Perceptions.

I had two toddlers, not just one yesterday - as my girlfriend who has had two children entirely too close together - was about to crack up if she didn't get some respite. So I took the oldest one, a lovely little girl and resolved to run both kids ragged until they slept like the dead all afternoon.

I have a plan when I do this. I walk them the 6 blocks to the local park, take along a ball and basically do not allow them to sit still for a second. Even the swings are strictly rationed.

So we get to the park, and the two littlies are wobbling around, bumping into things, attempting to climb up the monkey bars, slide down the big slide and run around without too many tumbles. I am sitting, nodding indulgently, with a beatific smile on my face, enjoying the sight of little bodies learning how to do things.

Then disaster.

A group of 13 to 14 year old boys entered the playground. Now, I should mention that this is a small local playground, one set of swings, two slides and various climbing apparatus, all within touching distance of each other. And these boys were large and gangly, and well... LOUD. They had huge sneakers on, baggy pants, baseball caps on backwards and cigarettes behind their ears.

They were pushing and shoving and wrestling with each other as boys of that age do. Running around, shouting curses and generally behaving like teens without parents.

My charges looked very small and very vulnerable suddenly.

I sat there, mentally sighing, thinking that I'd end up having to remove the toddlers from the playground because they were not going to be able to play safely with these apes around. Or I was going to have to put on my po-face and be a big ugly mean grownup and tell these boys off for not watching what they were doing. And resenting it, because dammit, why should I have to police someone else's kids? And seriously, these kids didn't look like they were going to listen to me anyway.

And then the biggest one, turned to my kid, and said "Wanna play?". And her whole face lit up. She was so impressed with being included. And for the next hour and a half, these big, shambling boys played. They played  'Chasey' with the two year olds - running in slow motion so they could be caught, pushing fat little bodies on the swings, falling to the ground so they could be attacked by chubby hands and altered the whole nature of their games so the littlies could join in.

And as they left, I said "Hey thanks for being so nice to my kid", and they turned in unison and said "It was fun" and blushed to the limit of their freckles and jug ears.

Nice boys. Just goes to show, you can't judge a kid by his big sneakers and his loud mouth. Just goes to show that I have some growing up to do.

Respite.

Well I had the ultrasound - everything appears okay. I can breathe for the first time in 2 weeks, at least until the host of worries and statistics that crowd in the back of my head threaten to push forward. I know it was all the good vibes and caring thoughts sent my way. I just know it.

So.

The past two weeks has been filled with children's birthday parties (not Mouse's) and various kid-centric outings. It's school holiday time here in Oz, and as a result every mother out to prove her worth has various day trips organised for her offspring.

All except one.

Oh I merrily pick and choose among the invites that Mouse receives. But it takes a lot more than my child's possible interest to get me to go a see an exhibit of the world's biggest insects. Or mammals of Australia. EEP and YAWN respectively.

Let me tell you about my kid. I have learned my lesson. She takes an inverse proportion of interest compared to the cost of admission. The Skeleton Gallery at the Museum? $14 bucks a kid. She spent her time banging a skin drum and sticking playdo on the underside of the exhibits. Kids Island - a trip into Pirate Times? $16 bucks a kid and she spent her time playing house with the lone dolly in the play area and shouting at the big boys. Uncle Homer's Petting Zoo? $4 bucks a kid and she's still talking about how the cow did a big poop.

So I loftily rise above the guilt and the stressed out mum and go to things that I think both she AND I will enjoy, with no ulterior motive  other than to make her day a bit more interesting. We have *gasp* gone to the movies since she likes having her own bucket of lollies. We have spent almost every day feeding the ducks or hanging from the monkey bars in the park. We've attended birthday parties where the most organised game was the pinata at the end. (And I made sure I stole her enough treats from the big kids when their mamas weren't looking). We've had days where the most nutritious thing in her gullet was the three bites of my cheese sandwich at 3pm. And where I've actually read every word of some Disney Movie book tie-in.

Things we haven't gone to:

• A History of Australia


• Insects: The Forgotten World.


• Australian Mammals.


• A Tour of the HMAS Penguin Naval Destroyer


• Pirates in the Maritime


• The Children's Stamp Exhibit


• Bob the Builder

Things we have gone to:

• A Playschool concert


• The park


• The movies


• A Kid's Guide to Rock n' Roll


• The Picasso Lithograph exhibit


• Light and Colour exhibit at the Museum of Modern Art.

I am being told I am not stretching her enough, that she does too many things that I like or that don't require her to learn anything. I thought that was called being a kid.

And she turned to me today, after we had 2 birthday parties where she ate chocolate, cake and ran around like a banshee getting filthy and grimy and got paint all over herself and said:

"Mummy, this was an exquisite day".

She's 27 months old.

HAH. HAH.

Waiting.

Yeah well, guess who was pregnant? Guess what's becoming gradually clear? Not anymore. No real evidence, just a feeling of something slipping away day by day. Things diminishing when they should be increasing. A hollowness where there should be something.

pleasepleasepleaseplease i'll be a better person, i'll be kinder and nicer.

A feeling of returning to normal, hour by hour.

I think my body hasn't got the message yet. Something in my heart has. Nothing feels the way it's supposed to. The way I felt last Thursday is not the way I've felt the last couple of days. Sure, it could just be a different take on things this time around, but I tell you - something isn't right.

pleasepleasepleaseplease i'll go back to church, i'll stop swearing.

One way or another, I just wish I knew for sure. Too early to get medical opinions - especially since all the tests last week were positive.

pleasepleasepleaseplease i'll spend more time with my kid being a better mother. i'll be a better wife, a better sister, a better daughter.

I lost a baby at 10 weeks before Mouse. I only found out when I went in to the U/S to see the heartbeat. No heartbeat - and there hadn't been for weeks. My body was still merrily humming along, taking care of something that wasn't ever going to get bigger. I waited 3 weeks that time for my body to get in the picture - but it was stubborn, insisting that there was something happening. Until I had to have a d&c and finally end the process.

This time, it could be my imagination - I sure hope so. But there's a deep dark streak of something lying across my heart that keeps insisting that it's over. And all the signs agree with it.

pleasepleaseplease i'll take better care of myself.

One of the hardest things is that no one is listening to me. My hub tells me 'it's all in my head' and my friends just laugh and call me a pessimist. Maybe so. And maybe it is all in my head. It might be alright. It might. But I wish someone would let me talk and explain. I feel like I am alone in this.

pleasepleasepleaseplease this is my last chance, i want this so much.


When you've spent the last 18 months listening to every creak, twinge, ache and pain of your body - you learn what is there and what isn't. When you've had so many false hopes and bitter disappointments, you learn that life goes on, despite you and what you want. It makes no difference how much I want this, or how careful I have been - if it is meant to be, it will be. And if it isn't, no amount of tears or recriminations or prayers or vows will make it stay.

So hey, if you are out there - send some love  and care my way, and let's hope my natural pessimism has just skewed my world and that everything is alright. The waiting is killing me. And that's really all I can do.

but that doesn't stop me saying pleasepleasepleaseplease and promising everything... and nothing. Because what's it worth, anyway?
I'll keep you posted.

Choices.

I was hanging with friends on Friday after a typically raucous dinner party and the England-Brazil game, when the subject turned to the choices we'd all made that determined the course of our lives. (Yes, earnest stuff, but blame it on the excellent Aussie Cab Sav). We were trying to pinpoint decisions we'd made that sent our futures off in a certain direction, and amused ourselves by figuring out what we'd be doing and more importantly, who we'd be, if we'd made the other choice. Taken the 'road not taken', so to speak.


I've had some woolly ones. Bear in mind that I am an icon of mainstream respectability now - had a high powered corporate lizard job, live in the 'burbs, reasonably happily  married, and own several expensive top of the line appliances and gadgets. Get the picture?

1. Leaving home at 17. After my first year at university - away from home, life just became a bit too restricting. Not my mums' fault, not really mine either. But things came to a head and I ran away. Ended up living with a guy 10 years older than me and learning all sorts of weird and wonderful things, not the least of which was that I actually was attractive and that I could survive without my parents. This set me down a road of art college, inner city life, smoky bars, gallery openings, live music and ethnic  food - none of which my parents would have ever exposed me to while living in the suburbs.

If I hadn't done this, I'd have finished my degree at the original university I started off at, married a dentist or an engineer after graduation, moved within 10 kms of my folks and become some sort of teacher or journalist. I'd have  had 3 kids before I was 35 and had a big old house somewhere in the park suburbs of Toronto. After all, that's what my two best friends in high school did - and we were remarkably similar.

2. Marrying my First Husband. We should have just lived together until it fizzled out. He introduced me to excess, to the wallowing in drugs, and booze until your head popped off.  I didn't even love the guy, I just wanted give my mum some reason to like me again. He shared my love of music, and made me laugh, but ended up making me feel completely horrible about myself. Still, it was sinking to the depths of no self esteem that made me realise that relationships weren't supposed to work like that. And that I didn't want that hollow lonely feeling until I was decrepit and creaky in an old age home. So if I hadn't married him, I'd have never divorced him, and that becomes another lifechoice.


3. Abortion. I made a conscious decision NOT to have children with my ex, during a trip through Europe. His family were German, and for reasons forever murky, his father and his uncle 'escaped' or 'fled' (you choose) Germany  'during' or 'after' (you choose) WWII. The story was never made clear - and during a stay in Austria at his aunts, the family photo album showed photo after photo of his uncle in an SS uniform. I remember my blood cooling, and then looking across the table at him and his aunt. He raised an eyebrow and challenged me to say something. I didn't. But at that moment, I decided that there would be no children of ours. None. And when I got pregnant a couple of months later, I didn't fight too hard when he pressed for an abortion because he 'wasn't ready'. Correction: I didn't fight it at all. I won't say that this decision hasn't haunted me lately, but I still see those photos in my head and am glad I have severed my connection with a family who held up an SS Stormtrooper as a family hero.

So - if I'd  have a child with him, it would be 12 years old now, a child of divorce most likely - since by the end of our marriage nothing, not even a child would have kept us together. But we would have still had to have contact with him, which would have meant I wouldn't have ended up here.

4. Here. After an ugly divorce, I fled here. Why here? I have no idea. Too many National Geographic magazines in my childhood, I suspect. The divorce was so ugly that I couldn't face living in the same city as my ex, so the solution was to move somewhere else. My marriage had effectively weakened my relationship with my parents (they never liked him) so moving to be near them, was not an option. Or at least it didn't feel like one at 32. I had lived in London, and found it too cold. I hadn't lived in Australia and they spoke english too. so there you are.

If I hadn't come here, I might have toughed it out in Toronto, probably getting back together and then breaking up with the ex in an endless cycle of abuse and recriminations. Then finally when I'd got him out of my system, discovered it was too damn late for anything else, and ended up living in a 3 room apartment with a couple of cats and wall to wall books as company.

5. Marrying Again. It hasn't been an easy ride, but for the most part, I think we are together till we gum our food in the Retirement Home. Some days I wonder what or who I'd be if I hadn't married him, but my current thinking is that, perhaps, down that road leads disaster. And some days I look at him and cannot imagine why I would want anything else.

6. Having a Child. They say that you have three lives - one before a child, one with a child, and one when your children are gone. This is the only decision I have made where I put absolutely little or no thought into it at all - it just had to be. And it turned my whole world upside down and shook it until all my character faults and flaws fell out. She has made me a better person.

If we hadn't had her, we'd be upwardly mobile, gadget crazy, Ralph Lauren wearing yuppies, with the latest adult toys and a reputation for living fast and wild. I'd have had a fighting chance at getting back to Paris or Siena before I was arthritic. Oh well.

So, looking back - is there anything I'd have done differently? I used to think so, but when you see how each choice leads into the other, and shaped and  sculpted the person I am today - then I guess I'd have to say not. Even the bad decisions got me to a good place.

And that's a good life all in all. No major regrets, no wallowing over the road not taken. A great life really.

So you think I tell you everything?

Thank You.

To all of you who have emailed me, left encouraging comments or said nice things. In particular, these folks - Rajah, OBailey,Jazstarry, ubermummy, Fatbottomedgirl, Formerprincess, James, DoctorEvil, PennyDreadful, Sorcha, KrisinLuck, Pinkdegas, Dwaber, and IdolBlonde have been sources of strength and much needed amusement. And if I haven't mentioned you, blame it on lack of sleep - not lack of gratitude. All of you who read my stuff and take the time to comment - I consider awesome human beings.
And if you are reading me for the first time - check out my comments and go visit their sites. I don't have a dud reader in the bunch.
And hey, I am okay, I am stuffing it up and sucking it in. This too, will pass.

Tantrums.
Mouse pulled a whopper today - flailing, thrashing, shouting and ended by flopping like a mackerel in the middle of the mall, face up like she'd just been flipped onto the river bank.
The reason? She wanted to go look at the gum balls, I wanted not to. Fair enough. When you are two, the world is made up of things you want to do and grownups will let you, and things you really want to do and grownups really will not let you. It must be frustrating to be so little.
And honestly, sometimes, I feel like jumping up and down and smashing my head with my fists too. There are times that only mindless thrashing will make you feel better. But of course, as adults, we can't behave like that - or can we?
Ask my husband, who chucks major wobblies in traffic. He has been known to chase traffic morons who cut him off, open doors without looking or swerve from lane to lane. He actually gets people to roll down their windows so he can yell at them. Personally, I am too smart to roll down a window so some red faced guy that I've caused to brake sharply can talk to me. No thanks. I just smile gormlessly and wave to them, and then watch their neck veins bulge in my rear view mirror. I worry about his blood pressure - I mean, really - is he actually going to change anyone's driving habits by raging?

Tantrums. Talk to my neighbour, who, when her husband left her for a younger, slimmer model - sold all his fishing equipment for the princely sum of $10 to the local kids. Fine, and it was amusing, but the equipment was worth a bundle (Loomis and Toole fly fishing rods etc.) and she could use the money.

Tantrums. Speak to my girlfriend, who, when tired of her sister's constant mememememe conversations, taped her conversations and then gave it to her for a birthday present, complete with a Book entitled 'The Art of Conversation'. Cackle away, but now the sister isn't talking to her at all - and what's the point of that?

Tantrums. Have a word with another friend, upon discovering that her husband's business trip was in fact, a 5 day solo holiday to Phuket, promptly left for Paris and stuffed a whole tin of baby shrimp into his CD player. In the height of summer. Took him about 4 days of gagging before he tried to play a CD. In all honesty, I found this perfectly hilarious, not the least because I'd suggested it during a 4 bottles of wine commiseration session. So er... let's ignore that one.

And me? Well, in my wild past, I hurled my share of books, chairs and various objects across a room. Smashed a few bits of glassware, and actually cut off the arms of my ex-husbands business shirts.

But I've reformed. (A child watching you when you lose it, can do that). Now when I can feel the urge to stamp and scream, I go outisde and get my whacking stick from the shed. Then I jump around the back yard and whack the ground and curse. Or I hit the boxing bag hanging in the garage until my knuckles swell.
And you know what? I do feel better. It's usually all gone. And I can laugh about the lunatic spectacle I must pose to the kids over the fence. And I can rue my swollen knuckles or my sore arms but know that the only person aching is me - and it's temporary. it's a good ache.

There's an awful lot of people running around ignoring their anger until it festers into road rage, or sneaky acts of war, or worse. Heart attacks and strokes. Frustration, disappointment, anger - it all takes its toll, even if we think we are coping just fine. We aren't. Ask yourself when the last time you wanted to snarl at the person in the checkout line with 20 items instead of 10 was. Or when you wanted to rip a telemarketer a new asshole. Or elbow someone who beat you to the last sale item. Way out of proportion, folks. Think about it. Save your anger for worthy things - shit like this, or this. (coincidence? I don't think so).
Make your anger change something.
And for the other stuff, maybe if everyone owned a punching bag or a baseball bat and took their anger out on inanimate items rather than someone's psyche, we'd all be a lot happier.
And now, I am off to repair the king size holes in my flowerbed that I created, inspired in no small part by the Pearls attitude towards christian parenting and being a christian in general. I'll be composing a lot of letters while I do it.There's a lot of holes.

Looking.

Week 3 - my husband is still out of work. The leads he had have dried up, with staff being hired internally or having a budget disappear. Noone wants to hire him.

His mother has taken to phoning at all hours (11:30pm a favourite) and bellowing sad-sack job descriptions from the local paper into the answering machine. The jobs are getting lowlier as the days go by. She seems oblivious as to what she is doing to her son's psyche. I am not.

He's looking worried. Very little money to live on - even if he was getting paid in the next 3 weeks. In fact, if we don't get some money coming in before the end of next week - things will be dire indeed.

This is abysmal. It really is. I know we'll get through it, but god dammit, I wish we didn't have to. We don't need another horrible experience to teach us another life lesson, thanks. We could be just fine, living in ignorance.

And I wander around pasting a death's head grin on my face, trying desperately not to let him know that inside I am screaming in panic. Because the last thing he needs to know is that I am worried about his ability to get it together.

But I am. Our bills have been paid, including our mortgage, up until July 19. I did that, at least. But how are we supposed to live? I can exist on Kraft Dinner and tomato soup, but we have a child who needs a lot more than that to be healthy. I can skip meals, claim I am not hungry, borrow books from the library and somehow make DO. But can a 2 year old? She can't skip meals, and she needs a winter coat, and somehow, I will find the money for it.

I have organised my books into the ones I will sell and the ones I can keep. They are just books, ink and paper, easily replaceable. Some are sentimental favourites, but nothing is more sentimental than my child and my family - so out they go.

I have a freezer stocked with ground beef and chicken thighs, and a pantry full of pasta and rice.

I can do this.

But the awful sick feeling in my stomach is getting bigger. And not being able to share the worry is making things worse. I can't share without doubling his worry and making him feel inadequate, but it is so isolating for me. Wandering around the house again at 4am, plotting and planning, scheming and rehearsing things to say to people who might want money or who don't understand. Putting a shiny face on to friends and family - out of pride, since we are not charity cases, but also out of compassion, since there isn't much they can do anyway.

I am the strong one.  Since I was little, I sucked it up, spat it out and soldiered onward. But I am realising that being strong and tough isn't always enough. I am lonely and scared. When you are tough, you are supposed to handle it. There's no sitting in a corner with your arms around your knees, feeling sorry for yourself. Because if YOU fall apart, what on earth does that mean for those around you who are relying on you? It means their world gets all distorted and right now, the world is skewed enough. And I don't need or want any more responsibility for anyone else's world view.

So.

A big ball of something sour sitting in my gut. Tangled streams of negativity snarled in my head, looping endlessly. No where for any of it to go, so I stamp it down and paper it over with thoughts of Christmas, or our new home, or teaching my 2 year old to read. Smash it down and dare it to resurface.

I wish it was next month. This is tiring.

Hunting.

We've been househunting. Seems like the thing to do, cash up, take advantage of ridiculous Sydney real estate and blow the rat race for a quieter cheaper life up the coast.

I'd forgotten just how dreadful looking for a new home is.

There may be truthful real estate agents out there but not the ones we are dealing with. The ones we met are only acquainted with truth in advertising if it is hair replacement surgery.

Why, when you specify a FOUR bedroom house, do they waste your time with a THREE bedroom house? I mean this one guy showed us one that not only was THREE bedrooms, but it was painted in early institution (think: Prison beige, army green, hospital blue), a kitchen that had lovely fake plastic wood benchtops and as its basement it had....

...a pile of dirt and rocks with support beams. No kidding. Big old piles of earth. Chunks of old concrete poking out and earthworms crawling about. The look of absolute horror on my face made the agent pause, but only for a nanosecond. It became, the 'prime place for a wine cellar'. Yeah, if you were used to living in a cave perhaps.

And just what about my earnest clear-eyed gaze and my shiny hair and lack of facespackle made him think I was into a wine cellar?!? Matey - if it's bought, we drink it. The record for a bottle of wine in our house is 3 days. And that was for a bottle we were saving.

Oh and perhaps the widening of the road in front won't necessarily affect that house, but er... why are the owners selling then? Perhaps bucolic evenings spent on the front deck inhaling exhaust fumes and listening to 18 wheelers change gear is not to their taste, either?

And then we saw a nice-ish place, but with a pool. Hmmm. Not really into the whole pool thing. I grew up with them and they can be fun, but only if you are a kid. If you are a grownup, they are constant reminders of water bills, chlorine top ups, concrete cracks and leaf skimmers. But hey... it had a 'spa'. Hmmmm. Not really keen on those either, to be honest. They are things that seem better in fantasy then reality. I mean there you are, bobbing around nekkid in someone else's dead skin and pubes. Or worse if you've been frisky in the past week or so. And guess who'd be cleaning it? Yuk. Rather save it for a dirty weekend where I can torment the maid service. And wave around a bottle of champagne and a joint without the neighbours dialing the authorities.

So. No house this week. Almost waffled over a chalet type thingie which was beautifully laid out with decks and views of aussie rain forest until I realised we would be paying for what was essentially a glorified ski chalet with a view of cows. Nope. Thanks, I used to TRASH chalets - I don't want to relive those memories in a place I pay a mortgage on.

So, here we are. All we want is a 4 bedroom house, that's got a reasonable yard and that doesn't have crackheads, bikies, ho's or Mary Kay saleswomen for neighbours. This may be an impossible dream. Stay tuned,

Next.

My hub is outta work again, with no prospects on the horizon. We spent this morning, Saturday, sucking up disapproval and disdain at the Welfare office. May that person who assisted us rot in that special circle of hell reserved for pompous officials and be forever tormented by jamming staplers, photocopiers that accordion copies and computer keyboards with a missing 'H' key. My next job will be to hire and fire government employees after administering them particularly humiliating means and capabilities tests.

It's rained for the past 6 days straight. My sole achievement has been to invent new ways to eat Nutella and toast. I have perfected my 'brooding stare' while glaring out at the gloomy sky and the mudhole that is our yard. My next yard will be green tarmac and cacti and I will have an outdoor bar fridge.

I hate my dog. She shits more than a full grown milk heifer and scratches all the time, despite her owners spending a fortune on skin treatments and flea medicine. She rolls in one more dead thing, I am leaving the back yard gate open and removing her collar. My next pet will be a rock. I am no good on disgusting habits in something that I didn't birth.

My kid is in the midst of potty training herself. Mainly cos I could not give a rats whether she waddles into high school with Depends on or not. So she is doing it to spite me. You go, girl. I am the poster child for slacker mothers everywhere. Proof positive benign neglect works on occasion - especially when your child is as bloody minded as mine. My next parenting task will be to get her to eat carrots, cos that sure as hell ain't happening.

Hub and I are closer than ever. Go figure. Someone somewhere has my psyche and isn't having a good time. I sure don't feel like me. Maybe it's merely that we have become foxhole buddies - arms cradling our heads, shoulders hunkered down, waiting for the shit storm to pass. My next relationship will be with him, because it keeps changing as soon as I get a handle on it.

My writing voice seems to have deserted me, leaving me fragments of ideas but no real idea of how to get them down and into shape. Perhaps that's the weather, perhaps it's our situation, perhaps I have lost it for good. I don't think so, not yet, anyway. My next blog will have a theme of some kind. Any ideas?