Category Archives: stuff

jemma

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10

Jem turned twelve today. It just doesn’t seem possible that my baby is growing up. But she is. And beautifully. Jem has always been a quiet observer. She takes absolutely everything in. She sees so much more than most. She takes the time to be. She gets lost in being which is wonderfully compelling if a tad frustrating for her A type mom who aspires to be more like her. She has always stopped to smell the roses. And her roses always smell beautiful. Jem always sees the silver lining. I am so blessed to have such a beautiful kind teacher. A kind gentle funny soul who’s focus in life is peace. And always has been. World peace no less. Jem is complete if all around her are at peace. And ideally living in beautiful architecturally designed spaces. She has a wonderful sense of the aesthetic. Jem knows what matters. She doesn’t like conflict, but always stands up for what she believes. She is the champion of the underdog. She is kind, gentle, sweet, cheeky and quite mad. She has a fabulous twinkle in her eye, an innate style and is beautifully sensitive. She wants the best for everyone. She gets sad if others are sad, she feels happy if they are happy. She oozes empathy and compassion for every single living creature. The furrier the better. She is accepting of all, judging of none. She is cuddly and tactile and true. She epitomises still waters run deep. She has a depth to her I am so excited to still be discovering. She is capable of so much and brave enough to try anything. She is fearless. I learn from my exquisite angel child every single day and am loving watching her fly. She is truly and always has been one of a kind. Jem is the change I want to see in the world.

cynic

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6

There is a lot of focus on breasts right now. Yes because of poor Kate Middleton but also because of the approaching plethora of pink month. I don’t mean to come across as cynical but I am a little. That’s why I love the scar project so much. Breast cancer is not pretty and pink. It’s not about what we share, its about what we don’t often share. It’s sore and ugly and about survival and beauty because of it. I went to a breast cancer fundraiser on friday and had a chat with a lovely woman who when discovering I had had a mastectomy queried why I hadn’t had a bilateral done and had two lovely matching boobs. Seriously. Pretty and pink it’s not. They are lovely to me because of what they represent, but not as she thinks. They have no feeling. They are scarred. They are not a choice. They are because we might have died if not. I asked her if she realised a mastectomy means removing everything. Nipple and all. I think I over shared before how my nipples and the sensation of them matter to me. She mentioned how yes, she understands, her friends boob job left her with no feeling too. No, sweetheart you don’t understand. I don’t mean to be mean but wearing a pink ribbon on your chest does not mean you understand. And I really hope you never do. It reminded me of a dear friend who in trying to make me feel better when I was still trying to make sense of my diagnosis, said, her husband had said something which made sense to her. He had said, well at least its just her boob, its not like its a limb that she needs. Again, seriously? Anyway cut Kate Middleton some slack. If I had her boobs, no matter who I was, I’d bear them for the world to see.

over it

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1

Ok a little rant. Why always woolworths? I’ve just had an interaction that has seriously left me dumbfounded. Am i losing it? It’s my little niece Anna’s birthday in South Africa, which is eight hours behind us. We had been trying to get hold of her to wish her before she left for school. The girls were trying to call from home while I quickly popped into Woolies. I was second in the queue to pay as I heard the very distinctive viber ring in my bag. Only my family from South Africa call me on viber. I knew it must be little Anna. I grabbed my phone and said hello. The sweetest little voice answered. I with a voice filled with love said, my angel, happy happy birthday my littlest love, looking up as i spoke. To meet the stony flint eyes of my cashier as she shook her head at me with disgust, turning to the next lady in the queue and shaking her head at her too, as if can you believe this woman. I was so thrown. Thankfully the viber call dropped and I turned to the 40 something lady, who had clearly heard the content of my conversation. I beg your pardon, is there a problem I asked?  She said, I was trying to say hello to you and you answered your phone, how rude. She was trying to say hello to me as I took a call from my little niece in South Africa being utterly oblivious to anything but that wonderful moment and she heard me say happy birthday to someone I clearly cared about and she has a problem with that? Because she was trying to say hello to me. She couldn’t cut me some slack? I asked her that exact question. Very politely I promise. She did have a problem with that. And continued to. Seriously, have I lost it? Actually whatever. I’m off to Coles. (And Suse, I’ve been chatting to them. I have been. My head off.)

crisis

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9

We were discussing the mid life crisis thing yesterday. And the scary obsession with youth.  It is interesting how very few of us escape it. Whether it is that nagging feeling and fear of being anonymous. That slight irritation when only old men glance in your direction these days. Whether it’s the need for the ongoing botox and fillers to try and recapture what was. And the sadness at realising you can’t. Whether its that panic feeling in the middle of the night as you wonder is this it. Or that even more panicked feeling when you see your slightly saggier face looking back at you in the mirror as you wonder, is it too late for me? Is it over? Is it too late to follow my dream? Do I have a dream? Everyone in some way starts to wonder and question and too often regret. Sadly on a physical front earlier and earlier. I am surrounded by exquisite younger women who inject themselves with all sorts of things to try and make themselves look as beautiful as they once did. To me they are even more beautiful today. And all they are doing is losing the expression of themselves. I so understand the fear of ageing, especially it’s toll on our bodies. And on our sense of self worth. And the middle aged are generally ignored by all. So we can become slightly desperate.The middle aged. Shit, how funny is that. I am middle aged. Actually ten years older but the anonymity thing remains. I am filled with questions and wonder and sadness and yes regret but I genuinely find a little more acceptance of myself and a little more appreciation of my wisdom and a stronger sense of self. I love knowing that I have so much more to offer, because of my path, which has led me to here, lined and all. I love being me, saggy bits and all. I want all my friends just to realise how beautiful they are, how lucky they are, how lovely it is to be able to read the expression on their faces, to see them. And how much they have to offer that goes far beyond the physical. How just being them is enough. There is no crisis unless we make it one.

huge

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2

We put an offer in on a house. You have no idea how huge that is. Never mind that the egotistical architect owner wants too much for it and won’t budge on his over inflated price or overinflated ego. The point is, we put an offer in on a house. To live in. That is huge. For me who was only coming for a two year adventure. I know its just a house and we can sell it and move on, but its more what it symbolises. To us. Commitment. To being here. To calling this home.

therapy

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1

A friend said she’s missing me. Me ranting and oversharing she meant. I realised I have been sharing less. Even though the writing thing has actually become quite therapeutic. Whether a moment of gratitude or a moment to ponder, writing about it seems to calm me. I realised my therapy is ongoing, I just have a new therapist. Kate. She gets a letter a day, because by now we all know I am a tad obsessive. I can’t bear the thought that she might be the only 15yr old not to get a letter on letter day. By now we also all know I am a tad controlling. (Not sure how she feels about probably being the only 15yr old to get a letter from her mother every single letter day. Oh well.) Anyway she was the one who heard all about the lady from the shop downstairs who is being boycotted by me because when Jem very sweetly and very bravely went to ask her for a 40hr famine donation she said she supports many charities but that is not one of them. So no. I so wish Jem could have said what B came up with at dinner as a response. My mom buys lots of stuff from many shops, but yours is no longer one of them. Bitch. Especially because we do buy lots from her all the time. And she knows Jem. Very well. And she was mean. And Jem was brave. And I feel guilty because Jem doesn’t have a ‘normal’ neighbourhood to canvas because B and I love apartment living. Anyway I did feel better after sharing this with Kate. And it did give me pause and decide to lift the boycott. I’m sure she’s relieved.

lucky

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2

My husband really must love me. I am completely and utterly impossible. Arrogant and self absorbed and really really lucky. Lucky because I have a partner who just gets me and really does accept me. Warts and all. I thought about this particularly this morning as I walked into the bathroom while B was showering to get something. I can’t remember what. Anyway, B loves to chat in the morning, especially when he’s in the shower and he has been sensitive to my feeling a bit off colour the last couple of days.  Sooooo, sweetie, he starts. I simply shake my head, without even looking at him. Fetch what I need to fetch and walk out. As if to say, no, not now. Don’t talk to me, don’t engage with me on any level. Not now. He simply carries on with his shower, not offended, not even bothering to comment, not even muttering, bitch under his tongue. Which if I were him I would have. As I walked away I actually thought, bitch, who do you think you are and burst out laughing. Tail between my legs I went back into the bathroom and asked B how the hell he put up with me. He just shrugged. It must be love.

moving forward

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1

This exploring oneself stuff is very uncomfortable, quite unsettling and very liberating. My focus has been on healing myself, and doing whatever it takes to do that. But its been mostly external. Surgery, medication, whatever it took.  An enforced slowing down, being still (ok, well a bit stiller), attempting to reduce my overachievement stress and focusing on all that is beautiful and here and now has helped me heal. But I have very neatly avoided dealing with the why. B knows how wonderfully I deal with things that make me uncomfortable. Not now. I’m too busy, too tired, too whatever. Ignorance can be bliss. Fear is not. I do believe an accelerated growth of cancer cells is triggered by something. I also do believe that with a depleted immune system due to excess stress, lack of exercise, an A type personality, control freakish tendencies, putting others first, a lack of focus on myself created a fabulous environment for the cancer to thrive. And then some. But still there is the why. The pull the rug from underneath me thing that set it off. Because I do believe it is conflict about something. Something that mattered the world to me.The point for me about exploring the why is not to dwell on it but to understand and release it all and move forward. So in the words of another I lovingly forgive and release all of the past. I choose to fill my life with joy. I love and approve of myself.

cya

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8

I had one of those life defining moments today. Actually more like stage defining. Kate left for Googa today, an outdoor education centre somewhere out there in Australia, for a month. No contact bar letters, no technology, no anything. They have to fend for themselves, washing, cooking, cleaning etc etc.  I was so proud of her. She hadn’t cried once in the lead up. No sleepless nights, no anxiety. Only excitement. And then she saw Isaac her friend as we arrived at the bus. And the tears started. The tears that ordinarily would have flowed on looking at me or B.  You know, moommmy. Daaddddy. That was the stage defining moment. In Kate’s life. And ours. The moment I turned to B and realised, as did he, we aren’t the ones anymore. I mean we always will be her parents and that will never ever change, we will always be there for her and she will always know that, but her friends get so much more of whats going on with her now than we do. She is growing and growing up and getting more and more ready to spread her wings and be independent of us. And I love her all the more for it. Because like everything else she does, she is doing it with grace and dignity. So much so that it took us both by gentle surprise.

living

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1

Do as I say but not as I do has thankfully never been a mantra of mine. I truly believe it is so easy to say something but not so easy to be something or do something. Or live by it. But I do like to think I am a good example to my girls of living a life according to my oft sprouted principles. One of which is moderation. Pfffft. Excuse me while I snort. Who have I been trying to kid. Certainly not those who know and love me. Friday night was a fabulous fabulous example of wonderful excess. Moderation schmoderation. You only live once etc etc etc. But. You do have to take responsibility for your choices. For your behaviour. Now that has always been a mantra of mine, and one I am happy to stand by. But as for doing as I say but not as I do, I’d still be ok with my girls doing as I do. I think its called living.