what is this

Mummy bloggers. Fuck I hate that phrase. It’s so condescending, sexist and all kind of wrong. Not the words but the dismissive way in which the label is always used. But it’s only a label, and you all know me, I think labels suck. You are what you are who cares what they choose to call you or label you.  Labels are words and you are not words you are how you behave.  I have also started living more and more by my oft repeated mantra, the cease your relentless participation thing. I often do choose now not to participate. Because I can. I chose not to last night when they had a thing on Media Watch on ‘mummy bloggers’. Because I’m not one. Not really. Although I am a mummy. And I sort of blog. And because I knew it was going to irritate me on behalf of those who are and who I spend more time with now. Irritate me because of how generally dismissive mainstream media are of bloggers. Well ‘mummy bloggers’. Even when they’re pretending not to be.  By bloggers I’m meaning those who it seems have a long term goal of sorts. Whether simply to measure their success by increasing their followers, their page views, or sharing their experience to benefit others. Or those with a commercial goal.  Even if just to fund their ongoing blogging. So I chose not to watch for many reasons … one my pissed offness, two my feeling of maybe I should be taking this more seriously and mostly three, it would force me to think about what this is. But then I watched it via Woogsworlds blog, I do love the irony, and I thought about it. What this is. I’m not really a blogger. Really. This is just me for a year focussing on all the things I’m grateful for. And mostly the gift of life itself. It’s for me. It’s out there (a little) because that forces me to continue. I have to complete my year. I do not want to comment on other’s blogs just to increase my page views.  I want to comment on other blogs because I like what they say and I want to share what I think. I want to remain authentic. It bothers me enough when I see if I put fuck in a title I get more page views, because suddenly it seems thats why I do it, but I do it because thats how I speak. I don’t want to read someone’s blog and suddenly feel let down by her inauthencity when she oh so subtly recommends I buy this or this because she swears by it but its clear she’s paid to say that. It’s disingenuous. No matter how many times she says she doesn’t take on brands she doesn’t relate to. I think I spent too many years in advertising, I am a tad jaded. Sadly, everyone has a price. The choice is ours to read or not. But I understand why its done. I just don’t want to. And there are ways to do it (ads on blogs are preferable to sponsored posts in my view) and those ‘mummy bloggers’ (damn I struggled to find the right descriptor for these fabulous women some journalists some not some career women some not with children who write and share online) who keep their authenticity will get all my page views.  So blogging as a business is not for me but I love the big up yours these talented inspiring women are giving to the mainstream media. I love what they share. I love their truth. Just not when it gets smudged a bit.

two hundred and eighty one

 

I am grateful for the wonderful sounds emanating from Jem’s bedroom. I envy her her love and her ability. I’ve even made peace with her choice of instrument. I am grateful for a child who is so her own person, no matter what.

two hundred and seventy nine

 

20 October. I am grateful that even though we know we are searching for something that doesn’t exist, we are having fun doing it. A lakeside pause, a mad moment of lets just effing buy the rambling lake house with far too many bedrooms and lovely vine covered patios for long long lunches. I am grateful for the mad fleeting moment in which I imagine myself being the floaty free stylish and abundantly and effortlessly able mi casa es su casa serene mama of the Lake House. Yeah right.

two hundred and seventy seven

18 October. I am spoilt. Most of us are. And I have embraced change. I have. I just don’t do windows. I love saying that. There really is nothing I wouldn’t do but windows. Okay and ironing. So today I’m grateful for crystal clean windows. And not just the concept, but the company. I am grateful for Crystal Clean Windows today because they made my windows crystal clean. I love that. So obvious its perfect. A bit like The Cleana. I digress again. So I am grateful I can see clearly now. So what if it’s only a bi annual thing. I always was far too anal anyway.

two hundred and seventy six

 

I am grateful for our little unit. And for silver linings. No house help, no nannies, no gardeners and no family close by seemed like an alien world. And it was. But it’s a world where we are closer, are more present and are stronger as a unit. And not only because we have to be, but because we choose to be.

two hundred and seventy five

 

I needed to feed my soul today. I am grateful I have the perfect place to do just that. And friends who feel exactly the same way. Who understand how it takes my breath away. Every time.

two hundred and seventy four

 

My last Zoladex implant and my oncologist is in Canada on conference. Really? I am so over needles and some barbaric sans local implants which my sister in law can attest to, all of which have made me a little tense, and so in need of my gentle caring compassionate doctor who so gets me. The fact that the locum oncologist was not comfortable doing the implants and deferred to the oncology nurses didn’t help. Yikes. So, today I am grateful not only for my last implant but also for yet another angel with a kind heart and a fabulous sense of humour.

fuck yeah

I woke up with a feeling of anticipation today. And I know why. Because today feels like the day I finally start to take my power back. I had my last Zoladex implant today. I have had one every three months for the last nearly five years. This keeps me in menopause, which is essential for the aromatase inhibitor, Femara I take every night and have for nearly five years. My cancer was oestrogen receptive, so all production needs to be suppressed and blocked. I have three more months of Femara and then nothing. Nothing. Then I will become me again. A different me, but a me free of anything but what should be. I can’t wait. I am in awe of my doctors and of the courage I have gained through the efforts of others. I was just too fearful to go it alone. I together with my doctors and my family chose a course of action. A course of action me and my family needed me to take. To do everything I could to make sure I was here January 2013. The ultimate goal. Being here 5 years after chemo. Then we hit the down curve in the bell curve of efficacy of treatment. So no more. I am excited. Especially to discover what the medication has masked. Because I am different. Everything changed the day I was diagnosed and will never be the same again. In many ways it is better, way better, but in other ways not. I feel I’ve also let my cancer control me the last five years. I have been in varying stages of disease, surgery, treatment and recovery. But I know it’s also been a process of acceptance. And growth. Only now can I start to feel a frisson of a personal victory. I am seeing that whilst it occupied a lot of me, and changed me, it hasn’t defined me. I willingly handed me over for a bit. Now I’m ready to reclaim me. But I am proud of how I fought for my life. And I’ll do it again if I have to. So for now, all I can say is yay me.