There is something about women and how we share. I am grateful to be surrounded by women who choose to celebrate life. In all its weird and wonderful and challenging ways. And for friends who genuinely open their hearts and their homes. ( And their champagne bottles). Even (or especially) on a school night.
21 October. I am grateful for the perfect partner for me.
I am trying not to be self absorbed. Surrounded by all the beauty here we all do pale by comparison. But I have become obsessed with my face. The bugger with beautiful photography is you can’t escape yourself. The reality of you. And especially with B. Always with a camera, a lingering loving camera. Not so much. I look, and try as I might to focus on the entire shot, my gaze finally settles on me and how I look. Everyone does it, and lies if they say they don’t. And then invariably never mind how gorgeous the view is if we look crap, the shot is deleted. I see it with my girls too. A gorgeous pic of Queenstown, but the first thing they look at is themselves. Okay, I admit, it is more a girl thing but still. I so wish I could lead by example but oh my word, my face has suddenly collapsed. It feels like it happened the past month. I have become completely obsessed by it. By the lines and furrows down the side of my mouth. Those ones that make you look like a puppet. I’m suddenly a little bit less dismissive of major intervention. Growing old gracefully, accepting the beauty of age and wisdom and experience etched in deep grooves on your face? Sounds wonderful and noble and true and no doubt I will get there because ultimately I do believe it. But right now there is nothing beautiful about seeing my granny’s mouth on my face. Especially when I feel twenty nine. Max. Shit. So, whilst surrounded by heaven, I have become a little obsessed by my face. Damn photography. I was loving the illusion. Less so Kate and Jem tickling my wattle. Very funny girls. Leave mom alone, she’s having a moment.
15 September. I am grateful for late nights, lie ins and brekkie with B at our favourite spot while the girls are both at sleepovers. We are often alone these days so I really am grateful for how much we enjoy each others company. And that we have a relationship as a couple and not only as parents. In fact, I suspect, a better one. Despite what the little princesses might think.
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.
I am grateful B remembered it was our anniversary today before I did. I suspect I would have been less than gracious had it been the other way around. I am also grateful for the fortuitous timing of his return. Despite me forgetting (momentarily(!)) the day we got married 18 years ago, I suspect I would have been less than gracious had he not been home to celebrate. I am especially grateful for the magnificent day we were blessed with today. It has been a very good day.
I agree it’s not ideal to say fuck on the tennis court, even if it is directed at yourself. But especially not when the tennis court is at school. I know there is no need to swear and I could have said fooey as was suggested, but I didn’t. I do know it is a legacy left from a lifetime in advertising where swearing was everyday. And no, not to insult, or hurt but simply to explain, share, show strong emotion. Among adults. That is fucking awesome means so much more than that is awesome, or that is so awesome or that is very awesome. Or even that is bloody awesome. Everyone understands. I agree that some times it is just not ideal. But please whatever you do, don’t judge me by how I speak, but rather by who I am and how I behave. I am not frightened of words, but I am frightened of people who hide behind ‘nice’ words and judgements. I know awful people who never swear. I know fabulous compassionate kind people who swear. It is never meant to disrespect anyone, because for me it is just an adjective, a very descriptive word. But just a word. And yes, a habit. But, I could think of worse habits to have.
Is it just me? Is it just me who lashes out when they mean to do the opposite. Who pushes away when they want to be held? Who gets angry when they are really just sad? B has stayed behind in South Africa for a month. I said I was okay with it, because I am. But I’m also not. I hate him not being here. I joke that I never signed up to be a single mom, and it is a joke. Sort of. I am better at everything when he is here. I am okay with it because I now know I can cope with most things I may have to encounter. I am okay with it, because we need me to be. And I will make the most of it, as will he. And I will find the moments to remind me of how blessed I am, how blessed we are, and it will be okay. But just for tonight I’ll blame extended jet lag, late nights, sunday night blues, not speaking to B for a while for my sadness, and for me being tired of having to be okay.
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?
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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grace and dignity 