Musical Theatre is Evil....

Parents! Beware!

I have discovered something that many parents will not have realised yet. Musical Theatre is categorically BAD for children. It causes rebellion and out right rude behaviour. It may actually cause your child to argue back......... in SONG!

Toddlers and food, pt 2.

I have caved. We are having bangers and mash for dinner. The kids win, I am forfeiting this round.

Most of the time, my cooking is a bit ad hoc. I make things up on the spot. I invent a new recipes to use up things in the pantry. I don't use recipe books. So most of the time, my cooking is a massive jumbalaya, full of random ingredients, saucy, spicy and filling. Sometimes we have wraps, sometimes we have pasta, sometimes we have rice, but there are always vegetables and lots of them. It's cheap, economical, healthy and yummy.

Also, I think I have been blessed with a daughter who will try and eat everything. Until recently, I also attributed this to my amazing parenting. Who wouldn't? But now I know I have been blessed. Ava eats sushi, fruit, vegetables, sandwiches, lasagne, meat, chickpeas and lentils. She has eaten more cuisines in 3 years than I ate before my 21st birthday. There are actually only 2 things I am aware that she genuinely doesn't like, and that is tinned tuna and salad.

However, His Majesty's daughter, despite being equally well parented, will not even entertain the thought of eating something she doesn't recognise. The things she WILL eat, I can probably count on one hand. Bangers, Mash, Broccoli, Cake. Yep, one hand.

So, nights have been a battle of wills. Cutting it into fancy shapes? Nope. Yogo sitting right in front of her plate? Nope. The threat of her being hungry? Nothing will sway her, she will not eat it.

And, so I give in, I do not want to play this game tonight, I don't want the stress, I don't want the aggravation, I am sick of tears (mostly mine) and I am sick of feeling like I am failing.

Yet again, I have been brought down off my high horse, and to all the parents who have served bangers and mash because it is easy, and it will be eaten, and you know that you will have a full, content child, rather than a stubborn, hungry and angry child, I am sorry.

I guess the biggest surprise about my parenting has been how parenting challenges my preconceived notions about parenting, or something like that. In many ways, I am not the parent I envisaged before I had Ava. I yell too much. I have snapped and smacked my daughter, hard. I have had moments that I am not proud of, where I haven't been bigger, stronger, wiser or kinder.

However, I will never shun or be afraid of showing and telling my family members that they are loved, no matter who is watching or what they think. I will always tell the truth, and I respect my daughter and His Majesty's daughter and who they are as individuals. And tonight, I am fully aware that the last few nights dinners have been stressful, and not fun at all.

So tonight, I am serving Bangers and Mash with Broccoli and Garlic Bread, we are having a nice warm bath and then we are going into the play room to build the biggest cubby house out of every pillow, blanket and chair I can find.

Knit one, purl one...

I have been a bit knitting crazy lately.

I first started knitting at 19, when I performed in my first community theatre show. The green room was a shonky little room, tacked on besides the stage, no sound proofing or even a divider between the green room and the stage. You literally went around a corner and were in the wings. So, to avoid making heaps of noise backstage, the cast employed various methods to entertain themselves quietly backstage. This was an era before smart phones, and "Snake" gets boring after a while, so I got a book on knitting out of the library and taught myself to knit. Normal for a 19 year old? Not really, but normal people are boring, and I have never claimed to be normal.

I knitted the most amazing scarf, about 1.2 meters long, over $100 worth of beautiful, fluffy merino mohair blend yarn and even though it took nearly 2 years to complete, I wore it like a badge of honour. Ever seen a normal person wearing a massive, fluffy scarf in summer?

Unfortunately, in the last 5 years, it has been lost in one of the many moves. Innaloo, Green Head, Leeman, South Perth, Japan, Roleystone, Armadale and now Kelmscott, during one of those shifts, my precious scarf has been lost somewhere. Awwww, Sad face.

These last few months I have been involved in a pantomime. I auditioned for the role, with the full knowledge that I would be the leading lady, but that it probably would be a production with a few hiccups. (Oh no it wouldn't! Oh yes it would! Oh..... Oh bah hum bug, you get the picture.) Being a cast full of first timers and children, it has been a little bit of an exercise in diplomacy and patience.

At least I got to be a princess.

So, again, I took up knitting, in order to keep myself sane. First, it was a tunic dress for Ava.

Then a rainbow dress for His Majesty's daughter.

Pants for Mackenzie:

And I just kinda kept going!

I have been told that I am different and strange, and that people walked on eggshells around me. To be completely honest, I don't really give a shit. What is "normal" anyway, except for an excuse to be disappointed and judgemental instead of loving someone for who and what they are?

I am happy with my life, happy with my decisions and proud of what I have achieved. I have a safe home, a supportive and loving partner, a wonderful young family. I am a calm, consistent, firm and loving mother. I have hobbies I enjoy, and a job that pays the bills. If people want to walk on eggshells around me, that is their own problem, because with me, what you see is what you get. Tough luck if you don't like it.

And getting back to the pantomime, it really hasn't turned out all that bad. I have really enjoyed working with a few of the older cast members and getting to know some theatre regulars better. My dear friend (and the prince!) Feildhlim has found his very own princess in another cast member, who also happens to be an ex-student of mine. Dare I say, it has even turned out to be fun?

Well, I got some knitting done at least!

Memories

Sometimes, I get really sad thinking about the past. I think about all the precious, wonderful people who have meant so much to me and how I am not in contact with them now, and I feel really sad that they are no longer a part of my life. I think about the friendships that I thought I would never let go, and how some have seemingly slipped away, and how, sadly, people grown apart.

I know it shouldn't, but it makes me very, very sad and morose. Why? They played their part in my life, we grew apart, things happen. Still, I am in one of those funks right now.

I logged into my Myspace (hey, there's a blast from the past) account today for the first time in around two years, and  shed a few tears looking at my top friends list. My life is so different now, and the people in it have all changed. I miss them all so much.

I was so tempted was I to peer into their lives, to try and recapture those moments in my life in which they played their role, and it bothered me that I would be so sad thinking upon my past. So, I deleted the account. The memories can stay, but I think I shall move onto making new ones.

Ones that will make me smile when I think back on them.

* * * * *

I haven't really felt very inspired to blog of late. I know I am kind of stating the obvious, but it has been a very hard couple of months, and to preserve His Majesty's sanity, I decided not to make a lot of it very public.  I have to leave His Majesty some sanity....... he has to live with me remember! But, next week is Miss Ava's third birthday, the anniversary of her beautiful arrival on July 3rd, 2008. 

My baby is three. So, really, my baby is not a baby anymore. *sniff* 

My (gulp!) little girl can read her name, and get many of the letters of the alphabet correct. She can use the toilet all by herself. She can get an egg from the fridge, and she can crack it too. Ava can ask for something politely, use please, thank you and excuse me, has an indoor voice and an outdoor voice. She loves Grace Kelly, and if you sit still long enough will tell you her entire life story including that she was killed in a car accident and that she was a 'real' princess. Ava loves singing, and dancing, and adores animals. She is my entire life, everything I live and breathe and work and exist for. Each birthday bring a not so subtle reminder that she needs me less and less, and all the while I love her more and more.

So excuse me on Sunday if I crawl off into a corner somewhere and sob inconsolably.

One day, if I do my job properly, she won't need me at all. (But thank goodness it's a fair way off yet!)

Make do or go without

I grew up very simply. We never had the latest or the greatest. Meals were simple fare, veggies from the garden, eggs from the chooks, meat from the deep freeze, and trips either to Geraldton or to Perth to restock every four to six weeks. We didn't have the internet, we didn't have a video player, or a DVD player, and my father has only recently acquired a CD player. Our car was a gift from my grandmother, our couch as well. Our holidays were camping and to visit family, our entertainment was a game of Uno, or Poker, betting recklessly with matchsticks.

My mother stayed home with my sister and I, and my father worked at the mineral sands Mine at Eneabba. He worked very hard, and took many, many extra shifts to pay off the family home, which he did in 6 years. I still remember him proudly telling me that we owned our home, and proudly relating this fact to my friends, even though I didn't really understand what he meant. 

I was very, very lucky. My early childhood was stable and secure, and it came down to a few things that people seem to have forgotten: Make do or go without.

The reason that I bring this up is because I think I forgot it myself. Last year, His Majesty and myself had quite a good income. We made a very comfortable living, and we had outgoings that matched. Massive phone bills, club memberships, play money, two relatively new, shiny cars, etc. But this year, His Majesty is following his dream at WAAPA, and this means that we are down to one income, but with the outgoings of a couple that earn far more. 

So, the last few weeks I have been taking stock and tightening this belt a little. My Biggest Loser Club membership has been suspended until I can pay it again, and they were very gracious to allow me to do that as it was a contract. Also, it was the BLC or the gym, and the gym is far more practical. I have had to give away my singing lessons as a luxury item. I am NOT a natural singer, as much as I enjoy it, and it is not a need, so I will just have to exercise my voice very carefully on my own. We have stopped using the aircon in our house. It is killing His Majesty, because he hates being hot but he is being very, very good about it. Our food bill has been slashed, and we have more basics, and less prepackaged and convenience items in the trolley. Our weekly visit to Sizzlers has been curtailed to a very rare treat. 

Rent is rent, and always will be, so nothing I can do about that. We are trying not to use as much water....no point watering the garden because we are right in the middle of a drought anyway. Centrelink won't give us anything, I tried (twice). Today, I also rang Telstra and found out that they have contracts that are far better value than our old ones, and so instead of paying $230 a month, we will now pay $138, but get around the same value. Massive, massive props to my friend, who is not only a uni student, but an amazing Mummy to two gorgeous cherubs, and someone who will make a fabulous teacher and enrich so many lives and is making living on one income and studying look like a walk in the park. (I know it probably isn't Jo, but you make it look good!)

So what can I make do with? I can make do with the videos we have, and without buying new ones. I can make do with serving the girls fish and veggies, even if I want something not in the freezer... (like Sizzlers). I can make do with the massive ammount of clothes I have without buying any more this year. I can make do with cloth nappies instead of putting my stubborn 2 and a half year old in a disposable every night.

And what can I do without? Well, when it boils down to it, I can do without the stress of not having enough money to pay for all the things that I don't really need. So even though I don't have a designer house, a cupboard full of new clothes, matching furniture, brightly packaged, trendy snacks, juice, a house like an igloo, an iPhone 4, a cleaner and we are going camping at Easter instead of to Europe, I have a feeling we are going to be just fine.  

(And if all else fail, damn it, we have really nice cars!)

  

Sad

Why is it people hold grudges? Why is my decision whether or not to remain in a relationship 1 and a half years ago still cause for people to treat me like I am worthless? And why do I still desperately miss the friends who now hate me?

I just spent 15 minutes in the shopping centre car park after Thursday night food shopping, sobbing my eyes out. Friends, who once counted me as close as a friend could be, went through the Woolies aisle next to me, obviously also trying to squeeze a weeks worth of food out of as little actual money as possible.

This one particular person also said once, on her wedding day, that if I was ever to leave my husband, she would miss him dearly but I was her friend for life. Well, it must have been Mr. Jack Daniels who promised me that, because the silence was deafening. Eyes averted, talking as quietly as possible, they pretended I wasn't there. As we lifted and shifted, swiped and paid, I twice went to say hello and twice was meet with purposefully turned backs.

Things have happened in past weeks that have really turned 2011 on it's head. Fires, floods, earthquakes and now a possible nuclear meltdown. There are far, far worse things that can happen to a person in their life than the things I have experienced. So, why the childish silence? It's enough to make a person wild with anger. And if I am angry, why the tears?

The tears are because I still care. Despite a year and a half of solid silence, despite contact and pleas for understanding and apologies, they continue to ignore me, but I still care about them. And I miss them. And their carefully contrived silence hurts.

I am the only person who has to live in my skin, and the my choices are just that: mine. Sometimes I make mistakes, don't we all? A true friend would stick by you, even of they disagree with your decisions, and love you despite your faults.

I miss you guys. I am sorry for whatever wrong I did you, even though I have no idea what it could be. If it is the fact that my family now lives in 2 houses instead of one, I want you to know that I did what I thought was best, and what you see from the outside isn't always how it is. I hope that you can understand, and know that the driving light in my life is Ava and everything else is secondary. I wish for you the same things I did 2 years ago; happiness, family, love, security and a life lived with no regrets. I know that you will probably never read this, but if there comes a time in your life where you think you could not hate me, I hope the universe finds wings to speed these thoughts and wishes to you.

Pre and post babies... a glossary

Accessories
Pre: Carefully chosen and colour co-ordinated earrings, necklaces, watches, belts and rings. All fashionable, in style, amazingly modern or uber-retro.
Post: Washed hair and clothes that have not been peed on, puked on, snotted on or cried into. Ironing optional.

Breasts
Pre: Pert mounds, high and firm, with tiny nipples. Definitely face north.
Post: Two sad, deflated sacs that sit up relatively high until the moment you take off your super-supportive, wired, corseted, titanium lined, hideously expensive brasserie, and then flank your belly button under your nightie.

Exfoliation
Pre: a careful procedure, best done twice weekly by selecting the best, preferably expensive creams and lotions containing perfectly round beads of non animal derived ingredients to smooth and brighten skin by removing dead skin cells.
Post: A brisk rub with a towel after a even brisker shower. Every other day if you are organised or very lucky.

Girls night
Pre: silly, funny drunken fun.
Post: silly, silly Pony/Disney/fairy movies that you have already seen 1000 times. Little girls hyped up on sugar. Tantrums and/or vomit.

Poo
Pre: bodily waste, bi-product of digestion, definitely taboo conversation topic.
Post: yardstick for child development, completely acceptable topic of conversation, needs to be sifted when a curious child swallows a two dollar coin.

Money
Pre: Carefully budgeted into savings, spending, bills and rent.
Post: What's that?

Love
Pre: A fuzzy dream that somewhere, there is a soul mate for you, someone to complete you and make you whole. Someone to hold, kiss, cry and laugh with. Someone who holds you high and holds your hand, and will keep holding your hand for as long as you both live.
Post: Your child.

Because I didn't really know what love was until she came into my world.

Humungous Nunga nungas

I had my follow up appointment with the dietician this afternoon. It was a bit mixed, as I had a very good week then a very bad one, but Ya-el said that I seemed in a far better state of mind about food and my weight than last time. I can't help feeling a little bit put out that this is going to be a slooooooooow process, but if I restrict myself in my diet, as soon as I stop restricting myself, all the weight and more is going to come back on. It needs to be slow, gradual changes until eating less and moving more is the norm. However, one little thing is getting on my nerves.

I have ginormous nunga nungas. (So, two big things, actually)

Before I had Ava I was a comfortable 12D. Big enough to be very busty and sexilicious, but not ridiculous. Well, a couple of days ago I went into Bras N Things to get fitted, as I haven't been since before I was pregnant, and when the lady told me that 14E was the largest they had in sports bras, and that I actually needed to go up a cup, I almost cried.

14F. F for 'fucking huge.

I don't really know why it has me so upset. I know that I have put on weight, and I know that it will take a lifestyle change and most of the year, AND THEN the rest of my life eating healthy to change this. I had my follow up appointment, she is very happy with my mental, emotional and physical state....but my boobs are huge.

When Ava was just born, and I went to breastfeed her for the second time (the first time was laying down in sort of a haze as the midwife explained about proper attachment and my nipples NOT becoming infected and dropping off as she manoeuvred the mewling infant onto my breast) I held onto my boob, up and out of the way, for fear I would suffocate her.
Midwife: "You can let go now, she's on properly."
Me: "But... she won't be able to breathe!"
Midwife " Yes, she will.....that's it......."

I let go. One or two seconds ticked my. Suddenly, like a flash, the midwife had dived at my breast, and all of a sudden was holding it off my tiny infants nose.

"Okay, change of plan. Maybe you should support it here, just so she can breathe, okay" Gotta love how calm she was.

I want little, pert boobies.

Discipline and Toddlers...

Notice that the title of this post is "Discipline AND Toddlers" and not "Disciplining Toddlers". My wonderful friend, Ben, comment on my 'discipline' at a rock concert that we were at the other day. Yes, rock concert. Ava loved the music, and even did her 'angry dance' all the way through the more metal songs. And then ate her body weight in Turkish bread and hummus. Yum.

Now, discipline is a subject that gets everyone up in arms, and I know I have blogged about this before, but this is what I believe and what works for me. You can beat and scream at your children all you want, just don't winge when they smack you and yell right back in your face.

The work discipline comes from Latin roots and it means "to teach", and when it boils down to it, I am trying to teach is self control, relationship/ interpersonal skills, manners, good habits and how to be safe.

Now, toddlers have a curious mind, immature nervous systems, growing needs and wants and limited verbal skills to express themselves. For example, "Poo" can mean "I need to do a poo" OR "I have just filled my nappy with poo" OR (because of their immature nervous systems) "Wow, I was sure that fart was going to be a poo".... Weeeeeell, you get the gist. And when emotions get really big and little systems flood with adrenaline, grunts, screams, slaps and kicks often replace words as toddlers struggle to express what is racing through their heads. They cannot yet grasp concepts like 'share', 'take turns', 'tidy' and 'hurry'. The concept of ownership is not yet formed and so everything becomes 'mine'. The idea of 'teaching' discipline is also hard at this stage, because you are not dealing with a rational, miniature person, but a growing living organism whose mental capabilities and needs far outstrip the language needed to communicate. Couple that with an insatiable curiosity about the world and how it works, and you have a toddler.

Discipline is also often associated with punishment, and positive reinforcement often gets forgotten, OR WORSE, palmed off as mollycoddling, hippy shit. Well, I can tell you, EVERY SINGLE TIME I have smacked Ava, it has done nothing but given me a irrational, screaming child to deal with, and it has been because I was angry. I am a human being and not perfect, and I have definitely regretted the way I have handled situations before, and it has usually been when I have lashed out and smacked. I probably yell too much, and being quite honest, it is probably because I am too lazy to stop what I am doing and go over to where the problem is. As I said before, not perfect.

When I was pregnant, I looked after my body, staying active and eating the right foods. When Ava was a tiny baby I fed her when she was hungry, and picked her up when she cried. I breastfed her until she was ready to stop and slept next to her until she was 10 months old. I ignored people telling me that I would 'spoil my child', because what I was teaching her was to love and to trust in relationships and people. I wanted to set a good foundation for self control, based on mutual love and respect. So, now if she slaps another child or up-ends her water on the floor, I get down to her level and explain to her that what she did was 'not nice' or 'not good'. She says sorry, and then we follow logical consequences, so she apologises or cleans up, and I really haven't had any problems with that. I try not to smack or to yell, and usually these things only happen when I am tired or overwhelmed. Instead, I am trying to gently guide Ava towards those qualities that I think will serve her best as she grows up.

Routine, consistency, firm guideline, high standards but realistic expectations, prior planning, distracting and redirecting, good nutrition, positive reinforcement, natural and logical consequences, modelling good behaviour, varied and new experiences to learn and most of all a loving and safe environment, these are all pieces to the puzzle that makes up our day.

This is not some weirdo hippy shit either. My daughter is polite, well behaved, tidy, has an inside voice and an outside voice, and although she can sometimes be naughty and forgetful, people compliment me on what a well behaved and 'easy' child she is. And I have never been told that she is spoilt.

Many, many people tell you to growl or smack, time out, time in, naughty corners, naughty chairs, going to bedrooms, all sorts of things. Well, those of your that know Ava, know that I am raising someone who is pretty special, and even though it is probably all her, I don't think I am doing half bad.

Updated

I lot of people have been asking how I am getting along with the new food and everything.
Short answer : Slowly but steadily.

Long answer: (For Bree and Ben and Carolyn!)

Last Thursday my bad ankle was so sore that there was no way that I was going to be able to teach dance because I could hardly walk, so I took the opportunity whilst at the doctors to discuss my Mirena. I said that a couple of things had led my to believe that my Mirena was causing my weight gain.

My boobs hurt ALL the time.
I felt weepy and sooky at the drop of a hat and my emotions felt less "in check"
My bra size had gone from a 14C to a 16F (F for F$#&ING HUGE)
My skin was very blotchy
I felt bloated all the time

and in general, I didn't feel like me. I felt fat, depressed, boring, bloated and spotty! Awesome contraceptive, cause who wants sleep with a hormonal, weepy mess anyway!

All in all, the Mirena was very good. It was unobtrusive and effective, and definitely allowed for spontaneity and.....uhhh.......closeness. He hem. Unfortunately, I happen to be one of the 5-10% of women who absorb more hormones and have adverse effects.

So, I have had it out for a week, and already I feel less foggy in the head and more able to be rational and cool headed. Thank God, because I had the work week from hell. But my boobs are smaller, my waist not as puffy and generally, I feel better in my body.

The scales haven't moved much this week.......well, they had, but a couple of drinks and the ensuing hash brown sandwich (thanks hunny!) combined with lots of turkish bread and fresh hommus for dinner last night (MMmmmmmm, carbs with oil....drool) have meant that my 2kg loss which the scales showed on Friday was only a -0.2 loss. However being in the 70s as opposed to the 80s is good.......at least until I am back in the 60s again!

I guess I am not stressing. Saying you have lost 2 kilos in a week is a nice feeling, but I have given myself the entire year to shed the weight I gained in a year, and so in short, it's going, slowly, but steadily.

bloody bloody bloody blaaaaaaaah....

I was in such a deep funk this morning, and I couldn't shake myself out of it. Even yoga, which usually leaves me feeling like I am floating on a cloud of exercise induced endorphins had only mildly lifted my mood.

My weight has not budged. Not one kg on my expensive, reveal all, leave nothing to the imagination scales. A little up, a little down, a little up, a little down. But on the whole, more up than down.

This really has me stumped. I am not lacking in motivation, or will power. My thyroid and levels are normal. I eat a low calorie, low fat, balanced vegetarian diet. I see a dietician, who has told me that my diet is very balanced and that I am making the right choices. So why has an extra 15 kilos found me in the last year?

One of the answers may be the birth control I am using. Currently, with no children planned for the future, I have a Mirena IUD. The Intra Uterine Device sits in the uterus and releases a low level of a certain type of progesterone, tricking the body into thinking it is pregnant, stopping the endometrium from forming, stopping you ovulating and also providing a physical obstacle from unwanted pregnancy. The level of hormone is apparently 1/5 of the Implanon, and even less enters the blood stream, because it is absorbed locally. The doctor who inserted it assured me that weight gain is significantly less with the Mirena than other hormone based contraceptives like the pill. My best friend asked her doctor on my behalf if weight gain was a side effect of the Mirena, and the doctor said 'no', so I dug out the product information booklet this morning, and it is listed as the first side effect, along with nervousness, depression and nausea. So, the levels of hormones can't really be all that low, can they? It also states that if you are breastfeeding, that there will be a small ammount of progesterone present in breast milk, the same level as if you were taking the progesterone only mini pill. So, if it is absorbed locally, what is the hormone doing in your breast milk?

I guess when I got it fitted, I misunderstood the term "small amount". It must be a "small amount" by doctors standards, because if it is the same as the mini-pill, it is too much for my body. Tricking my body into thinking it is pregnant has caused it to react like it is pregnant and put on weight around my boobs and belly.

The kicker finally came a few weeks ago, when I was being fitted for a new bra. The lady politely informed me that the particular sports bra I was after didn't come in my size. I was very shocked, until I learnt that I have grown from a 14D to a 14E/F /16DD/E. My boobs are absolutely ginormous. No two ways about that.

I hope this is a piece of the puzzle for me, because I am really at my wits end. This week alone I clocked up over eight hours of exercise, and I ate sensibly all week, with only one real blow out...and it was pretty mild; I had homemade nachos. I danced, rode to work, did yoga, walked and still the scales shifted upwards.

So, I am going to see about getting my Mirena changed for an old fashioned copper T. Hopefully, sensible diet and exercise will work better without extra hormones in my blood, and I can get onto achieving the goals I set myself for 2011, because I am a bit sick of hating myself.

You know you are a parent when...

You wake up with a small person asleep on your chest and you're not really sure when they came into the bed, or if you should have woke up and put them back in their own bed....

but you are secretly glad they are there...

until you want to go back to sleep and realise how uncomfortable you are...

but, you won't move for fear of disturbing them.

Love you, Ava.

Music has turned to shit, Gen Y.

I have just about cracked it with modern music and Gen Y and I am not even back at school until next week. Why? Music has turned to shit, that's why.


This will be my second year as a dance teacher, and so whilst I need to expand students musical horizons, I also need to use and be up with all the latest music. So, in addition to Guns N Roses, Metallica, Poison, David Bowie, Joni Mitchell, P!nk and pretty much every musical theatre score I can get my hands on, I now own Lady Gaga, Ke$ha, Soulja Boy, Shontelle and new Black Eyed Peas, and I can tell you I am sick, sick, sick of it.
Ke$ha, Tik Tok

"I'm talking about everybody getting crunk, crunk
Boys tryin' to touch my junk, junk

Gonna smack him if he getting too drunk, drunk"

Wow, Dance like a slut, boys try and grab you and get pissed? This is what kids are listening to.

Lady Gaga, Lovegame

I'm on a mission, and it involves some heavy touching, yeah

You've indicated your interest, I'm educated in sex, yes

And now I want it bad, want it bad, A lovegame, a lovegame

Am I getting old? (Well, yes maybe)...But I swear music was different. When I was a teenager I listened to Mariah Carey, Nirvana, Jebediah, Pearl Jam, Radiohead, Red Hot Chilli Peppers, Smashing Pumpkins, Rage Against the Machine, U2.....and on and on. The overriding themes that I remember were love, isolation, feeling alone and reaching out.

All I get from this new wave of music is have as much sex with as many people as you can and spend all the money you have. Oh, also, money is excellent, and you should use your body to get whatever you want. Use my lady lumps and get me some disco stick. 

What happens when this generation has to grow up, get jobs, rent houses and procreate? Somewhere, this fantasy about living it up, owning this town, getting smashed, getting laid and generally not advancing your life with any foresight except maybe the next 5 minutes, has to end. 

Music industry and bottom feeders Gen Y-ers who buy this shit, this is some advice, from me to you.

Sex is not everything. But, would you believe, it is a big deal. I know that sex with someone you are truely and deeply in love with is different to fucking, miles, worlds apart. When you have had sex with the 100th random person, I wonder, will you be so desensitised that you will even know it can be special?

Money is important. If you are clever with your money, you can have fun and also not have to live off the old age pension when you retire. $270 a fortnight when you are renting (which you will be if you spend all your money on clothes and booze) doesn't really go very far. It is probably enough for half a house. No food, no power, no fun, no life. Of course, you can't even go halves with your husband/wife/life partner because, you don't ride on the same disco stick more than once. Sorry, I forgot.

You don't have to hit everyone who wrongs you. Not only is it illegal, but it doesn't solve anything. Self restraint is actually a good trait. 

Life as a adult is hard. You can feel lost, angry, isolated and alone. Things happen that are unfair. People don't always act the way they should. Situations don't always turn out for the best. Appliances blow up, bills arrive, the internet doesn't work properly and telcos are arse holes. Money runs out, babies are expensive and your parents can't always save you. Self restraint, going without, saving and abstinence may seem like old fashioned ideas, but in reality, they are traits that can help you thrive in hard times. Unfashionable, but true.

Imagine a song about saving? Abstaining? Going without? "Lead Balloon" comes to mind. 

Yes, not all Gen Y are bottom feeding, brainless, piss head, horny scum. But, gee, you wouldn't think it, listening to shit music like this. 

Things I have found myself yelling as a parent.

Your standards change when you have children, especially toddlers. Things that you wouldn't dare have said in polite company before children suddenly become common place. These are some things I have found myself yelling as a mummy...

In the shopping centre "Ava, have you done poo? (No) Just fluffies? (Yes) Good then!"

Racing to the toilet in Harvey Normans, at the top of my lungs "Hold your poo in! Good girl, hold your poo in!"

On the phone with my friend, Tyler. "Blah blah blah blah, AVA! Stop torturing them!" Tyler: Ummmmm, do you have slaves in your basement? (Ava was poking the rats through the bars of the cage)

Gardening the other day: "If you need to do wees, squat on the grass. That's what you do if you need to wee outside!" Sorry, neighbours. I am not that strange, really.

Going to the toilet by myself caused Ava to burst into tears. "Sometimes, grownups like to go to the toilet by themselves" (Waaaaah, I want to help!) "Well, I don't need help to poo!"

In Activate 2 days ago with my friend Emily: Me "Is that wee or juice? Oh, juice. Phew!" Em "How can you tell?" "I sniffed it (Amazed and disgusted stare) I guess that's a Mummy thing."

I am sure there are more...

A strange kind of sadness

Yesterday I gave away my pram. My friend is expecting a beautiful baby boy, and so I dropped my pram and some boy-ish clothes off to her Mummies house. Over the last year, I have donated, sold and given away most of my baby stuff, but there are a couple of things that I had been hanging onto, and it wasn't until I had a clean out that I realised why I was preciously hanging onto them.

It's kind of obvious, really. I was keeping them for the next baby.

After I had Ava, things went downhill in my marriage, and I was sure that I wouldn't have anymore children, so I began giving things away. With the end of my romantic relationship with my ex-husband, even though he is still an important part of my life, it became obvious that it would be a long while before I was financially and emotionally ready to have another baby. A year and a half later, that is still true. It will be a long while before I have another baby, if ever.

Of course this is not the answer people want to hear, when well meaning people ask if we will have "children of our own" with expectant smiles on their faces. I suppose it seems that we have been together forever, but in reality it has only been just over a year and a half. And life is more complicated and more expensive than that, and good intentions need to be followed up with sound planning and logic.

It's also not the answer my heart wants, either. Against all logic and reasoning, I would love another baby, and giving away my precious baby things, my breast pump and my cloth nappies, has stirred in me a strange kind of sadness. I want to feel my unborn baby move inside me again, I want to have my baby nuzzle in at my breast and I want to smell that fresh baby smell. All my friends are having and trying for second (and even third and fourth!) babies, and I am jealous to my core.

However, the reality is far starker than my fuzzy hormone driven dreams. Although I am emotionally much stronger than I was this time last year, with His Majesty at uni this year, financially it doesn't add up. Also, His Majesty and I are still giddily in love with each other, and still have to find a loving and stable equilibrium when the puppy love wears off. (Personally, I don't think it will. At least not for a very long time. He is pretty special.) And even until I wait until His Majesty has graduated and we again have two incomes, I will be 31, and older than I ever intended to be with a newborn.

Logically, I cannot see how a baby can fit into my life now. Emotionally, to know that I may never again carry a child?

I don't think sad quite describes it.

Seeing the light...

It appears that things have clicked for Ava and toilet training. Two and a half days now and she has only had one accident. Yep. Great. Fine and dandy. Except for one thing.

I have caught that many wees and poos, had them on floors, in baths, in knickers, in the pool, on window sills and on the playroom floor. I have (mostly) been patient, kind, enthusiastic and empathetic. I have slogged it out; run the toilet training marathon, praying and hoping to see the light that signifies the end of the tunnel. So, why does it suddenly click when she is staying with her Daddy for the week and I am in Bali!?

I feel ripped off! I wanted the glory! I wanted that sense of completion! I wanted it! Me! Me! Me!

Of course I am being silly, it is fantastic that all the pieces of the puzzle clicked for her, and she has reached that milestone. I am just selfish and jealous that it wasn't me there next to her.

His Majesty and I have been in Bali for a week. I scrimped and saved this year, my measly $20 a fortnight, enough to pay for 2 tickets to Bali, and we lived it up the whole week! Scrubbed and polished, massaged, wined and dined and walked till our feet threatened to fall off. It was a really nice break, but by the end of seven days of not being with my girl, I was very ready to come home.

It was a very hard decision not to take the girls along, and I fought His Majesty at first. It's not our family without the girls, I will be miserable, she will miss me, I will miss her....on and on. In the end, sound logic won and we went with just the two of us. Bali is an assault on all the senses, and whilst strange and exhilarating for adults, I can only imagine it would be overwhelming and bewildering for a small child to keep pace with what we did. The heat and humidity are almost unbearable as an adult, the plane ride uncomfortable, the waiting boring and the noise! The assault on your ears is incredible, and it takes a few days until you get acclimatised to the constant beeping and honking and swerving as you are driving, or being called at and followed as you walk. The more I saw of Bali, and we did a hell of a lot of things in 7 days, the more I agreed with His Majesty that it would have been a very different holiday with babies in tow. Enjoyable, but different.

My sister thought I was stupid for not wanting to stay in Bali any longer, and wanting to come home and be with Ava again. I am old enough to know that I don't have to justify my feelings to anybody, and that I am allowed to fiercely love and miss my baby girl if I want to. Really, it is impossible to explain to someone what it means to be a parent. Maybe it is just me, and I am stupid and lame, but to me it is like a constant ache, a constant thought, that pulls you towards your baby. It is like magnetism, or an obsession. She is always in the back of your mind, always first and foremost in your planning and number one on any list.

So, I had a blast. FINALLY, we were able to have a romantic getaway, and just be young and in love, something we have not really been able to do. That said, I am also very happy to be home.

She smells like a what?

Ava's imagination has been running wild lately. In addition to that strange dream two evenings ago, she has  been coming out with some very strange things.

This morning, cuddling in bed, I asked her what she was thinking. She looked puzzled and then replied "I smell like a goat!"

She smells like a what? She definitely doesn't get that from me!

* * * * *

So yesterday I had my appointment with the doctor ordered dietician. A very beautiful and healthy looking young lady named Ya-el went through a whole bunch of questions with me about my weight and diet, as we looked for the cause of my weight gain and ill health towards the end of last year.

Well, apparently I am as healthy as an Ox, and the actual foods I am putting into my body are the right ones. My levels are great, I have ridiculously wonderful cholesterol levels, I am fit, flexible and my heart and lungs are strong. I am just overweight.

This is what I am doing wrong, and the dietician is going to help me fix: I am alternately starving myself at one meal, not eating enough and then gorging myself at the next meal. I am not snacking and not drinking enough water, and then eating too much. I eat out too much, and I make unhealthy choices when I do. I don't get to the gym enough, and I need to incorporate more physical activity into my lifestyle.

These are the list of goals I have been given to work towards:
* Aim for exercise 4 times to 7 times a week.
* When dining out stick to salads with the dressing on the side.
* Use less oil in cooking and dressings
* Aim for 6-8 glasses of water a day
* Incorporate healthy snacks between meals.

All easy things to do, right? Not for me. If it was so easy, I wouldn't have been sent to a dietician!!

In addition to professional help, His Majesty and my friend in Geraldton have agreed to help me and support my journey and provide motivation...and a little competition! I am very lucky to have such wonderful friends in my life.

So, this year I have dedicated all to me. I have made resolutions and I am making changes, so that by the the beginning of 2012 I will have achieved all the goals that I have set for myself this year. I really feel like I am well on my way to achieving them.

And that's a nice feeling.

What do Babes dream of?

This is a recount of Ava's dream from last night. ("Deson" is a two year old's pronunciation of His Majesty's name)

"Mummy and Ava went in the wall, and Mummy went in the wall and Ava went in the wall. We went to see dinosaur, the big dinosaur, there's a big dinosaur. Izzy was locked out! Deson...Izzy not in the chair, Izzy's not in the chair, Deson's not getting Izzy in the chair.

Mummy went in the wall, Izzy went in the wall, Izzy went out, went to Daddy's house last night.

That's all."

Okay then! I'm not fussed about over analysing this stuff, she probably can not properly explain what she dreamed, hell, I can't even find words for some of the weird stuff I dream sometimes. I am just touched she wanted to tell me.

Holidays

I finally have the internet back! HOW DID I EVER SURVIVE!

I am on holidays.....ahhhh, bliss. I don't know how I would cope in a 'normal' 9-5, 4 weeks vacation a year (if you are lucky) job, because teaching suits me just fine!

Don't kid yourself teaching is easy, because it is an absolute nightmare, especially in a school with so much uncertainty and lack of leadership. Planning and preparing for my classes takes me vast, vast ammounts of time, and during the term I frequently spend hours of my own time with students. Then there is marking, editing, concerts, and productions. They are the fun parts. Then there are politics, bitching, egos, bad teachers, downright dangerous or lazy teachers, agendas, slim (or no!) budgets and being subject to the ill informed whims of whichever ineffective and ill informed political party is in power. (I am not anti-government, just waiting until the day where "education reform" is actually a meaningful phrase and not just a grab for votes.)

However, I get to teach and create everyday in my own little theatre. I help and inspire teenagers. I campaign everyday for the Arts to be recognised as a subject area just as vital and rigorous as Maths and English. I set high goals, and I achieve them.

Sometimes the politics (little "p" politics, such office wah wahs, pleasing everyone and ineffective or annoying people) get me down, and I was more than ready for this holiday. However, for a profession that I just fell into after not getting into WAAPA, at the moment I couldn't be happier.

As a Mum, teaching fits in very well. It pays well, I finish at around 3pm everyday, and I get 14 paid weeks holiday a year.

However, I can't help but fantasise about being a stay at home mum. This holidays we have made glue for papier mache, paper mache-d cut outs of our hands, made Thomas the Tank Engine cupcakes, done a road trip up to Geraldton, flown kites, fed ducks, been to the park, drawn suns and moons, played with rabbits and guinea pigs and ratties, got some more wees and poos in the potty and had a blast doing all of it. Out of guilt (lets be honest) holidays for me are like a big concentrate of super parenting, to make up for not being a stay at home mum. It could be worse, but I can't help wanting it to be better.

But I know it won't be. My wage is the thing that means we can follow whims like take a day trip to Pinjarra, and go get ice creams in Mandurah, and visit our good friends and family in Geraldton. Without it, I would be forced to parent very differently, so maybe I am doing the best I can.

How about that.

* * * * *

I actually came close to losing Ava in the shopping centre the other day.

When I was about 4 or 5, I was with my parents in a new shopping centre. I can't remember exactly which one it was, but at the time it was built, it was the biggest shopping centre in the southern hemisphere. I remember very clearly my Dad telling me that.

Living in a very isolated country town, which Green Head was before the Jurien Road went through, a day trip to Perth was both a privilege and a mission, as well as being a necessity. All the shopping for the next month to 6 weeks was completed that day, as well as visiting relatives and the 4 hour journey there and home. We were in the clothing section of a shop, and I was being silly, hiding from my mother behind skirts and tops, and running under clothing racks. And then, she was gone. I called and called, but she wasn't around the next corner, or the next. Cold fear gripped my heart, as I tearfully called out for my mother.

The same feeling but times one thousand, no one thousand times one thousand, gripped my heart as I called Ava's name in Kmart, Carousel. She had been playing under the clothes, and now I couldn't find her. Suddenly, the clothes I was so interested in were poisonous, the clothing section abhorrent and everything unimportant except finding my baby again. My voice was shrill and full of panic, as I looked under racks, and called again and again, close to both panic and tears.

Just as I was about to rush out of the section we were in, and up to the desk to tell them my child was lost, a young woman in a head scarf asked if I was looking for a small child. Ava was hiding around the corner, being silly because she was tired. I grabbed her and swung her jerkily into the trolley. It took all my strength not to slap her face, yell and scream at her, to vent my stress at her and terrify her into not ever leaving my side again. instead, I asked her to look at my eyes and see how scared Mummy was that she could find Ava, and she burst into tears. Arms wrapped around each other, we went home.

Nothing has ever come close to the terror of that moment, thinking my child was lost. How will I ever cope if she actually gets lost? Breaks her arm or has to have surgery? Has her heart broken? Worse?

I love you, Ava. Don't grow up. Or get hurt. Or move out. 

Or, do. Just kiss me better and hold me tight when my poor mummy heart gives out.