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.

And the holidays start......let the games begin!

This afternoon marks the beginning of six weeks of school holidays.  This means sleep ins, not having to sort out school lunches, no washing school uniforms at 11pm because the boys forgot to put yesterday's uniforms in the wash as well as today's uniform.  However....it also means six weeks of them being under each others feet and some inevitable bickering, which leads to Mum losing her mind.

Last saturday I was outside in our backyard with Carter.  For some reason, he was pretty out of sorts that day.  Early in the day, I put it down to it being the end of the school year and kids are generally pretty moody and tired, and I was quite patients (if I do say  so myself).  Fast forward a few hours and my patience was a thing of the past and I found myself outside growling at Carter through gritted teeth;

"I really want to yell right now but I don't want our neighbors to see my true colours!"

Thankfully, later that day, Carter pulled it together.  Two days later, it was Tony's turn.  I guess I can at least be thankful that they take it in turns to drive me nuts.  It always seems that whilst one is being difficult, the other is on his best behaviour.

Carter did something that frustrated Tony, and Tony lost his cool.  When I told him he needed to calm down, he rolled his eyes at me.  As many parents will tell you, eye rolling is incredibly unwise when you are already in trouble.  Realising it was best Tony was away from me at that moment, I sent him to his room.

I have a stubborn spirit.  Sometimes it works to my advantage in that is keeps me from giving up when something is challenging for me.  Other times, it stops me from letting go of things that I don't really need to fight.  As Tony has gotten older, I have realised the apple hasn't fallen far from the tree.  Unfortunately, Tony has come from two stubborn trees so he never had much of a chance anyway.

Tony decided he was going to dig his heels in and kept coming out of his room.  He played at going to the toilet, coming and getting an apple to eat, and sitting in his bedroom doorway.  In my efforts to stay calm, I went outside.  After realizing his audience was gone, Tony followed me outside.

It was at this point that I sensed the opportunity to get my payback and I went back inside and locked the door behind me.  I then went through the rest of the house and locked every other door and even closed and locked every window.  I then savoured the moment and sat back and waited for Tony to realize I had won.

I waited.  And waited.   And waited some more.

Tony had indeed realised he had been locked out, but refused to show any sign that it was bothering him.  Instead, he lay on the couch, he played with a soccer ball, and rode his bike around.  We both knew we were waiting for the other to break.  BUT...it sure as hell wasn't going to be me!

I had a secret weapon.  It would require some patience, but it was bound to work.  Mosquitos!

Two hours after I first locked Tony outside,  the mosquitos came.  I could tell because I could hear Tony slapping his arms and legs.  I evil laughed to myself in a whisper.  My plan was coming to fruition and it was only a matter of time until Tony would have to swallow his pride and acknowledge his wrong doing.  I of course would be gracious and accept his apology and explain that his lack of respect was unacceptable blah blah blah, but deep down I would be mentally high-fiving myself.

After about fifteen minutes had passed with no knocking on the door from Tony seeking refuge from the mosquitos, I peeked out the blinds.  I don't know if I was more annoyed, or proud.  He had gone into our laundry (which is a room outside the back door) and had moved the dryer to block the door and was using it as his throne.  Now not only had he escaped the mosquitos, he had also made it impossible for me to get into the laundry AND he was surrounded by food and drink as the laundry has shelving I use as our pantry overflow.

I had officially been outplayed.  I would like to think he had learnt from the master.  Later that evening, when he had decided to come in and apologised and we had talked it out, I told him I was almost impressed and that I had found my match in stubbornness.  I also told him he would have plenty of time to think about how impressed I was lots over the next few days as he was going to be without his phone and laptop.

Did I mention I like to win?

Those mother-son moments!

For many years I have written about my “boys”.  They are 10 and ALMOST 13 now.  They are still my boys, but they are starting to head towards men...young men, but getting closer to men faster than I would like.  

When I think about the fact that Anthony and I never expected to only have 2 children, it doesn’t bother me at all.  I feel complete with my boys.  I didn’t expect to feel this way.  When we got the initial news, life was a bit crazy....but I thought that when things calmed down a bit that I would feel crushed, like something had been taken from me.  

That feeling has never come.  

I also thought I might feel disappointed to not get to experience raising a daughter.  Many years have passed and I have watched many parents of daughters around me and realised perhaps I’m not cut out for raising daughters.  I have 3 hairstyles....ponytail, bun, and down.  I’m rubbish at painting little nails, and do not get excited by handbags or purses etc.  That sounds totally stereotypical and I guess if I had a girl who was equally unenthusiastic about these things I would be ok, but there is never any guarantee. 

Having only boys, I never envisioned myself having “the period talk” with my sons, but a few years back we did, because I want them to be informed and not all weirded out about a normal process that goes on in their very house...even if it’s not happening to them.  I wanted to know that if a girl at school ever had a tampon or pad fall out of their bag, my sons would have the maturity to simply pick it up and hand it back and not behave like they are handling a grenade.  

This chat was slightly awkward for them, but overall it’s been fine.

Fast forward to Wednesday night when I decided it’s one thing to KNOW about tampons, pads etc, but I didn’t know if they even understood HOW they work.  Anthony was out at a meeting so it was just the boys and I hanging out. We were chatting and I brought up that years ago we had talked about periods etc, but did they really get how things work? I suggested that one day down the track, their wife might ask them to grab some tampons from the shop and they need to know what they are looking for.  

After showing them some and opening them up, I asked if they know how often they need to be changed.  Their answers were nothing short of scary 😂 I then grabbed a glass of water, as they were curious as to how they actually absorb anything.  

So there we are, with a glass of water bobbing a tampon into it and watching it blow up like a little hot air balloon...and in walks Anthony.  

The look of confusion on his face as to what we were doing was spectacular!  He of course added in his very fatherly advice that another use of tampons is to stop nose bleeds 🤷‍♀️ 

Next week - facials!

Who’s in your corner?

Every now and then, often whilst I’m out walking, I get to thinking about “stuff”.  I think about who and what I have in my life that I’m grateful for, the challenges I have endured or am still enduring, things I want to do better etc etc.  The track is usually a little different, but the tune is the same.  

I usually come to the same conclusion though; being a human is messy.  It’s complicated and challenging and like trying to navigate through uncharted waters with a compass that works sometimes, then sporadically spins round and round without any purpose whatsoever.   

So many challenges I have faced, I find my mind racing trying to figure out how to handle things, but deep down know I have no actual idea, because most challenges are new and uncomfortable and unfamiliar and I have zero expertise in how to navigate through them.  I rarely get through unscathed, and  even more rarely do I get through alone. 

The past week I have thought a little about the movie “Million Dollar Baby”.  It’s a text Anthony has been teaching and one I love.  It’s heartbreaking to see a woman who quite literally has no one in her corner until she finds Frankie. 

It made me think about my own life and the people I have “in my corner”.  Some of these people are in my corner on a daily basis, others just appear less frequently but I know are there when I call them in.  Some give me laughter when I need a good chuckle, a listening ear to vent to, or just company that helps me to know I’m not alone in this messy thing called ‘Life’.

Everybody needs people in their corner.  It’s the person you call when something funny happens and you are dialling their number with a big smile on your face, knowing they will find it hilarious too.  

It’s the person you message late at night, because there are no time restrictions on your friendship.

It’s the person you call just to talk about nothing while you do mundane chores around the house.  

It’s the person you don’t have to make the “fake house” for.  The one who has seen you ugly cry.  The person who you fall asleep to at night and know you will never get sick of the rhythm of their breathing.  

These are the type of people I love that I have in my corner.  I turn to them, they pat my back, help me catch my breath, wipe my brow, give me a word of encouragement and send me right on back into the world to face whatever comes.  I hope I am that person for whoever wants/needs me in their corner too, because everybody needs someone in their corner. 

History Lessons

I don’t think I have recorded this tale in my blog/journal yet, but it is one I want to have recorded for my boys so here it is.  

In 2016, we realised how big Carter’s passion for geography had become.  He had mastered approximately 80 flags at the time, and had progressed to an interest in world landmarks and facts about each.  Seeing how much Carter struggled with retention of new information , we were thrilled to see that if he had an interest in a particular subject, he was able to retain a lot of information.  

We decided it would be wise to branch out from geography and to also include some history to see if this was something else Carter might find interesting.  We decided to teach him about World War 2 and all about Nazi Germany.  I found this area particularly interesting myself so it seemed natural to share it with our boys too.  

To my delight, Carter loved learning all about WWII and had a lot of questions regarding Hitler, the treatment of the Jewish, and the concentration camps etc.  It also provided a lot of great teaching opportunities for our boys.  

All was going well.   Or so we thought.  

A couple of months down the track, our boys’ school had an open day where parents and family members could come into their classrooms to look around and observe the work they have been doing. 

I went to Tony’s class first and saw some great art work he had done, and his work in coding (which I still don’t really get).

Then, I headed down to Carter’s class.  Within moments of walking through the door I could see the room had been decorated with students work from the last term.  There was poetry, drawings, graphs, and other art work.  My attention was directed to the beautiful butterflies the class had painted that were hanging across the classroom. 

You know the kind, where children put dollops of paint on their paper, then fold the page in half and open it to create a rainbow butterfly.

As I looked at the colourful creations and searched for Carters, my eyes widened and my stomach dropped.  I spotted his within a few seconds. I didn’t even need to read the name in the corner of the page to know it was Carter’s handiwork.

Instead of a beautiful, brightly coloured butterfly, Carter had decided to just draw a giant red swastika!  

My first thought was;

“Please tell me he told his teacher we have taught him this is a form of hate flag, not a belief we support and promote at home!”

My second thought was;

“Why in the world did she actually hang this up there?? Did she think I would be offended to not see my child’s monstrosity of a piece of artwork hanging up in the classroom for all to see??”

We decided it was best to dial down the history talk for a little while. 

Butting in

Today I had to tell my boys something important. It was important, but it bothered me saying it.  I don’t know how to explain it really,  but I felt like I was telling my own children to do something that could put them in harms way, but I couldn’t not tell them to do it.  It goes against every protective instinct I have as a mother,  but every other part of me knows it’s right. 

In a matter of just a few months, I have TWICE found myself in a public shopping centre car park, surrounded by other people, witnessing a domestic dispute between a man and a woman. 

The first I was pulling into a car park entry and thought I could hear a woman’s voice calling out.  I wound down my window but heard nothing.  I found a park and as I got out I could hear the voice again.  This time I could distinctly make out the words;

“Someone, please help me!”

I looked back to the entry to the car park and could see about a hundred metres away a white car with the drivers door open and a man blocking the door so it couldn’t be shut.  I heard the woman’s voice repeat her call for help.  I looked around and saw no fewer than a dozen people looking on, several of them men who were much larger than I am.  

Before I knew it, I was walking towards the car.  I walked past everyone watching, but didn’t really think much of it because all that was in my head was the realisation I had no idea what I was going to do when I got to the car, but I knew I had to pretend not to be scared.  

When I got closer, I could see a woman sittings in the drivers seat, looking terrified and tears covering her face.  She was trying to shut the door but whoever the man was, he was yelling at her and trying to drag her from the car.  In the back seat I spotted a toddler in their car seat. 

Once close enough I called out;

“Excuse me, are you ok? Can I help you?”

The man turned and in some colourful language told me to go away and mind my own business.  I told him this is a public car park and when I hear someone call for help, of course I’m going to see what’s going on.  

He blocked me from being able to see the woman, and again told me to leave. I took a few steps closer and told him I’m not talking to him, I was asking the woman calling for help. She was shaking and said;

“I just want him to leave me alone and let me go.”

I help up my phone and said;

“Here, let me call the police for you.”

The man again told me to leave but by now any fear had left me and I was able to tell him;

“Look, I don’t know what’s going on but I have children and there is a child in the back of that car and I’m not going anywhere. If you let her drive away, we don’t have a problem, but if you don’t back off right now I will call the police immediately.”

He leant into the car and with his face just centimetres from hers, left her with some final nasty threats and then took a step back.  I asked her again if I can call the police for her, but she declined saying she just desperately wanted to get away.  I wanted to call the police anyway, but didn’t want to violate her wishes.  This man was already doing that.  

So I stood awkwardly next to this horrible man as she reversed and drove away.  I waited til she was well and truly out of sight, then gave him one final look before turning and heading into the shops, desperately hoping he didn’t follow me.

Fast forward a few months to today, I was walking to our car with my boys after taking them to get their hair cuts.  Completely different shopping centre, but as I loaded up our boot, across from our car, I hear yelling and can see a scuffle going on between another man and woman.  

The man pushed her, and she then pushed him back.  She yelled at him;

“What are you going to do?  Hit me again? Right here?”

He shoved her and she ran around to the other side of the car and opened to the back door and 2 girls got out.  They both started crying and begging the couple to stop. The woman tried to take the girls towards the entry doors of the shop, but he grabbed them before she could leave. The yelling continued so I told my boys to get in and stay in the car.  Whilst I knew this wasn’t a good situation,  the woman didn’t seem terrified, more angry and upset.  She was still standing up to him.

By now the man had noticed I was watching him and so I took 2 steps closer and folded my arms and continued to stare (whilst feeling super awkward of course).   A few more terse words were exchanged from both parties, and then whilst he got his cigarettes out his picked, the woman hurried inside the shop and he got in the car and sped off. 

When I got in the car, the boys had lots of questions. One of the first being;

“Mum, what would you do if they started getting angry at you?”

My honest answer was that I didn’t know.  In that situation my brain doesn’t seem to think that far ahead.  Maybe I’m not good under pressure. 

As we spoke on the way home, we discussed how horrible it is to see behaviour like that, and how if people behave that way in public, it’s likely even worse at home behind closed doors. 

We then got to talking about the other experience I had had months earlier and how both times there were other people who were standing by watching. How people now seem worried about butting in to other people’s business, whether it’s out of fear, not knowing what to do, or getting their head bitten off for interfering - who knows.  They are all very possible and real reactions. It’s definitely scary involving yourself in any situation where there is violence and hostility.  

But it was at this point that I had to tell me boys;

“When you see someone in trouble, please don’t just stand by and watch it happen.  You might be just like me and not know what to do, and you will probably be scared like me, but please do something, anything to try and help.  I want you to grow up to be men who’s instinct is to help.  Don’t let being scared ever stop you from doing the right thing.”