Sorry, but it’s true.

In fact, why am I saying sorry to you, you don’t have to live with him, you don’t have to put up with his higher than thou ways or his complete lack of commitment to parenting techniques that we have discussed, time & time again, you don’t have to be put down in front of your child(ren) when you try to discipline them DESPITE agreeing on NUMEROUS occasion that we would show a united front before the children and discuss differences on how the situation might have been managed AFTER the event.

So again, why do I say sorry to you.  I refuse, absolutely refuse to deny the fact that he acted out of line in confronting me in front of my child and during a moment when I was trying to discipline him.  I refuse to say that I was wrong and I refuse to apologise for my outburst (in front of the children for which I am ashamed).  It won’t hurt the kids to know that I, just as much as they can, can feel victimized and talked over, over looked and devalued.

Screw you arsehole, take your poxie flowers from Valentine’s and shove them firmly up your arse.


I just read a Facebook post from my 19 year niece

“Fuking Centerlink is so fuked up malaki running a muck and im just sitting back letting him be loud and naughty, they might get us in and out!! I HOPE…”

Besides the obvious spelling error, seems she forgot the class in which they taught you how to spell profanities correctly, I am speechless and ashamed to read such a post, would be by anyone let alone someone I am related to.

Centrelink (for non Australian readers) is part of our welfare system designed to help people out in times of need and keep them out of poverty.  It is meant as a safety net when times are tough.

My beautiful niece, most of her friends and a reasonable percentage of people using Centrelink and collecting welfare (or the dole as we sometimes less eloquently call it) regard it as a right.  They are Entitled to a free living and pity the poor chap at Centrelink (whom is Working for their living) that gets in the way of their free paycheck.

I normally support a welfare state, I think it is important to assist people in times of need and crisis and I am proud to live in a country that allows people to be knocked over knowing a helping hand is there if required.  I am not proud of my niece, her welfare cheating buddies and people like them whom have never tried to get a job, never tried to get a decent education knowing they don’t need to as their biggest plan in life is to collect welfare.

The nerve to then complain about having to sit in a room with other like minded people to occasionally have to lie through your teeth as to why you still need welfare and can’t get a job!  I feel for the people that are there genuinely seeking support and assistance, it must make them feel horrible knowing that by collecting welfare most people put them in the same pile as those who cheat the system.

It’s time we expected more from our welfare recipients, demanded that if they can’t find work as they claim and don’t have a disability that they do some further study, do volunteer work, make the poor workers at Centrelink a coffee so they can deal with the next irate welfare cheater and her naughty child.


I went to a ‘workshop’ last night entitled “Play is the Way” hosted by a gentleman with great enthusiasm for his job and passionate
about his programme.

Basically the premise was that “Children do not fail, systems, programmes, teachers & parents fail, children do not fail”.

I agree entirely with this premise, but what a wake up.

Everything I do, everything I say, in some way, shape or form, manifests itself in my children and either enables them to succeed or results in their failure.

Like I didn’t already place an enormous amount of stress on myself as a parent and the influence I am having on my children!

It’s important to note though, and for me the reason why I enjoy these types of ‘workshops’, nothing he said, nothing he ‘touted’  new.  It’s simply that we have forgotten these simple truths through constant marketing demanding that our jobs as parents is not to raise well adjusted adults but to have a happy child.

Through constant marketing we have been made to feel that if my child is not happy, right here, right now, I have somehow failed that child and become less than that perfect parent I want to be.

When did we begin to assume that parenting was a perfect occupation?

Why do we expect so much of ourselves when all our child asks for is love?

Who do we model ourselves on and when parenting with a partner how do you align two different histories into one coherent parenting practise?

When do we require our children to be more?

When do we say “enough, you work it out for yourself?”

Whilst my children are relatively still young, it is the complaint of “the younger generation”, the “generation Y’s” that suggests to me that we are yet to make this demand of the up and coming, the people that I hope will lead the way, in technology, in kindness, in environmental responsibility, yet, if I am to believe the workshop last night (which I do), it is not their fault.

The system, education, you & I failed them and in doing so failed ourselves.

One statement he made still reverberates in my mind, and eases some of my guilt.  He said, “100-80 years ago we all had 10-12 children so didn’t have the time for poor old Jack/John/Lucy, we simply told him/her to deal with it, get over it, which they

Do I, do we, have the courage to demand more of our children, in order for them to be all it is they can be?

Can I let them go long enough for them to be truly happy…….free?

I am not the adventurous type.

Never have been.

I’ve always done my best to avoid anything remotely “scary”, show rides, jumping off things or pretty much anything that involves me getting out of my comfort zone.

I hate heights.  That is anything that involves going down from a height.  Going up, great.  Standing, looking out over a horizon at a huge height, amazing.  Having to physically descend, bloody scary.  I even refused to go into a temple at Angkor Wat, THE temple to go into, just because I knew sooner or later I’d have to climb down.

Generally I don’t trust myself to get myself out of a tricky situation, and whilst I’m being honest, hate the thought that people will see me as inadequate in my attempts, so I play it safe by not attempting.

I attempted, tried, and succeeded last weekend.

I climbed, waded through water, scaled rocks, pushed myself even though I really just wanted to stop. “Here is fine thanks, this will do…..you keep going”.  It was so worth it.  To get through it, with my husband and two boys was amazing and I’m ridiculously  proud of myself knowing I could have quit at any point.

Thanks to my wonderful boys that gave me the courage to not wimp out.

We made it!

At the entrance to Kermit pool

The way we’d come

So here I am, hand sewing a handmade (see extremely dodgy) cloth sign onto my 6 years olds shirt to get him ready for a fancy dress day at school, when between pricking my fingers with the needle I have a little laugh and think “if only 20 something me could see me now”.

Actually, and to be honest it is probably a good thing she/me can’t as this certainly isn’t something I thought I’d ever “sign” up for, but, somehow, I think it is the best decision, or non-decision, I’ve ever made.

I never wanted children, a husband, to be a stay at home mum, live in the burbs (or a country town as it turns out now), I never thought I’d wake up and spend the rest of my day looking after, caring for, providing, nurturing someone else, but here I am.

And I wouldn’t for the 30 something life of me be anywhere else.

His Zac Power shirt (Zac Power label by me over a Billabong label), spy phone, stink bomb, ID Card, Lanard card and GIB timing devise

And because I’m soo chuffed at my work…………another view

So I got some “legal” type papers in the mail the other day, you know the ones where you have to fill everything out in block letters, black ink only, filled out under the light on a waning moon.
To complete it to the companies satisfaction the form also requires that two people witness my signature.
Big deal really…..except I hardly know two people yet in my new home town let alone two people who I would feel comfortable asking to witness my signature.
So why do I have to know these people, surely I can just go to a police station or the local doctors/pharmacists to get a witness, only that would be admitting my solitude and make me feel even more pathetic than I already do.
So why can’t I ask the few friendly, nice, lovely people who I have become acquaintances with?  Why does it feel so odd to ask them?  I know they would, it’s not like they are signing away their first-born, just witnessing my crazy piece of scribble on a page.  Why does it make me feel odd?  A loner?  A bit of a sad case?  A Nigel No Mates.
Maybe by reaching out and asking for such a simple thing, people will realise how isolated you can be as the new face in town, maybe remind them of what it was like and encourage them to reach out?
Or maybe, like me, they’ll just find me a little bit sad.

Just for today

Just for today I want to

Not have to think about what I’m having for dinner the second I wake up so I can get something out of the freezer.

Not make my bed, and especially not make the kids beds, like they care how their bed looks anyhow.

Not do the laundry, so I don’t have to worry about hanging it up, bringing it in, folding it, putting it away…..

Not do the dishes, again, and then again and just for laughs, again.

Not worry that I should really be putting that water from the saucepan I just boiled an egg in into another container so it can cool and be used to later water the plants with.

Not worry about makeup, I’m tired and drawn out and quite honestly sick of pretending otherwise.

Just for today I want to hide, be anything another than a mother who needs to pull her socks up, put on a happy face and show an interest in every pretend monster or little game they play.

Just for today I want to wallow, be still.  See no one.  Do nothing except maybe sigh at the mundaneness of it all.

Just be.  Just for today.

I’ll pull my socks up tomorrow.