Category Archives: stuff

mother

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I ran away today. Day one and I ran away. From my kids. Kate is feeling ill and emotional and just generally needy and annoying and moody too. Jem wants to know what’s for breakfast after she turned down an offer to join B and I for brekkie downstairs. And she’s moody too. And they’re both bloody messy. And just there. Shit and its day one of school holidays. And I just didn’t feel like dealing with them today. I love my kids so much but I think I love them even more when they are at school. And if you are this far with me you know a lot about me and my family and the love we share and my gratitude for them and the characters that they are. But have I ever admitted that I never wanted them? Well, never wanted kids. My plan was not to get married, never to have kids and focus only on me and my career. My plan. Me. In Control. Then I fell in love. And we loved being the two of us. But then we decided at some point that something was lacking, not with us but just lacking and at 31 the kiddy thing started. I offered 6 weeks of myself. Then I was back at work. Well, that never happened either. I did go back, but later and as a very different person, with a very different view on the world. The thing about kids is suddenly you realise you are no longer in control. Not that I ever was, but I loved the illusion of it. So, this morning, I left. Because I could. Just for a moment. And I do love my kids. And I am grateful for them. More than anything in the world. But then, you knew that.

hoopla

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I mentioned I’d read Fifty Shades of Grey. And Fifty Shades Darker. And Fifty Shades Freed. And was asked what I thought. I must admit I was intrigued. Especially after Helen gave me a copy of time magazine with a write up on it. I mean, it was in time magazine. I bought it at the airport.  Erotic fiction is not exactly a good aeroplane read with a stranger in the seat next to you or your sweet little daughter asking what you reading mom? Quite explicit. But oh so tedious. And oh so badly written. And so repetitive, even her choice of words. Same adjectives used over and over and over and over again. The first sex scene was intriguing, the dominant submissive bondage thing, but then became so formulaic, so unexplored, so expected I actually flicked ahead. Tum ti tum. Mommy porn? So if you wonder why then I read all three, I can only blame my need to finish things, my obsessiveness, my need for linear completion, and my curiosity. I just wanted to know what happened at the end. Damn. But my advice to you, if you are hoping for good fiction, don’t bother. It’s a happy ending. Even if all you want is a good read, a good story line, well written sex scenes, don’t bother.  If you want to be titilated, didn’t do that for me either. In my opinion the hoopla is just not worth it. In fact, I am a tad confused by it.

anti?

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I thought quite seriously about getting a tattoo at one point. To celebrate life. A flower chain on my wrist that I would add to every year since I finished treatment. I thought about it seriously for a minute. Naah. One, tattoos are not for me. And two, I was so determined not to be defined by this, not to be Lianne Cawood, cancer survivor. And that tattoo would help me do that. And I do so like to define myself in concrete ways. Which is not a good thing. And anyway, it’s there whether I like it or not. The cancer survivor thing.  But it’s only a little part of me. You see, yesterday was not only our anniversary it was also the anniversary of my mastectomy. 5 year anniversary. And that’s the reason I am so glad I never got that tattoo, because that is all that would matter. Every day. But yesterday we mattered, not it. Now I love the sudden reminder, the wow can you believe it was 5 years ago feeling. That was then, this is now. I’m writing about it because it was a wow moment and I love that, and hopefully someone will get hope from our ability to smile now. And also because I realised I haven’t quite put this tattoo thing to bed yet.

vomit

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I dropped my fourteen year old at a party last night. Watched her walk in smile and wave. My heart sang and sank. It sang at her beauty, her independence, her kindness. It sank at the loss of control, the fear of the unknown, the fear of her peers, the knowledge of needing to let go. But jeez louise, she is only fourteen. Was I right to let her go? This was a byo party. Openly byo. Yes, by invitation only, with id being checked at the door, but still bring your own booze. Come on. When I fetched her at 12, I drove past packs of kids heading home. Weaving home. Did their parents even know where they were? Girls with heads down in the gutter, vomit all over the road outside the party house. Kate and her friend were all smiles and full of stories. It was a good night, it was a fun night, but mom, everyone was drunk. Everyone. Even their friends who don’t drink. I admit I was very proud and yes relieved at my strong willed daughter. Actually she just isn’t interested yet. The father was there and had to call a passed out fourteen year old girl’s parents. I am so confused by all of this. The kids are going to do it, maybe earlier than I would like but the world is hurtling along for them.  They’re dealing with things way before we had to and thats just the way it is. Was it right of these parents to provide a ‘safe’ environment for them to do it in? But what happens when those kids leave that house? Where do their parents think they are? Well I knew and I was there. And I suggest you do too. We can’t keep our girls in a cage, that is simply not the answer, we can only equip them to make the right calls, and to call us no matter what and no matter when. No judgement. Well, I’ll try.  So I will continue to live by that, but damn it’s going to be tough. And it’s just too damn soon.

spin doctor

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I think my medication is wearing off.  Did I mention I take a mood stabiliser. I prefer that description. I don’t tell many people. It does help me. Not cope, but not fly off the handle, so it helps those around me probably more, cos I don’t really think there’s anything wrong with my tone, my attitude, my shouting, my yelling, my screaming and the next minute, my calm. What’s the matter with everyone? Why are they looking at me funny? Anyway, my pills help keep some stability whilst my hormones are being manipulated elsewhere. But the efficacy definitely wears off. Ask B. My need to control seems to have gone off the richter scale again. I still can’t seem to get why people don’t think like me, I mean really, my motives are so selfless, I’m just trying to protect everyones’ feelings, make everyone’s lives perfect. As defined by me. Not that they asked me to. Or maybe I’m actually just trying to protect myself. By controlling from afar. Protect me from the guilt I do still feel being so far away. Knowing the gap we have left particularly in my folks world. And my intentions might be noble and selfless, but I, like us all, need to let others live their lives, make their own way, build their own relationships or not at all. Even if it’s not the way I would. So it seems, every day, I still learn a lot and let go a little. Or maybe I just need to up my meds.

oops

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I think maybe I’ve mellowed. As a parent I mean. Or maybe it’s because there’s another me in the family now, who has the energy and tenacity of a nearly 15 year old. Jem was on her laptop, and I could see what she was doing from where I sat. I noticed with idle interest the blood and screaming and stuff. Some trailer for some extremely gorey completely revolting horror movie. Kate took one look and said Jemma, what are you watching. In a very stern voice. Followed by that is completely inappropriate. I must admit I just sat there, feeling a tad embarrassed. She was absolutely right. The really funny bit was, Jem listened to her, turning it off. Then looked at me, as we sheepishly smiled at each other. Yeah Jem, what she said. It’s happening already. I’m sure I was at least eighteen before I knew I knew better than my mom. The thing is, I never really did. But shit, I think Kate does.

you asked again

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I was recently asked if I was happy with my breasts. So, here’s the thing, my left breast was removed completely, nipple and areola too, and I had an autologous reconstruction , which is using my own flesh, via a latissimus dorsi flap, so part of my lat muscle and back skin was removed and whilst still attached moulded into a breast mound. They had to use my own flesh for various reasons but mostly because I had previously had radiation and a prosthesis does not very successfully adhere to radiated flesh. Because my cancer was close to the skin they took that too, so I also have some back skin on my breast. That was stage one. Stage two was to add a prosthesis as my new boob once healed was hardly a boob compared to my other one. Stage three was to add a nipple. Apparently the best flesh to use for a nipple is your vulva. Same silky feel. How fucking hilarious. No bloody way. Bad enough I have to lose my breast and my nipple which was very important to me as a woman, nudge nudge, but no fucking way were they going to fiddle with that part too. I like that part of me just as it is. I mean really, could you imagine knowingly walking around with your fanny on your boob? So instead they used the skin around my caesar scar, dipped it in tattoo dye to approximate my nipple and areola colour and shaped it to form a nipple.  Actually for those of you who haven’t seen it it is quite amazing. I just feel absolutely nothing. In fact sometimes I’ll walk too close to a wall and wonder whats blocking me, and realise its my own boob. Oh and I know some women, in fact most women have hair that grows on the areola. Well, every now and agin I spot a hair, but it looks a tad short and curly to me. Giggle. Oh and I have another party trick … if I flex my lat, my boob responds. Finally my right boob has been surgically altered to match the left. A prosthesis added and the nipple moved in alignment. So, they look sort of similar bar the scars and those other little details already mentioned, they’re bigger than I’m used to, and one is completely numb, but I just love them. So, yes, I am happy with my breasts. Very happy.

not okay

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I’m trying to understand why women do it. Stay with men who abuse them. Physically or emotionally. Stay with men who repeatedly have affairs. It saddens me that perhaps its because they feel thats as good as it gets. That they are more fearful of being alone, of not deserving more, of not being financially sound, of what people might think, of shattering the illusion of happy families. It all just saddens me because it is just sad, when a persons hopes and beliefs about love and care and trust and respect are continually shattered. I do understand the need to protect and provide for our children, but accepting abuse is not doing that. No matter how much you love. Or are loved. It is teaching your son its ok to treat women in this way and teaching your daughters that they don’t deserve more.  Imagine how much taking a stand might teach them. It will be sore and devastating and often financially debilitating but it has to be better. In ways you won’t know now but your children will one day thank you for. What saddens me most is all the excuses. It is simply not okay to abuse anyone. No-one gets to avoid taking responsibility. Everyone, everyone has a choice. Not to do it. And not to accept it.

seriously?

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I felt really awkward this morning at gym. An older (well, older than me) australian lady was going off in a very judgemental and actually quite aggressive way about muslims in particular (said in a hushed tone), but then it became about anyone being ‘allowed’ to live in Australia, and how they should live according to the australian ways and customs and save any beliefs pertinent to their culture for their homes. Including their language. Apparently a french couple were talking to their french child in earshot of her at a school outing, at which point she felt it her moral right to reprimand them for not speaking to their child in English, the spoken Australian language, if this is the country they have chosen to live in. In amongst the ignorant rant, there actually were some issues definitely worthy of debate in terms of multiculturalism, if it is truly possible, and how to integrate yet respectfully retain one’s own culture in a new country. But there was no nuance with this lady. She was extremely dismissive of immigrants generally. I felt awkward because I am an immigrant.  I assume because she was speaking so openly in front of me and attempting to include me in her conversation, that because I look similar to her and speak English, I’m ok. Seriously? I felt awkward because it just wasn’t the place to have this debate yet my silence and refusal to interact in the conversation in anyway may have implied acquiescence. I wish she was an isolated case. Why are people so fearful of difference. Not all people of different faiths or cultures are fundamentalist, extremists, and then, in my opinion, misguided and worthy of fear. Do some people honestly believe, really believe that if someone just looks different to them, speaks a different language to them, believes in a different god to them, or none at all, has less money than them, has more than them, they are not deserving of kindness. Of acceptance. They are not equal? Honestly. Do you?

another little rant

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I love what Lynn said about her being precious. About what is precious to her. This unchartered territory thing of teens is quite challenging.  Often delightfully so, but sometimes, I am alarmed. And not at the teens. I seem to be ranting a tad, but I too tend to be a little precious about the things that I hold dear. And I hold all children dear. I know I’m not a prude and I really think I have quite an open and often novel view of the world. But I just don’t think its ok for parents to have parties for 14 turning 15 year olds and provide alcohol. I’m not sure if they are just lost, misguided, trying too hard to be cool parents or have just given up. Which would be sad. Maybe I’m just old fashioned. But that would mean being a bit behind, a bit unaware, maybe a bit blinkered. Not having an open view of the world as it is today. And I think I do. So is being ‘a cool parent’ refusing to set boundaries and consequences. Just giving up on parenting. Not caring enough. I know kids will experiment and should experiment and I know I shudder at what I got up to as a teenager, and that it is necessary to challenge the boundaries, and I know we would prefer to have our kids misbehaving in our homes. But really. The boundaries need to be set to be able to be challenged. Alcohol was never provided at our parties when I was 14. Or 15. We were not encouraged to get trashed. Am I wrong? Have I really got it that wrong? Am I really just old fashioned? And if that is what it is, then I am really cool with not being a cool parent. Because I love my kids far more than I love being cool.