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.