The Blub-Blub

Ne'er a truer word spoketh

noreply@blogger.com (Library girl) — Fri, 03 Feb 2012 11:12:00 +0000

"Never play with the feelings of others because you may win the game but the risk is that you will surely lose the person for a life time" - shakespeare

What a shame my ex will never understand that.

Well, I'm off for a week

noreply@blogger.com (Library girl) — Thu, 05 Jan 2012 22:00:00 +0000

Tonight my daughter and I are flying down to Brisvegas and hiring a car to drive to Broadbeach for my cousin's 30th birthday. 30. How on earth could she be 30? It seems like only yesterday I lugged her around like my very own pooping, weeing, crying, smiling doll. That must mean I'm ... we won't go there.

We're meeting up with my mum and all staying in a flash apartment over the weekend. My treat - Merry Christmas Ma! Then we'll head down to God's Country (Far North coast of NSW) to mum's for a few days before coming home next week.

And boy am I looking forward to it!

Not just because I get to see my mum or because I get to spend quality time with my daughter or because there's shops and beaches and sunning myself and doing nothing to be had.

No, the main reason I'm excited is that I get a week off from being a slave in this house.

Yep. Slave.

Honestly, how hard can it be to give a bit of a helping hand around the place? I clean up, go to work, come home, there's a mess. I cook dinner/do the shopping/water the garden/wash/fold the clothes and take care of anything else that is out of place, broken, missing or needs to be purchased. And if I'm really lucky I get a spare 30 minutes to do my daily walk.

Oh sure, the three boys that MAKE the mess make a token effort every now and then ... usually not until I've done my Krakatoa impersonation though. And I hate that side of me. I hate being a nagging fishwife. I don't want to jump up and down and stamp my feet. It makes me feel mean and uncomfortable and nasty.

And it's not like I'm asking for anything totally outrageous either. Just the dirty dishes actually put INTO the dishwasher. And the clean ones taken out. If you see a full clothes hamper, how about shoving it in the washing machine? And then hanging it out? Here's a tip - if there's dry washing on the line, how about you grab that basket that's sitting RIGHT UNDERNEATH THE CLOTHES LINE and bring it in for me? Make a mess on the floor - clean it up. We're running out of food? How about you go shopping? After all, I only eat a fraction of what I buy and the rest goes down your gullet so it's not like you don't know what to get!

Granted, Woody has had a cold the last few days but geez ... unless I'm actually dead I'm still expected to make sure the house ticks along. To me, the idea of lying on the lounge every afternoon after working only half days, watching the entire 6th series of Supernatural is just fucking lazy.

There. I said it. Lazy.

And the question that constantly pops up in my mind is "Is this the chicken or the egg?" By wanting to please when we first moved in together, did I make this situation happen or was this just a given?

Judging by the way his unit used to look (Pigpen had nothing on him), I'm leaning on the side of 'given' ... and here's where it gets real messy. Does that mean I want to change him? Is that fair? If you love someone, doesn't that mean you accept them just the way they are, warts and all?

But then, is it fair for me to do everything now we're living together? And whilst I know my boys create their own fair share of havoc, I tend to bristle when he tells them to clean up. I want to shout "Hey buddy! Talk about pot calling kettle black! Why don't YOU clean up?"

One afternoon I came home after a particularly tetchy day to find the boys hadn't cleaned their bathroom like I asked. After getting them to do it NOW because people were coming to stay with us and I didn't want them calling the Health Department, I walked out to the kitchen .... to find shit everywhere. Plates in sink, cups on bench, pots and pans dirty on stove. It looked like a major cook-off had taken place in my absence. Krakatoa rumbled.

I turned on my heel and stomped to the ensuite and took a shower. Woody came sauntering in as I opened the door to come out. I looked at him (it must have been a scary one) and quietly muttered "Someone had better clean up that kitchen before I go postal". I think he actually paled a little, reversed direction very quickly and scooted out to fix it.

In those cases, I end up with mixed feelings of relief that someone has helped me but guilty about losing my cool. Surely there must be a better way of getting some assistance but I'm yet to find it. Boys, I believe, are born with blinkers on and just don't see the mess.

Personally, I blame my vagina. If I wasn't a girl, I'm sure it wouldn't bother me.

The angry little man inside my brain

noreply@blogger.com (Library girl) — Wed, 04 Jan 2012 22:36:00 +0000

Run rabbit run

I'm doing a detox (Yay January! The season for making resolutions and sticking to them for about 2 weeks before we go back to 'regular broadcasting') and it involves cutting out alcohol, sugar and caffeine for at least 5 days.

They say that when you give up caffeine you may suffer a slight headache but only in the first day or two. What they conveniently forget to mention is that:

a) 'Slight' headache actually translates to the equivalent of an angry little man running around inside your brain, banging on the walls with a bloody big hammer screaming "Give. Me. Coffee. NOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWW"; and

b) This lasts ALL of the first two days of your detox.

So I'm at the dawn of Day 3 and whilst the little guy has finally given up banging and is now sobbing quietly in a corner, the remains of his work are still with me. My head feels tender from the inside out. And I wasn't a big coffee drinker at all. One, maybe two at the most, per day. Oh, and a cup of tea in the morning. I don't drink coke or any of those hellishly nasty 'energy' drinks (poison in a can, really) so that only totals a maximum of 3 doses of caffeine per day. I cannot imagine what the poor souls who drink more than that go through, should they ever go cold turkey.

But honestly, so far it hasn't been too tragically hard. The first day I was a little hungry (oh yeah, and felt like I had the mother of all hangovers thanks to the angry little man) but yesterday was pretty cruisy. Today seems to be shaping up ok as well. I've lost a kilo already, despite eating more than I usually do (although I guess contents are definitely different) and am starting to develop that smug "This is so easy. I'm so great. Look at me looking after my body." attitude that I will try keeping to myself in fear I will be slapped. I mean, if I can all of a sudden manage to eat healthily and go for that 30 minute walk now, how come I couldn't before? Idiot.

But I think what's really holding me together is the fact that this is only for 5 days. And I'm on hump day. For 5 days I can make changes. I can tell myself "It's not forever. Surely you can manage this for just 5 measly days you soft-centred lily-livered sooky bubba" (I tend to get a little Sergeant-Majorish with myself at times.)

Because the thought of doing this forever ... well, it just isn't worth thinking about. I mean, honestly. What would life be like without alcohol, sugar or caffeine? No chocolate. No red wine. No coffee.

Just sad, really.

Happy New ... diet?

noreply@blogger.com (Library girl) — Mon, 02 Jan 2012 22:28:00 +0000

Happy New Year to all! I had a fabulous New Year down in Brisbane where we went to watch Brisbane Roar trounce Melbourne Victory (sorry, Harry. You're cute but you're on the wrong team!) then walked to Southbank to watch the midnight fireworks before squeezing onto a train with half the population to get home (but it was free so you can't complain about that!).

So now it's my first day back at work and I'm starting a mild detox diet as well. I know, I know. It's going to be an interesting 5 days but I just HAVE to do it. I've been careless with my health for far too long so it's time for a little responsible action.

Wow. I almost convinced myself there! Seriously, I know it's at this time of year that we all make resolutions usually involving diets and health blah blah blah but this time I really mean it. I do. Cross my heart and hope to diet?

I've set myself a couple of goals this year so here's the list (just in case I forget it ... which is highly likely ...)

1. Eat healthy foods. Not diet so much as be aware of what I'm shoving down my gullet and remember that we are what we eat and I don't want to end up shaped like a burger. Wait ... french fries are slim ... I could handle looking like that ...

2. Do something physical I enjoy every day. That may be walking, gardening, playing soccer or horizontal folk dancing. And yes, I'm definitely counting that as exercise.

3. Love my life. Every time I get whiny and start complaining, I promise to give myself a good mental slap upside the head and take a good look at what I already have. I have so much nowadays. I need to be bloody grateful for it.

That's it. I have a short attention span anyway so any more than three resolutions and I'm doomed for failure before I've started.

2012 is going to be the BEST. Year. Ever!

A very Merry Christmas!

noreply@blogger.com (Library girl) — Thu, 29 Dec 2011 22:26:00 +0000

Well, after all that wittering, I had the most fabulous Christmas Day. Family, food, fun, presents, love and laughter! I scored majorly with a Kindle AND a coffee machine. Sweeeeet! But you know, I could have happily skipped the presents and just have been content with the family surrounding me all day.

They aren't even my family - they're Woody's - but they're so inclusive and loving and generous and funny. And early risers. Did I mention that? I thought Woody was joking when he said that his mum would be up at 5am on Christmas Day. Unfortunately not.

After a great Christmas Eve playing Scattergories to great hoots of laughter and much tongue-in-cheek bickering about the nature of some answers, we all crashed just before midnight. My last thought was "Surely they'll sleep in a little bit, seeing as it's so late?". I was wrong.

5am on the dot there was a gentle scrabbling and knocking at the bedroom door. Seriously?? Seriously. Since there was going to be a video camera around, I did the whole make-up that doesn't look like you have make-up but also doesn't look like you're a swamp donkey from the depths of sleep either. There were presents galore and it was very different from what we've done for the past god knows how long. Woody wore a Santa hat and handed them out like machine gun fire so it was all ripping paper and exclamations and noisy kisses whirling past so fast I have no idea what anyone got.

As a contrast, we always handed out one present at a time and everyone ooh'ed and aah'ed over it so the gift giving took a while. Neat. Orderly. Controlled.

Hmmmm .....

I never realised until a few years ago how neat, orderly and controlled everything in my life was - apart from the whole moving house every year or so which almost drove me nuts but kept Sidekick happy. I suppose I should have guessed that I'm a bit of a control freak, seeing as I'm a librarian. But there is still a bit of the rebel about me.

For instance, I don't believe in a shush library. If your library is quiet, that means people aren't in there. That's bad for your stats and for your community. And I did let people help in the kitchen (even though the mess ... omigod the mess ...). And I basically stood back and let this lovely, loud, gregarious, generous family come into my house and take over.

I actually liked it in a way. It's new and different and I'm lucky to have them consider me worthy of their affection.

Of course .... I've spent the last three days tidying things up but hey! The dry run is broken! What a fantastic Christmas!

A not-so-nice Christmas story

noreply@blogger.com (Library girl) — Thu, 22 Dec 2011 21:03:00 +0000

Whilst I am glad today is my last day of work and I am definitely looking forward to having 10 days off, I have been dragging my feet when it comes to getting 'Christmas-y'. I feel quite ambivalent about the day actually and this morning I was lying in bed, reading Facebook posts of friends who are obviously enjoying the lead-up and wondering why I felt a little, shall we say "Baa Humbug" about it?

Perhaps it's because the last two ... oh, wait ... make that three Christmases have been exceptionally crappy. I could make it into a song:

'The first shitty Christmas my true(?) love gave to me was an all-out brawl with my family' ... but to be honest, it wasn't all his fault. He was under a lot of stress - we were struggling to find a way to stay together and my Dad didn't help things by unknowingly being on a countdown of just on a year until his number was up but still not enjoying the precious little time he had left but rather haranguing us all on how we have to eat, breathe and live so we don't get cancer and die like he was going to. I stood up to him because he was picking on the kids and god knows, they didn't need lectures from their grandfather when their parents were doing the whole 'silent fighting' thing and the tension in the house was thicker than Jessica Simpson. He turned on Mum when she stood up for me then Sidekick told him in no uncertain terms that he could take that shit right out of our house and wasn't welcome anymore. Horrible, horrible stuff. Funny how I almost forgot that ... but then again, from June 2008 to about June 2010, everything is blurry in my mind. Like the pain of childbirth, the old brain says "Yeah, we don't need to carry THAT around every day" and jettisons the details.

'The second shitty Christmas my true ( ?!) love gave to me was a death threat and cut off from his family' ... only one part of which was his fault. Oh yeah, he threatened to come after me and gun me down 'Blatchy style'**. Lovely. I don't think he counted on me sticking my face right up close to his, looking him right in the eyes and saying softly "Bring. It. On you piece of shit. I'm not afraid of you anymore". We had already announced to our families that we were separating, thanks to his bullshit behaviour while I was down spending three weeks nursing my dad and giving my mum a break. Constant phone calls and texting abuse all hours of the day and night. Harassment in anyone's language ... except when you're a wife and believe you MUST answer otherwise you'll be in trouble, even though he's over 1000 k's away. My parents took the news well, knowing I had been unhappy for a long time (well, Mum did anyway.) and let him know that he would always be the father of their grandchildren and was always welcome; that they thought of him as a son. His parents cut me off completely, banning me from their Christmas activities altogether. For once, the SOB actually took my side and told them that if I couldn't come, none of them would. They didn't relent. Stupid people, really. It was to be my last Christmas with my father, who by that stage was thin and grey and definitely fading but so much nicer to be around. He had made peace with his disease. I just wish Sidekick hadn't been such a douche and I could have enjoyed those final days with him more. He had a stroke around 4am December 31st and died January 16th 2009.

'The third shitty Christmas my true (pffft!) love gave to me was no Christmas day with my kids and a 'oh, didn't I tell you the new girlfriend was coming down with me?'. Yeah, in my weaker moments of 2010, I said 'Sure, you can have the kids for Christmas Day' which turned out to be Christmas week. And his girlfriend went with them. Son. Of. A. Bitch. I hated the fact that they were having Christmas with him and her, even though it made sense. After all, he'd moved in with her 6 months ago. Oh yeah - he went from "I'll love no one but you forever" to 'I'm moving in with her' in less time than it takes to change an outfit. I honestly shouldn't have been surprised. One of our biggest problems was that he couldn't stand to be alone, which made me feel completely claustrophobic. He is an ex-soldier ... and what is a solder without his troops? A sad, pathetic loser (in his eyes, anyway). Our first Christmas without Dad and mine without my kids was pretty miserable for Mum and I. We woke up ... and cried. We went to church ... and cried. We came home ... and cried. I got the brilliant idea of putting Bundaberg Red label Rum in our coffee, which went well. Three 'coffees' later and I had to ring my sister in law to ask when they were coming because we needed supervision! Next day, I went out with old school friends and got drunk, so essentially last Christmas was an alcohol-induced blur. Pathetic. I missed Woody (who was having issues of his own, being cut off from all his family due to flooding and spending Christmas alone). I missed my kids. I hated my ex with a passion. And worst of all, I missed my Dad. The others I knew I would eventually catch up with (or get over) but there's nothing like a celebration to make you realise a person is REALLY gone. And you'll never get the chance to celebrate with them again.

So, Santa, all I really want for Christmas this year is nothing too extravagant. A family day spent with nice people, enjoying each others' company and celebrating the fact that here I am - new house, new partner, new life, new start - and enjoying everything that life has to offer me. At the end of the day, after all the trials and tribulations, I do realise that I am truly blessed.

May you all get the Christmas that you want and may it be a time to cherish and remember always.

**refers to a family we once knew so well. She was planning to leave him so he stopped halfway home on a country road and shot her at point blank range with his rifle hidden under the seat whilst the kids screamed in the back seat. He then got out and shot himself in the head. I should have insisted Sidekick get counselling for that, as he went into a depression that I'm not sure he'll ever recover from*

It's beginning to look alot like Christmas

noreply@blogger.com (Library girl) — Sun, 18 Dec 2011 21:00:00 +0000

Oh god why do people do this?

Last year, I took the time to write Christmas cards to anyone and everyone I could think of. I was ready to come out of hiding and tell those I may not have had much contact with in the previous 18 months that I was Dad-less and husband-less but things were good. Things were actually rather excellent. I guess it was a gesture to the Universe to say "I'm back, better than before for all I've been through and I'm ready to face the world again".

I even wrote a blog about Those sickly-sweet Christmas Letters, which if you want a bit of background history, you might find interesting to read. I certainly did. It's funny how blogs often double as very effective diaries of your life. Brought ALOT back.

This year, I'm still good - great, even! But things are different again. Life is full, more than I could have ever imagined it was possible to be. So that, and the fact I received 3 cards last year for all my efforts I figured a 'snarky sarcastic Christmas letter' via email would suffice this year as I don't do sickly sweet, even on a good day.

Oh yes, you could argue about modern technology taking over the niceties of doing things 'right'. I'm sure when the first ballpoint pens came out, there was a lot of hooha over using them as opposed to the ol' quill and ink. Let's face it - communication is constantly evolving and changing (or in the case of Facebook and Twitter, some may argue it's devolving!) and does it really matter HOW we touch base with others from our life collage? As long as we send a message saying "Hey. It's Christmas. And I thought of you. How are ya?", that's all that really counts in the end.

So here's my Christmas letter this year. Just thought I'd touch base with you, say 'It's Christmas. I'm thinking of you. Things are great here. Hope you're well. xxx'

Hi all,

I did the whole debating over Christmas cards this year and decided “Nah. Email it is. Can send as much or as little info as I want with the luxury of cut ‘n’ paste!” AND I can congratulate myself on saving paper, not clogging up Australia Post and my Christmas wishes actually reaching you BEFORE New Year’s.

It’s been a pretty huge year for all of us so I’ll keep things down to the highlights. And look! I made them all pretty colours, just to suck the eyeballs out of your head! You’re welcome.

For those of you in a rush, here’s the short version: we got flooded, bought a house, all moved in with a strange man (although I’m pretty sure he’s thinking he moved in with a strange family), went to Canada, all got sick, lost a dog, got a new one, The Princess changed jobs, Man-Child graduated high school, Ray of Sunshine stayed the same and we all made it through the year with more or less our sanity intact!

For those of you with a hot cuppa and work to avoid, please go ahead and check out the extended version:

January – It rained. We got stuck in Lennox Head. Had an adventure trying to get home. Took the only available road in (dirt) in a clapped-out, faded-red Nissan Pulsar (The Princess's) and only had to tell the kids twice to “close your eyes and pray we make it through this wet patch ‘cause Mummy’s gunning it!”. We got home in one piece to find the dog ok but The Princess's room not so much. A few hours of cleaning and airing though and it was fine.

February – Scored for my first Valentines’ Day with Woody. A lovely Pandora bracelet and whisked away from Little Theatre rehearsals for dinner at a fancy restaurant. Woohoo!

March – Soccer season started. I pulled a calf muscle and spent a few weeks on the sideline. Ray of Sunshine turned (OMG!) 15 and had a sleepover with four nerdy mates who took over the internet. Actually it’s nice that he has some good friends to hang out with. He took up his trumpet playing after 18 months of letting it get dusty in Yeppoon and the only person more pleased than me was his music teacher! He’s a natural and no longer sounds like an angry duck but an actual player!

April – After many weeks of looking for a house to buy together, Woody and I found the perfect one. Were just checking it out on a whim and was the only one the kids came to see as well. Walked out and they whispered “You’re going to buy that, right?” Went to Townsville to spend Easter with Woody's brother and sister in law and their 18 month old and had a great time. It was the first time that Woody and I and the kids had gone away together and it was a laugh riot the whole way J What wasn’t a laugh riot was mucking around with the bank over the Easter break trying to get our home loan done in time L

May – A HUGE MONTH. Moved in to the house, officially living with Woody rather than across town. After an outstanding success with my first directorial debut with Little Theatre (Inspector Drake and the Black Widow), Woody and I jetted off to Canada for a 2 week holiday. Spent most of it in and around Toronto and enjoyed THE BEST BIRTHDAY EVER (kind of a joint one with Woody on 22^nd, mine on 25^th May) at Niagara Falls. It was a wonderful day and totally made up for the crap birthday I had the year before.

June – Back to reality and work. Sammy, our lovely Cocker Spaniel, passed away at 15 years of age. She’d had a good run and we all shed a few tears. Because there was no dog in the yard, a nasty beastie got stuck into The Princess's cockatiel Sprinkles about 3am one morning. I heard the flapping from bed and raced out to save him. He was shaken and definitely stirred and whatever it was had chewed off the pin feathers to his left wing. Brought the poor little bugger inside in the little travel cage and went back to bed. Checked him about 6am and he was still goggle-eyed. Watched a bit of the morning news with him nestled on my chest and he’d nod off to sleep briefly only to jolt himself awake again. Slightly paranoid for a while there but he recovered ok. After that, would just hiss at you when you went to cover his cage after dark and always slept right up in the middle top rung after that!

July – Scruffy, a mini foxy/crossed with something fluffy, joined the Combination Crazy household. Small, cute, strong willed and seemingly in possession of a death wish, he has certainly made his mark with Man-Child, who loves nothing more than to sit out on the ‘dog couch’ (that he’s slowly but surely eating!) and cuddle up with the little fluff ball. Scruffy sleeps in the cubby house (akin to a doggy mansion) at night because otherwise he barks at the moon, the leaves rustling, other dogs barking or simply the silence.

August – Man-Child turned 17 (OMG again!) and The Princess decided she was not going to be an accountant anymore and started looking around for other jobs. We were all sick, sick sick!! For about three weeks there was nothing but groaning half-dead bodies littering the house with hacking coughs puncturing the night hours! Haven’t been that ill since I had tonsillitis in 1998! Got pleurisy as a reward for not going to the doctors when I should have and it took months for the pain in my right chest lining to fully subside. I still get occasions where the ribs feel a little sore L

September – Err … let’s see … pretty sure that’s when the small dog with a giant death wish started trying to dig his way to China via the house behind the back fence where a dog roughly the size of Hagrid’s wolfhound resides. No matter what I put under, on top of or in front of the hole in the fence, he continued on his merry way … until I liberally showered the area with Tabasco Sauce. That fixed the little bugger!

October – The Princess turned 20 (eek!) and had a week of parties. She learnt from an early age how to make the most of a birthday towards the end of the year! Woody and I went to Mackay for the annual Rangers 8-a-side soccer competition weekend and both survived it with limited injuries. Not only did I not hurt myself this year but I even made it five full games without having to sub off and didn’t feel too bad at the end of it. (Told the coach later that I mustn’t have run that much!) The Princess found a new job with a local building company, doing the bookkeeping. Loves it and apparently all the tradies love HER! Of course they would – she is good humoured, good looking and a good worker!

November – Purchased my first-ever bit of serous bling. In August, we went to the Gemfest and Woody bought me a lovely trillion sapphire (it’s a rounded triangle shape, if that makes any sense!) and while we were there I saw some beautiful pieces of jewellery made by a German lady based in Maleny. Together she and I designed a ring to fit the sapphire and 9 weeks later TA DA! It’s ridiculously expensive, being white gold, but I totally love it! At first people thought it was an engagement ring (steady on! It’s enough that we have a joint mortgage at the moment!) but soon figured out it’s on the wrong hand. Totally extravagant but totally worth it after years of feeling I didn’t deserve ‘nice stuff’. And most exciting of all – MAN-CHILD GRADUATED HIGH SCHOOL! Didn’t think he was going to make it there for a while but in the end, a little pushing and shoving and blubbering tears on my behalf got him over the line. He looked most handsome too J Ray of Sunshine also was given the First Trumpet role for next year with the Symphonic and Jazz Bands! Woohoo!

December – The Princess moved into her own ‘digs’ with a few mates – very excited to see her spreading her wings but boy o boy, the house is soooo quiet without her and her chatty little cockatiel here. We’re amping up for a busy Christmas at the Combination Crazy house this year, with Woody's brother, sister in law, mum, dad, aunties, uncles and a few soccer ‘orphans’ coming along for Christmas lunch at our place. Then for New Years, the three boys and I are flying down to Brisbane to go to the Roar game on New Year’s Eve.

So from all of us here in the Outback, we wish you and your loved ones a very Merry Christmas and a safe and happy New Year!

Love and kisses,

Library Girl, Woody, The Princess, Man-Child and Ray of Sunshine

xxxxx

Well. All I can say is "wow"

noreply@blogger.com (Library girl) — Tue, 13 Dec 2011 21:09:00 +0000

The internet. Blogging. Facebook. My god, we are more separate yet more connected than ever in existence. We have access to a wealth of information, thoughts, actions, videos, sound recordings and people from all walks of life. Granted, the internet was a godsend for porn and every crackpot under the sun. But there is also so much wonderful gold out there in cyperspace as well.

Thanks to Mike Dooley's facebook page, I found and read this early this morning.

Click on the link - http://exposingthetruth.info/top-five-regrets-of-the-dying/

Read it.

Bloody marvellous.

Have a fantastically awe-inspiring and wonderfully fulfilling day.

Failing that, have a not-entirely-tragic one and know that tomorrow will be better.

HTGH No 4: Avoiding work on your days off

noreply@blogger.com (Library girl) — Mon, 05 Dec 2011 20:56:00 +0000

Yeah, not doing so well with this one. Took some leave halfway through last week to halfway through this week and so far have spent ONE DAY away from the library. How did this happen?

Well, I was going to take the whole of last week off but there were 'important meetings' scheduled at the last minute for the first two days ... so I thought I'd go to them THEN take time off. Then the important meetings were rescheduled to later in the week. I thought "Fuck it. I'm going on leave anyway. I'm not going to make it to Christmas break without killing someone otherwise. I'm staying in town so I can just come in for those meetings. It'll be fine."

Such. An idiot. Because you don't relax, do you. No, you're halfway through painting the wall, realising you're not going to finish the job before you have to rush off to sit and talk about who's doing what for the garden party event on Saturday, knowing full well that your shit is organised and they can just talk among themselves to work out what they have to do but feeling the pressure of being there because you promised you would.

You go to the acupuncturist, who feels your wrist and says 'Why are you so stressed today?' then looks at you funny when you say 'Because I'm on leave but made the mistake of checking my emails and had to spend the morning feeling frustrated and confused about what to do about the long-term (and fucking troublesome, make no mistake) employee who's finally resigned but has sent me an email telling me ... TELLING. ME!! that she's decided she'll skive off early on her last day because it suits her and it's ok because she's put signs up telling the community the library will be closed due to no staff being available.'

He sighs and says "Soooo ... leave actually starts for you tomorrow, then. And don't check your emails!!"

It's winding down to the end of the year, I'm tired of having to deal with people who don't or can't or refuse point blank to 'play the game' or even just be decent human beings. I'd settle for that. I wouldn't care so much if they had issues with me, as long as they told me to my face. Then we could find ways to compromise, deal with it, move past. But holy Hera, I am so tired of them smiling politely, saying everything's fine then hearing the whispers that everything's not.

I'm actually a pushover. A nice person (I know, I know, people who say that often aren't but I really do try so hard to see their side, to understand their needs and their wishes and try to 'fix things' so they are happy little library ladies). It has become very clear to me that being a 'nice person' as a manager is a real liability. They take it as permission to treat you like shit (ok, maybe lapsing into self-pity/paranoia land here) and it doesn't matter what you do, you'll always be 'the man', the authority figure that is to be automatically hated no matter what.

Which is why the thought of going back to work on Thursday just weighs so heavily. Would they really miss me? The crew at my library possibly. We all had brunch on Sunday together, which was lovely. They are a great bunch of people and my saving grace. If not for them, I would have quit long ago. And there are really only two of the other nine branches that give me a massive migraine so perhaps I am blowing things out of perspective.

I guess I'm troubled by the fact I'm heading straight into a fight on Thursday with a woman at one of those iffy branches who I will be reporting to HR for bullying and harassment. The 16 year old school based trainee there, unbeknownst to me until a few weeks ago, has been copping so much flak from the very beginning. And it's nasty, petty little stuff. They leave her waiting outside in the sweltering heat (or in one case, the pouring rain) until 9am when the library doors open, telling her off for being early to work. Yes, she actually got yelled at for being early! They leave a weeks' worth of shelving for her and that's all the poor kid has done for the fist 8 months of her traineeship. That and cut out shapes for storytime craft. Nothing with circulation or the computers until two weeks before she was due to come to our library to do a three week block to get her hours up (because, I suspect, the library administrator would know I'd be asking questions about why this kid has been coming to the library for almost a year and doesn't know the automated library system at all). The library administrator and her 'buddy' ignore the poor girl, speak harshly to her when they do speak at all, and generally make her feel very unwelcome.

And yet, the kid has grace and poise beyond her years. She said to me 'It's only one day a week and it's an opportunity I wouldn't have had otherwise, to get this certificate. It's only another year and I just smile and say hello and try to do the best I can and not give them anything to pick on me for.'

My heart broke for her. There's no way I would have coped so admirably with that at 16. I would have cried and quit.

Which is why, even though I hate conflict, I'm going into battle for her this week. Otherwise, I don't think I could actually look myself in the mirror and call myself a decent person, let alone a good manager.

HTGH No. 3: Getting rid of "should"

noreply@blogger.com (Library girl) — Mon, 28 Nov 2011 21:23:00 +0000

I have this idea in my head and I can't get rid of it. In actual fact, I really don't want to. I want to see it happen. I've almost had it before but the timing wasn't right and this is a good thing, I believe. A good thing like in the third Harry Potter movie, where he cast the Petronus charm effectively for the first time. He did it successfully because, as he explained to Hermione, he knew he could because he'd done it before. And this is how I know that my little dream will become a firm reality. Because I've done it before.

You see, whilst I love libraries absolutely and completely, I detest the constant beating of my head against the bureaucracy that is Council. I'm tired of having to constantly remind them of the fact that the library service is, in actual fact and without a word of a lie, the best PR machine they have. So when they allow services to slip, won't give us resources to fulfill our duties to the best of our ability and generally forget all about us, that sends a clear message to the community along the lines of:

"You don't really matter. Your educational, recreational and creative needs are not our concern. We say we care about your quality of life but in actual fact, we don't really think about what that actually means aside from roads and rubbish collection. We don't really care if you can't use a computer or know what the internet is. We don't really care if you can't access the internet because we have all the equipment but no staff to install them for 6 months. Can't contact home? Can't access services that others with home computers and internet can? Tough titties. And as for books, what good are they anyway? Can't you buy them yourself? No? There's no bookshop in our region? Ah well. You can drive 3 - 4 hours to Rocky, can't you? Or why don't you order them over the internet? What's that? You don't have internet? Well, go to the lib ... oh. Wait...."

We have a joined library service of 10 access points across the Central Highlands but NO COURIER to get our books from one library to the other. Our region is about the size of Tasmania - 60,000 sq.k's. No, I am not exaggerating. We rely on staff travelling from one site to another to take the boxes of books requested every day and man, do they bitch about that. I can't say I blame them - they aren't paid to be couriers. As Regional Librarian, I'd do it myself. If I had a library car, that is. But I don't. And notice there's no 'manager' in my title, even though I manage 10 branches and 22 staff? That's so they don't have to pay me a salary and give me a private use vehicle and include me in the middle management meetings (not that I'm disappointed about that part. I know a useless meeting when I see one and those are at the top of the pile.)

I love my library and the gang I work with. They make every day a good day. What I don't like is trying to soothe the troubles of the 9 other access points from a distance. And it always comes as a sideswipe. Like I should have known ... but since no-one tells me anything, it's a bit hard to predict. They had a bitch about me once at a meeting I couldn't get to because I was very sick. They said I didn't communicate enough. So I started communicating all the time. But guess what? I get precious little feedback. To be fair, there are four libraries that run well, communicate with me, take care of their little issues and just ask for advice. I love them to bits and trust them to do a good job. There's two that are very small so big stuff doesn't come up. That leaves three that give me a major headache so I suppose I should be grateful.

But I'm tired of managing people. I'm tired of fighting for recognition of the library service from my own organisation. I shouldn't have to do that. I studied for years, giving up weekends with my kids and missing the cinema release of every one of the last three Star Wars movies ... on my birthday! I worked hard to get distinctions in my studies, to get ahead in the workplace, to get into the library in the first place! Does walking away from that mean I'm giving up? I feel like I should stay. But I get the same feeling deep in the pit of my gut that I did with my marriage.

When you start saying "should" it means you've lost the passion, lost the grip on the reason you were there in the first place - not because you thought you SHOULD be but because not being there just didn't feel right. Whilst it fit you like a glove once upon a time, you've now grown and changed and the glove feels tight and constricting and you just want to. take it. off.

I know that if when I have a baby, my organisation won't be flexible even though one of their mantra's is 'family friendly'. There are expectations still in place (by the old men at the top of the heap who, by their own admission, went to work for long hours at a time and never saw their kids grow up) that work will come first. That despite the fact there's so many things I could do via the online access at home, I'll be expected to turn up at the office every day from 8.30 to 5.

I do not want that life. I want to work from home doing something that gets me excited, that pays good money into our household but that lets me be free to nurse the baby when I want to, go have coffee and socialise with mothers through the week, potter in the garden and cook the dinner and clean the house. I want to be a 1950's mum with the added advantage of doing something that stimulates me and pays for our annual holiday.

When I first left Sidekick, I was doing some editing and proofreading from home, thanks to an old uni buddy who would send me her backlog. When she went away and when she had to go to hospital, I took on many of her clients and had a taste of what it would be like to do this 'for real'. And I have to say I loved it. I did stuff for Random House and other publishers; I read through documents for DEEDI; I checked automated letters for AMEX. Loved it.

But this library job came up and I knew in my bones I needed to grab it with both hands. I was planning and organising the removalists before I even had the interview, I was that certain that it was 'my job'. And I was right. It was perfect in every way. It got me back to what the kids would call our home town. It got me back earning some money. It got the kids back to their friends, close to their father, installed back in their safety zone. It gave me back my community that I didn't realise I needed and had missed through the trauma of losing my father and my marriage all at once.

It brought me here to Woody. And that is quite possibly the greatest gift that job gave me. Because here I sit, experiencing the kind of happiness and contentment in a relationship that I used to only dream of.

So now it's been 18 months and I've grown and changed and I think the library job has done what it was intended to do. It's time to stop thinking of the 'shoulds' and start dreaming of the 'wants'. What do I want to do? They say that in order to effectively attract what you want, you need to stop thinking of the details and instead concentrate on the feelings and emotions that will come when you get it.

I want to be happy. End of story.

Building my castle one stone at a time

noreply@blogger.com (Library girl) — Fri, 25 Nov 2011 02:16:00 +0000

I recently found this mantra stuck to the outside of my Library degree. I'd hung it up on my wall next to my bed to get me through the very, very dark first days after my father and my marriage died simultaneously. I think I actually got it from a blogger mate who lives in Spain [ :) Hi Diogo!]
It's rather beautiful.

I may have flaws, live in anxiety and be upset a few times ...

But I don't forget that my life is the world's greatest endeavour and I can avoid its bankrupcy.

To be happy is to realise it's worth living - in spite of all the challenges, misunderstandings and periods of crisis ...

To be happy is to stop being a victim of problems and becoming the author of my own history ...

It is crossing deserts outside oneself but being able to find the oasis in the depths of one's soul ...

It is thanking God for the miracle life is.

To be happy is to be unafraid of one's feelings.

It's being able to speak about oneself.

It's having the heart to face the word "No!!"

It's the feeling of safety after criticism, even if unfair ...

Stones on my path?

I keep all of these so one day I can build my castle.

~ Author unknown

HTGH No.2 : Soccer

noreply@blogger.com (Library girl) — Wed, 23 Nov 2011 20:17:00 +0000

I went back to soccer training this week and whilst my body is feeling the pain of letting it slide for a few months, my mind is feeling so much better about everything.

I don't know why I let it slide in the first place. Once upon a time, back when I was married to Sidekick, soccer was a major priority. I would go down to the field even when it was pouring with rain, just to see if anyone would be crazy enough, like me, to want to train! It was my escape. My shield. My way of coping with the fact (even before I ever knew it) that I didn't feel comfortable in my own house. That I didn't want to be at home.

See, now I love my home. I love coming home from work to Woody. I love spending time with him. This week we've been having a Harry Potter revisit, going through all the movies from the very first one. God, I'd forgotten how long those first few movies were!! And it's been fun. It's something Sidekick never would have done ... "What's the point?" he would have said, "You've already seen them all." Now I'm not bagging Sidekick - it's just his way. His way and my way are very, very different and that makes it hard to live under the same roof when you have so little in common to begin with and as you grow older, you find your paths getting further and further away from each other.

Class of 2011

I recently shared a lovely night where together Sidekick and I watched our middle child and firstborn son graduate at his formal. All the kids were dressed up so elegantly and looked so gorgeous and bubbled over with this vibrant energy you could almost reach out and touch in the room. It was fabulous!

Well, at least to me it was.

I've been the one who's gone through the last two years with this child, coaching and begging and cajoling and pleading and yelling at him to get assignments in and study hard. Sidekick just hasn't been there and mostly through choice rather than the circumstance of us being separated and eventually divorced. Apart from a 6 month stint where he left the town we had moved to and so was 3 hours away, we've lived only a few minutes away from each other. And he works shift, which means he has 4 - 5 days off at a time. I know many men seem to have different priorities when they separate - "I must find someone else and re partner so I'm not alone" kind of thing but I must admit that any shred of respect I had for him fled once I saw the way he completely dropped his kids off his priority list in favour of a new girlfriend.

So Sidekick wasn't 'enchanted' by the night or the energy of these beautiful young adults. Instead he was continually checking his watch and rereading the program to see when it would end. Sad. Yes he had to go to work in the morning. So did I. This was a 'moment'. We'll never have this moment again, even though we have one more son to go through this in a few years' time. This was our middle childs' graduation. He seemed to miss the point completely.

He doesn't understand why this son of his ignores his phone calls and texts. I've given up intervening. I just stay right out of it. Kids know when you're not really there for them. They know who they can rely on and who just says they can. They are young but certainly not fools. Of course, our firstborn son loves his dad. I've observed that even when parents are total shits, kids will still love them no matter what. Maybe it's genetic programming. But I'm not sure he totally respects him and whilst I used to grieve on Sidekick's behalf about that fact, nowadays I am philosophical. We get out of life what we put in.

But I digress. What I wanted to say was that there was no stress at all in sitting side by side with the man who fathered my children and it was lovely to be able to both be there with no anxiety or anger so our son could enjoy his night with both of us. It was the first of many occasions where we'll need to share space for our children's best interests so it's nice to know that we can not only do it but actually enjoy the moment together. But the conversation with Sidekick and the way he behaved showed me that whilst I didn't go about it so well, I certainly made the right choice in leaving. Life's glass will always be half empty for him and I could no longer live with someone like that. It dragged me down.

Which brings me back to soccer. I know ... how? Well, I guess the point of that whole tangent was that once I used soccer as a safe haven and now I have no need to. Which makes me a little slack at making myself go. But I did this week. And I loved it. After the initial warm up, which I always hate - running a lap around the oval dribbling a ball, doing a circuit of jumping little hurdles, sidestepping poles and one-touch kicks - we get into the game drills and the time flies. I love the satisfaction of kicking a ball and having it go exactly where I pictured it. I love positioning myself just so and getting a pass in or a goal scored. I love the camaraderie with other girls who love the same thing as me.

This 'How To Get Happy' project seems to be working so far. I'm finding the stresses of work easier to handle and I'm a much nicer person at home. And it's got my creative juices going regarding projects as well. Mission well underway!

HTGH No. 1 : gardening

noreply@blogger.com (Library girl) — Sat, 19 Nov 2011 20:30:00 +0000

Tiptoe thru the tulips

My little "How To Get Happy" project has begun. On Friday morning, I got up and made myself a cup of tea when Woody went to work as I usually do but instead of slopping back to bed and playing Bejewelled (which I am sure will be popping up as one of my HTGH's) I went out to the vege patch to weed and put the newspaper down for the layer of rocks Woody brought home from the washplant rubbish pile.

I spent an hour out there, pottering around and tidying up. It's been neglected for a few weeks as I've been working on Saturday mornings as well as during the week due to lack of staff. Hence, I get home around lunch on Saturday, do a few loads of washing and catch up on housework then there's Sunday with getting some painting of the interior walls done then it's straight back into Monday with work! No rest for the wicked, in short.

And I do love gardening. There's nothing so satisfying as making things grow, especially things you can eat! Although, I must admit I need to work on getting the amount of plants right as the family has had just about all it can take of Spinach! I've handed out great bunchfuls at work to try and use it up. I hate waste but there's just so much you can eat before you get tired of it.

I have a great little vege patch too. Three raised beds surrounded by paths with a compost heap in one corner and fenced off from Scruffy the wonder mutt, who takes great delight in eating, digging, chewing and otherwise destroying anything and everything. If he's lucky, he'll make it to his first birthday next month and I am hanging out for the puppy stuff to finish and the sensible dog to begin ... although I am not entirely sure he'll EVER grow out of some of the puppy stuff at all.

It's getting onto summer here and that means HOT. We average 34 - 36 degrees Celsius most days with our hottest periods averaging 40 degrees plus for a few days at a time. Very intense. I really don't like summer here, being a coasty girl most of my life, but I guess that's the price you pay for a gorgeous spring, mild winter and beautiful autumn. It means gardening is most comfortable in the early hours of the morning. You get to see the sunrise too. And listen to the birds singing. And smell the earth as it slowly wakes up for the day.

Breath in. Breath out.

I felt so good going to work for the first time in a couple of weeks ... until I read some emails that nearly made me tear my hair out. Fortunately I got a call "I'm going out to the Gemmy's to install their internet computers - wanna come with?". I was out the door before you could whistle Dixie! Nothing like running away from the office to give you a chance to get things into perspective.

By the time we got back, it was time for lunch. Sweeeet!

And after that, I was pretty chilled (and feeling a little tired from the early morning gardening) so the bothersome emails didn't bother me anymore.

I think that can be chalked up as a successful start to my project!

My god, they're ALL growing up!

noreply@blogger.com (Library girl) — Mon, 14 Nov 2011 21:20:00 +0000

Last post was about my oldest girl, who's gone from a little princess to a 20 year old woman seemingly overnight. Now, it's the middle child's turn.

This week is his last week of high school. We've finally made it through ... and I say 'We' because I have poked, prodded, cajoled, begged and cried at this child to motivate himself to use that amazing brain power he possesses for good rather than evil and do his freakin' assignments on time!

His English teacher and I are on first name basis. Quite frankly, I'm glad the constant phone calls are over. I'd glance down at my phone at work, see the school number and immediately freeze - not because of the usual fear of "What's happened to my children?" but 'Oh God, what assignment is due now?'

His voice, instantly recognisable by it's slow drawl, would greet me politely as I sat in my chair breaking out in a cold sweat, then would proceed with the same sentence citing that my son, my incredibly smart yet commonsense-dumb son was 'not progressing as well as I would hope' with his latest English assessment piece. My son, who copes with Physics, Maths B and Maths C very well, seemed to think that English was beneath him. Argh!!!

But we got through - and on Thursday night, I think I'll buy his English teacher a beer and we can drink to the relief of getting the boy through this year.

Thursday night is his Graduation Formal. We went a few weeks ago to buy a suit for him and even though he's been towering over me for a while, even though his voice is deeper and he's capable of growing a moustache (albeit a tiny hairy caterpillar style one), I really hadn't realised he was growing up. Until he came out of the change room with his suit on, a Blues Brothers-style hat perched on his head.

Oh. My. God.

What a gorgeous young man he has become! I didn't want to get all soppy in the shops but seeing him all manly-like brought a lump to my throat.

Even before he was born, this lad has been pushing my buttons in all sorts of ways but making me love him fiercely nevertheless. I had the worst morning sickness with him; he cried almost non stop until he was 6 months old so I loved him but didn't like him very much; he had terrible nappy rash, prickly heat rash and something weird going on with his pee pee so I had to fight to get him circumcised which cleared it up instantly but left me scarred by a doctor who basically told me I was a horrible mother for doing it to my child.

He has always had a dry, sarcastic wit that I just love but it can sometimes turn nasty. He is smart as a whip but so laid back he's almost comatose. His room has always been a bit of a tip but he's particular about being on time and getting his hair just right. He's my father in so many ways, it frightens the life out of me.

He comes across as crusty and cranky but he is so soft underneath it's beautiful to witness. He spends hours outside with the dog sitting on his lap and makes sure he's put to bed at night. He's lovely to little kids and they adore him, even though he'll snarl about them to his peers later.

He's awkward and shy yet I once dared him to wear his vampire teeth in the video store and he did, occasionally hissing to make it authentic.

He has no idea where he wants to go from school but I am sure in his laid-back laconic way, he'll find his place in life. I just hope he finds a lovely girl who either enjoys cleaning or is comfortable living in a pigsty.

He makes my heart sing and ache with sadness at the same time. Of all my kids, he's given me the greatest challenges but I think he's made me a better mum for all that. I adore him and feel truly blessed that I've had three totally gorgeous yet very very different children.

As he goes out into the world, I pray he'll survive!

Magical life

noreply@blogger.com (Library girl) — Sun, 06 Nov 2011 00:16:00 +0000

I've watched this video clip a few times now, and every time I'm moved almost to tears at the wonder of it. Click here before you go further and enjoy the moment too ...
Beautiful, huh? So, as I was saying, I showed it to my daughter this morning before taking the youngest to school and driving past the middle child who wanted to walk for his last day as a High Schooler. Yes, that's right. He's graduating today. I can't tell you how pleased I am that he actually made it but if you read my last post, you'll have some idea already!

Anyhoo, I dropped the boy at school and decided to treat myself to a coffee and croissant for breakfast as I have a bit of time before the Graduation ceremony at school this morning. My thinking was that I don't treat myself enough. It's the little pleasures, don't you think, that make this life kinda wonderful. Sure, the big things are great but they are few and far between and you need something to look forward to every day, I believe now, to remind you that life really is a gift and should be enjoyed rather than endured.

You see, I've been a pretty miserable bitch for a little while now ... I'm sure Woody would agree with this and yet the poor boy does his damnedest to hang in there and wait for the funny, happy-go-lucky chick he fell in love with to come the HELL back.

And as I walked into the kitchen, musing on how lovely it was not to be at work dealing with the tiny trifles that others blew up into major events all the time and boy I'm actually looking forward to taking my time to wash the car and paint that wall today after the ceremony and oh, loved fiddling about in the garden yesterday afternoon because I just couldn't take work anymore and my throat hurt so I came home at lunchtime and lay on the bed and just did nothing and wasn't that a good thing I did rather than doing the 'right thing' and staying even though I felt like the next person who walked out the back and said "There's such-and-such on the phone for you" or "We've got a lady out there who insists she brought all her books back and she's chucking a fit cause she's debarred and we wont let her loan" was going to cop my fist in their face, the thought struck me like a thunderbolt.

"Damn it girl. You HAVE to get happy! You need to figure out what makes you smile and bloody well do it or you will be forever miserable and lose all the good stuff you have going on here"

So this is what I shall do. I shall figure out what makes me happy. And I will write them all down. And I will DO THEM. And see what happens.

Let the life experiment begin.

My little princess

noreply@blogger.com (Library girl) — Sun, 06 Nov 2011 00:12:00 +0000

Once upon a time about 20 years ago, I lay on the mattress on the floor of the spare room of our house on the side of the hill in Enoggera, gazing down at my precious little sleeping princess.

It had been only a few weeks since we'd moved into the house ... and only two weeks before that I'd gone through the most amazing, painful, traumatic, exciting experience of my life - giving birth.

I like the way it's called 'giving birth' although maybe it should actually be called 'giving life' since that's what it really is ...

After all the fun and games of hospital and getting to know this tiny creature that had kicked the bejesus out of me since Week 16, then packing boxes and shifting a suburb then unpacking boxes whilst trying to get the hang of nappies (cloth ones, at that!), breastfeeding, sleeping, eating cold food and drinking cold tea and wondering if I'd ever fit back into my clothes again, we had settled into a bit of a pattern of having an afternoon nap together in the spare room.

It had two walls full of windows that opened at the right angle of an afternoon to catch the breeze coming up the hill. It was small and peaceful and we could hear the sound of the motorbike announcing daddy's arrival home just after 4pm.

Most of the time I conked out right alongside her on the mattress, catching up on much-needed sleep without worrying about her rolling off the bed since we were on the floor anyway. She'd lay arms akimbo, head turned to one side (usually the left), legs splayed in a manner that is oh-so-cute in a baby but not so much in a grown-up.

I can't remember if I'd dozed this particular day then woke up to gaze at her in wonder or if I hadn't been able to sleep that afternoon. Either way, I definitely remember looking down at this beautifully magical little wonder that I had helped create and wondering what she would be like as she grew. I tried to picture what she would look like, what her voice would sound like, who she would be.

Would she be funny? Would she be beautiful? Tall? Short? Round? Fit? Would she and I get on? I tried to picture us doing things together when she was 5 then 15 then 25. In some ways, I found it hard to imagine that this tiny little creature, with her little hands curled into fists and tufts of soft black downy hair, would one day (if she was lucky enough) be a mother herself. Whatever she'd be, my heart overflowed with love for her and amazement that she was finally here ... and mine.

Yesterday, a beautiful young lady walked into the library just as we were getting ready to close. My very first thought was "Who's that stunner?" before I realised she was my girl. She'd just got her hair cut and had bought eyelash enhancer ("makes your lashes look like they're on steroids" she laughingly enthused!) and had come to pay me back for buying her something the day before.

And suddenly I remembered that balmy afternoon so very long ago when I'd dreamed of who my daughter would be when she grew up. I never imagined she'd be someone I would love as a daughter but as a friend as well. I never thought she'd be so beautiful. Or funny. I definitely knew she'd be stubborn and frustrating but had no idea she'd be so kind and generous to others. Even the very best of what I had imagined wasn't even close to the real thing.

I lay in bed with Woody this morning and told him this story, feeling a wee bit teary in the process. His shining eyes told me he so wanted the chance to experience first-hand the utter wonder of children himself.

I think ... I think he might actually get that chance.

Fight

noreply@blogger.com (Library girl) — Sun, 30 Oct 2011 21:09:00 +0000

Ah, sometimes I think I'm a bit of a ~~phsy~~...~~pshy~~...~~psci~~...crazy person. For some strange reason (or actually none at all) I go completely off my nut at some tiny little inconsequential thing Woody says (or more often doesn't say) or does and it all blows up into a huge fight.

Actually, since he's not much of a talker, it all blows up into a huge diatribe of shit dribbling out of my mouth and him just looking at me. In my sane moments, I realise he's got that "Shit! Shit! Fuck! Fuck! What do I say that won't make her claw my face? Help!" look and he's feeling way out of his depth. Of course, whilst I'm in the midst of my red rage, it just makes me madder that he doesn't say anything.

And of course, the discussion ( I use that term loosely of course) ALWAYS comes back to having a goddamn baby.

Shit. How did we get here? I thought this was going to be about fighting, not about babies. Why do we have to talk about babies? I'm sick of talking about babies. I'm sick of thinking about babies. Babies. Babies. Babies. Arrggghhhh!

90% of me wants it. Wants it to happen NOW so I can be out of this torture and on my way to fulfilling what both he and I want. We already are a 'family' in this house but they're my kids. He'll always be just slightly to the left of that little grouping. We both want something that's ours.

I often mull over why people have children at all (usually after I've received yet another phone call from middle son's English teacher, saying in a resigned voice that he is 'not progressing as well as I would have hoped'. God, I need to buy that man a drink in a few weeks' time when we finally get this bloody smart but very difficult child over the graduation line!) and there's a few answers I've hit upon.

One is to join a couple together. Nothing does that more effectively than a joint project and raising children is a lifelong project. Of course, anyone who's ever done renovating at any time will also realise that projects can bring out the best and worst in your partner. And sometimes, what you pictured sure ain't what you get.

Another is to leave a legacy ... or at least someone who looks and sounds a bit like you and a bit like him. And if they have all your good qualities, that's great! But if they turn out to be a combination of your most frustrating, irritating or downright evil qualities, that's not so pretty.

Yet another is to have someone to love and be loved by, unconditionally. It's a strange fact that kids will love you even when you're a prize douchebag. And there's nothing more comforting than that. There's nothing negative here. They just do - even when they're a moody teenager who HATES YOU they still secretly love you.

I think kids also bring out the very best in you as a person. Yes, yes, you CAN be reduced to saying and doing things you swore you never would back when you didn't know any better, but children also make you less selfish, more organised, less self-absorbed, more able to see the joys in simple pleasures that life offers.

As you can probably tell, I'm a bit of a navel gazer. I think alot about why we do the things we do in life and whilst at times, that is a bonus, sometimes it's a real curse. I never do things without thinking seriously about them first (unless I'm drunk and that's an entirely other blog). I analyse. I look at both sides. Unfortunately it often freezes me up and I can't make a decision either way. which is why I'd like nature to hurry the hell up and take it's bloody course.

Because due to the fact it's taking so long, the other 10% is getting rather powerful. The other 10% is powered by that sly, sinister oily inner voice of 'reason' that says "You know what babies mean. They mean no sleep. And 24 hour care. Until they're at least 5. Then it slips back to 18 hours. Then there's the mess. The squashing of any date nights or travel plans or just hanging around the house watching movies all day. Oh! Oh! And let's not forget the physical changes! Oh yeah! You're not young anymore, missy. There WILL be no bouncing back, I can guarantee that. You certainly didn't when you were twenty-ish so there's no way you will at 40-something. Plus the pain of childbirth. Heh heh. Yeah ... you remember that real well, don't you. "

If I plug my ears with my fingers and sing "LalalalalalalaIcanthearyou", I can keep it down to a dull roar.
But the piece-de-resistance is always the last little thing ol' negative inner throws in ... "What's to say he won't just walk out one day and leave you holding the baby. He wants children badly ... but will that change when they're actually here? I mean, he has NO idea what a responsibility they are. He's a bit of a commitment-phobe. He likes to do his own thing. Will he, like Sidekick, think that you and they are just a burden on his life? Holding him back from doing what he wants to do? Do you really think you communicate well enough to handle the pressure of babies? Hmmmmmm? Oh yeah - and you'll be 60 when they're finishing high school. TA-DA!"

*sigh* It's seriously messing with my head and making me into a person I wouldn't even want to live with. I feel so, so sorry for Woody. He must wonder sometimes how the hell he didn't see the crazy woman before he moved in with her.

Is there anyone out there who's been through this? Is it possible to have a happy ending? If you have and you did, please drop me a line and let me know.

Getting serious

noreply@blogger.com (Library girl) — Thu, 27 Oct 2011 21:10:00 +0000

This whole 'getting pregnant' thing is starting to totally bum me out. I mean, I think I actually have to, like, work hard at it! What the? In a previous life, when I was Sidekick's wife, it seemed that he only had to look at me sideways and BAM. Heelllloo afternoon sickness.

But then again, that was when I was in my twenties. And apparently very bloody fertile and plum lucky.

Now that I understand the mechanics of it all and am actually making the effort to get pregnant (i.e. not saying no to sex), it's not happening. And I'm not a patient woman, people, I just have to tell you that right now.

I mean, I'm not just saying "yes" to sex. I'm practically begging for it! Strangely enough, this doesn't seem to be an attractive quality. Who knew that sitting on a guy's lap, gently brushing the stray strand of hair off his forehead whilst gazing adoringly into his eyes and whispering "My temperature is 36.1. Let's have sex." was not considered sexy? I, for one, was completely horned on by it.

Of course, I think it's my whole method of attack ... with 'attack' being the operative word. I guess you could say that at times I get a thought in my head and I just drive at it full-on until I get it done. I am persistent. Determined. Stubborn, some would say.

Hells bells, I had to be to get Woody in the first place! In hindsight, he was probably dragged kicking and screaming into this relationship, being the commitment-phobe that he is. (Hey, it's ok. I know this guy. He's me minus 11 years. Trust me, I'm what's good for him. Or at least that's what I tell him all the time and he's fool enough to believe me.) I had to be patient but determined. The few times I threw up my hands and said "I think I'm done. I can't beat against this brick wall anymore", he'd convince me to keep trying. And after all, I'm not a quitter. Getting divorced was the smartest but the hardest thing I've ever done, once I'd convinced myself that some things need to be quit.

Woody and I are actually bloody perfect for each other.

I wanted someone to read in bed with at night - so did he; someone who would be happy to laze around watching movies - so did he; someone who not only understood computers but wouldn't tut-tut me for spending hours on them at times - you know the drill.

I wanted someone who would actually listen to what I had to say - whether it was about world peace, libraries or the general shit of everyday life. I wanted someone who I could make major life decisions with rather than have them made for me and tough titties if I didn't like it. I wanted someone who thought that whether I was a stay at home mum or working girl, it didn't matter. I wouldn't be judged by what I did or how much money I didn't earn (although he does think the whole librarian thing is rather sexy and hell, I'm happy with that!). I wanted a man who cherished family - his, mine and ours.

In short, I wished for and got a 'life partner' - I just didn't realise that when I started wishing it more than 10 years ago, it would take a divorce to find him.

He wanted someone who could cook. And have babies with him. LOTS of babies. Like 5. I have renegotiated that number down to 2, since I brought 3 "I made earlier" with me.

So I guess I figure in my twisted little mind that I just have to get pregnant for everything to be 'perfect'. I put pressure on myself, secretly thinking 'how on earth am I going to achieve this?' and kinda forgetting that it takes two people to make a baby ... or a turkey baster. But we're not that desperate yet.

But with all the charting and temperature taking and herbal concoction swallowing and still nothing after 6 months, I'm getting a little frustrated.

Recently, I had my first acupuncture session. Maybe sticking pins in me will help. I'll keep you posted.

When books were first invented ...

noreply@blogger.com (Library girl) — Fri, 21 Oct 2011 07:11:00 +0000

Ever had trouble with your computer? What a silly question - everybody has. That's the brilliant premise behind the following sketch from a norwegian comedy show. It really doesn't matter that there's subtitles - it's still hilariously funny!

My kind of cookbook!

noreply@blogger.com (Library girl) — Tue, 11 Oct 2011 06:37:00 +0000

"Kitchen coquette" by Katrina Meynink is definitely talking my language. The subtitle is "The go-to guide for those random life scenarios when food is the only answer" ... funnily enough (or perhaps not), the section entitled "Heartbreak" only contains spectacularly tempting yet simple alcoholic beverages.

Whilst cataloguing this book, I flipped through the pages, as you are wont to do when cataloguing - it's one of the perks of working in the library - and the following description caught my eye and tickled my funnybone:

ROSE VODKA
Bleeding Heart

This pretty drink is easy on the eye and the stomach. Better yet, it's comforting, like a big, welcoming hug from a chubby-armed Italian Mamma.
Oh, and each sweet sip is as good as kicking him in the nuts and calling him a douchebag.

Ingredients
1/2 lime
45 ml (1.5 fl oz) vodka
15 ml (.5 fl oz) Aperol
15 ml (.5 fl oz) rose syrup
ice cubes
soda water (club soda)
edible rose petals, to decorate

Rub the rim of your drinking glass with the lime. Combine the vodka, Aperol and rose syrup in a cocktail shaker with some ice. Shake and strain into glasses. Top with a dash of soda water and garnish with the rose petals.

I want this book.

Now that's funny ...

noreply@blogger.com (Library girl) — Wed, 05 Oct 2011 20:11:00 +0000

Getting enthusiastic again

noreply@blogger.com (Library girl) — Thu, 29 Sep 2011 21:09:00 +0000

Just back from a 3 day conference + 1 day forum on libraries and whilst I'm buggered, I'm also excited about my job again. The conference was fantastic and not just because I got the opportunity to do a 10 minute presentation that will look FABULOUS on my CV! It was full of wonderfully creative and positive people with great ideas and stories of what's happening in other libraries around the state - all ideas and stories I can PINCH and use in my own!

Whilst I have always been a firm believer in professional development, I'd forgotten exactly why these events are important. They link you up with like-minded people who are undergoing similar successes and failures that you are. It makes you feel you're not alone. It gives you incentive to get back up and keep going, especially when things have been tough in your workplace. It's an injection of enthusiasm, oftentimes just when you need it the most.

And by goodness it's been tough in the workplace lately. There's so many things I want to implement, so many issues that require fixing but I don't have the resources to do that. Quite frankly, I've been succumbing to the negativity I usually manage to avoid.

But after this week, I have been given a new perspective. Yes, we are understaffed. Yes, we should be doing much more programming. Yes, I should be out visiting the other libraries. Yes, we should have a courier service or someone in-house to get our books from branch to branch more efficiently than just hoping a staff member from Council will generously take our boxes with them when they visit another site. Unfortunately, my hands are tied to a large extent in relation to all but one of these issues. All I can do is keep putting my proposals forward for more staff and a courier service and hope that someone up the chain with the clout will hear it and help me.

In the meantime, there are things I can start doing at our library that can hopefully reverse the slow but steady decline in visitor numbers. Little things that can potentially have big results. All it takes is incentive, enthusiasm and no more procrastination.

Incentive - tick
Enthusiasm - double tick
Exnay on procrastination - First thing Monday morning, man. I'm on a RDO!

Understanding miracles

noreply@blogger.com (Library girl) — Sun, 04 Sep 2011 20:51:00 +0000

How on earth does anyone actually ever get pregnant? This is the question I seem to ask myself on a regular basis nowadays. The more I learn about the actual 'mechanics' of the process, the more it seems a divine act rather than a natural happening.

There's preparing the egg for ovulation then the timing of the egg being released and travelling down the tube whilst the sperm is swimming up to meet it ... but then the sperm needs to spend at least 12 hours acclimatising itself to your body first before it's really ready to do the whole creation dance with the egg. And there's no alarm that goes off that says "12 hours to ovulation, ladies. Get your man's pants down now!" so how in hell are you supposed to get it right? And don't get me started on what may or may not happen once one lucky sperm makes it in! It's exhausting, I tell you. There's so much that has to happen before you're even halfway to a viable pregnancy.

And of course, all this knowledge takes away all the fun of sex entirely. Early on I made the mistake of sitting on my partner's lap, giving him a big ol' kiss and whispering what I wanted to do later (which made all the right things move) but stupid STUPID idiot that I was, I blurted at the end "My temp is down to 36.0". Apparently, that's a passion-killer and naturally, we didn't have sex that night.

I have learnt to approach him in stealth-mode, trying to time things deliberately so that I am 'not interested' on days 11, 13 and 15 so he'll be more inclined on days 12, 14 and 16. I mean, I'm hot for him whenever - I've never had such a good ol' time in bed. Which is great! But there have been the few occasions where I just want to snuggle with him without thinking in the back of my mind that I'm missing a 'great opportunity' because my temperature is down.

I thought to a large extent that I've been fairly subtle about the calculations as well ... until yesterday morning, where he turned to me after a lovely session and said "So what was your temperature down to this morning?" Suspicious sod! It actually was way up so I could truthfully answer " Oh no, that was just for fun!" but it definitely shows I'm not as good at hiding the timings as I think I am.

I've actually done this before (gotten pregnant, that is). In fact, I've done it 6 times so far (3 that took and are now fun-loving teenagers) and on at least 3 of those occasions, it was quite by accident. The Universe, it would seem, is better at taking care of the whole timing issue than I am.

Therefore, it would seem to fit that I should just let The Universe take care of the timing again ... but now that I know all the mechanics, I find it so hard to let go and just live and trust that all will work out.

Green-eyed monster

noreply@blogger.com (Library girl) — Mon, 29 Aug 2011 21:59:00 +0000

A casual side mention from the kids about the ex buying yet another expensive toy put me in a bit of a spin last week. I felt the envy well up inside me like poison.
He gets to be Cool Dad for 2 hours a fortnight when he hosts 'family dinner' at his fancy house.

I get to deal with the daily grind of three teenagers at home. The mess. The expense. The fights. The worry.

He gets to live the Double Income No Kids life with his new partner who works at the same hole in the ground as him and gets paid the same. She is worthy of his religion. He used to tell the kids from the time they were small that when they were 18, they were out. He couldn't wait to be 'just a couple'. And now he has it - much earlier than he planned.

The casual conversation made me soooooo jealous. And I felt small and mean and dirty for feeling that way.

My partner gets up early for work and usually kisses me goodbye in bed before going out to the kitchen and his daily morning ritual before heading off. I followed him out the morning after this conversation that had left me with a hole in my gut whilst I plastered a smile on my face and made a noncommittal "Oh that's nice" to the kids.

With a huge lump in my throat, I confessed that I felt so incredibly jealous. And that I felt so disappointed in myself for feeling that way. I should be better than that. Where had all those months of listening to and reading about Buddhist teachings gone?

My partner hasn't studied Buddhism at all and yet his words were the same as the ones I listened to afterwards on the audio book - understand what you're feeling and why. Then look at it all from a different angle. What does that expensive toy mean? Things don't bring happiness. Connections with others do.

Instead of being angry at the ex for throwing money around whilst all the while bitching about having to pay me to raise his children, I should feel compassion for him. He has a tenuous connection with his kids at best. They don't want to live with him, possibly because he's strict and I'm a pushover - not something I'm particularly proud of. They don't 'just drop by' even though he constantly says they can and he only lives a few streets away. They only go over for 'family dinner'. That must sting.

I know why he buys the expensive toys. Because he has nothing else. Because money has always been his religion and the more he has, or is perceived to have by flashy items, the more worthy he thinks it makes him in the eyes of others.

But he doesn't think much of himself. I know that. He knows that I know and it bothers him. That's probably part of the reason why we just don't talk at all anymore, despite 3 children and over 20 years of knowing each other. He thinks I will judge him the way he judges me.

He never has really understood me at all. He always took my empathy, compassion and avoidance of conflict as signs of weakness. And yet when I stood up to his bully tactics during separation and divorce, he called me a bitch. Either way, I will never be who he wanted me to be. I don't think he even knew what he wanted, simply because he never found peace with himself.

And really, I have nothing to feel jealous about. My partner and I make more than enough money to pay the mortgage and our bills and have splurges on luxury items every now and then. Yes, our house is loud and filled with people ... but in many ways, that is a blessing. These young people make our lives vibrant and interesting and filled with just as many opportunities to laugh as to curse! There's a saying that goes along the lines of your partner is designed to push all your buttons and show you where you need to grow - "Solitude does not build character". We're all building each others' characters, I guess!

And I am blessed with a partner who has similar values, likes and dislikes. Someone who understands what I mean when I cry and say "I'm disappointed in myself for feeling this way". Who doesn't call me stupid or weak or say I'm a burden because I don't earn enough money.

Who loves me for who I really am ... even if I am a little on the tardy side at times!

Shellgrit

noreply@blogger.com (Library girl) — Fri, 12 Aug 2011 21:59:00 +0000

The afternoon was cool, with a breeze whipping the hair around my face and storm clouds gathering to the west as we trudged down the sandy pathway through the foliage to the beach. There were a mob of us of all ages, some related and others just good friends, come to send off my Dad's ashes.

It's been 20 months and things have changed quite considerably for some of us. When Dad died, my marriage was pretty much broken and the stress of his passing just brought the inevitable forward. I moved out a week after his funeral. Now I have a new partner, a new house and a new outlook on life. I guess it's true what they say about what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. Whilst still what you would call a people pleaser, I am more decisive and more willing to voice my opinion nowadays. I like to think I have a little more compassion as well, knowing full well that you never know what's really going on in other peoples' lives but only what they choose for you to see.

My Mum, God bless her, has found a new love with someone who she's known for 50 years and I have never seen her so happy. She agonises over the joy sometimes, wondering if it can be right to love someone else when she adored my father. She was always good at carrying guilt around like a backpack. I hope she realises that after the struggles of the last decade with my Dad and his illnesses both mental and physical, she deserves to be showered with loving affection. She, like every single one of us, deserves to be happy.

After deciding on letting Dad loose at his favourite fishing spot about a year ago, it's been hard to get everyone together to do it. I live over a thousand kilometres away and there's other family that are about that as well in the other direction. Finally we decided on last weekend. The timing was right as it fit with various schedules and was a few days before what would have been his 65th birthday. So young. But then again, I can't see how he could have lived any longer as he was so pessimistic about everything. Why would your spirit want to stick around when everything in the world disappointed you?

It was only in the last six months of his life that he found inner peace and by then it was too late for any physical changes to take effect. I truly believe long term stress is fully capable of bringing on cancer and he was so unhappy for such a long time. The only joy he found was in the grandkids and since we lived so far away, he didn't see them often enough to have an effect.

When we got down to the beach, we had to pick our site carefully. Unsheltered by any land mass, the wind was free to blow it's hardest so we needed to work with it, otherwise we'd have 20-odd people covered in 'daddy dust'! And there was so much of it. The container they gave us at the funeral home was probably about the size of a big shoebox with a jam jar sized hole in one end with a removable plug. Mustard yellow, it was large and ugly and made it hard to believe that the contents were once my father.

Looking northward to the headland, the beach curved like a horseshoe around to meet us at the midpoint where a formation of rocks stuck out into the ocean before the sandy shore continued once more to curve back before arching around to meet the other headland. In effect, Flat Rock as it is known split the shoreline in half, like joining two crescent moons together. The rocks are black and reasonably flat, hence the name, and stretch out about 100 metres, creating large rock pools that were fascinating to explore when we were kids. Since there were two fishermen in Dad's favourite fishing holes, we decided to just let him go in one of the rock pools where the high tide would take care to assimilate him with the natural surroundings.

The others stood up on one of the larger rocks, conveniently flat enough to allow for a group to gather solemnly, whilst my brother and I rolled up our jeans and stepped out to the edge of a smaller rock in the middle of the pool to let Dad free.

We're rather irreverent at times, my family. Especially when there's stressful emotion involved. We crack jokes at the most inappropriate times. It's our way of coping, I guess. Our way of lightening the situation and reminding ourselves that this too shall pass.

As we took turns pouring Dad's ashes out into the water, we cracked little jokes to each other as siblings are wont to do. Due to the high wind and the crashing waves, the others couldn't hear us but since they were all family or as good as, they would have understood. We're our fathers' children after all.

After what seemed like a lifetime, we were finally finished. I stood there in the ankle deep water, with my bare feet buried in a combination of sand, shellgrit and Dad and couldn't help but comment out loud.

"Wow. So that's what we're reduced to in the end."

My brother slung his arm around me and we stood together, gazing down at the pool for a moment.

"Ah well, look at it this way. Every time you come to the beach, you'll look at all the shellgrit and say 'Is that you, Dad?'"

Cue inappropriate giggling.

We looked back at Dad's loved ones - our loved ones - and it's at that moment I realised that Dad was already here. He'd been here, and everywhere else he found joy and peace, since he took that last breath in the middle of the afternoon of January 16 2010 when he finally got free of his unreliable and disease-ridden body.

This ceremony was for us. We were ready to let all the sad things about him not being here go and celebrate the life that he'd once shared with us.

I've known on an intellectual level that it's not the outer husk of our bodies that defines who we are but our thoughts.

Our minds.

Our spirits.

But on the weekend, I really knew it in my heart for the first time.