When Words Aren’t Enough

 It has been over a year since I have written.  That’s a long time for me.  I don’t set aside time for writing, it has just been something I do when the mood strikes.  It’s easy for me to write this way because the thoughts are there ready to go.  In the back of my mind, I have been aware that I haven’t written anything much for a while, but I didn’t realise it was so long.  I have thought about why, and the truth is the words just haven’t been there.  

The past year or so has been tough for the world.  I’m not used to living with so much uncertainty, and to be honest I don’t think I live with it well.  I like plans.  I like to know what I’m doing.  Not in a crazy rigid way, just that I like to mentally have an idea of what’s ahead for me.  Making plans has been difficult over the past year or so because our plans can be flipped upside down at a moments notice.  I have had to learn to adjust and just deal with what I need to and let the rest go a bit better.  My ideas of a successful day have changed because it can’t be measured in the same way, and that’s ok. 

I lost my sister to cancer at the end of last year.  It has been six months without her.  That six months feels too long to have not had her with us, but also too short an amount of time for life to go on in a relatively normal way.  I miss her every day.  I walk past pictures of her in my home and smile but feel a pang of sadness.  I have realised it’s possible to both miss someone immensely and still be happy at the same time.  My joy in life is not robbed by my grief.   I didn’t realise that was possible.  

There are parts of the past year that I would have to call “challenging”, but they have really made me think about my own life more.  We all know that life is full of ups and downs.  We tell ourselves this when we are in the middle of a “down” because it makes the “downs” more bearable knowing an “up” will come again.  A part of me has learned to embrace the “downs” a little more.  I know one day I will leave this life and when I do, I want to be able to say;

“I experienced so much.  Some of it was amazing, and some of it was so hard, but boy did I live!  That is what I came for, I came to experience it all.”

In my 37 years, I have experienced joy, exhaustion, love, friendship, sadness, frustration, worry, excitement, grief, embarrassment, surprise, and loss.  I have had days where I wake up so excited, and nights where I lose sleep because my mind is burdened.  I have felt pain beyond what I ever thought I could endure, and felt love with such completeness.  It’s cliched to say this, but even though I hate the periods of struggle and pain in my life, it is in these times that I have learned who I really am deep down.  Sometimes I learn something about myself that I don’t like, other times I’m pleasantly surprised.  It is raw, and sometimes ugly, but it’s real. 

I don’t know if I can say I am grateful for the past year and it’s challenges, but I know that I am grateful I have been able to experience another part of life and when my time is over I know I will be so thankful I got to truly experience what it means to really LIVE.

Every up has a down, and every down has an up.

Life as of late has felt surreal.  I feel as though I live in two worlds.  There is the world where I still do laundry, still make meals for my family, still pay the same bills by the same due date, and where I go to work at the same desk like nothing has changed. 

But my life is also very different.  I bring one son to work with me to oversee his school work while I work (I am so thankful to have a boss willing to let me give this a go).  My other son does his school work online at home while Anthony teaches online.  We don’t go anywhere we don’t absolutely need to go.  There is no school run, no trips out to Yoghurtland, no after school sport, and no going to church.

The world is going through a collective change.  It’s certainly challenging.  But the slower, quieter pace of life has allowed my mind to slow down a little too.

I was able to sit with Carter as he wrote a story last night, in red pencil of course - red is his favourite.  The story involved two boys having a crush on the same girl.  A mix of both love and rivalry - Carter to a ‘t’.  Carter has a heart bigger than his body.  He feels emotions big, both the positive and the challenging.  He apologises quickly and forgives in a second.  He is very imaginative and can play with his marbles for a good hour or so, but he doesn’t play marbles in the traditional sense, he lines them up as rugby or soccer teams, they sing the national anthem, and then kick off and play a game, complete with a white marble as the referee.  I have really enjoyed watching him and learning more of how his mind works. 

Tony and I were able to laugh and giggle at silly, insignificant things late into the night when he would normally be asleep.  We sit next to each other on the couch teasing one another, he is quick witted and “gets” my humour.  I see my humour mirrored back at me in him.  He is quiet, but a friend to anyone who seeks his company.  Tony is a deep thinker, is hard on himself, yet capable in ways he can’t see in himself.  He is snappy when stressed, but feels guilty when he recognises his behaviour and hovers around trying to make it up to us.  I love that we have a bit more time in the evening to watch movies that I loved and that he is old enough to appreciate he understand.  

Anthony has still been very busy with work, but it’s nice having him home more.  Just having his presence in our home makes me happy.  Today as I sat with Anthony watching a movie, his arm around me, I realised that every single day for over 15 years, he has told me I am beautiful.  He has made me feel loved every single day.  Even days where we have been cranky with one another, he still makes me feel loved.  I don’t quite know how he does it, but I feel it.  He is my safe place and my happy place all in one.  

I hope when all this is over, I will appreciate the freedoms in life that I have taken for granted but have been taken from us for a season.  However, more than that, I hope I don’t get so caught up in life being busy again that I miss the little things that are standing out to me more now that life is quieter.  I guess that’s up to me though. 

Tickets

I had pretty good teenage years overall.  Even now when I think about it, my memories are of having a lot of fun with my friends, working hard, being tired a lot, but overall pretty good.  

But the more I think about it, I start to remember other stuff.  The best way I can describe it is that I think I had a hard time accepting myself.  I didn’t feel beautiful.  I didn’t feel popular.  I didn’t feel very special.  The gift of hind sight provides me with the insight that a lot of those feeling weren’t coming from people around me...it was coming from me.  

I had a lot of great friends.  My family are still some of my closest friends. I was never bullied.  I got along well with guys as well as girls.  I was told a lot of kind and loving things from the people that surrounded me.  I also believed I had a Heavenly Father who loved me too.  

It took me many years to learn that no matter how many nice things others tell you, how kind they treat you, or how many friends/boyfriends you have...how you feel about yourself really does have to come from inside yourself.  

I know that being treated nastily by others absolutely destroys confidence and causes damage and suffering that can last decades.  We have a responsibility to treat others with gentleness, as one careless comment could be all it takes to confirm the insecurities an individual perceives in themselves.  

 But it is now at the ripe old age of 35 I am going to do something I don’t feel particularly comfortable doing.  It’s time to change how I speak about myself.   I am going to focus on my good.  I have spent 35 years comfortably highlighting my negative traits, sometimes in seriousness and sometimes with humour.  It’s easy for me to do.  But it’s challenging to publicly voice the qualities that I have worked hard to develop.  It feels cocky even acknowledging them.  But my journey so far has shaped and moulded me and I appreciate all my life has given me. 

So here goes.....

At 35 years old, I have a body that is strong.  I used to view it as weak and frail, but I now know my body is tough.  It endures pain 24/7 and it manages to keep going.  It works so hard and I haven’t always appreciated that and given credit where it is due.  I don’t need it to be perfectly toned and flab-free to appreciate the body I have been given.  

I am reliable.  I try really hard to make sure if I say I will do something or be somewhere, I will follow through.  For my word to mean something really matters to me.  Sometimes life gets in the way and makes it challenging to be reliable, but I will always call if something unexpected pops up and I can’t follow through with my commitment. 

I am resourceful.  I am capable of solving problems, sorting out jobs that need doing, and getting things done.  In fact, even though problems can be challenging and stressful, I find a really sense of satisfaction in finding a solution to a problem.

I feel like I can read people fairly well.  Not what they say or what they do, but just being around someone I feel like I can gage what kind of person they are.  This has been a gift in my life that has really been a huge blessing.  

I’m an introvert, but I still enjoy being around people.  I don’t do well with large groups and need some quiet, alone time after socialising to recharge, so I know I am an introvert, but I’m comfortable with this.  I much prefer chatting with people I’m small groups and genuinely enjoy the company of others. 

I think I’m rather easily pleased. Home really is my happy place and I don’t need a lot to make me happy, just some good food and a comfy couch and my boys.   It brings me a lot of joy that I am content with my lot in life. 

There you have it.

I don’t mention these qualities to toot my own horn, rather I want to acknowledge them because when I see the big picture it makes me appreciate who I am and to view myself in a kinder, more positive light.  It provides a healthier self image - and I think that is something the world is screaming for.  Not the kind of self image people readily post on social media, I’m referring to GENUINE feelings of self worth that run deep and won’t be shaken by the careless words of others.  

I know who I am now, and that’s pretty cool. 

The joy and oh so much shame

I have suspected this for a little while now, but I believe my suspicions were confirmed as of late.  Sometimes I find myself doing things as a parent that SEEM like a perfectly normal, sensible, logical thing to do.....but then a little time passed and I find myself wondering what the hell I was thinking!  How in the world did my judgement go so wrong?? 

We are coming to the end of a parenting milestone.  We aren’t quite there yet...but it’s looming on the horizon and almost feels as though it’s in reach.  We are on the final lap of a particular parenting marathon and I am thrilled! 

As of this moment, we have only one more Book Week Parade to surviv...I mean enjoy (cough cough).  

Carter is now in Year 5 and with Book Week over for the year, there is only next year to go and then we feel the sweet relief of high school.  The same high school that hasn’t asked Tony to dress up in almost 2 years now.  Forget the risks of an environment involving drinking, swearing, drugs - I’m just excited I don’t have to pretend to be creative anymore.  

No, in all honesty, I am very aware my creative abilities are limited and even though my boys have enjoyed dressing up, I just don’t have the goods.  That doesn’t mean I haven’t tried every single year though. 

Knowing we had only this year and next year for Carter, I gave him free reign with his costume choice.  His love of WW2 history has brought with it a love of books about the Holocaust.  Carter is very empathetic and really struggles to understand how human beings could do such horrific things to their fellow human beings, but he loves reading about the events to try and make better sense of it all.  

Tony recently studied “Hana’s Suitcase” at school and Carter loved seeing all the projects on display.  It was at this moment I suggested we read “The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas” as I remembered Tony enjoying it a few years earlier.  

We spent a couple of weeks reading it together and he was captivated.  He asked hundreds of questions, but the story being told from the perspective of a child helped him to make sense of it all.  Carter finds reading hard so if he is interested in a book, we are thrilled.

As Book Week came close, Carter asked if he could dress up as a character from “The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas”.  Seeing as he had loved the story so much, I went with it and set about trying to locate a pair of white and blue striped pyjamas.  This is surprisingly hard!  If Carter was a 50 year old man I would have found this simple,  but they don’t sell plain blue and white pyjamas for children - everything had either cartoon characters, bright patterns, or writing all over them.  

After multiple days of searching I managed to find a top that would be perfect (in the women’s section - shhh, don’t tell Carter) of Kmart.  They were a size 6-8 in women’s which fit him well.  The next obstacle was trying to find matching pants.  

As I walked through the shopping centre, I mentally ticked off all the major stores that I thought would supply pyjamas and each one I left empty handed.  On a whim, I went into Valley Girl and spotted some linen pants with a blue and white stripe.  Yes, they had a ruffley waists band, and yes, the buttons were a dead give away they were women’s pants...but I could definitely work with them.  

So, pyjamas sorted we set to work trying to match the cover of the book.  Carter was happy with the result and as the Book Week parade rolled around we were ready.  

We pulled up to the school in the morning, and as I saw other children arriving in their costumes, I had a sudden “Uh Oh” moment.  The theme for Book Week this year was “Reading is my Super Power” and from the numerous Spider-Man, Captain America, and Thor costumes, I realised many families had taken this literally.  There was also plenty of Harry Potter appearances and some Mary Poppins costumes, but it made me freeze for a moment when it hit me that perhaps Carter’s costume was a bit of a grey-area type costume.  

How had it not even occurred to me until this moment that a concentration camp prisoner costume may not have been the most appropriate for a primary school parade!!! 

I knew it was too late to do anything about it and I tried to hide my freak out from Carter as he was so excited to be dressed up as a character from a book he loved so much, but I knew I was going to be “that” parent today.  The one who sent her child to school dressed in a very questionable costume.  But, seeing the look on Carter’s face as he got to show off his outfit made all the embarrassment worth it.

Just one more year to go!

Go directly to jail, do not pass go.

I just need to take this moment to explain myself here.  In the case I become a suspect in some kind of criminal plot, I know I do indeed look suspicious, but I’m innocent - I swear!  I’m just a really good multitasker, so good in fact that I can almost sleep AND shop all at the same time. 

A few weekends back we had my sister in law and her family come up to visit one Saturday.  Whilst they were here we were chatting away, looking after the kids, and trying to decide what we felt like eating.  

Then mid-conversation I had a sudden flash of memory from the night before and I couldn’t quite tell whether it was part of my dream, or it had indeed happened.  

I recalled bits of me looking online in the middle of the night.  I just wasn’t sure if I was remembering reality, or dream.  

The pain killers I am on constantly can make me wake in the middle of the night sometimes and I will be wide awake for 30-60 minutes, but then be fast asleep again all of a sudden.  It’s a bit of an annoyance, but I will just watch a show or read an online article to keep me from thinking too much about the sleep I’m missing and eventually I’m fast asleep again.  The alternative is not to take the medication, but then I won’t sleep at all because of the pain.  Obviously, I would prefer the broken sleep.

I had a vague recollection of reading about women in NY who felt they needed to take safety measures when going running.  I also had some memory of shopping online.  

I opened my online account and to my horror I found I had indeed been shopping.  Thankfully it wasn’t anything expensive (even half asleep I am a cheapskate), but it wasn’t clothes, or makeup, or stuff for the boys I had been buying.  NOPE.  My account showed I had bought pepper spray and a knife!  

It wasn’t like a little Swiss Army pocket knife either - it was a black switch blade knife!  I also noted that in my sleepy haze I had made sure to select the “large” size option.  

A moment of concern came over me when I realised I don’t even know if these are legal to bring into Australia, however I felt assured that surely customs would pick it up if not and even if I got in any trouble, I felt my history of not having any need for weapons would hopefully clear me.  

Well, a few weeks passed, but over the past few days my dodgy purchases began to arrive.  First, was this pretty little purple tube that looks innocent enough, but it is in fact pepper spray!  I have had to hide this as Carter has a love of cologne and I could picture his spraying himself with it in an attempt to win over the ‘ladies’. 

Then today, a second package arrived.  The label didn’t specifically say “big black knife enclosed” on it, but I wasn’t expecting anything else so I cautiously tried to open the package.   

Ironically enough I found myself struggling to open the package and had to go get a knife to open it.

Inside was this little blue box.

Looks innocent enough right?  Could be a cute harmonica or something inside.  Even the baby blue is misleading.  I opened it up find this.....

I can’t figure out why I’m the world I thought I would need this!  I opened it and flicked the little lever that flicks the blade out.  It’s certainly sharp, but then I couldn’t even get the blade back in.  I had to search YouTube to find out how to close a switchblade knife.  I’m pretty sure if you are having to google how to close a knife, you probably shouldn’t own, let alone use, said knife.

Just to ensure I am a good, upstanding citizen, I contacted customs to ask about my newly acquired items.  The woman I spoke to simply told me that every package is checked and scanned by customs and that if I have received it, they must have said it’s okay.  Not sure where that leaves me, but she assured me I have done my part by letting them know.

Since these purchases, the same app is recommending “items we think you might like” for me to buy.  They include a ring with a knife that pops out of it, and a nice pink knife for women. Thanks, but no thanks.

Either way, I think it’s best I remove the app from my phone as it’s clearly too easy for me to shop without any real thought during the night.  

A tragedy...of sorts

After 13 years of being a parent, there are still frequent moments that remind me I really don’t know what I’m doing.  It really highlights to me that I have a job that I’m hugely under qualified for.  I guess that’s why the pay is a big, fat, zero!

Last month I brought Carter a new night light.  His previous one had stopped working so I popped out to Kmart and bought a little nightlight in the shape of a cloud.  Of course Carter being Carter meant he instantly loved it and was talking away to his little light and hugging it and giving it a tour of his bedroom.  It was all very cutesy and adorable.  

Come bed time, I unknowingly ruined all the adorable-ness.  Perhaps my nighttime judgement is somewhat impaired.  Or maybe what seemed like a good idea at the time, in hindsight is a terrible idea that I somehow missed.  Who knows! 

Once tucked in bed, Carter started asking me questions about his new night light.  He had named him, rather appropriately, Cloudy.  He asked me if Cloudy liked his new room.  I told him Cloudy can’t talk, but I made him nod in affirmation.  Carter then asked if he was sad to leave Kmart, so I made him shake as if to be saying “no”.  This is where it all went downhill as I answered Carter’s questions for Cloudy with nods and shakes.

Carter: “Cloudy, do you have a Mum?”

Cloudy: “Yes”.

Carter: “Are you sad you are away from her?”

Cloudy: “No” 

Carter: “Did you have to leave your Dad?”

Cloudy: “No”

Carter: “Why? Was he already gone?”

Cloudy: “Yes”

Carter: “Did he abandon you when you were little?”

*I must say here that I thought that was a bit much for a little cloud night light and figured I should say no*

Cloudy: “No”

Carter: “Is he is prison?”

*again, didn’t seem quite right*

Cloudy: “No”

Carter: “Is he dead?”

Cloudy: “Yes”.

Now it is at this point that I must admit I can see this was a poor judgement call.  I’m my mind, abandonment and crime were a bit dark for the life of a young cloud-shaped night light, but for some reason I thought death wouldn’t be as difficult.  I know - stupid! 

Carter: “How did he die?”

I held Cloudy up to my ear and then told Carter his Dad was on the back of a truck being transported to a shop when the truck crashed and the stock was ruined. 

Then came the tears.

Carter was hugging Cloudy, sobbing, with tears running down his cheeks.  By this point, I realised that he likely wasn’t going to sleep anytime soon and I may have made a rather large error.  I tried telling Carter that Cloudy was ok, that he wasn’t sad, that he was so happy to be with Carter, blah, blah, blah.....but the tears kept on coming.  

Then, a stroke of genius! Knowing Carter’s love for detective shows, I told him that Cloudy’s Dad’s body was never actually recovered and so they just THOUGHT he died, but that perhaps we can do an investigation to find out if he survived or not.  

This seemed to do the trick and Carter wiped his eyes and with a bit of hope in his heart he went to sleep.  

I, however, did not get to go to sleep.  Instead, I had to google images of cloud-shaped night lights that I could use to manufacture a “FOUND” poster to use as evidence that Cloudy’s father had in fact survived and so I could get some damn sleep in the coming nights.  

Come morning, I did what all good parents do and faked excitement as I woke Carter to present my findings.  I showed him the poster of a newly found nightlight that had been missing for months and had been discovered on the side of the road at the site of a truck crash several months back.  

Thankfully, Carter bought the story and was genuinely relieved, as was I to know this whole crazy ordeal was coming to an end.  

Even as I write this tale as a record for Carter to read one day in the future, I realise how ridiculous it all sounds.  What began as a simple bedtime conversation took me close to two hours in creating a fake poster and police report. The things we do as parents!! 

I will leave you with the heartwarming image of a young nightlight reunited with his parents....even though he has never left Carter’s bedside table (but don’t anyone dare point that out to Carter!).

The best stories

The house I grew up in had four bedrooms.  The master bedroom was down one end of the house, as far as possible from the other three (well played Mum and Dad).   Often at night, one of my parents would lie down in the hallway so we could all hear from our rooms, and tell a story to all of us kids tucked away in bed.  The options were either a made-up story, or one from when they were young.  Whenever we chose one from when they were young, we had a second choice to make; a story from when they were good, or from something naughty they did. 

Of course we usually chose a story from when they were naughty.

Hearing about the mischief your parents got up to as children was so exciting and I still recall many of these stories now as an adult.  

In fact, I find myself doing the same thing to my own boys, telling them stories from when I got into trouble or made some poor choices.  They tend to end with us laughing and them telling me they can’t picture me doing something like that.  

The truth is, some of the best experiences and stories I have are from when I have made a poor decision, or when life hasn’t gone as I would have hoped or expected.  

They are the stories that caused me pain, sadness, embarrassment, and even regret.  Some were my own fault, some caused by other people, and others are just a part of life that we can’t control.  

I now realise how important these experiences have been for me.  Through these challenging times I have learnt the most in a short period of time.  Some of that learning certainly came about the hard way. However, It is through them some of the best parts of me have developed.  

I have learnt persistence through a whole lot of failure.  I have learnt compassion through having others forgive me when I have done wrong.  I have learnt to be mentally strong through accepting that despite the challenges in my life I can still control how I handle myself.  I have learnt to look for people who may feel alone by feeling lonely and uncertain.

But one of my favour qualities, the one that brings me the most peace, is I have learnt to accept all of me by sharing the embarrassing stories and the silly mistakes I’ve made.  When I am open and do this, I see others laugh and smile and I hope that in those moments people get to see that those experiences are a big part of what has made me who I am today.

Like the stories where I brokered a covert deal and traded some desserts from the restaurant I worked at to the KFC next door in an effort to get a box of KFC salt for a birthday gift for a best friend.  

Or when I covered everyone in my families toothbrushes with soap before putting toothpaste on them while they watched A Country Practice together just because 🤷‍♀️.   

Or when I left my first ever job interview to find my shirt buttons completely undone all the way to my belly button.   

Or the time I signed off an email to the big boss of the company I worked for with “love you heaps” because I had sent an email to my dad just prior and got muddled up.

Or even when I said “yes” to going out with a boy I barely knew and had no real interest in during the second week of my first year of high school because he gave me a box or chocolates and a Valentine’s Day card and...well....I wanted the chocolate.

If I had a life where everything worked out all the time, or when I always made the right choice, not only would it make for some pretty boring stories, it would also make for a very limited version of me.  

Even though they are hard to walk through, the challenges in life allow for the most growth, provided we take the opportunity to reflect and grow.

So I will keep sharing my failures, my embarrassing moments, and my blunders, because they make some pretty damn good stories.  They have also helped played a vital role in producing some of the best parts of me and I’m truly grateful for that.