2 Jul 2014
This is why people avoid having children. Because they always ask the curly questions at breakfast time when you haven’t got the time to formulate an appropriate response which ticks all the ‘model positive non gender specific body imagery to my daughters’ boxes.
My darling husband was asked if he had make-up on as he dashed out the door this morning. He calls back ‘No’. She yells ‘Why?’. He yells as he opens the door ‘Because I’m a boy’ and out he goes.
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| Ahem Nick. Real men wear make up |
You’ll be pleased everybody that even has he shouted back you could hear him trailing his answer off thinking ‘Damn it, Al’s going to have to explain that boys can wear make up if they want to as well. I should have thought that through more’. Either that or it was just the door slamming as he bolted for the bus I could hear pulling up even as he vanished into the day.
Actually, lets be honest. He never gave it another thought. And he made the bus.
‘Mama, do you have make-up on’.
‘Yes’.
‘Why?’
‘Ummmmmmm, it makes me feel tidy’.
Yep. That’s what I came up with. It makes me feel TIDY. I have never in my life sought a state of ‘TIDY’. I don’t even know what the freaky fahk I meant. Thankfully, she’s three.
‘Oh. Like when we pick up the toys?’
‘Yes. Do you want some more milk?’
‘Yes. Can I leave the table?’
‘When you finish your milk.’
And the morning fell into its usual state of pre child-care chaos. But I know that she will come back to this question, and that her sister will as well. And I am going to need a better answer than ‘TIDY’. ‘TIDY’ is up there with ‘I carried a watermelon’.
Why do I wear make-up? If I was brutally honest with myself it’s because I don’t have the self confidence to face the day with my own, um, well, face. The evening out of 39 year old skin with a bit of foundation, some mascara to open up the eye, eyeliner because otherwise everybody asks if I’m tired, all makes me feel a little more confident.
Even when I’m working from home. Alone.
Basically – make-up gives me ‘GAME ON’ face. It’s part of the uniform. It’s dress up. It’s as much part of my routine as deodorant and moisturiser.
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| Bringing his game face |
This is not the appropriate response to give small people. I know that. I absolutely do.
So when they ask again? What am I going to say?
Probably ‘Ummmmmmm, do you want some more milk?’.
What would you say?
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1 Jul 2014
Bucket lists are all the rage right now. Lots of things to put on a long list of things you do before you kick the bucket. Which means DIE.
But you’re putting it on a list and you don’t have a clue when you’re going to, you know, kick the bucket. DIE.
So your bucket list is just a list of things that you are putting off doing because you’re assuming you’re going to live forever or at least have some clue about your departure date. Dude. Rethink.
You are totally not going to live forever. And death is no more reliable about sticking to schedule than Tiger Airlines. Quite simply, that list is going to look pretty pathetic taped to the outside of your coffin as it steams towards the conveyor belt taking you to be cremated. Or buried if you’re like so last century about death. (Personally, I’d prefer they were sure I was dead by actively burning me rather than giving me a little bell to ring through the top of my coffin should I wake up and think bugger! I never got through that list)
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| It was really a thing. I don’t make everything up |
Bucket lists are full of awesome things to do LATER. Maybe it’s just me and my legendary impatience but I don’t get the concept of LATER when it’s things you want to do which will only make your life more interesting.
And nobody ever puts ‘Fight with my brother so we never speak again’ on their bucket list do they? It’s only positive things. Fun things. Life affirming things. Things like ‘Ring my brother who I haven’t spoken to for 48 years and say sorry for saying his wife was a fat cow’ (and don’t say ‘even though she was’ afterwards)
Bucket lists are things you want to do because they appeal. But they appeal NOW. They might not appeal when you’re 110 and more likely to break.
I checked out the bucket list site and it’s full of things like donate blood (done), bungee jump (done), parasail (done), get a tattoo (done), go caving (done), abseil (done), go snorkelling (done), get married (done), ride an elephant (done), go ziplining (done), run a marathon (a half will do thanks), go skinny dipping (done), go to Australia (done), Paris (done), fall in love (done done done), buy a house (done), whale watch (done). The list goes on and DONE DONE DONE.
Not because I am awesome (okay I am) but because I can’t be guaranteed that LATER is going to give me the same opportunities. And definitely not at the same cost. Because nothing ever gets cheaper.
Don’t get me wrong – there are things I’ve tried and I will not be trying again.
- Turns out I suck at professional hula hooping – I can NOT swivel my hips smoothly – so unless you need a hula hooper that only hulas on her neck or arm, I’m not your girl.
- Belly dancing – I was okay at stage one but moving onto the second stage proved I was more ‘Thunderbirds are go!’ than exotic dancer.
- Ukelele playing – I did lessons. But I’m tone deaf, can’t tune my ukelele and I only just cracked “You are my sunshine” by the end with absolutely no hope of ever being the next amazingly talented Israel Kamakawiwo`ole.
My point is – people aren’t putting things off that are impossible. They are putting off experiences and encounters which speak to them now. Sure, put ‘make a zillion dollars and go to space with Richard Branson’ on a list. That requires more than good intent and some judicious budgeting.
And don’t blame your children or your partner or your job. The only thing that ever stops you trying new things is you. Your children are not going to suffer from you throwing yourself naked into a river under a full moon or because you get a tattoo that says ‘Jokes on you’ in chinese characters on your shin. They can watch you run and probably, inescapably, they will be way better at hula hooping when they try it.
So write a list. Write a TO DO SOON list. Cross bucket off that list for good. Unless you have a hankering to buy like a thousand buckets. In which case, get to it. Those buckets don’t buy themselves.
Sighs. Looks at list. Exasperated rant about people procrastinating about life (Done)
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30 Jun 2014
There comes a time in a woman’s life when she should have the essentials. And I say 18 is that time. If you don’t have these things and you are over 18, head to the shops RIGHT NOW. You’re welcome.
1. A pair of black cotton briefs
Not a thong, not panties, not black mesh, not black with patterns. Plain black cotton briefs. Why? Because every woman going to have a massage should have a pair of knickers that show no grime, cover your back side and say nothing about you apart from ‘my nether regions are comfortably covered – please wake me in an hour’. Those masseuse types work magic. Show them the respect they deserve. Dress appropriately.
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| They don’t have to be THIS big |
2. A power tool
Whether it is a drill or a vibrator, by adulthood every self respecting woman should be able to do a bit of DIY in her own home. It’s that simple.
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| Beginner DIYers – this is not a vibrator |
3. A saucepan
Sure you cook with it – but you can also eat out of it, collect water in it should the roof spring a leak, wear it as a hat, plant herbs in it, make music with it when you’re pretending you’re a drummer in a rock and roll band, and very importantly, you can smash the head of unwanted intruders with it.
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| Lid optional |
4. A hoodie
There are going to be times in your life that not only do you need to be warm but you need to be relatively incognito. These are generally the mornings when you wake up and realise that you have nothing to eat and have to go to the local supermarket or drive through maccers before you can achieve basic milestones like showering. If you just go in normal clothes you will definitely run into your ex, your boss or that bitch from work. If you go in a hoodie – you are invisible. Fact.
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| Mmmmmm – hoodie |
5. A snow globe
Yes. A snow globe. If you have made it to adulthood without ever going somewhere that immortalises itself in a snow globe, you have not gone far enough from your comfort zone. Snow globes are tangible evidence you have been somewhere and done something that you really want to remember and the only thing perfect enough is a plastic vista in a plastic dome where snow falls all year round (even though you probably were trekking the sahara desert on a camel when you came across this random souvenir shop selling snow globes). Or at the Gold Coast.
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| You thought I was exaggerating didn’t you? |
What other essential items should all women have? Have I forgotten something you think is key?
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26 Jun 2014
So you know Jodie from Fresh Home Cook?
You don’t? Well she and I met last year and became instant friends because we both LOVE cooking and gardening and growing organic produce. True story. Except the bit about us both loving cooking, gardening and growing organic produce. She does. She has a whole blog about this kind of stuff which is actually written easily enough for me to substitute the word organic with tinned whenever I’m short of something to cook and she’s a bit of a life observer and honest writer and I like that stuff!
That aside – we became friends because she is lovely and kind and I pretended to be as well and so with all those things in common – Voila!
Jodie asked me to be part of the Blog-hop which is where we blogger types explore why we do what we do and then we tell you about three other people we think are awesome so you get to meet some other bloggers. There’s heaps of them HERE where it all began if you want to meander through some interesting tales after you finish my tale of derring do.
Anyway…. here goes. And Jodie – thanks for the invite lovely. xx
What am I working on?
I would like to say a book. And I’d like to say it’s a book that starts with the line “It’s just a book, a book, a book, about ping pong”. But I’m not. In blogging land I write dependent on mood, the news, the world around me, something that’s piqued my interest and the notes I scribble down at odd times. And whatever stupid thing Tony has said that has set me off this week. I rarely work on anything in advance – I just knock it out and send it into the wide wide world.
In work land, I’m working on a social media strategy for a company that hired me to do just that. Then I’ll do their content plan. In writing land, I’m fleshing out a couple of articles that deal with issues that end in ‘ism’ and I keep getting side tracked by the amazing things the people I want to quote have done.
In real life, I’m working on no less than 19 games of Words with Friends (the Scrabble ripoff we all use on our phone – Scrabble missed the boat there didn’t they???), a laundry pile that never ends and a sense of fiscal responsibility. Oh and setting a good example to two small humans.
How does my writing differ from those in my genre?
See I don’t really have a genre. There isn’t really a space in blogging land for bolshie, opinionated, apathy hating, outspoken women who aren’t really good at anything. I am not qualified to offer parenting advice, crafting advice, cooking advice, gardening advice, life advice. I mean my only domestic skill is I live in a house. I got nothing. No special languages, no callings, no tragedy, no fashion sense, no secret life, no idea how to put on liquid eyeliner or clean a wheelie bin.
If you think of a niche, a genre for me to slot into – please let me know. Whenever you try to pitch a blog based on observation, commentary and opinion – they ask about what. And apparently ‘ummm, anything’ doesn’t help them narrow it down.
Why do I write?
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Gratuitous shot of my gorgeous girls
They are MUCH better at conversation now |
Because I like it. I love it. I always have. I should have done it when I left school and spent the last twenty years filling pages and pages of space with words. But I didn’t. And then a couple of years ago I was home with two small people, one of whom did nothing but suck the goodness out of my boobs and sleep and the other whose conversation consisted of ‘mama’, ‘daddy’, ‘baby’, ‘book’, ‘PLAY SCHOOL’ and I really needed to put my thoughts into some kind of coherent arrangement so they stopped festering in restless abandon inside my brain box.
And blogging punched me in the face and said ‘Pick me you daft eejit’.
And then I realised I could talk about anything I wanted and have an opinion on EVERYTHING and because it was my blog, nobody could stop me. I didn’t tell people I wrote for ages. And now I’m still writing and it’s re-energised in me a desire to write ALL THE TIME even using facts sometimes and not just for the blog.
But one of the things I like about writing is that there is so much in people’s heads that when you share your words, your opinion, your thoughts, your observations – people respond. Because they agree or disagree and if I’d never written anything down, we’d all be walking around with our thoughts in our heads and be oblivious of all these amazing people that really think STRONGLY about stuff. And I love that. Like really love that.
How does my process work?
In blog land – Have a thought. Bang it out. Find a picture or two. Re-read to check spelling and grammar. Click publish. Wait for my sister to text me telling me I used ‘then’ rather than ‘than’ or ‘ate’ rather than ‘eight’ or whatever first grade error I have made despite my strident opposition to these careless errors. Thanks Jen.
In work land – research, innovate, write lots of words, shuffle them around so they make sense and sound just right for the client, check to make sure I’ve done what I need to do, review, send off to client. Repeat as necessary. Send invoice.
In writing land –
There are two approaches here
1. research, write, get distracted by internet story at the bottom of the article you were reading for research, write, worry, write, worry, write, have a toilet break, pick up the children, pour a glass of wine, sleep, write, delete. Start again.
2. SHIT IS THAT THE TIME???? Write 500 – 1000 words. Submit.
Jodie also asked was there something as a teenager I did I would like to take back?
On the off chance my parents DO NOT KNOW, I”m not telling. Sorry Jodie, that one we’ll keep for the next shared glass bottle of wine.
Who is next?
I would like to introduce you to Rory, Seamus and Kylie.
Rory from Memoirs of the Mind was one of my early blog discoveries and I remain very attached to his blog. It’s real. I like that.
Welcome to Memoirs of the Mind! This blog is a journey. It is a person’s life. It is not about 5 tips for this or 10 tips for that. It is not about perfection. It is about imperfection. It is about struggle. It is about first world problems, first world successes. It is about every day highs and lows. It is a quest for understanding. It is a search for acceptance. It is a wallow in self-pity or an inspiration for those whom it might inspire.
There is a story here. There is a story in every human life. So many of which are left untold. And at the end of the day that’s what I am. I am human. I make mistakes. I love, laugh, cry, judge, hurt… …dream. I pray, hate, succeed, fail, dance… …hide. I strain. I struggle, fight, play, fall, get up, run, walk, stumble… …crawl. And someday…I will die. I soldier on in the greatest marathon of all. The marathon of life. A marathon run by countless billions. A marathon which no one has ever failed to finish. This is a record of my marathon. It is a human account. I hope that you might join me in my journey. Because truly, as human beings, we are already all in this together.
Seamus is a father of two, husband of one and a high school teacher of dozens.
He is also a tree changer living in Central Victoria, a geek, ancient literature buff and a try-hard greenie.
(He is all that but he’s so much more – read him and read him often)
Last but by no means least is Kylie from A Study In Contradictions who has made me snort liquid through my nose on more than one occasion so please – avoid hot drinks while reading.
Kylie is a wife, mother, book lover and wannabe photographer.
Kylie is mum to two gorgeous girls, wife to long-suffering husband Dave, and has unhealthy crushes on Daddy Pig and Jimmy Giggle (and Hoot)
(and she’s funny and has less filter than me – I salute her!)
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26 Jun 2014
The great thing about idle conversations is the things you learn that you didn’t even know were things.
You with me? You know when you’re like la la la kinesiology, fathers, horses, bowen therapy. And that’s a legit link. Like a legit legit thing.
Well allow me to add to your dinner party conversations for the next week or two. Here are five things that I have discovered are ‘THINGS’ in the last couple of weeks.
1. Bowen Therapy for Horses
Therapy is a hands on vibrational technique to alleviate pain and acute conditions. It’s about rebalancing the body and mind. It’s part of the holistic/natural therapies world and I suspect you’re either a big believer or not.
That said, I had heard of Bowen Therapy. But Bowen Therapy for Horses? I had not. It’s officially called ‘Equine Bowen Therapy’ and is used to promote self healing in horses to bring them back to peak performance and optimal health and wellbeing.
Some people’s entire job is providing Bowen Therapy to horses. True.
If you don’t believe me. Google it.
2. Cat cafes
If there was ever proof needed that dogs have owners, cats have staff – this is it. I originally thought that it was animal ownership gone completely bonkers and they were going to pay to take their cats to a cafe for a bowl of milk but no.
What it is is a cafe where you can go and have your latte and biscuit and then pay per hour to go into rooms or designated areas specifically to play with cats. Apparently it’s for people that don’t have cats or can’t have cats. Pay per hour to play with cats.
There are so many terrible jokes and comparisons to be made here, but I’m leaving it alone and just saying cat cafes are a thing and the first Australian one has just opened in Melbourne. Thus chipping away at Melbourne’s ‘tray cool’ image a little and leaving us more with a crazy cat lady vibe. But there you go.
3. The Peter Andre Channel
You know you’re going to try and find this so let me help you – The Peter Andre Channel. It’s a thing. There is a whole channel dedicated to pictures of Pete, his new album, pictures of him and some videos of his life lessons and what not.
He’s clothed in a lot of the pictures so things must be evolving. He’s stolen Robbie Williams’ look from about ten years ago but there is still enough shots of his pecs for the fans dedicated to his true and abiding talent. You can even post your own picture there on the fans page.
Peter Andre has a fan club. Who knew? Who who who and why?
4. The Whisper App
It’s an app described as the anti-Facebook and a good way to combat cyber bullying. Basically people post secrets on photos and post them on this app and you can talk with them via the app but preserve your anonymity. Interestingly it’s been a bit of a god-send for people in countries with escalating violence as a means of getting news out anonymously with no repercussions for the person posting it.
Apart from that it’s a time waster of no apparent value except realising that people have very different versions of what constitutes a secret. Being app-curious – I downloaded it and my personal verdict is about 90% of contributors appear to need therapy or new friends and the last 10% should get themselves to an open mic session. Too funny.
5. Fetish boot camp
If going to boot camp wasn’t already a strange and kinky enough obsession, a woman called Madame Anna has set up Fetish Boot Camps where you can do your push ups attached to nipple clamps, have her hit you while you do exercises, wear face masks while you do burpees – all in the name of fitness.
But she draws the line at having smelly feet or holding cigarettes for clients to help them get their fitness on. She see BDSM as a natural progression for the agony that is boot camp. And while I’m 100% with her on boot camp being unnecessarily hard work, there is nothing that would make me think ‘aha, well if I do some rowing with weights attached to my privates, it’ll make the pain worth it.’
And that my friends is why I will never be stupidly rich – I NEVER have these kinds of ideas. And if you want to sign up to her fetish fitness classes you can jolly well google it yourself.
And that’s the end of my little list of things I didn’t know were things before I had conversations with other people. And why some people just stick to the weather when having conversations. Apparently.
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24 Jun 2014
As a professional profaner, I am often amused when my friends come around and say the word ‘bum’ in front of my children and then immediately blush and stammer out an apology. I am their mother. They are exposed to my irresponsible vocabulary all the time and have never once used a swear word.
Except for the time their generally better behaved father said ‘Tosser’ in front of them once and they misheard it as ‘sausage’. It was adorable. Despite the air being regularly coloured with descriptive language, strongly fortified with appropriate obscenities, they don’t swear. Yet.
It’s inevitable. And not because of their ‘nuture’ environment. If the nature versus nuture argument had any weight at all, my practically teetotaller, non profaning mother would never have been blessed with a cursing boozehound as a daughter.
Kids use words to explore emotions, get reactions, articulate ideas, communicate, retaliate and relate. They are obviously going to use words that get a reaction. They are going to use words that help them fit in with their peers, make them giggle or that they just like the sound of when they say it out loud.
Like chortle. That’s an awesome word to say out loud. The girls are currently also big fans of the word ‘fart’ and ‘poo’. Preferably yelled loudly while giggling at their own hilariousness.
But I know they are going to use words that hurt as they struggle to make sense of the world around them and surging hormones, fickle friends, failures and fights. The siblings’ occasional hair pulling will slide into door slamming, foot stamping and ‘You bitch’ being screeched through the door. Puberty is hell. We all know that.
Maybe I’m odd, but I’m okay with it. Because there are worse things they could say, particular to each other or their friends. They could call somebody a fat cow, or useless. They could diss the sister of a school friend with Down’s syndrome. They could call people names prefaced with words based on appearance like ‘Four-eyes’ or ‘ugly’ or ‘big nose’ or the like. They could dismiss a point of view based on acne, choose friends based on perfect teeth or the brand name of their sneakers. They could attempt to cover their own insecurity by exposing their friends’ secrets or fears.
Worst of all they could hear me talk about them, their father or other people like that. They could hear me express my frustration by saying things like “you’re useless”, “you’re stupid” or “why can’t you be more like your sister”, “you’re dumb”, “you’re an idiot”, “bloody (insert race/nationality/religion here). They could hear their parents belittle people based on their income or their beliefs or their fashion approach.
They could grow up thinking that somehow they were on a winning ticket because of skin colour or their education. Or they could have the misfortune to be parented by a woman like the mother at the park the other day where she yelled, along with a plethora of other charming statements, at her maybe 3 year old “I should have aborted you you worthless shit.”
In that sentence, the wounding, the rude and offensive was not in the swear word. And that was what she was prepared to say in public. It breaks your heart.
Sure, it’d be great if I could remember to say ‘bother’ rather than ‘For fuck’s sake’ when I read something in the paper that annoys me or ‘ouch’ when I kick my toe hard enough to break, but we all know that those words don’t come close to expressing the full gamut of emotions. If a picture paints a thousand words, one decent swear word can write a novel. A wonderful articulate and universally understood novel.
The power of words is not in those deemed ‘swear’ words. It’s the personalised adjectives prefacing them. It’s the use of a descriptive word to diminish somebody. It’s in the anger that simmers beneath the words or the venom in which they are hissed. It’s the repetition, the determination with which words are used to make somebody else feel small.
Those are the words that I will find offensive when my children use them. Those are the words that I will work with them to find alternatives and to work out a better way to communicate emotions and ideas. And yes, I will encourage them not to swear – the classic do as I say, not as I do. And they will probably learn about swear jars and make me have one and they will retire billionaires before they reach high school.
In the meantime, before I fund their retirement, I will continue to try to swear less and take deep breaths before uttering an ‘Oh bother’, and where possible, refrain from reading about Australian politics in front of the children.
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