My 'baby'

I am sitting in hospital this morning with my 'baby' who is having some minor oral surgery today. He is having some teeth removed mainly because i am a dentaphobe and want him to be fast asleep while any hideous dental procedure is done. But it is a horrible feeling watching one of your children go under.

My 'baby' is almost thirteen. He will turn 13 just before my eldest turns 20 so I will have four months of having three teenagers in the house. *shudders. Apparently mothers who continue to refer to their youngest child as their 'baby' may do so until they are middle aged. I hope so!

I never really intended having a third child. The Lawyer always wanted a third but I am one of those people who hated being pregnant, as nice as the end result is. I suffered terribly with migraine headaches and heartburn during my pregnancies. And having had post natal depression after my second (anally retentive control freak having two babies is a recipe for disaster) I didn't want to go through that ever again. So all in all I was not keen.

But after some pressure from the person who doesn't have to gestate a baby, get heartburn, migraine headaches, heat rash, breast feed, give up his career etc etc etc, I gave him ONE shot at it. ONE. I went off the pill for one month only. Both previous children were obtained from small doses of ovulation inducing drugs so I was fairly confident that it wouldn't happen.

When, about 4 weeks later I started salivating excessively ( some pregnancy symptoms are weird and this was the giveaway for me before anything else) I went and got the home pregnancy test knowing and dreading what it would say.

And you know what? When that little line came up telling me I was pregnant, all of that fear, uncertainty and dread disappeared. I was so inexplicably excited. I was having another baby! We had friends who were horrified that we would go back but there you have it. We were having a third child.

Even though I had given away every item of baby paraphernalia, and clothing and had to start again, here I was at almost 40 about to have a baby. Turns out, it was the easiest of pregnancies. I had a 4 and 6 year old who were at the stage of dressing themselves, cleaning their own teeth, using their opposable thumbs effectively, and it was a busy time. So busy I didn't really have time to think about being pregnant and HAVING ANOTHER BABY.

He was to be born on 4 January 2000 by c-section. Remember the Y2K drama? All I was worried about was not having an anesthetist with drugs available because all of everything was going to shut down at midnight before the new year. Turns out I wasted a perfectly good worry, as did everyone.

I had 18 people for lunch Christmas day that year. 10 days before my new baby was to be born. As you do.

On boxing day it hit me. I was having another baby. My others were about to turn 5 and 7. What the hell was i doing? Did I have everything I needed? I couldn't remember how to change a nappy. I remembered the thermo nuclear explosion in the nipples in the first few weeks of breast feeding and went cold. How was I going to get my others to school and pre school with a new baby? What if he or she was awake all night? What if the other children hated the new baby?.

On the way to hospital I started shaking and crying. I don't know why. Once at hospital and prepped, The obstetrician was worried that I was worried about his skill (hey, narcissists, everything is not about you!). I couldn't explain it. The Lawyer was forlorn not understanding and I just couldn't explain it.

Next thing I remember I had a beautiful baby boy in my arms. I have no memory of the epidural the surgery or any conversation during the surgery. I don't understand that either. Fear and anxiety made me almost unconscious it seems.

And all of a sudden nothing else mattered. Other than the fact that I had very fat babies and he had incredibly skinny legs which I noticed for some reason. He was the easiest of babies. Slept through the night at 12 weeks (although his big sister did so at 6 weeks, which really set up high expectations). Fitted in to whatever was happening. His brother and sister adored him. Could watch him while i did other things - hell my daughter even was able to bottle feed him. And she could read to him. We moved house when he was 4 weeks old. As you do. I supervised building a new house which we moved into when he was 11 months old. As you do. And I went back to work when he was 8 months old- And all the while he smiled and laughed and kept everyone entertained. And I did not once get that feeling of being low let alone depressed.


As he got older difficulties I wasn't expecting arose- sometimes it was like two generations in the one house and there was a constant refrain 'hurry up Harry', 'keep up Harry' from his siblings. He has of late been the constant butt of teasing from his older siblings but I just keep telling him he will soon be taller than both of them and they'll be scared of him and that it will make him very tough and resilient.

I adore all of my children. They are all different and all have fine qualities and are growing up to be good people. Although being tidy is not a skill any of them have. Of all my children my 'baby' is the one, for some reason, who is most sensitive to my moods. He can tell if I am sad, worried or anxious. He asks if i need help with anything. On my first mothers day after my mother died his card wishing me a happy mothers day referred to my mum being with us in spirit. I hadn't said anything to anyone about my feelings about that mothers day. He thanked his teacher for coming on school camp, acknowledging that she had two children of her own that she had to leave behind to come to camp with them. His grade 4 teacher wrote on his report card that 'he has a kind heart, and is always first to offer help to those students who need it'. He volunteered to buddy up for a whole year with a severely autistic boy in the class and just shrugged off teasing from the other kids for being his friend. He told me everyone deserves to have at least one friend. He was the only one to invite that boy to a birthday party that year. And he gave me a new, if limited, understanding of how hard it must be for parents of children anywhere on the autism spectrum.

So he is turning 13 in the New Year and I am very glad I gave The Lawyer that one shot at the third child. He completed our little family and makes my heart swell.





- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

How not to take up Yoga

I am generally regarded by my nearest and dearest, and sometimes by people I meet for the first time,  as a stressed and anxious person.  I have learned to accept this – most of the time. I cope and cope and cope, take on more and more until I get that 'oh oh' feeling, realise I am over stressed and over anxious and have a small-medium meltdown. Occasionally these are witnessed, but usually I have them on my own because that's how stoic copers are meant to be.  I never have a nervous breakdown - I prefer to think of them as perfectly calm breakdowns.

Every New Year’s eve, my New Year’s resolution is to 'be serene'.  And every year, I fail miserably at being able to relax and take things easy.  Usually by January 3rd.  

The physical consequences of being a stress bunny is that my body reacts to this by tightening all the  muscles in my neck and shoulders, which builds up to the point where the referred pain from my neck turns into a migraine headache of massive proportion resulting in me taking handfuls of large pills, usually downed with alcohol in an attempt to get away from the pain.

I have tried many things over the years to learn how to relax.  I once went to a relaxation class and had such a bad panic attack when my body actually started to go into relaxation mode that I had to run away and never go back.

I have tried acupuncture, massage, meditation and a variety of other things, but the simple fact of the matter is this is who I am, and I generally just have to try and deal with it.

A very dear friend of mine came up with a brilliant suggestion recently of a way I could both relax and stretch all my muscles so that I would not be 'in so much pain'.  'Have you tried yoga?' she asked me.  I had in fact tried yoga once a long time ago and enjoyed it.  And lost three kilos without much effort.   She invited me to go with her to her Bikram yoga class.  I did not know what Bikram yoga was.  She said it was a yoga class done in a room heated to 37°; the theory being that the heat in the room allows you to stretch muscles more.  Seriously, another problem of mine is that if I decide to take something on, I generally take on the most difficult way of doing something to prove I can do it.  So Bikram yoga it was.

I bought my special yoga mat, dressed in specially purchased yoga pants and crop top  and took my water bottle with me.  In hindsight, I should have taken three water bottles with me. 

I went in with my friend, who explained to the person at the counter that I was new and was just wanting to try out the class casually that first time. I was smiled at beatifically, in that 'I'm a relaxed yoga aficionado' kind of way.    I noticed an odd smell and mentioned this to her.  She said that is one of the downsides of yoga being done in, effectively, a sauna, was that people sweated a lot, and that the room was carpeted, so it did smell of body odour and sweat.  'But you get used to it' she said.  Great.  So into the room we went.  It was so hot.  I thought I was going to faint even before the class started. Just from the stench alone.  However, I am not a quitter. I am NOT a quitter.

The other thing I did not realise apart from the smell is that the class went for 90 minutes, not an hour.  I took my watch off – I did not want to look at it.  I did manage to do the class quite 'easily' for the first 45 minutes.  Then my head started to spin.  My heart started to race and I thought I was going to throw up. I looked around at all the seemingly calm, sweating lithe and loose class members who all seemed to be coping just fine, even though half naked and dripping with sweat.  Apparently, it is frowned upon to leave the room during the class as it disturbs other people who are in some sort of sauna zen zone.  The instructor was not happy when I put my hand up to ask if I could leave the room, and indicated that it was best to try and breathe through the discomfort.

‘Really, would you rather I vomited in here or in the bathroom?'  Subtlety is not one of my strengths, especially when told I can't do something.

I opened the door to leave the room and the relief of the cool air outside was overwhelming.  But I had a brief rest outside the room and went back in and finished the class.  Just.  I managed the half moon pose, the awkward pose, camel, rabbit, cobra and locust.  The tree, the triangle and the balancing stick pose.  Amongst others.

When I came home and got on the scales, I had lost 600 grams, which I thought was just terrific.  Forgetting about my neck pain, I thought it was worth doing Bikram yoga just for the weight loss benefit.  However of course that 600 grams went back on as I drank my own body weight in water during the course of the rest of the day.  Unfortunately, one of the side effects of Bikram yoga is that because I became so dehydrated after 90 minutes of exercising in a sauna, I developed a migraine headache in the early afternoon and was a complete write-off for the rest of the day. Even with the gallons of water after the class.

I rang my friend and said I did not think Bikram yoga was for me.  She asked me to give it a go one more time, because it was so good and she loved it so much that she was sure I would learn love it, and it would be SO good for me.

So back I went the next week, with two bottles of water. 

I managed to last the distance without having to leave the room this time.  That was mainly because the male instructor that week was a very attractive young man wearing tight red swimming trunks, which as the class progressed and as he got sweatier and sweatier meant that the contents of his red swimming trunks were very obvious for all to see – shape, colour, size and texture.

Where was I?  Sorry – I just got sidetracked.

But once again, after I got home, and got on the scales and got excited about the immediate weight loss benefits, my head started pounding, and I was in bed for the rest of the day with a migraine headache.

So Bikram yoga is not for me. I just have to work on that 'being serene' thing myself.  Just as soon as I get through that long list of things to do for other people.

AMFYOYO

My dad heads into his 10th decade

My DOD (dear old dad) turned 90 last week. 90!!!!!




He was born in 1922 (obviously), the eldest of three sons born to his parents in central Queensland. His father was an Anglican priest, who served for 60 years in the one Diocese.


DOD was born between two world wars. He has lived through a depression, and a world war. He was in training in Brisbane when much to his commanding officer's chagrin, he was excused to go back to work at the commonwealth bank where he had been working, largely because of his expert maths brain.

He has seen the decline of modern civilisation as we know it, with the introduction of computers and automated customer service answering machines. Note to insurance companies and government agencies - it is really hard for old people to negotiate listening to instructions and either having to press 1 or 2, or say in a few words what they are calling about. It sucks for middle aged people, so near impossible for a 90 year old.

He himself became a priest, much to my grandparents delight, and just recently celebrated his own 60 years' service to the Anglican church.

He has experienced all the joys and sorrows of life - he and mum were married for 56 years when she died suddenly and unexpectedly two years ago. She was 10 years younger than dad. Their first child was stillborn, something my mother never recovered from, nor I suspect him. They had three healthy children, and nine grandchildren. He was and still is estranged from one of his brothers who withdrew from the family after his marriage, another sorrow.





That's me the really cute, little one, on daddy's lap.

Being a priest he has shared the joys and sorrows of his parishioners and friends as well, officiating at many marriages, baptisms and funerals, and providing support and faith when needed.

But first and foremost he was our Dad.

'Anyone can be a father but it takes someone special to be a Dad'


He taught us to read, play cards, play scrabble, other board games, the importance of family and to treat others well. And the art of delayed gratification - we were not allowed to open our Christmas presents until after we had been to church on Christmas Day.



He lived a life of service to others, yet we children were a priority. We didn't realise it at the time, but we were so lucky to have a dad who worked from home. As a parish priest, his office was at home. He didn't spend all his time in his office of course, but many times I came home from school and had afternoon tea in the office. Mum never worked until we started high school and even then was always home in the afternoons. Dad set very high standards - grammar and punctuation were and still are very important. Many a time he wrote letters to our teachers correcting THEIR spelling or grammar (oh the embarrassment). Our education was an absolute priority and we never took it for granted.

Very high standards were also set for our behaviour. Sometimes it was tough having to live up to his expectations as well as those of the parishioners. I am the youngest. Dad often introduced me to people as his youngest and naughtiest, with just a little hint of pride in his voice - I always seemed to be in trouble for something and if I wasn't enjoying chocolate cake and milk after school in the office I was being sent in there for a stern lecture for some transgression.

Most importantly we children always knew that mum and dad were a united front. It was never any use trying to get one to agree to something the other had refused. They backed each other up, and if they had any battles or difficulties in their marriage we never knew of it. Money was scarce, and yet we never really wanted for anything - unlike my own children and their friends in this generation who are horrified not to have the latest iPhone. I recall my mother telling a friend in my last term of school that she was going to treat herself to a new dress after many years of nothing new to wear.

Although he 'retired' more than 20 years ago he still attends church every Sunday and special saints days, and never in the congregation. He is always in the sanctuary participating in the service in some way. He will officiate at the wedding of one of his grandsons in December this year.

I am sure I have been a disappointment to him by not attending church regularly, but he would never tell me that. I know he prays for me. I attend church every now and then, more out of a sense of obligation than faith, but it makes him happy. He has never shown anything but love to all of us so it is a small thing to do. And seeing his absolute faith in God especially since Mum died, has been of enormous comfort to me and my siblings.

Since mum died, he has been amazing. It was a terrible time, and yet, also the best of times. My brother and sister and our children all gathered around. He was never alone for a moment that first 10 days, and there was a lot of laughter as well as tears that week. It was natural for us to do this and yet I see or hear of so many elderly people who are alone or lonely but with family nearby. He and his cat Oscar adjusted to a new life alone, then moved house after a few months to live closer to me ( now living in his own home at the end of my street rather than a 50 minute drive away).




He manages pretty much everything on his own other than his evening meal. In 56 years of marriage he didn't really cook a meal other than sausages and eggs, so I now conduct my own 'meals on heels' delivery service or he eats with us. My boys put the bins down, and we run errands when needs be. When he goes to stay with my sister a couple of times a year, we feed the gorgeous Oscar twice a day, and DOD worries about him being lonely. If it is raining on a Tuesday which is his washing day I do his laundry (routine is important). I have introduced him to Foxtel, and Foxtel IQ. sometimes I have to remind him how to do the new tricks this old dog has learnt but that's OK. Most importantly, I see him almost every day, and if I don't see him, we talk every day. Most days, we engage in a card game called cribbage.




He delights in winning and delights even more in winning by a large margin. His laugh, even at my expense, makes me happy. I lose on average two games out of three. I'm keeping score (competitiveness one other thing we learnt).

I feel so privileged to be able to spend all this time with him. Even though he is eternally optimistic, happy, and quick to overcome obstacles, I would do everything for him if he was cantankerous, grouchy and ungrateful. Because he's my Dad.

And I hope he gets to celebrate many more birthdays.







- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

So did I do the right thing or the wrong thing?

I am a believer in performing random acts of kindness - for people I know or complete strangers, it matters not. I get a wonderful feeling when I have helped someone who needs it without being asked.

So late Wednesday afternoon as the rain started to fall, I poured a glass of wine, reclined on the couch, assuming that Harry's soccer training would be cancelled. Call me a bad mother but not having to get in the car to drive one of my 3 children anywhere has become the highlight of my life. However it was not to be. My phone went 'bing' and there was a text from the team manager. Although it was raining, the boys would be having fitness training, on the concrete, underneath the clubhouse. Fuck fuck fuck ( I should add that when Harry came home later he was soaking wet, and muddy and shivering so I'm not sure how much of the fitness training was under cover)

Anyhoo - back to my random act of kindness.

After I resentfully dropped Harry off knowing I had to get up off my arse in an hour to pick him up, I noticed a young man, in school uniform, walking with hunched shoulders against the now bucketing rain. I wound down my window and asked him if he needed a lift home. His eyes lit up and accepted and was very profuse in his thanks. He got in the car, and I offered him my phone, and asked if he wanted to call anyone to let them know he was getting a lift home but he declined. It would have been a 20 minute walk home given the distance and we chatted - he was in year 12, hoping to get into engineering etc etc. He asked about my son and soccer. We got to his house and he once again thanked me for the lift home.

I had a warm and fuzzy feeling. Until The Lawyer got home. I told him about my random act of kindness. He was furious with me. He said he would be livid If either of our sons accepted a lift home with a complete stranger (no matter how cute). He could not believe I had put myself in danger offering a lift to a young man I didn't know.

He went on and on and on. I see his point but I was completely deflated. I want to find that young man and shake him and say 'what were you thinking?'. I want to shake my husband and say 'what an awful world we live in where I can't feel like I can offer a lift to a kid, albeit a grown up kid, a lift home in the rain'. What have we become?

So did I do the right thing? Was he overreacting? What would you have done?

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

How did I become a slave in my own palace?

I have three delightful children. When I say delightful I mean this description comes to me from other people with whom they have come into contact because usually at home they are not what I would describe as delightful. Unless there is only one of them home at a time. Which doesn't happen very often.


Anyhoo, it is school and university holidays at present. Which seems to involve a lot of lying about on couches, watching tv, playing the x box, Wii, or on a laptop 'talking' to friends.  It does not, however appear to involve anyone asking the very simple yet effective question 'would you like me to help you with anything, mum?' as I run around like a blue arsed fly catering meals, ensuring that the jeans they wore for two hours are washed clean again, driving them hither and yon, and generally being a doormat.


To be fair, Harry my youngest, has now taken to asking this question because yesterday I lost my mind, screamed and stamped my feet so much I had a small bladder leakage problem, and stormed off, sending myself to my room.


The reason for this outburst was something which has happened before many times but I had reached the limit of my endurance. HOW DID I BECOME A SLAVE IN MY OWN PALACE????!!!


I was out taking Billy to have his first drivers licence test (in qld they like everyone to do it twice it seems) and had to leave a load of washing to finish. Elle was on her way home from the boyfriend's house where she had spent the previous two days so I called her and told her that there was washing in the machine and asked her to hang one of the flannelette sheets over the patio table in the full sun seeing as the clothes line didn't get much sun.


When I got home she had hung said flannelette sheet out - and the washing machine was still full of wet sheets and dooms covers. Wtf? Her excuse was that she thought I wanted the rest to go into the dryer. So why not put them in? I lost it. Both boys were by this stage on couches tvs on, she was in her bedroom which looks like a candidate for hoarders. 'I could be married to you if you're going to be so thoughtless' I screamed at her. Oh dear that's a bit of a giveaway.


I flounced off to cool down of a few minutes. They all looked slightly terrified I was going to have an aneurism.


I reeled off a list of jobs. Washing to be hung out. Dry washing to be brought in and folded. Bins to be brought up from the road. Recycling to be taken out. Three animals to be fed. Mail to be collected. And I shouted 'I refuse to be a slave in my own palace'. Then just for good measure I added, with a tiny bit more shrill in my voice 'and I am having the tattoo on my forehead that says 'doormat' removed.' then I poured myself a large glass of wine trying not to feel guilty about failing dry July on both the 1st and 2nd days of the month.


Seriously how did this happen? How did I allow my children to become these people. And my husband, who when I say 'could you put the kettle on' does just that and then wanders off. I seem to be responsible for everything big and small that needs doing. Well not anymore. I am going to get a poster made with my new slogan and put it up in each room of the house and start exercising my 'no' muscles


AMFYOYO

Step away from the buffet

I hate buffet meals. No I don't mean I dislike them a bit I really really hate them. The children and DOD (Dear Old Dad) however love a buffet so in a moment of good hearted weakness I joined the ultimate buffet club - our local football club, the Broncos Leagues club. I also joined up DOD - $7.50 For pensioners. Don't judge me. In order to escape from my neighbour's 80th birthday hell - I mean party, and I use that term loosely - I invented a family occasion today and suggested to DOD that we go to lunch at the Broncos. He was thrilled. I made the booking at midday in order to still get that afternoon rest in. For DOD of course. *coughs. It was packed. Full of people lining up to eat very average overpriced and reheated meals. DOD packed it in - soup, roast main and two desserts. I managed two glasses of wine ( so much for dry July), a plate of hideous Chinese like food, and a chocolate ice cream cone. Plus a few chocolate freckles. And chocolate bullets loathing myslf the whoie time The only good thing about this sort of lunch for DOD is that he can make himself a boiled egg for dinner and I can relax in the late afternoons But the place was packed. Not a table to be had. And as i lined up to get my overpriced overheated and average food there were many times I wanted to shout 'step away from the buffet' to those who clearly should not eat at this sort of 'all the crap you can eat' establishments. I could understand it if the food was priced for what it was but it wasn't. I watched one woman hold a large dinner plate with a selection of each of 10 different desserts. The confusion on her face when she came to the custard and ice cream was classic. Where would they both go? On the side, all over the top, or was a separate plate required? She finally settled on the separate plate. Delicious! As we were leaving we passed a table with an elderly lady in a wheel chair sporting a helium balloon with 90 in large numerals on it just to make sure everyone there knew she was 90. 'happy birthday' I said as I walked past. She gave me a look which said to me she would rather be dead than celebrating where she was Ugh AMFYOYO

Men and their hobbies

So far this weekend The Lawyer has spent a total of four hours attending to his little racing car which included washing it BEFORE he takes it o the track for a race day on Thursday. Only my spouse would wash a car before taking it to Lakeside raceway? Then today he spent another three hours collecting the boat from the dry dock it has been sitting in since September last year, in the vain hope that having it at a boat marina at some large rental fee might make him use it more. He's used it twice since Christmas. Now the large white elephant, I mean boat, is back on its trailer at the end of our driveway. I'm grateful there is no room for the racing car here - we could officially call ourselves trailer park trash. All I want him to do this weekend is change one bleeding light bulb but I'm guessing that will be forgotten. The thing is, I don't mind him having a hobby. Or even two. Actually he is one of those Lycra wearing Sunday morning bike riders as well, so that makes three. He works very hard. And his mother keeps reminding me that it's good for a man to have a hobby. Or in my case, three hobbies. I should have known of course given that when we were manacled together 26 years ago, he raced off shore power boats. My question is why do men's hobbies have to involve so much coin? I mean we have the boat, the car and an expensive road bike. Add to that the three cars the family has, three trailers that's an awful lot of registration fees. Then there's the fuel, the warehousing fees, tyres, servicing. It's a huge sum of money leaving aside the time involved in taking part in these hobbies. My needs are simple, mainly because I don't have time to have a hobby. I go to the gym a few times a week and have been known to collect a vast shoe collection. That's about it. The thing about cars and boats though is that once acquired (sweeping generalisation alert) men are on the lookout for the NEXT bigger or better car and or boat. I regularly catch The Lawyer on the Internet looking at what I call 'boat porn'. Meanwhile, I'm off to change a lightbulb. One day it will be my turn AMFYOYO