Handmade Tears and Triumphs

Shining in the Saturn return

2013-06-13T07:38:00.002+10:00

The times, they are a changin...

Have you heard the whole 'Saturn return' shebang? Saturn allegedly takes 27 to 30 years to do a complete loop of the sun and when it gets back to point A, you cross a major threshold and enter the next stage of your life. Yeah, well, I'm owning it. The eagle has landed. The Saturn eagle. Nice to see you again Saturn *fist bump*

I like to find reasons (excuses?) for things. Saturn return is my reason.

You know, years ago I died my hair brown and cut a front fringe, and it was nice, but it didn't suit me as much as it does now. You know why? Saturn wasn't home.

I feel like I should throw Saturn a welcome home party, that's how freakin excited I am about it!

Some people don't get me. Some people have never tried to. But there are others who read me quite well, and recently two of them have on separate occasions told me that they've seen a change in me recently. I'm starting to shine. And the question was asked, why couldn't I shine before? Why did I need to be independent to shine?

The answer was simple.

Saturn hadn't come back yet.

No, I'm kidding!

Really it's because he didn't like it. He didn't want me to shine. At least that's how he made me feel.

I could give you examples until I'm blue in the face, but that could possibly be mud-slinging.

Well you know what? I'M NOT BLOODY AMISH AND I'LL DAMN WELL SHINE IF I WANT TO!

You should never have to dull your light for someone else. Surround yourself with people who support you and uplift you. Shine like you mean it baby! Shine like SATURN IS BACK!

[Image source]

Girls Gone Wild (or not)

2013-06-11T06:30:00.000+10:00

I needed a break. A release. To let off some steam. A girls night out was in order.

None of us were up for being designated driver so we planned to catch a cab to Parramatta so we could hit the Roxy and get our dougie on. The cab was going to cost us an arm and a leg, and Lastminute.com.au could give us a room at the Parkroyal for less than the return cab fare. It was on. We were doing it. Girls night out, hotel room and all.

J and I arrived at around 6pm. Dressed in a black pinafore and chequered stockings, I climbed onto the king sized bed and sat with a bbq chicken in my lap. Drumstick in hand, grease across my face and dripping down my arm, I sat there eating and complaining, a girls' gotta eat after all. J looked at me and laughed.

"I know, I'm a catch right? It's no wonder I'm single!"

Hel turned up and the 3 of us sipped on moscato while we finished getting ready. We walked the long way to the Roxy because someone (me) was distracted by the hoons yelling at us from p-plated cars. Classy.

"We're gonna get kidnapped or raped or something!" came Hel's panicked cries.

We bought some drinks, found a table and sat for a chat. The DJ was playing old school RNB reminisce of our late teens and it was awesome! Off I went to buy the next round.

I downed a second large cup of water while waiting for our wine. Collecting the 3 cups, I turned and walked out of the bar. And then it happened. The single most embarrassing moment of my life. I didn't see the step.

You know how when you fall, it feels like it happens in slow motion? Yeah. That happened. My focus was on saving the 3 cups of wine in my hands instead of saving myself. In hindsight, that wasn't the best plan. I fell onto my knees and elbows, the wine splashing up all over my face and through my hair. Several lovely gentleman grabbed me by the elbows and helped me up but I was so mortified that I couldn't even look at them. The big, scary, female security guard came up behind me ready to drag me out the door.

"You alright?" She asked in a tone that indicated she was tired of dealing with drunken floozies.

"I'm just embarrassed. And there's wine in my eyes. I can't see." I tried not to sob.

Her face softened as she realised I wasn't in fact drunk, I was just an idiot. She escorted me to a disabled toilet next to the bar, handed me some paper towels and suggested I clean myself up. I turned to the mirror and gasped in horror. Wine soaked hair, mascara stained cheeks, I was a mess. My knees were hurting, I looked down to see them blackened with dirt.

"Oh my fucking god I can't fucking believe this what a fucking tragedy!" I muttered to myself as I squirted some soap onto some paper towel and tried to save my appearance. The bathroom door behind me swung open. Then shit got weird. Real weird.

A large islander guy burst in to use the toilet.

"Hey! Hey! HEYYYY! Sorry mate but I'm in here!" I yelled at him.

"Oh shit! I'm so sorry darlin! Are you ok? What happened to you?" He asked as he turned his back to me and began to PEE IN THE TOILET RIGHT BEHIND ME.

"Um. Ok. Sure. I won't look. I fell over. I'm fine." I was a little scared but I couldn't run, there was still work to do!

"Oh shit! You're the girl who fell over, yeah, I saw that, are you ok? You look really good by the way!" He said in a concerned tone as he continued to pee. Then the door swung open again.

"Hey! Sorry brother I gotta go!" an asian guy declared as he walked into the bathroom.

"What the fuck is going on here? Do you two know each other?" I yelled at them both. Did no one care that there was A LADY IN HERE?

"Oh sorry! Am I interrupting? No I don't know him!" The asian guy laughed when he saw me standing by the mirror.

"This is insane! Are you for real?! I just want to clean myself up and get out of here, is that too much to ask?" I was still yelling at them. The islander guy had finished his business and walked up, placing his unwashed hand on my back, while the asian guy took his place at the toilet and started to pee. I could not believe this was actually happening.

"I'm sorry darlin. But you look great. Is there any chance we could...?"
"No fucking chance buddy!"
"Not even a kiss?"
"HELL NO!"
"Ok then. Let me help you, you look great by the way. Watch your step." The three of us walked out of the bathroom together. The asian guy disappeared and the islander guy escorted me back to the stairs, until I managed to shrug him off with an "I'M FINE THANK YOU!"

J and Hel were freaking out when I returned to the table. Not only had I been gone for too long, I returned without any drinks. I told them my story and they asked if I wanted to go back to the hotel room.

"No way! I'm not going back to that bar though!" I laughed.

After a few more drinks we hit the dance floor and had the time of our lives. Until we realised Hel hadn't come back from the bathroom. We found her hiding from security, afraid she'd be kicked out for being too drunk, and decided it was time to leave. The walk back to the hotel was a riot with us snapping photos of each other the whole way.

In a drunken state we filled out breakfast orders and hung it on the door just in time for the 2am cut off.

When I woke in the morning I was in agony, I had mentioned that my ankle was sore after my stack but now it was killing me. What the hell? We only just made it out in time for the 11am checkout, JUST.
What a night. I may have embarrassed and injured myself but it's all about the company you keep, and I keep some of the best goddam company in town!

Tuesday. IBOT. Essentially Jess!

Five Years

2013-05-31T08:38:00.000+10:00

Five whole years...

Before having kids, I couldn't really picture five years. But now, five years is a life time, literally.

In five years he's mastered movement and communication. He's developed his own taste, his own personality. He shows compassion and kindness, intelligence and humour. Five short years. One short person.

It feels like a lifetime ago that we walked through the door with our jaundiced little bundle of joy, shocked by the knowledge that we were responsible for this person. We made a person. A real life human being. We did that. I still feel the same shock each day when I look at him, this amazing little guy. We made him, and that's incredible.

I feel like he's been this mini-adult his whole life. He's always been a good sleeper, a good eater, a good talker. It's like he's always just known the ins and outs, like he's been here before.

His best quality is easily his desire to make others happy. He genuinely wants to please, he wants to make you laugh, to make you smile, to make you feel good. It's this quality that makes him an absolute pleasure to be around, but also that which will one day open him up to heartache, no doubt.

I'm so glad we didn't put him in kindergarten this year. When I look at his development over the past five months, I'm blown away. He's always been intelligent, but his social skills and his confidence were lacking. He's really started to come out of his shell, he loves preschool, and I think that by the time kindergarten comes around he'll be running out there all guns blazing.

There are times when I feel like I just don't do enough for him, not because I don't think I'm a good mother, but because he's such an amazing boy. He deserves the world, and I'm afraid that I won't be able to give it to him.

He gets upset some times. A few nights he's come into my room crying, telling me he wants us all to live together again. I hate that we're doing this to them. It makes me feel quite selfish. My own happiness isn't even on the map when I see the sadness in his eyes. I know it's only early days but it's hard to see any green grass through the colourbond fence.

Anyway, happy birthday to my big boy J. I love you to the moon, through the stars, around the sun and back again.

Work Tales of Woe

2013-05-30T09:37:00.001+10:00

So I was told that there's this place called 'The Lounge' where all the cool cats are at and I just knew I wanted in on the action. Apparently this week they're talking about work tales of woe. Remember when I wrote about the person at my work who is so incredibly incompetent that I cannot for the life of me figure out what it is he does all day? We all know THAT guy. Or girl.

[Image source]

I was an entrepreneur at an early age. In high school, I would bulk buy giant gobstoppers from the candy store near my Dads place at $4 for a box of 20. Then I would sell them to the kids at school for $1 each, making a $16 profit per box. I even had a little order book so I could keep track of who wanted which colour. Before long my little business was discovered and I was forced to shut up shop and make my money legitimately.

Eventually I went and got myself a job. A friend worked at Burger King so I thought it might be fun to work there too. No I didn't work at Hungry Jacks and no I don't know the difference between Burger King and Hungry Jacks. It was a fun environment, we got up to a bit of mischief in the few months that I worked there. It was all fun and games until the giant pansy who worked in the kitchen dobbed me in for giving him a soft drink full of salt. That was my first written warning. The second came when some friends of mine only paid for half of the food on their tray. Three written warnings would result in dismissal, so when I was sat down for a stern talk that third time, I told the manager that I quit. Take that!

I didn't work again until I after I finished high school. After a brief stint in a jewellery store with my mother in law, I wound up working in a large hotel in the functions team. This job was the most painful job I've ever had. It fit beautifully with my uni hours because I would work all night into the wee hours of the morning. I gave up my weekends and even worked on Christmas day. I would be on my feet for up to 10 hours at a time, except for the brief interludes hiding in the cool room with a stolen plate of food. But I loved it, it was an experience, and it was all part of growing up.

[Image source]

I started juggling two jobs to help a friend out, taking shifts at the hotel as well a few at a nearby pub as a bar wench. The role of bar wench really suited my outgoing and sarcastic self, and I was so comfortable there that I stopped working at the hotel altogether. Gone were my dreams of one day running my own hotel, instead I was happy to laugh at the drunks, judge the gangas and go home stinking of yeast and cigarettes. Happy days. Until I finished uni and decided that I needed to reclaim my nights, that I was tired of working every weekend and public holidays and NEW YEARS EVE! I needed a life, so I got a day job and I never looked back.

So when it comes to work tales of woe, I don't have that funny story about having to wear a Santa costume and stand on a highway waving a sign, I never shoveled poop or got papercuts from mass mail outs. With the exception of 3 months in a fast food restaurant, I've actually enjoyed my jobs! The power of positive thinking...

An update to fill the void!

2013-05-28T06:30:00.000+10:00

Sorry for the silence peeps but I've had nothing to say! Hard to believe, I know, but I haven't been very articulate. My bad.

Anyhoo - a few updates for you:

I saw a clairvoyant who called me a "woman with a sword" - she said I carry the sword of truth (damn straight!) and she blew my freakin mind! Especially when she said someone in my family tree has bowel problems and I literally burst out laughing because the day before an *anonymous* relative told me all about a bowel prolapse and I was all "Ah... that's a little TMI THANKS - I don't need to hear about the chances of your number twos coming out your hoo ha!"

^Not me. But I'd like it to be. [Image source]
My boss offered up full time hours and I spent a good few days uhm-ing and ah-ing about what to do. I didn't want to give up those two days at home with my babies but I knew that the money would really help me provide for them. And buy me more shoes. I sussed out care options and when all of the stars aligned, I figured it was meant to be.
H started preschool with J on those two days and HE LOVES IT. He's now decided that he doesn't want to return to family day care because PRESCHOOL IS AWESOME! Sorry kiddo, but unless you get yourself a job to pay for the other 3 days, you're sticking it out til the end of the year.
Meanwhile, the preschool owner told me that J is one of ringleaders now - hanging out with the cool kids and the bullies. And considering he's a skinny white boy with freckles and glasses I must say - I'm stoked that he's at the safer end of the social ladder!
Babygirl continues to blow me away. Lately she's taken to walking around with my phone, holding it up pretending to take selfies while saying "Ttteeeeee!" (cheese). I have no idea where she learned this...
My anxiety has settled and as a result I've started to eat like a Biggest Loser Contestant when the cameras are off. Watch this space. I'm about to fill a WHOLE LOT MORE OF IT. See this? I knocked it up out of pantry items one night just cos I felt like it. It's a double chocolate coconut cake with double cream. I am my own worst enemy.

Meanwhile, I'm mere weeks away from my first blogoversary and I'm about to crack 100,000 page views. HOW DO YOU LIKE ME NOW, BITCH?

(I wish I could always talk like I was in a movie. Life would me far more colourful.)

Tuesday. IBOT. Essentially Jess. Get into it.

Time is everything

2013-05-16T19:15:00.000+10:00

To me, time is everything. It's all we have, really.

You can do almost anything with it. You can't do anything without it.

In need of inspiration I was flicking through my posts over the past couple of months. The lull where I couldn't tell you what was happening. The journey that I documented once I had told you. What I realised was how quickly time has passed. How my life changed so dramatically in the blink of an eye. If you had of told me at Christmas time that I'd be living on my own, I would have laughed at you. If you had of told me I'd be a single mum of three before my eldest's fifth birthday, I might have slapped you.

And yet here I am. I'm doing it. I've embraced change and independence. I've taken ownership of my life. I've grieved, I've indulged, and I've felt, I've really felt every moment. Ok, well that's a bit of a stretch of the truth. My tendency to be emotionally disconnected has allowed me to avoid feeling a lot of the time, I can't decide if that's a good thing or a bad thing...

So I started thinking to myself, what do I want to do with my time? 30 years has gone pretty quickly, how can I ensure that I make the most of the next 30? We only get one shot at this, we have to make sure we give it our all. It's actually been quite an easy question to answer. From the small to the big, I know what I want, and it's all about me...

I want to burn scented candles, just because I can
I want to take long walks by myself, to clear my mind and stay healthy
I want to eat more salmon, I friggin love salmon
I want to pursue my career without feeling guilty about it
I want to have more sleepovers and spontaneous short trips
I want to spend more time socialising
I want to take that trip to Europe that I never took because M didn't want to
I want to laugh more
I want my babies to learn, to see, to feel, to experience, not to sit at home

I want, I want, I want. I want because I NEED to take my life into my own hands. I'm calling it Project Happiness, and I invite you to get on board! What would be on your Project Happiness want list?

A Single Mum's Mothers Day

2013-05-14T06:30:00.000+10:00

I had decided to take the kids for a sleep over at my Gramma's on Mothers Day eve. This would mean we were all tucked into the one room, but I honestly think this was part of the attraction. When I crawled into bed beside my snoozing cherubs, H rolled towards me, snuggling into my neck. Bliss. Then he started snoring, and he continued to do so for most of the night. On the other side of him, J was having a teeth grinding party. I didn't realise how serious his teeth grinding had become, but sleeping beside him made me keen to take him to see someone about it.

[Image source]

I was the first one to wake, taking a moment to enjoy the silence before the rugrats stirred. At this moment I felt incredibly blessed, surrounded by my 3 angels.

"Do you know what day it is?" I asked as they all sat up.

"TUESDAY?" "FRIDAY?" The boys shouted in reply.

"Nooooo! Mothers Day!" I corrected them. They jumped from the bed in excitement yelling

"HAPPY MOTHERS DAY!" as they ran, shoving each other out of the way, fighting over who would hand me my present. They decided to do it together, and handed me a large, unusually shaped, wrapped present, and a small bag of handmade cards.

I'm sorry I didn't take any photos. But when I googled "Single Mums" this came up, and it made me LOL.

I unwrapped the parcel and was very impressed by the thoughtfulness of the gift M had put together. Two of my favourite wines, a tool bag and some anti-ageing products were neatly placed in a basket that I had left at the house. Some women might be offended by tools and anti-ageing products, but to me, they were perfect. Ageing didn't worry me until I turned 30 and started to notice wrinkles, and I'd been desperately wanting some tools to support my new-found independence. It's been... YEARS... since I've received such a thoughtful gift. YEARS. I felt sad that it took something as extreme as separation for him to finally put some thought into something.

Hearing a noise in the kitchen, the boys ran off to wish their Great Gramma a happy mothers day. They returned with toast for me, breakfast in bed! How spoilt! Babygirl quickly claimed a piece of toast as her own, and J snatched up another.

"Can I have one?" asked H.

"Nope, it has wheat in it!" I smiled, taking a bite from the last piece. This is how it should be, I thought to myself. Relaxed, happy, feeling the love from my little ones. Noticing the look of dissapointment on H's face, I hopped out of bed and made my way to the kitchen to cook him some wheat free toast. Gramma made some cereal for J and A, and I relaxed with a cup of coffee.

Later in the day the rest of our family arrived, and we relaxed and ate and laughed, and it was perfect.

We made our way home in the afternoon, the kids and I put on a DVD and had crumpets, eggs and toast for dinner on the lounge room floor. After their bath and book, babygirl went to sleep and the boys joined me on the couch for cheesecake and The Voice. It was the perfect end to the day.

I had a beautiful mothers day, thanks to my beautiful family. How was yours?

[Image source]

Oh, and it's Tuesday, so I'm chillin' at Esenntially Jess' for IBOT, of course.

The Virgo/Libra cusp

2013-05-09T22:54:00.000+10:00

Astrology. The time, date, month and year you were born allegedly dictates the characteristics you will

possess. What is THAT about?

I don't really understand it, but I do believe it. I've always displayed typical virgo traits - I'm analytical, a bit of a perfectionist, etc.

Story of my life!
[Image source]

Recently I've been reading a lot about star signs. I guess you could say I'm seeking guidance? Reassurance? An explanation as to why I've taken off on this premature mid life crisis?

Anywho, after 30 years of believing I was a Virgo, I've recently discovered that I'm actually considered 'on the cusp' (whatever a cusp is) and that I'm a Virgo/Libra. What the fuck does that mean? I wondered. So I turned to the fountain of all knowledge, Google, and was fascinated by my discovery. As I trawled through the pages learning about this cusp, there were smiles and nods and a-ha!'s left right and centre. I was reading a very accurate description of myself. SO I thought I'd share a snippet, and hopefully you'll let me know what you think. (Found here)

If you have a Virgo/Libra in your life here are some things you might want to remember:

This combination thrives on balance, not only with themselves but with everyone and all things around them. If they can help, if they can do and it is for a good cause, then it is done.
Virgo/Libras are inherently modest. Their beauty and skill is simply who they are and to them, it’s nothing special.
If you need a mediator, someone fair and objective… find someone who is from the Virgo/Libra cusp.
Because they like balance, it is easy for someone of this cusp to see every angle of a situation and move or advise according to the better outcome. There will be times that they deter from their beliefs because a better or “right” way was found.
Having a hard time getting a project or group effort off the ground? Find someone who is a Virgo/Libra and put them in charge. You will see that project turn around and succeed.

Absolutely
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Another reason why people of this cusp succeed is that they are very goal orientated. Many times their goals involve helping or the betterment of someone else, not just themselves.
Their attention to detail makes them natural perfectionists. This often time works in their favor but when it doesn’t, it blows up badly in their face.
Virgo/Libras are known to be reliable, practical, rational and very controlled. This is why you will likely find them in field of medicine, corporate business or any positions that are very stressful.
A person born from this cusp will never be short of friends. Their natural charm and social attitude makes sure of that.
When interacting with Virgo/Libra at any level, make sure you are diplomatic, open minded and considerate. Though they rarely display anger, they will not hesitate to put you in your place if needed.

So there you have it. What do you think? What's your take on astrology? Have you had your charts done?

Should I?

Agreed!
[Image source]

Yesssss!
[Image source]

THAT love

2013-05-07T06:30:00.000+10:00

Perhaps having children has ruined me for all men.

You know the kind of love that you feel for your kids? It's different from romantic love, yes, but it's that all-
consuming, overwhelming, do-or-die kind of love. The kind of love that makes you smile when your world has fallen apart. When you can feel anger and frustration and sadness all at the same time, but still never doubt the love that you feel for them. Quickly, your greatest fear becomes anything jeopardising that love. It sets the bar really high, you know? How can a partner ever measure up to such true, unconditional love?

My children often tell me that they love me. They hug and kiss me constantly. The beautiful little souls will tell me "you're so beautiful mummy" or "that was the best dinner ever mummy". They fill my heart with all of the warmth and fuzziness that it will ever need. They have made my lonely days quickly become normal days. There can't possibly be a void in my life when I'm surrounded by my devilish angels.

I wake up in the morning, and rather than feel miserable about the vacancy on the other side of the bed, I look to those three precious faces, and I think to myself...

Why can't the little buggers sleep past 7am?

Oops. I mean...

How lucky am I?

Some people have shitty kids. Some people have stupid kids. Some people have ugly kids. Some people have none at all. But me, I have three polite, intelligent, gorgeous children.

Clearly, I have lost my marbles. Because I just published that ^^ on the internet. This post lost direction, I lost my patience. And then my marbles.

I guess, in summary, what I was trying to say is that right now, all I need is them. Until they're grown, and they leave me, and then I'll be old and alone... No one to hug and kiss and shower me with compliments. No one to make me feel important. Special. Warm and fuzzy. Instead I'll be cold and wrinkled and fuzzy-less.

But until then, the glass is half full!

Up... down... up... down

2013-05-03T00:05:00.003+10:00

I should be sleeping right now.

I don't sleep much these days, not for lack of trying. There's too much on my mind, I just can't turn it off. There's also the adjustment to sleeping alone, it's so strange to not have someone next to me. I'm usually a light sleeper as it is, but now that I'm the only person here to take care of my babies, a slight sniff or the grinding of teeth from the next bedroom and I'm wide awake.

I'm constantly riding this see saw. Up... down... up... down.

I've been keeping so busy that I double booked tonight. Luckily the 2 friends I double booked enjoy each others company. I have to keep busy, I have to... If I stop then I might feel something, and if I feel something then it might just all be too hard. If I stop, then I'll be reminded that this wasn't how my life was supposed to be. This wasn't the plan...

Where's my gas heater on these cold nights? Where's my remote-controlled garage door so I don't have to get out of the car in the rain? Where's my dishwasher? My dryer? My lounge? Where are all of my kids toys? Their clothes? They're not here in this tiny, cold villa.

Keeping busy is fucking expensive. Part time income, 57% custody, no savings, no financial support. Suddenly this shit is scary. Sit at home and save money, feeling miserable? Or distract myself and my babies and have no financial safety net?

I've been so focused on all of the good. The people who are like bandages, holding my broken bones together. My beautiful babies. The good makes me happy.

But the good distracted me from the bad, and since I noticed the bad, I've felt incredibly let down.

Up... down... up... down...

The husband who ushered me out the door instead of fighting for our family.

The horrible rumours that have started spreading.

The people I've lost.

I think to myself that I would love to fast forward to the part when it gets easier. But will it ever get easier? I'll just skip my birthday this year, thanks. Christmas will come and break my heart.

Up... down... up... down...

*The awkward moment when you have to explain to your nextdoor neighbour that you haven't actually lived next door for almost 2 months*

For now I'll keep on keeping busy. Keeping busy makes me happy, because if I can forget for even an hour that this wasn't how my life was supposed to be, then I'll take it. And I'll probably be up again next week, and then I'll be judged for it, and so I'll write another Fuck You post. Then I'll be down again. The circle of life.

How are you anyway?

A reminder why control is gold!

2013-04-30T06:30:00.000+10:00

My head felt constricted, like a layer of fluid had filled the space between my brain and my skull and it was applying a pressure that neither could handle. My throat was dry and painful. Water, I need water. I contemplated going to the kitchen, but the pain in my head said no fucking way. I opened my eyes and rolled to my side to discover a bottle of water by my bed. Thank Christ!

I took a few eager sips but it only made my pounding head swell harder and faster. Pain's friend confusion reared its ugly head as I saw a pile of clothes on the floor. They weren't the clothes I went out in? My 1980's bridesmaids dress was in a plastic bag and by my bed was a singlet and mini skirt. When did I get changed? Where did I get changed? Shit.

I rolled back onto my back, trying to piece together the flashes of memory. I rubbed my hip, wincing in pain. What the hell? Oh... the piano... that's right. *giggle* OUCH.

An image of myself propped on the lap of a friends mother came to the front of my mind. It was like seeing a movie without sound, I know I was there, but I couldn't tell you what the dialogue was. Oh shit, I bet I droned on in true 'newly separated single mum' style. Crap.

I looked around at the trail of debris around the room, all clues to bring my memory back. A business card from a Real Estate agent? Oh, that's right, I said I'll have lunch with G. My shoes were no where to be seen. My beloved Wayne Cooper stiletto's, an absolute favourite, appeared to be missing. I remembered tip-toeing barefoot through the complex to my villa. I looked outside, no sign of my shoes. Fuck. A quick check on Facebook and they were reported to be safely napping in Kyles' car. Phew.

I don't see my old friend Hellofa Hangover much these days, she's always hanging around with that trouble maker Drunken Rowdiness and the two of them together are dangerous. And painful. And they always get me in trouble. But there's something to be said for losing all of your inhibitions and being 'high-spirited' as Kylez would call it. To lose control is a great reminder to a control freak like me of the beauty of control in the first place. I don't need to be drunk to have a good time, but once in a while I need that reminder. Even if the reminder comes in the form of a pounding headache, dry throat, furry tongue and hazy memory.

It's Tuesday folks, you know what that means. IBOT. Jess. You know it.

Judgement, Divorce & Feminism

2013-04-23T06:30:00.000+10:00

Image source

I've written about judgement before... And I'll admit it, I'm the first to pass judgement. I'm judgemental. And obviously a hypocrite. But whatever.

I copped a bucket load of judgement over the weekend. At first it had me reduced to tears, I was devastated. What a terrible person I must be, if these people feel the need to express their dissatisfaction about our separation! If the fact that we're no longer together offends people, then clearly I'm incredibly inconsiderate! It's obviously not right if YOU don't agree, if YOU think we should try harder... Wow. I MUST BE a shitty person.

But now that the wine has worn off and I've had a chance to think about it... FUCK YOU.

Image source

I won't apologise for making the choice to pursue happiness.

I won't apologise for believing that MY happiness is equally important as anyone elses.

I won't apologise for knowing that my children AREN'T better off with two parents who don't get along.

When I first started this blog, I drafted a post called Relationships as Whitegoods. I never published it because it didn't sit right with me. Now I know why. I wrote the post because I know SO many divorced people and I was tossing around the idea that people just don't try hard enough any more, that we enter into marriage too lightly, and leave just as thoughtlessly, resulting in a skyrocketing divorce rate. But I've changed my mind, that's not it at all.

Image source

I'm starting to wonder if maybe there's a love for different stages of our lives. Maybe the skyrocketing divorce rate is more a sign of our evolution than a sign of failure. We're not as willing to put principle and morals before genuine happiness. We recognise how short life is, that we need to make the most of it.

Or maybe I'm just trying to make myself feel better...

I think that feelings are organic. You can't force them and you can't deny them, and really, that's a beautiful thing. No one reserves the right to lecture another about the state of their relationship. NO ONE.

But lastly, I blame the feminist movement. Empowerment and equality resulted in a breed of too brave, too strong, independent women who aren't afraid to stand up for their happiness. Shame on you feminists for giving us such power, shame on you! *sarcastic font required

I blog on Tuesdays with Essentially Jess. You should too.

Being kind to myself

2013-04-16T06:30:00.000+10:00

Hello my lovely readers!

Have I told you lately that I love you? Because I do. I love that you read this, I love that you comment and email and tweet and message. It makes my freakin day. Or my life, at the moment. And I've been incredibly slack on the reading and commenting front myself lately, for that I apologise. I'll pick up my game. Promise.

Anyhoo, one piece of advice that I've heard frequently is to be kind to myself. My gorgeous friend CB tells me this often, and for the first few weeks, I honestly had no idea what she meant. How the hell do I be kind to myself? I just didn't get it.

Then one day, I was child free and in need of some groceries. While grocery shopping, I realised I did in fact need to feed myself dinner. I had a brief depressing moment when I thought that cooking for one is a bitch and I'd rather have toast. And then I thought, if I had a guest, I wouldn't feed a guest toast. I would be kind. I would feed them food that they like.

So fuck it. I bought whatever the hell I felt like for dinner. And what I felt like was smoked salmon, avocado and cream cheese on corn crispbread. I was in single lady heaven. Suddenly I realised what being 'kind to me' meant.

So now, when I don't have my babies, I'll take a long bath with some epsom salts without feeling like there's something else I should be doing. I'll take myself out to buy some sushi for dinner instead of McDonalds. I will go and meet up with friends, without feeling guilty for leaving my family. And by God I will purchase a tub of Ben and Jerry's every goddamn week and not share a single spoonful!

I WILL be kind to me, and I won't feel guilty for it. Thank you to those who encouraged me to figure out how, especially you CB xxx

I'm totally rocking this shit

2013-04-12T08:56:00.003+10:00

My poor J... for all of his awesome fighting moves (learnt not at his Kung Fu classes but via the crap he watches on TV - of course) he unfortunately inherited his mothers lack of courage. But, if nothing else, it is HILARIOUS!

The four of us were in the kitchen, J opened a drawer, gasped, and quickly slammed it. He turned to me, frantic, his eyes as wide as saucers;

"MUM! There is a GIANT insect walking around in there with huge (puts his fingers up on his head like antennae) things on ITS HEAD!" And then he screamed, grabbed Hunter, ran into their bedroom and slammed the door.

Babygirl and I stared at each other. She knew exactly what was going on. She was waiting to see what move I would make. I was silently shitting myself. You see, I can't handle anything with more than 4 legs. I just can't. Bugs are fucking disgusting. But I wanted to be a good role model. I wanted A to know that a woman can handle anything. So... I grabbed an oven mitt. In hindsight, I don't know what good it would have done, but at the time I didn't feel I could face the situation without it.

A was in my left hand, oven mitt on my right hand, and I slowly opened the drawer. Nothing.

I pulled it right out and sat it on the floor. Nothing.

I pulled out ALL of the drawers and opened the neighbouring cupboards. Nothing.

I put everything back and walked into the boys bedroom to find them huddled under the blankets on their beds.

"Did you get it?" J asked, wide-eyed.

"I didn't see anything baby. Are you sure you saw something?"

He looked confused. "Yeah! It was like this big!" *hands gesture that the insect was about 20cm long*

"Well it's gone now, you have nothing to be scared of."

I couldn't stop thinking about it though. It was driving me crazy. Just days earlier, I'd opened J's secret-easter-egg-cupboard to find mouse droppings and bite marks in his bunnies. So now it appeared that I not only had mice, but a giant insect problem. This independence shit sucks.

The next day, we were all in the kitchen again and the boys were discussing the alleged giant insect. I was getting dinner ready, and as I opened the utensil drawer, I screamed and closed it.

"H!! RRRUUUUUNNNNNNNN!!" J yelled to his brother and the two of them fled to the bedroom and slammed the door. Giggling, I kept doing what I was doing. After a while, I realised they hadn't come out. I went in their room to again find them huddled under their blankets. They both looked petrified.

"Is it gone now? Did you kill it?" J asked, blinking back tears.

"Honey, I was only joking, there was nothing there!" They both rolled their eyes and started laughing, but I thought I should probably do something considering how scared they were. I wanted them to feel comfortable here.

So I did what any strong, self-sufficient woman would do. I went running to my Daddy. After a lengthy chat, my step-mum took me to Bunnings to buy all of the necessary pest-obliterating paraphernalia and I was sent home with a mission: rid the house of all vermin.

So part of my kit were 6 roach bombs, and Dad and step-mum told me horror stories of returning to find floors covered in dead bugs. I was terrified. I waited until the kids went back to M's, and I set the bombs and left for work. All day I had images in my head of my floors being covered in disgusting 6 legged things. Finally home time came and I did not want to go.

I was prepared though. I entered the house through the laundry where the vacuum was waiting plugged in and ready to go. Slowly (in case the little fuckers were waiting to jump out at me) I opened the door, peering in through the crack hesitantly. Nothing.

I walked through the whole house and found 3 dead crickets and 1 dead cockroach. REALLY?! IS THAT IT?!

However, the can did say that you can find bugs for a few days afterwards and the following day I entered my bedroom to find what I can only describe as a giant hissing madagascar cockroach trying to die next to my shoe rack. So perhaps J doesn't have an overactive imagination after all.

Vermin 0. Kelly 1.

I'm totally rocking this shit.

Bipolar Disorder: A Self Diagnosis

2013-04-09T06:00:00.000+10:00

"How are you?" Concerned friends and family ask.
"I'm good, honestly! I'm enjoying myself!" I respond enthusiastically. I'm working, I'm playing, I'm relaxing, and I feel like this is all going to work out for the best. I feel positive, forever the optimist.

And then I'm driving with my kids in the car. It's been a rough couple of days, babygirl is unsettled and not sleeping, so I'm not sleeping, and when I don't sleep, psycho mum takes over, and when psycho mum takes over I feel horrible and nasty and like I'm ruining my kids...

James Arthur's 'Impossible' comes on the radio. I turn it up, it's a good song. Next thing you know, I'm crying, trying to hide my tears behind my sunglasses so my babies won't see them.

This is not how my life was supposed to be...

What the fuck happened? How can I so quickly go from being a big believer in the old saying "a change is as good as a holiday" to feeling like a failure?

Babygirl has become sooky, clingy, cheeky, tempestuous. I blame myself, if I could have stuck it out longer, if I could have tried harder, maybe she wouldn't be so affected by the split. Or maybe it has nothing to do with it? I don't know, she can't tell me. She can't say;

"Oh no Mum, I'm not upset because I now have to see you and Dad separately, I'm upset because I have more teeth coming through."

Up until this year, my path was set. I was following that yellow brick road and I knew just where it was going. But now I'm at a crossroads and I've got no idea what lies ahead of me. One minute it feels thrilling and exciting, and the next, it's terrifying.

So I guess for now I'll have to strap on my life jacket and ride these bipolar waves. And try not to listen to depressing fricken break up songs!

Remembering Me

2013-04-04T06:00:00.000+11:00

This past week I realised how many awesome people I have in my life. I've been overwhelmed by the support and the love, like seriously overwhelmed. Like, Christ my phone won't SHUT UP overwhelmed. I opened up and I let people in and shit got a little easier. ESPECIALLY when those people are filling up my time without the kids. The thought of hanging around at home by myself is depressing, and luckily, I haven't had to do much of it.

It seems that over the past few years I've become so focused on looking after everyone else that now, when no one is around, I just kind of hover around the house tidying up. I don't know what else to do. It's funny because I'm quite independent and I have things that I love to do that keep me busy, but then when I have 3 nights with no one to look after, suddenly there's all of this TIME that I never had before.

I'm an optimist though, so rather than see that time as a burden, I'm treating it as an opportunity. An opportunity to do the things I haven't done in a while. I'm stoked to have some free time to chill out with my friends like I used to. It's not that I couldn't before, it's that I always felt guilty leaving M and the kids to hang with my friends. So I rarely did it. Now, I'm making the most of it.

I sometimes struggle under the weight and the burden of responsibility. Mortgage, marriage and motherhood turned me into a bit of a routine-mad control freak. Although many assume that I just love being a bossy, inflexible, bitch, I drive myself mad! So, this past long weekend, I shelved all responsibility and control.

"I don't mind" quickly became my answer to every question. Someone else was in charge, and it was sheer bliss. Seriously, I loved it.

I've always felt like I'm still the same person, I never thought I'd changed. But to take a back seat and enjoy the weekend made me realise that there is a part of me that I lost along the way... the part that can just loosen up and have fun.

I danced until the lights came on, I ate pizza at 3am, I had breakfast at lunch time, I watched crappy Foxtel shows for hours, I let someone else order for me at a Chinese restaurant, I enjoyed a spontaneous game of putt-putt, I laughed until my face hurt. And it was a breath of fresh air.

I think what I'm saying is that... it was really refreshing to remember that aside from being a mother and a wife, I am my own person. I didn't realise I'd forgotten ME. Perhaps if I'd spent less time feeling guilty and judging myself and more time enjoying myself, I wouldn't be in the middle of a premature mid-life crisis.

So, on this Thankful Thursday, I'm super thankful that I have such awesome people in my life. People who know that I've been absent for years but haven't held it against me. People who don't let me go home but instead make me stay for the weekend and really enjoy myself. What are you thankful for?

Living in a rental

2013-04-02T06:00:00.000+11:00

Living in a rental is a nightmare.

For the past seven years I've owned my own home. Something needed fixing - we fixed it. Didn't like something - we changed it. And if WE broke something - it didn't matter, it was our problem.

When I inspected the house I'm living in, I instantly fell in love. Honestly, I opened the front door, sighed, and said to the empty living room "Wow, you're the one!" I was over the moon because so many others I'd seen had me feeling like my life was over. But this... we were a match made in heaven.

When the Real Estate agent called me to tell me my application was successful, I thought it was too good to be true. They picked me? It must be meant to be!

Three weeks later, the honeymoon is over, and I can report that the Real Estate agent is not in fact a fairy godmother making dreams come true but rather a MASSIVE ASSHOLE. Massive.

I've had a plumber out twice because the toilet wouldn't work. I've had not one but TWO screaming matches with the agent on the phone over the plumber's bill, which the agent tried to tell me was my responsibility. Pardon me? Isn't that what happens when you rent? The owner fixes stuff?

"If you broke the toilet, the owner shouldn't have to pay for it." The condescending bitch tried to convince me.

Broke the toilet? By flushing it? Well fuck me, turns out I've been using a toilet wrong all these years.

And then there was the door that I didn't have a key to. That NO ONE had a key to. It was a massive pain in my arse, and only when the plumber called the Real Estate agent to inform her that the problem with the toilet was NOT in fact MY fault, did she finally send a maintenance man to replace the door handle that didn't seem to have a key.

And then there's the CRICKETS! My god the crickets. I can't stand the little buggers. You can't kill them, they're not like roaches. The jumpy little buggers scare the bejesus out of me, and they are all over this place.

Don't get me wrong, I still love this place. I'm just struggling with the fact that it belongs to someone else. That I have to continually remind my kids to be careful of the walls, to not bang the doors, because I'm worried about losing my bond. I guess it's an adjustment.

Do you rent? Any advice?

Survivor

2013-03-29T00:21:00.003+11:00

OMG guys, it's like an episode of bloody Survivor. This shit is crazy. CRAZY.

I was already annoyed that my new place DOESN'T have a remote controlled garage door, and I have to park in the garage because I'm in a tiny secure complex and there's no where else to leave my car. So I'm working out my left bicep as I drag my ass in and out of the car to hoist that door up and down. First world problems.

My first day here, I wanted to heat up some lunch. I didn't have a microwave. I praise the lord that my dear friend Rin was here to take the reigns, because I was not in a state to deal with the don't have a microwave meltdown that occurred. I decided to man up and own this independence, so I went out and bought a $45 microwave from KMart. Suck on that Survivor, I can heat shit up now.

Then I had the miss my kids meltdown so went to visit them. Now, the Real Estate fucked up and didn't give me a key to the internal garage door, right? So I locked it behind me, drove my car out, visited my kids, came home, parked in the garage, walked around to the front door, only to discover that I'D LEFT THE CHAIN ON. So I couldn't get through the Fort Knox front door, couldn't get through the garage because the Real Estate didn't give me a key... hmm... what to do? Called Big Bro, as you do, seeking advice. Big Bro instructed me to climb the 7ft side gate that he had done something to so no one could open it from the outside. Um... thanks Big Bro, but my 5ft self can hardly climb a 7ft fence when I'M WEARING A DRESS AND THERE'S NOTHING AROUND TO CLIMB ON.

*Cue phone call to M to come around and jump fence to go through back door and remove chain from front door - INDEPENDENCE LOST*

The following day, I decided to go and buy myself a dining table. On the way home I picked up some cider, thinking it would be nice and refreshing to accompany the dining table assembly. So I got home, feeling all proud of myself, laid out the 100 screws and the table pieces and screwdrivers, and then went to crack a bottle of cider. Oh, hang on a minute... I don't have a bottle opener. FTW. My life is over.

Not one to be defeated by the lack of a kitchen utensil, I rummaged through my drawers to try and find ANYTHING that could jimmy the top off the cider bottle and GET THAT ALCOHOL IN MY BELLY. Nothing in the kitchen worked but PRAISE THE LORD I got it off with a screwdriver and suddenly I was OWNING THIS LIVING ALONE SHIT! BOOYAH!

On fire.

So my kids came over and I said "OK babies, what would you like Mummy to make for dinner?"
And they said "Pasta with red sauce!"
And I said "Awesome! Let's do this!"

And then I realised that I didn't have a can opener, and I could not open my can of tomatoes. Oh. My. Hat. How do I make red sauce without canned tomatoes? Luckily, I discovered a punnet of cherry tomatoes in the fridge and managed to smash them into submission. WINNING.

It's a learning curve. When leaving your family home and your husband and your three precious children, you really don't have the mental capacity to consider things like bottle openers and can openers and front door chains. If I were to write a guide on

How to handle separation gracefully

I would put those at the top of the list. Check the little things. Baby steps people, baby steps.

I'm still smiling xx

Becoming a single parent

2013-03-27T08:36:00.000+11:00

This single parenting bizzo is hard fucking work.

I missed my babies like crazy. It was only 3 days, but it's the longest time I've ever spent away from them. I had to cheat, and I popped in to bath them, read to them, and put them to bed on my second night away. MY SECOND NIGHT. Yep, I lasted only one day. But my little visit was enough to carry me over until the Saturday, when they would join me at my new place.

And then they came and shit got hard. The change in environment coupled with the terrible threes meant H was REALLY difficult. And because of everything going on, I didn't want to come down too hard on him, I wanted to support him with love and cuddles. But love and cuddles didn't stop him from continually terrorising J, breaking J's things and beating him up. AND THEN, there was a *mud pie* next to my new dining table. And I thought...

That right there is reason enough for a reconciliation, right? I don't want to deal with that shit.

But I did deal with it, and after a bit of a hissy fit I consumed a cup of concrete and gave H a big hug, telling him that I love him.

And then there's J. My darling boy is at the age where he just wants to know EVERYTHING. How do you respond to an almost 5yr old who asks:

"But why did you have to move out? I liked it better when we all lived together."

I can hardly explain the complexities of adult relationships to him, so instead I tell him that I just really wanted to have a house of my own and that having two houses is SO. MUCH. FUN. It breaks my heart to know that he might remember this. That he might remember me crying in the kitchen on my last morning in the family home. But he's such a good kid, he's the best kid I know...

Then his preschool teacher called me...

"Are you ok? J said he didn't know where you were and that he hadn't seen you. He's ok, he was so matter-of-fact about it that I thought he was lying."

Like mother, like son. Many people have had a hard time believing me when I've tried to explain the split, because I've been so matter-of-fact about it.

And my babygirl, that's the hardest part, right there. She's only one year old. She shouldn't be away from me. 3 days a week at such a young age really kills me. Part of me thinks that I should have her full time and we share the boys part time, because she's too young. But I know that's not fair, I know that it's selfish, I know that she needs time with her Daddy as much as she needs time with me. So, I suck it up. I hand her over and fight back the tears as I kiss her goodbye.

She seems to be handling it perfectly fine. She's happy when she's with me, she's good with the goodbyes. M says she's happy with him too, so I guess we can assume that this hasn't really affected her.

I comfort myself with the knowledge that children this young aren't really forming memories just yet, that this will very quickly become their new 'normal', that they will be ok. But I feel guilty for not giving them a 'nuclear family', for possibly convicting them to a life time of juggling multiple families... For potentially complicating their birthdays and Christmases and WEDDINGS MY GOD.

And then I pull myself up, and I slap myself around for being so dramatic. It will be what it will be. It doesn't have to be complicated or hard, it's what we make of it, M and I. And we are a good team. We can do this.

It's now been two weeks, and it's already getting easier. They're such good kids and I have so much love for them that I just feel like it can't be hard, you know? It can't be hard to be their mum, even if I'm doing it alone for four days each week. I'm so lucky to have them, and I'm lucky that they have such a wonderful Dad, I am incredibly thankful for all of them, M and the kids. It can't be hard. It is what it is.

Relationships by Numbers

2013-03-26T05:30:00.000+11:00

12 years in partnership

11 years living together

8 years of marriage

3 beautiful children

2 unhappy people...

You've no doubt noticed that I've been incredibly quiet lately. Not for lack of words, my god I have SO much I could say, but it's difficult broadcasting it on the world wide web. It's awkward. It's painful. Even now as I type, I'm not sure where to start. I'm not sure how much I should tell you. I'm afraid of how I'm going to word it. So... in true Kelly style... I'm shooting from the hip. Throwing caution to the wind.

Let me start by apologising to the family and friends reading this who haven't already heard the news. M and I are having a hard time having this conversation with people, facing the questions and the emotions of others, so we've really kept to ourselves over the past couple of months.

M and I have separated. Although we've always made a great team, we really aren't the best communicators. We don't want the same things. We've really drifted... but we've maintained that great team that we've always been throughout this separation, working together to help our kids through it. We have to, the happiness of our beautiful offspring depends on it. I'll talk more about them later. That's a post all on its own.

I've had days where I find it hard to pick myself up off the floor. Days when the tears seem to continually flow like a leaky tap. The hardest thing I've ever had to do in my life was spend a few nights away from my children as I set up my new place before their arrival. To walk out of our house with the last of my things was more painful than I could have ever imagined.

But mostly I put on a brave face, and I try and be very matter of fact when talking about it. Switching off is my coping mechanism, it's the only way I can make sure I'm not spending ALL of my time crying in a heap on the floor. I've noticed that people aren't sure how to react when you drop "Oh and we've separated and I've moved out" rather casually over lunch...

The biggest question of all seems to be... why did I have to move out? Why didn't he?

We built that house, and although I put a lot of thought and effort and love into it, M put in a lot of blood, sweat and tears. He designed and constructed the entire front and back yard, and he did an amazing job. I just picked some paint colours and fitted some lights. I just figured that it wasn't fair to expect him to walk away from all of his hard work, he should be able to enjoy it.

I have so much to tell you. Some funny stories about living on my own for the first time EVER. Some moments that could have broken me, but I'm still standing. I can't take the credit for that. Credit goes to Big Bro and Big Sis, to my dear J and my wonderful friends for helping to hold me together.

And although I'm feeling confused and lost... I'm doing ok. I'm hanging in there. And the blogging hiatus is over.

YLSNED's Husband File!

2013-03-12T06:30:00.000+11:00

Ladies and gentlemen, I have something very special for you today. One of my favourite bloggers has contributed to a little something I call The Husband Files. Please welcome the gorgeous Emily from You Learn Something New Every Day and please show her some well deserved love!

Why is it always the days when everything’s going wrong, when your child is focused on mastering the ancient art of the tantrum, when you have no energy, when you feel like crap, and when you reach the end of your tether by midday, that your husband has to work late?

This has been happening a lot lately. A. Lot.

And I’ve been getting annoyed with my husband. Very. Annoyed.

Ah, being annoyed. So healthy. So productive.

Doesn’t he know I need him? Can’t he hear my brain imploding? Doesn’t he know that my fury with him is building exponentially with each tick of the clock? Surely work isn’t THAT crazy compared to juggling a two-year-old, blimpiness, anaemia, constant fatigue, cankles and just general misery? (Not to mention a severe case of ‘woe-is-me-ness’ coupled with ‘feeling-sorry-for-myself-itis’?!)

Sometimes I feel like he’s doing it on purpose. Avoiding me on purpose. Like he doesn’t want to spend time with the woman whose brain is imploding and whose fury is building exponentially.

Bizarre.

I’m not sure what’s tipping him off to my mood. Perhaps it’s the constant calls during the day. Or my stony silence when he calls to say he might have to work late tonight. Or the overuse of the word ‘FINE’ whenever he asks me a question, always delivered with biting sarcasm and a few extra decibels.

Perhaps it’s all of the above.

Perhaps it’s none of the above, and horrible crankiness is just my current default state. A state he chooses to avoid when he can.

Bizarre.

Or perhaps – just perhaps – he is actually busy.

He’s at work. It’s crazy. It’s demanding. It’s exhausting. He is under constant pressure from his boss, his clients and his subcontractors.

And, unlike my ‘boss’, not one of them naps for at least an hour a day.

His current major project is wrapping up and he therefore has to work late most days (and this inevitably includes the not-so-good ones). He’s about to take a month off to welcome our second-born into the world.

And his nagging wife keeps calling to moan about how tough her day is. How tired she is. How difficult it is being cooped up at home all day.

A home he rarely gets to see between commuting, working, commuting and working some more. Not to mention renovating part of said home.

Boo hoo for the poor, housebound wife.

So, time to broaden my view. It’s not all about me. It’s all about us.

Soon we’ll welcome a new life into this world. There’ll be (even) less sleep. More demands. Less time together as a couple. Less time to ourselves. More time together as a family. More time learning and balancing the new and existing needs of that family.

It’s time to be nicer to my better half. Time to start acting like a team.

And if that doesn’t work, perhaps it’s simply time to rephrase my ~~outrageous~~ very reasonable requests.

What do I mean?

Fast forward a few months. The next time I have a horrible day and ~~want~~ need him to come home, instead of sending this message:

I’ll send this one:

Emily is a mum, wife, daughter, reluctant housewife, freelance copywriter and proofreader, former marketeer, chocoholic and geek.

She learns something new every day, and blogs about it (almost) every day at the very imaginatively titled You learn something new every day.

You can also find her on facebook and twitter.

12 months on...

2013-03-07T22:21:00.001+11:00

I apologise for harping on about this, but... it's kind of a big deal. A year ago, I did something that many told me I couldn't, I shouldn't, I wouldn't do. I knew in my heart of hearts that I could do it and there was nothing anyone could say that would stop me from trying. After two c-sections, I gave birth to a giant baby without any intervention.

At first I was so incredibly proud, I felt like a superwoman. But 12 months on, I don't feel super at all. I just feel normal. Birth is a perfectly normal thing, something we women are designed to do, but so many try and convince us that we're not all built for it. I'm still proud of it, but the source of my pride has shifted. Rather than being proud of the act of giving birth, I'm proud of the act of standing up for myself, for proving the obstetricians wrong, and for sharing this experience with the world, so other women might feel inspired to normalise birth rather than medicalise it.

So to celebrate babygirls first birthday, I'm sharing my birth story, AGAIN, because I can.

Our journey to homebirth after 2 c-sections

In 2007, pregnant for the first time, I knew I wanted one thing: continuity of care. Based on the experiences of those around me, I had formed the opinion that birth was a medical event. I had determined that the only option for us was to find a private obstetrician to ensure continuity of care and that ever-so-important medical expertise. I wish that back then someone would have told me that the decisions you make for your first birth will affect you for the rest of your life. I wish that someone would have told me that although birth is one day is still requires a lot of preparation. My first pregnancy ended in an elective c-section because we were told that baby was too big and too high and a natural birth was just not going to happen. My second pregnancy ended in an emergency c-section because after spontaneously going into labour I was told that our baby was distressed and I was not progressing. It felt wrong, and I felt robbed.

Then came 2011, and alas we were fortunate enough to be having a third child. I was annoyed that I had let the system dictate my first two births and adamant that it was not happening again. I had read that statistically your chances of a vaginal birth after c-section were higher in a public hospital, so I started there. I called the local public hospital’s antenatal clinic and set out my story, I’d had 2 possibly unnecessary c-sections, was planning a vaginal birth, and didn’t want any trouble. They put me in touch with a caseload midwife who was eager to take me on, I was told this was my best bet. I was excited, this time would be different. I had also read that statistics show having a Doula decreases intervention rates and increases positive outcomes, so I was certain we needed Jacinda, an acupuncturist and Doula who I met during my second pregnancy.

At 18 weeks I received a phone call from my caseload midwife advising that the team had agreed that I would be fighting an uphill battle against hospital policy and procedure to have the birth I wanted. She arranged an appointment with a public obstetrician to “seek permission” for a trial of labour. I called Jacinda, flabbergasted and afraid that I’d never find someone who would believe that I was capable of giving birth. She suggested we look into homebirth, an idea way out of my comfort zone. I agreed to speak to a couple of independent midwives, but we also decided to meet with the public obstetrician to hear what he had to say.

I spoke to four independent midwives about homebirth, about my c-sections, about the risks of repeat c-section versus the risks of vaginal birth, and I could not believe how supported I felt. They all gave me the impression that I was perfectly capable of giving birth, that I was not insane for wanting to try. When I saw the public obstetrician however, he could not understand why I wished to deliver my baby vaginally. He agreed that there were a number of risks of repeat c-section, he stated that my first two c-sections were down to “Dr probably having a holiday booked and just bad luck”, he even informed me that I had a “favourable pelvis for childbirth”. In conclusion he said he would allow a trial of scar but with strict conditions and that if he was not on duty on the day I went into labour, no other obstetrician there would agree to this.

We knew that if we stuck with the hospital, we would end up with another c-section. But we still weren’t entirely comfortable about the idea of giving birth at home, so we asked an independent midwife to come and meet with us. Hazel was passionate about VBAC and after chatting with us for a couple of hours and answering every fathomable question with a well researched and evidence based answer, she had us buzzing with excitement. We were going to do this, we were going to bring a child into the world in our home! We went to see our beloved, trusted GP to tell him the plan and his response was “Oh no, you can’t do that, your uterus doesn’t work, you need to have another c-section.” I laughed it off.

A few weeks later Hazel called to say her family had to relocate to Orange and she could no longer be our midwife. I was now about 22 weeks and panicking, what if we couldn’t find another midwife? I met Emma and instantly loved everything she stood for, her passion, her energy, her intelligence, and her faith in the human body. PLEASE BE MY MIDWIFE!! It turned out that Emma worked as part of a private practice of midwives, and when you book with them you have a second midwife attend the birth. I loved the idea of this, there is safety in numbers after all. Melanie would be my second midwife.

The rest of my pregnancy was a dream. Prenatal visits with Emma were relaxed, we talked about any concerns we had and made plans for the birth. Finally, here was the continuity of care I had longed for since 2007, this was bliss. Jacinda and I talked through my fears, came up with coping strategies, and prepared for birth. My confidence was now at 100%, I had found a birth team who believed in and supported me. We went to a local GP to get a script for some medication (syntocinon just in case, etc) and he lectured us about homebirth being far too risky and that babies were not consumable goods that you could just throw away and try again. We laughed that off too.

At 41 weeks I developed terrible back pain and Melanie told me that the baby had turned around and was now posterior. I made an appointment to see Jacinda the following day (Saturday) so she could try to reposition the baby and also perform an induction treatment. Later that night I had a show and the following day (Sunday), I woke in the morning feeling like something was starting. I had mild contractions throughout the day and night, and then it stopped. And then nothing. Emma came to visit on Monday, and she said that the baby now appeared to be anterior, so she suggested that the early labour I had experienced was just to help turn the baby around.

A contraction woke me at 3am Tuesday morning, it was now H’s second birthday. By 630am, they were strong enough that I could no longer lie in bed. They were coming about every 7 minutes and I just had to move through them. I had decided that soften, open, release were to be my key words, so with each contraction I would take a deep breath through my nose and on the exhale I would say those three words.

After a couple of hours in the bedroom, I needed a change of scenery, it just wasn’t working for me anymore. I decided some fresh air would be nice so I went out into the back yard. This was so calming and refreshing, just what I needed. But then the silence of the house became deafening, so I went in and turned some music on, and then with each contraction I would dance around.

Now it was time to try a bath. Again the contractions slowed right down and it was lovely just to get some rest after spending so long pacing and dancing! After 45 minutes J burst into the bathroom declaring that he needed to do a poo, the moment was lost, and I got out. Before long, I was in need of a distraction. I decided to cook some bolognese sauce, H loved pasta and it was his birthday after all. So at around 4pm I started grating carrot, capsicum, onion and mushroom to make a healthy dinner. By now I’d stopped timing contractions, it was too consuming.

Finally at 530pm I called Jacinda and Emma. Emma said I was sounding like I was doing very well and that I was now establishing and that she would come whenever I needed her to. During the ten minute conversation with Emma I had three powerful contractions and I realised how close together they now were.

Jacinda arrived shortly after 6pm and it felt so good to see a fresh face. We stayed in the bedroom, where I would rest on the floor between contractions and rock on the fit ball breathing through them. From the moment Jacinda arrived, I didn’t once check the time. M joined us once the boys were in bed, and we realised we hadn’t filled the pool yet nor did we know how long it would take, so off he went again!

It was just before dark when Jacinda suggested I get in the pool so we headed to the lounge room. Ah, the serenity. The heat of the water and the sensation against my skin was just what I needed. I was so incredibly relaxed. I decided it was time to call Emma, I needed to know that our baby was ok. When she arrived at about 830pm she was so discreet I hardly noticed, and I was so focused that I could barely acknowledge her. She observed me and checked the baby’s heart rate and assured me that we were both doing really well.

Finally something started to change. It wasn’t anything I had control over, but what my body did with contractions turned from coping through them to working with them. It was at this point that I asked Emma if we should check to see how dilated I was because I was afraid of pushing if I wasn’t yet there. Emma was amazing. She told me to listen to my body, it knew what to do. She suggested we get through a few more contractions and if I wasn’t sure she would check dilation. Only a few contractions later I felt my water break and Emma again reassured me that this was a sign of great progress and to just go with it. My body took over. My yelling OPEN and OUT during contractions suddenly turned to silent pushing, I could feel my pelvis opening up, feel my baby coming down. I felt the head emerging and I pushed and panted and pushed and panted, feeling myself stretch and stretch. Her head popped out and I had to breathe deep and wait for the next contraction, and her body was then born. I felt her kicking and twisting inside me as she wriggled out, it was incredible.

It was 12:16am... “Sit back and pick up your baby!” Emma instructed. This two seconds lasted an eternity, and as I reached my hands into the water and lifted out my beautiful baby girl I was in absolute awe of what had just happened. She took her first breath in my arms. We confirmed that she was in fact a girl, and just sat there holding her, amazed by her, absorbing the moment. M went and got the boys out of bed. After a while Emma suggested I get out of the pool, so holding my baby in my arms, I climbed out and onto the lounge. The cord had stopped pulsing so M clamped and cut it. J was too tired to participate and wanted to go back to bed, but H was mesmerised and refused to leave his sister’s side.

I sat feeding A, trying to work with the contractions push the placenta out, but I just couldn’t. I could feel myself fading and Emma and Melanie were starting to worry. An hour after A was born, Emma removed my placenta using controlled cord traction and then discovered that I had a third degree tear. It was recommended that we go to hospital to have it stitched, so A and I were dressed and packed into the car. Before dressing A, Emma weighed her. My 5 foot 2, 55kg body, had just given birth to a 4.54kg baby!

We got to hospital at about 3am. The obstetrician wanted to repair the tear under a general anaesthetic and I agreed. Emma stayed, taking care of A while I was under and bringing her to me in recovery. After several hours of declaring my intention to leave I was finally given scripts and instructions and signed a form to say I was leaving against medical advice, and I was at home in my own bed with my three beautiful children by lunch time. Bliss.

Would I do it again? In a heartbeat. What an amazing experience. Emma recorded my established labour as 5 hours and 20 minutes, second stage as 56 minutes and third as 1 hour 4 minutes. I am so incredibly thankful to have met Jacinda, Emma, Melanie and Tara and to have such an amazing supportive husband. All it took was for them to believe in me.

One Year!

2013-03-05T06:30:00.000+11:00

Twelve short months ago, I was the size of a hippopotamus, convinced that I wasn't pregnant at all, that this was in fact going to be my shape for all of eternity. And then it happened. With a long and drawn out early labour and relatively quick established labour, our beautiful baby girl was born in a pool in our living room, and our world was changed forever.

She holds me tight. When I pick her up, she wraps her arms and legs around me and she holds on so tight. She presses her head to my chest, listening to my voice and my heartbeat, remembering (I'm assuming) what it sounded like to live in my warm, swooshy belly.

She dances. With her head and her shoulders, her arms and her legs, and even a little jiggle of her hips, she dances. She knows that it's adorable and she enjoys it, I could watch her for hours.

She communicates. She'll squeak as she nods to indicate that yes she does want a drink, or she'll shake her head and grunt to let us know that she doesn't want any banana. She communicates and I struggle to accept that she's that old already.

SHE WALKS. Her brothers didn't walk until 14 months of age - and even then they were forced. But she just hopped on up and took off, quickly figuring out for herself that it was a far more effective means of getting around. And now she won't sit down.

I want to wrap her up in my arms and protect her from the world, but more importantly, I want her to live. To learn. To face her fears, to push her limits. I want her to hug, and dance, and communicate and walk. I want her to be someone.

But mostly, I want her to be proud of her Mum. I want to be the kind of mum she can look up to. Because if I can be that Mum, then surely all of the rest will fall into place.

Happy first birthday babygirl, I am so incredibly blessed and thankful that you are my daughter.

Obscenities, Expletives, Curses

2013-03-02T16:21:00.000+11:00

Howdy fuckers.

I'm in a sweary mood, so if you're easily offended, best fuck off now.

A sweary mood doesn't necessarily mean a bad mood. Sometimes I swear a lot just because I'm so darn happy. You know, like,

"This is the best fucking cake ever! This is the SHIT! How fucking awesome am I?!" That's a happy mood swear.

Right now though, it's an insomnia induced sweary mood. Lack of sleep has resulted in limited vocabulary. This was apparent in a meeting at work today when mid sentence I stopped, a blank expression sweeping across my face. My 3 colleagues, all more senior than myself, anxiously stared, waiting to hear my words of wisdom. The only word on my tongue was FUCK.

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So I waited. And I wrapped it up with a golden substitute. 'Far out'. WINNING.

I'll worry about redeeming myself later, we can't ALL be on top of our game ALL of the time, right?

My dad used to say that people who swear a lot do so because they're not intelligent enough to find the words. What a load of bullshit. I'm going to present to you two paragraphs. In the first, I'm going to be intelligent and use my words. In the second, I'm going to say it however the fuck I want. You be the judge.

A colleague of mine seems to be lacking in the skills required to perform the tasks for which he was appointed. As a result, I find myself having to manage his workload as well as my own. The problem isn't that I don't enjoy the work, or that I'm not capable of performing. The problem is that he receives remuneration that simply isn't justified.

A fucktard at work is an incompetent imbecile, I have no idea how the fucking moron landed this job. I don't have the patience to hold the pansy's hand so instead I just do his shit as well as my own fucking shit. And you know what, it's not that I can't handle it, it's that the mother fucker gets paid to SIT ON HIS FUCKING HANDS! What the fuck is that about?

Now if you ask me, paragraph one sounds a little pompous, a little boring. Paragraph two sounds passionate, my emotions are clear, my issues are understood, am I right?

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Swear people. Swear like you mean it. It's good for the soul.

Chorizo, Zucchini and Saffron Frittata

2013-02-28T15:35:00.000+11:00

Those of you who are regulars here will know I've been a little quiet. It's not for lack of love, just lack of words at the moment. So I sent out a call on Facebook, pleading for help from my wonderful likers, and they didn't let me down.

I've written before about my belief that children should eat what the adults are eating, I love encouraging my kids to try new things and experiment with food. I'm also a big fan of cooking from scratch, especially when it comes to feeding my babies.

For this reason, I'm a little obsessed with Lisa from Bites for Babies. Lisa is an avid foodie AND a mum, and she comes up with all sorts of wonderful creations for her gorgeous son. With H's wheat intolerance, I often struggle for new wheat free meal ideas. But the little guy LOVES eggs, so when I saw Lisa's Chorizo, Zucchini and Saffron Frittata, I just knew we had to try it. And it was AMAZEBALLS. So when Lisa suggested I share one of her recipes in an attempt to rejuvenate my blog, I jumped at the chance.

Ladies and gents, without further adieu...

(Makes about 8 portions-depending on how you slice the frittata)
10 eggs1 medium red onion, finely diced2 small zucchini, finely diced1/2 ready-to-serve chorizo sausage (or you could substitute with 1 cup of ground chicken/beef etc.)pinch of saffron or about 1/8 tsp. (optional)salt and pepper to taste

In a medium non-stick frying pan, heat oil on medium-heat for 1-2 minutes. Add onions and cook for 5-7 minutes or until translucent.
In the meantime, cut the zucchini lengthwise into quarters then slice thinly. Slice chorizo in half then into thirds and slice thinly. (Note: if I were making this for adults only I would slice both into 1 inch cubes)
Once the onions are translucent, add zucchini and saffron to the pan and cook for 5-7 minutes or until translucent.
Add chorizo, reduce the heat to medium-low and heat through for 2 minutes.

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Be sure to season well with salt and pepper before adding the eggs.While the zucchini and chorizo are cooking whisk the eggs.Add eggs to the pan and stir for 3-4 minutes until they resemble loosely scrambled eggs.Remove eggs from the heat and pour into the same bowl used for whisking them. Increase the heat to medium-high (you might need to need add extra oil or cooking spray, depending on how “non-stick” your frying pan is!)

After 2 minutes return eggs to the pan and form a large patty with a spatula as they cook. Cook for 2-3 minutes or until the sides of the frittata are firm enough to lift with a spatula without falling apart.

Now here’s the fun part… flipping the frittata! It’s actually pretty easy: place a plate (larger than the frying pan) over the frying pan, hold tight, flip, then slide frittata back into the pan! For detailed instructions (plus pictures) look HERE.

Cook for another 2-3 minutes, flattening down with a spatula to ensure the frittata is uniform then remove from heat and let cool slightly before serving (although it can be eaten piping hot or even cold!).

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If you're not familiar with Bites for Babies then please check out Lisa on Facebook, Twitter and Pinterest!