I am grateful for friends who know how long a long weekend can be. For a day filled with laughs. Many laughs. And for a boyfriend pillow to come home to. Okay, it’s Kate’s, but it is very comforting. A bit odd, and very funny. I just had to have a cuddle.
I love caprioscas. I tend to unfortunately overdo the things I love. I felt a tad fragile today as a result. So today I am so grateful for the best toasted panini in the world, roasted vegetables, pesto and haloumi cheese, with gallons of freshly squeezed orange juice. I love the ladies at Alfresco in Doonan, they always remember us, they are always open and welcoming and because they made me feel human again.
I am grateful for tuesday evenings, no I lie, I have become grateful for tuesday evenings. Now I see it as my ‘mindful picking up balls meditation’. (I do try not to count.) There is something about quietly picking up tennis balls with a tube tennis picker upper (obviously) for an hour, that is calming and reflective. I love being the quiet observer. There but not there. Just for an hour. Now if I could only figure a way to make the girls actually enjoy tennis, but I am grateful that they do it for me. They will thank me one day. They will.
I am grateful for a moment of connection. A fabulous laugh at our new morning routine (well, my morning and B’s night). A reminder that things are not always as we choose but we can make it work. If we choose to. I am grateful that we do.
We were all in tears tonight. All three of us girls. Jem over her friends (girls can be such little bitches), Kate over a boy (boys can be so pathetic) and me just because I felt like it. It was either too long a long weekend, which is when I think we all do feel B not being home the most. Or it was all the oestrogen. Or the lack of in my case. If we aren’t crying, we’re yelling, or we’re laughing. Sometimes even all at the same time. Menopause and puberty were simply not supposed to happen simultaneously. It can all just get a bit messy. But the messy emotional girly stuff isn’t always all that bad. Sometimes it’s just necessary. Sometimes it’s just what is needed.
I am grateful to the kind gentleman who took this photo of Arienne and I as we were waiting to start the Noosa News 5km Run/Walk Breast Cancer thingy. Not only for the chuckle but for how earnestly he applied himself to the task. It was a priceless moment. For him too.
I have never professed to be a perfect mother. No-one really is, we all just try our best. This morning was one of those less perfect moments. For some reason I have not got my oomph back since our trip so am playing catch up all the time. We were running late for school, I had only got to bed well after midnight trying to fix a washing machine that had clothing soaking and locked in it, the pest control people were coming in at 8.30 to do their annual spray thingy, I was trying to tidy up at least a bit, whilst brushing my teeth and Jem was waiting for me to do her hair and I was throwing on my clothes, knowing I still had heaps to do when Kate started calling Mom, mom, mo-o-o-o-mmm, mo-o-om. Mom! Ohh, fuck off, I said. It was what I felt so I said it. Just quietly and matter of factly. Enough. Jem was in earshot, caught my eye, she looked horrified and I looked sheepish. We burst out laughing. I did explain that I didn’t really mean it, I just meant it a little bit. Because sometimes, just sometimes, just for a little bit, I do hate the word mom.
Today was a bit tough. A combination of jet lag and a zoladex implant into my stomach had me feeling a little sorry for myself. I am grateful I never asked for a rain check on pizza’s and Chandon. And friendship and laughter. It was just what I needed.
Never mind whether they’re 6 or 60, it’s always about the penis. I so wish I could claim this comment, but it belongs to Lynn, my other sister. This in response to Kate updating my family on the saga of her teenage love life. Or to set the record straight, the fact that she didn’t want one. And us all trying to explain why boys behave the way they do. Why men do. Lynn’s bloody right. But what I loved about the comment was less the truth but the fact that it was shared at breakfast with ages ranging from 7 to 74. We truly do all have a relationship of honesty, raw honesty. I know this will shock some but the ensuing hilarity was just utterly fabulous. Especially at my mom using the opportunity to educate her granddaughters even further. I know this may be unusual, even a tad controversial, but nothing has ever been taboo in our family, the table is always a safe place to talk about anything. Open and honest, with clear appropriate explanations and clear consistent boundaries. And a lot of laughs. For me it demonstrates one of my core beliefs … it’s not what you say, but what you do that counts. Don’t be scared to use words, to speak your mind, to share what you’ve heard, to speak in front of your children, to teach them in an open honest appropriate way, to encourage them to share, to learn from others. As long as the words are used with respect, and not to denigrate. To share truth. And really, what could be truer?
I speak to my sister everyday. I am grateful she lives in Brisbane which is only an hour and a half away, so I know she is always close by. I am especially grateful today and right now, because our home is filled with the laughter and noise of family. Honest, true, free laughter. The laughter that always happens when Mel, Pat, Court and Georg come to visit.
grace and dignity 