Tag Archives: stuff

rat

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This was one of those big picture moments masquerading as a little picture. Chatting to Jem about the realities of what today might hold. That Jayde may not survive the day.To some Jayde may just be a little rat. Eeew. But to Jem she is love. She is the sweetest, cutest little creature, with a twinkle in her eye and an air of mischief about her. She knows Jem, she has her favourite spots in the house, her favourite areas to curl up, her favourite spot to be tickled. She comes when she is called, travels everywhere on Jem’s shoulders and grinds her teeth with pleasure when she is cuddled. And my little Jem understood when I told her this morning this is what love is. When you love someone so much you will do whatever you need to do for them even if it makes you sad. When you love someone more than you love yourself.

share

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This again. I had a chat this weekend about the one thing that keeps coming up since I started sharing some stuff. The notion of honesty. Well more of being honest. Of sharing truth, that isn’t always flattering. And how taken aback some people are by it. I think my thin blog made some people uncomfortable, cos it’s just not cool to admit to being that self absorbed when the issues the world face are so vast. I agree. But we are and we do. If only we had the courage to say so.  It would make it so much easier to be ourselves, to be kind to ourselves, if we didn’t have to keep up with the often dishonest realities of our perfect friends. Those who seem to have the perfect lives, with the perfect relationships and the perfect attitudes to weight, religion, work, education, their children, discipline etc etc. According to what they share they never put a foot wrong. Bullshit. It would be so much kinder if we all shared, not only how we wished we were, but how we really are too.  I really do love B and who we are and I wish we were always kind to each other but sometimes we just suck at this relationship stuff.  We didn’t talk nicely to each other this whole weekend. I can’t really remember why, something about him not going to  Dan Murphy’s when I wanted him too and me not taking my tablets for three days. And that was before he told me he was off to Adelaide for the week. I didn’t need to share that with you, and probably some of you wonder why I did. I’m not sure. Just because its the truth, and maybe someone will feel better about being a little off centre too. That’s just life. Let’s be kinder to each other by dropping the pretence. It’s such a waste of time.

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thin

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Just when I’m sitting back smugly looking at how far I think I have come, and not only geographically, I come down to earth with a bump. What is it with the fact that no matter how much I feel I have achieved, how much wiser I am, it all goes out the window momentarily over something so trivial. This morning I fought with everyone. Jem because I felt she hadn’t told me everything about when some schoolwork was due, Kate because I had to tell her three times to clean her bathroom, and B, because I felt he undermined me while I was so justifiably going off at the girls for such unforgivable acts. The truth is it wasn’t about any of that at all, it was about the fact that I gained 1kg. To put it in context I am consistently 7kg heavier than I was comfortable being previously due to a cocktail of menopause, femara, zoladex and lexapro. And I have made peace with that. And with the fact that all the damn exercise in the world I do, just keeps the creep at bay.  Or so I thought. What a brat I became today. Why does it matter so much. I used to say I was happiest when I was thin and hungry. And I was. And unhealthy. Then I grew up. Yeah. Now I’m neither. But I am happy. And healthy. So, how can 1kg matter so much? How can it derail me like that? And I know, as do we all, that how you feel inside is what matters, that I am healthy, that I am fit, that my current problems are golden, that it’s not about how you look but how you behave. I have so much to be grateful for. Am I really that shallow. Honestly, and I really shouldn’t admit this, given everything, if you want to make my day, tell me I look like I’ve lost weight, don’t tell me how fit or heathy or happy I am looking. But I have moved on a little, because even though I felt grumpy and frustrated this morning, I’m still having heaps of butter and peanut butter on my toast today. Because it makes me happy. And I know deep down, being happy matters more to me than being thin. Deep deep down.

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.

sad

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B came home at 4.30am last night. I am grateful that he and I met in advertising so our lives together are punctuated by both of us keeping ridiculous hours to meet ridiculous deadlines. I am grateful because I get it. I know many of my friends never did. I think they thought I was either the most trusting or the most stupid of partners. But mostly I am grateful because he came home. I was feeling a tad miffed to be honest and then I heard about a very dear friend’s brother. Who isn’t coming home. All my love and strength goes out to his wife and two very young children and my friend for what lies ahead. Sadly, but realistically, it takes such fundamentally sad events to make me realise once again how much I have to be thankful for. And to remind me how impermanent things are. That’s not frightening, it just is. So I am grateful B is here. For now. And will continue to celebrate every single moment we have together, even when I hate him, because it will end. And because right now I am the lucky one.

bad day

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It’s a funny thing. And Susie, you’ll laugh at this. It’s a funny thing but the checkout girls and guys at Woolies don’t ask me how my day is anymore. Or what I’ve been doing. Or what I’ll be doing for the rest of the day. I only realised that today. Just to backtrack a bit, I had a little not big picture stuff rant a while ago, and not at the employees, but the management, who make these often very young checkout kids ask me about my day, what I did and what I’m going to do. I know it’s their job, but they don’t really care. And why should they. It’s just a job with an auto prompt.  I do believe just a smile and a how are you would do it on both parties side, unless we choose to engage further. It’s not really necessary otherwise to initiate this false banter. I feel for them and I really feel for me. We could all do without the potentially awkward moment. Today I realised they hadn’t asked me for a while. I thought yay, management have realised what a crock of shit it is. But then I noticed the lady at the checkout counter behind me was being asked. So it was just me. It’s just been me a few times then. I do engage, and smile sweetly and kindly because I do know it’s not their fault but clearly they can see it in my eyes. Don’t ask me how my day has been because I just might tell you.

home

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At dinner last night a friend asked me where home was now. After nearly four years here. For all of us, here or there. I always hate those questions. I have since the day we arrived here. Are you happy. Do you miss home. The reason I hate them is because it is so hard to answer them. To be honest. To even know how you really feel, because there is so much stuff that clouds your honest assessment. How can I be happy here, even if I think I might be. Doesn’t that negate the relationships, the people I’ve left behind. How can I be happy here when they aren’t here. And if I say I’m not, what about the opportunity we’ve been given. How can we not put our best foot forward and embrace the adventure. What about all the fabulous friends who have rallied around us and supported us to find our feet here. And how can I not be happy providing a possibly firmer future for my kids. What am I teaching them if I’m always looking backwards. Where do the girls feel more at home? I answered that home for them, in fact for all of us, is where we are. And as I said it last night I realised I meant it. We are where we are meant to be. So, I guess that right now thats here. So, does that mean this is home now? Africa is in my blood and in my heart. It is the country of my birth. It is with me wherever I am. My family is in my heart and in my blood. They are with me wherever I am. I now know I don’t have be anywhere to be home. But I wondered if I had answered correctly for the girls. So I asked them. Jem said, well I was born in South Africa, but I don’t really have a home. Just as my heart cracked, she went on to say, home is where my family is. You, daddy and Kate. Kate didn’t want to answer, then said here. Here?, I said. Australia? She said, well, it’s where we live. So simple. Home truly is wherever we are. And I believe that can be anywhere now.

cleese

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I had such a fabulous day yesterday. Playing assistant to director B. If he had suggested that before, never mind how last minute, I would have snorted at the idea. Me. Do that. Are you fucking mad? As in, do you know who I am, how important I am. I don’t even attend my own shoots anymore. Now, you want me to carry the tripod, scout locations, drive you around, traipse into the strangest areas for the most fabulous of shots. You have got to be kidding. But I said yes. Not because I’m so noble but because B said we’d stay at Limes. And he’d pay me. The day started with a frission of excitement the minute I woke up. It clearly was not the prospect of what the day held. Nor the wonderful pay check. Said with a wry note of sarcasm. Not that I am not grateful of course. I think it was the promise of freedom.  It was like I was given a free pass to have a day with no responsibility other than to do whatever B told me to. What a fabulous day. We laughed and stumbled, well I stumbled and we worked. Way into the night. I remember at one point under the Storey Bridge as I wrestled with the tripod for the umpteenth time as B changed his lens for the umpteenth time to do the perfect tracking shot for the umpteenth time, I mentioned how amazing it was. Not his shot. But being there. I didn’t have anywhere to go, anywhere to be, but there. Never ever, not one single, very well paid minute in my previous career or life, had I felt that before. There I always felt like I should be somewhere else, doing something more, hurrying up so I wouldn’t be late, for a meeting, for a deadline, for my kids. I was so important. Whatever it was, yesterday under the Storey Bridge I felt content. I didn’t need more. I was with B, my girls were being beautifully cared for by my fabulous friends. I was content. And that I had decided a while ago, is my definition of happiness. To be content. I am so grateful that I am finally realising it doesn’t take much. And that I already have all it takes. But apparently not what it takes to be a good film crew member. B just sent me this shot with this comment  “So I’m loving the shot of the hotel until I wonder what that is in the centre of the shot……” In case you’re wondering, it’s my bag. Well, he didn’t pay me enough anyway.

love

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I’m still doing it. I’m still trying to turn B into me. I fell in love with B for him. His quirks, his laid-backness, his dimpled smile, his forearms (not a fetish but they have always done it for me), his irreverence, his perverseness, his independence, his B’ness. His different to me ness. But I have spent the last seventeen years or so trying to turn him into me. Even though I know he will never behave the way I do, because he is not me. He will never respond the way I do, because he is not me. He will never phone home the way I do or when I want him too, because he is not me. He will never drive around the block ridiculously every time he has to be somewhere because he is always 5mins or more early the way I do, because he is not me. He will never do stuff when I want him too just because I want it done then, because he is not me. He will never be irrationally jealous the way I am, actually he will, and I do love that about him. So, I don’t know why I’m still doing it. I don’t even want B to be like me. I am starting to like me a little more, but fuck I’d hate to be married to me. So, I know he will never say sorry the way I do or think I do, because he is not me. I do know. But it still pisses me off. And I know that’s why he does it. And I love him all the more for it.

guilt

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I forgot Kate today. For the first time ever. And in the worst thunderstorm I’ve ever experienced here. She had to text me. For some of you I’m sure it’s no big deal. For control freak, always 5mins early me, it was a huge deal. For the kid whose controlling mother was always there 5mins early it was a huge deal. The guilt. And not only at forgetting her, but at having spent the morning on the beach. And then forgetting her. The guilt at B’s raised eyebrow at my packed briefcase this morning. Aka, my beach bag. B’s word, not mine. But especially because I had felt slightly superior this morning when Jem told B mom always does things right. This was because she didn’t want B to drop them off at school. The last time he drove up the bus only lane. And stayed there and said leisurely goodbyes to the girls as they died a thousand deaths. I’m sure, knowing B, he might even have yelled I love you to them as they scuttled away. It didn’t help that one of the better looking boys in Kate’s grade was watching. And laughing. So, I was feeling understandably superior. Because I always do it right. Yeah right. Not only was Kate affronted when I finally turned up, she was also soaked. What a fabulous lesson for us both. She now knows I don’t always get it right.  And I now know it doesn’t matter. If she knows that is.