Tag Archives: respect

classy

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A friend and I were chatting and the description ‘she is classy’ came up. But is she? What is ‘classy’? To my view a classy person is one who treats everyone with respect, treats everyone the same, no matter their so-called status. Who is kind, who puts others at ease, who isn’t brash, who values their own and others inner beauty as much as their outer beauty, who enhances what they have tastefully, who never displays their assets in a vulgar manner, be they physical or financial. Who is consistent, genuine, authentic and real. Who is honest. And especially who believes all are equal, who never ever believes they are better than anyone else. A classy person is most definitely not one who feels they are better simply because of the car they drive, the clothes they wear, the religion they follow, the job they do, the school their children go to, the size of their bank accounts or the area they live in. That, in my view is the opposite.

one hundred and eighty one

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14 July  I was blown away by Fratellini’s at Sunshine beach today. They hosted Kate and 20 of her friends for her 15th birthday celebration, with no adult present.  I am grateful for how they went out of their way to make her night special with no input from me.  I am grateful because I so wanted her to be made a fuss of but I was absolutely forbidden by her to do anything. And she loved it. The ‘no fuss’ I mean. Oh and I’m grateful B and I like Sam. Trust Kate to find a fabulous respectful, intelligent, well spoken, ambitious, rugby union playing, gorgeous, family loving boy. I love that she is still young enough to love that we think he’s cool too.

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.

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.

little rant

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Realising how young Jem really still is and being grateful for her little quirks got me thinking about something that does actually bother me a bit. I’m a little taken aback by how some parents let their young girls and by this I guess I’m referring to girls of thirteen, fourteen and under, dress. We are encouraging our daughters to grow up, yet we are the very ones who shake our heads in regret at how quickly they are growing up. I do agree we need to let them be themselves and grow and experiment but we also need to be parents, guiding and explaining and sharing. I thought about this a couple of weekends ago as a group of girls walked down Thomas Street, tottering on heels they couldn’t walk in, some wearing skirts that barely covered their fannies, hair and make up done to the nines, walking in a pack. They then crossed the road, clearly uncertain what to do with this so called womanly fabulousness. And got ice-creams. They were all about 12 or 13, apparently year 7’s.  Inappropriately revealingly dressed and thankfully nowhere to go. And they looked ridiculous. Like girls who were playing dress up. But weren’t. All self aware, and self-conscious wearing bustiers but with no busts. Well, some of them. I loved Noosa then for those girls, but I truly truly did wonder, what were their moms thinking

one hundred and thirty two

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Today for a million and one and then some reasons I am so very grateful for the simplicity and stability of us, of B and I and Kate and Jem. I am grateful for the love we share. For the knowledge that we are all we need.

look

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I can’t talk to you if you don’t look at me. To me it is as if you don’t hear me. I know we all think we are good at doing lots of things at once ( I hate the word multitasking, because its crap) but I absolutely believe then we don’t really do anything well at all. And sometimes good enough is good enough and that’s just life.  But I think whatever you are doing deserves all your attention. Or none at all. Just for that moment. And it is possible. Just stop doing everything, the world won’t stop. B loves my most favourite quote of all time and throws it back at me often. As he should. ‘Be still. Cease your relentless participation’. That’s why its all become a bit shitty and fucked up. We are all so busy doing everything we don’t focus on anything. Or anyone. Surely we should respect each another enough to just focus on each other. Just for that moment.  If you are a parent, I bet you have all had that moment when your young child put their little hands on both sides of your face and made you look at them and listen to them. I can just picture my face getting all squished as Kate or Jem physically forced me to look at them. To focus on them. How exquisite. Really. Well, that’s what I feel like doing to everyone. I need you to respect me enough to look at me when I talk to you. And don’t let me get on to those who look over your shoulder to see if they’re missing out on anything. Cease. Just for a moment. I am here. Right now. Look at me. And see me. Or move on. My family know this. Just this morning B covered Jem’s eyes while I was trying to get her to listen to me. I need to see her eyes. I need her to look at me so I know she has heard me. They thought it was hilarious. I didn’t. Well, not really.

my dad

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I love my dad. He is genuinely the world’s best dad. Growing up he guided us with so much love and tolerance, now that I have my own kids I am in awe of his patience. He was kind, he was firm and he was fair. He never shouted at us, but we knew when he was displeased. He treated us with utmost respect and care, so much so that we grew up in a solid, safe and kind world. He made us believe that we mattered. He always had time for us. No time, no matter how much pressure he was under, was a bad time.He loved and loves my mom, which is probably the best gift any father can give his kids. To love and respect their mother. And yes vice versa. He made us believe we were good enough to do anything we set our minds to. He never made me feel I had disappointed him. Ever. He always told me when things got too much, not to panic, because panic or not, the outcome will be the same. I was blessed to grow up in a world with my dad as my father. I still am. He’s still making me believe I can do anything. That my attitude, my will is everything. Well Dad, right back at you.

addict

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Approval Addiction is the title of a book my friend gave me to read. She wasn’t trying to tell me something. It’s something we recognise in each other. Seems like such a harsh word, addiction. Am I an addict? I like approval. We all do, if we’re honest. But am I that dependent. That needy. The more I read the more I recognised myself. And I never got past the first two chapters. Because I stopped. Because I’m not. I am not that dependent. Not anymore. I talk a lot about respect and honesty but my other big thing is fear. Fear is the thing. It strangles us. It makes us make the wrong choices or none at all. Books like this exist because of our fear. The world is as it is because of fear. It is what feeds my need for approval. The fear of not being liked, the fear of not being taken seriously, the fear of offending, the fear of being anonymous, the fear of failure, the fear of being ignored, the fear of being alone, the fear of illness, the fear of being destitute. The fear of death. Of late I’ve pissed a lot of people off because I don’t care so much anymore. I can’t pretend anymore so you’ll like me. I like me. And I’m truly not afraid. Maybe the book is not so relevant to me anymore. So, I will not be ending this post with my name is Lianne Cawood and I am an approval addict. Not anymore.

issue

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Another friend, a very supportive friend, commented on how difficult it was for her to share. And how uncomfortable her family would be it if she spoke about them the way I do mine. I respect that. I respect her. She always makes me think.To be honest, Jem has an issue with my posts. Her issue is that I always post about Kate. Actually Kate has an issue too. Hers is that one of her friends saw my drama post and said gee, your mum swears. A lot.  And you all do know of course despite my potty mouth, neither of my kids swear. Or probably because of it. So uncool mom. I think I have always been able to share. But I also know I used to censor myself. I used to only share the bits that would paint a pretty picture. And that’s where I’m not alone. But life isn’t very pretty all the time. But it is a journey. And for me it’s been a journey of finding my self respect. Of earning my self respect. Respect is everything to me. I respect you, and that’s why I am happy to share. To be honest. About everything. I know it bothers some of you and I know some of you just aren’t interested. And that’s all good. If only one of you gets some comfort, some courage in my daily (or not ) sharing about my issues, issues we are all confronted with, and some that I pray none of you will be, then I am happy. And I’m especially happy when that one is me.