland-customers-affected.xml Details of the Testra Customer Assistance relief packages
http://www.grantthornton.com.au/Issues-and-Challenges/SurvivingTheFlood.asp some great advice on how to get back up and running, including applying for grants etc

Assistance for Families

http://www.telstra.com.au/abouttelstra/media-centre/announcements/update-to-telstra-assistance-package-for-queensland-customers-affected.xml Details of the Testra Customer Assistance relief packages

Pets & Animals

http://www.drkatrina.com/yourpet/GeneralInterest/AftertheQLDfloodshowtoreunitelostpetswiththeirowners.aspx Dr Katrina Warren provides all the information you need to locate your lost pets
http://qldfloodanimals.weebly.com/dogs-found-1.html found dogs
http://www.facebook.com/pages/Animals-lost-and-found-in-QLD-floods/183499691668944?v=wall matching up lost pets with their owners

Washing & Cleaning

http://www.facebook.com/pages/Adopt-a-Wash/101061533305273 Adopt a Wash are a group of ladies who will pick up flood affected washing, or any washing if someone is without a machine & do the washing.
http://www.fisherpaykel.com.au/communitylaundry/ Fisher & Paykel have set up free laundries around Queensland to help flood survivors.

Special Services & Donations for Flood Affected Residents & Businesses

http://www.flooddiscounts.com.au/ providing discounts with many types of businesses for flood affected people.
http://www.facebook.com/RiverbendBooks Riverbend books offering to donate books to children who have lost their books.
http://cooks-notebook.blogspot.com/2011/01/baked-relief-adopt-family.html a site where you can register to adopt a family who has lost their home and cook for them
http://qldfloods.org/article/free-vaccinations-flood-effected-and-volunteers locations of free vaccination clinics in Brisbane.
http://www.nationalstorage.com.au/ Offering pressure cleaners, generators & cleaning equipment for free, plus great discounts on storage.

General Flood Information

http://www.energex.com.au/qldfloods/flood_power_restoration.html An up to date list of all areas still without power & details of expected reconnection
http://www.brisbane.qld.gov.au/ Brisbane City Council Home Page with loads of information for Brisbane Residents
http://my247.me/sydney/list/known-list-of-places-currently-closed-due-to-the-2011-flood-disaster.1 2 lists - one of closed restaurants due to flood damage & one of restaurants that have reopened.
http://blogs.news.com.au/couriermail/amandalucas/ a list of sports grounds etc flood affected
http://www.ourbrisbane.com/whats-on/this-week-brisbane for a list of Brisbane events on and off this week
http://www.ipswich.qld.gov.au/index.php Ipswich City Council Home Page with loads of helpful information for residents of Ipswich & surrounds
http://qldfloods.org/ Information
http://www.qld.gov.au/floods/ a page which contains contact numbers and information for flood affected people
http://news.ninemsn.com.au/national/8195569/flood-disaster-mdash-where-to-get-help a comprehensive list of Organisations to call in a flood emergency for all Queensland affected communities
http://www.urbanutilities.com.au/ updates on Queensland Water supplies

Weekend Rewind - Friends are Like Teapots

2010-12-11T16:29:00.001+10:00

Thank you Alison from Life in a Pink Fibro for letting us bring out our old favourites and give them another airing in Weekend Rewind. You can also read the original post & comments here at my old blog

Friends are Like Teapots

I am one of those people who collect friends like some people collect teapots. Once I have you, I don't let you go. Some people might think I have too many, but I don't think a girl can ever have too many teapots, oops I mean friends. I may not see you and touch you and even talk to you for ages, but when I do see you, it's just like it was the last time we saw each other.

Just like the teapots, once I wipe the dust off and put a fresh brew in, it's like I had a tea with you yesterday.

Without my beautiful friends I would not be the person I am today. When I recently wrote my post "How Red Shoes Taught me About Love" I did not expect the stream of amazing comments from new and old friends and people I have never met. I also did not expect my best friend, for most of my life (45 years to be precise) to find my post and write the beautiful comment she did. I couldn't reply for a few days because it was too emotional for me.

That post, and the phenomenon last week that was "Bloggers without Makeup", made me think about the friendships I have and how important they have always been throughout my life. For the most part of my life I haven't had family, and whilst this was sad, I never felt totally alone - I have always had the most wonderful friends. Last Friday I felt so great about myself because of the beautiful comments on my blog, left by new friends I've made on Twitter and through Blogging and people I have never interacted with before. It reminded me how amazing women are and how important reaching out and touching each other is.

I have a gift for all my teapots - the vintage bone china ones who are delicate and beautiful, yet always ready when you need them; the crazed earthenware ones that have been through a lot, but are just as strong as they day they were new; the functional stainless steel pot that never lets you down; the trendy new funky teapot that cost an absolute fortune, but is really impractical and doesn't pour without making a mess but whenever you use it there is always much fun and laughter; and the new ones that don't have a history with me yet, but are beautiful and bring me pleasure whenever I see them.

This song, "Stand by Me" is one of my favourites and always reminds of how important authentic friendships are and how much we need people who will stand by us, no matter what.

I love this version as it is part of the "Playing for Change - Peace through Music" series. It's just beautiful and it is my gift to all my friends, old and new.

Crank up the volume and enjoy! You really will love it.

I consider everyone who touches my life and my heart to be my friend.

"Friends are the family you choose for yourself"

Today I'm Grateful For ...

2010-12-11T11:34:00.004+10:00

Having a home to come back to after a week away. As much as I love the beach, I love coming home even more.
My boys. They are my family. I love them hard.
Air conditioning because without it I would become homicidal in this humidity.
Water - it is the essence of life and without it we'd be incredibly thirsty and shrivelled up.
HRT - well, I'm thinking I might be grateful for it if I had it. Perhaps my family might be more grateful for it? Who knows? I'm hormonal and quite possibly homicidal. There's that word again. It is featuring today in my grateful list. Is it possible to have a grateful list with the word homicidal featuring in it? Is that an oxymoron?
Maxabella Loves for reminding us every single week that we have so much to be grateful in our lives.

The Edge of the World

2010-12-09T19:50:00.002+10:00

I've been spending at least two hours every day walking along the beach. For me this experience is incredibly spiritual. It is like I'm walking on the edge of the world. Everything around me is clean and unspoiled, almost like it has been created for me right at that very moment. The sand is white and dotted with shells and smooth pebbles. The ocean is a vibrant blue with swirls of foamy white.

The air is salty, yet beautiful. I can taste it. It is light, yet heavy. The mist from the ocean sprays all around, settling lightly on my skin and misting up my glasses. When I leave the beach I take the scent of the ocean with me. It is the scent of life.

I'm not particularly religious, but whenever I walk along a long stretch of unpatrolled beach I feel closest to our maker than at any other time. It is almost like I can reach out and touch the omnipresence responsible for our creation.

It is a place where my mind becomes clear. I feel healthy. I feel clean. I feel renewed. I feel like I am where I am meant to be. I believe we are all drawn to the elements of the earth we resonate the most with. For me it is the ocean.

Where are you drawn to? The ocean? A rainforest? The mountains? Someplace else?

Taking a Break

2010-12-07T13:59:00.003+10:00

I am currently smack bang in the middle of my end of year break. Every December M & I go away, just the two of us (and the doggie). We don't take my teenage boys, this is our time. We are a blended family and believe it is extremely important to take some time out, sans children.

We stay just outside of Kingscliff in Northern NSW at Casuarina. It is quiet, peaceful, and so relaxing. We always go before the Christmas Holiday rush to ensure we experience it at its most peaceful time.

There are no large shopping centres, no malls, no theme parks ... nothing. Kingscliffe has a pub, a surf club, a few cafes, a few restaurants, some little speciality shops and, my favourite, a book shop. There is also a beach. A long, beautiful, quiet beach that stretches as far as the eye can see in both directions.

We sleep in, we stay in our pyjamas until lunch time, we have morning sleeps, afternoon sleeps and sleeps whenever we want to. We walk on the beach every day, this year we've even started running on the beach.

We don't look at the clock, we don't care about time.

We watch daytime television, we buy the Women's Weekly, I read it to get in the mood for Christmas, M does the puzzles.

I usually bring 4 or 5 books, M brings 1 or 2. We read. We read some more and then when we are done we go to the bookshop and read some more.

For us, it is the perfect way to end a busy working year and recharge our relationship.

It is our little piece of heaven.

What is your little piece of heaven?

Today I'm Grateful For ...

2010-12-04T09:12:00.002+10:00

The gorgeous Katrina Chambers from I Am Media Mad for making me a new blog. If you followed my old blog over at Living Life as Me you might have noticed my blogging has been sporadic and "less personal" over the past few months. Well I'm back, new and refreshed and at a brand spanking beautiful new home. Please follow me here so I don't feel so much like a Nigel.
My friends both IRL and online ... for their love, warmth, inspiration, motivation, joyfulness, laughter, kindness, caring and for always being there.
Holidays ... today we leave for 7 days at the beach (in the rain) to relax and read. The fact there is a week of rain predicted has me more excited than you could imagine. I don't have to feel guilty for lying on the lounge reading ... so excited :)
Books ... apart from the people I love in my life, books are my next favourite thing. I have been reading since I was tiny and can't think of anything I like more than curling up on the lounge with a cup of tea, a good book and rain pouring down outside. Heaven. A life without books is no life at all.
Maxabella Loves for reminding us every single week that we have so much to be grateful in our lives.

Don't forget to go and visit Maxabella's blog if you haven't already been there. It's wonderful.