Archive for the ‘Uncategorized’ Category

I totally take it back.

October 28, 2013

While I can see that things will come up that I will blog about here, I’m really getting comfy over at the new blog.

So please do leave a comment with your email address in the body of the comment, or your twitter handle, if you would like the address.

Thanks!

The one I almost didn’t post because I was afraid of backlash.

June 5, 2013

I asked TMD, ‘Hey, what sort of person signs their text message with the word “blessings”?’ She thought similarly to me – Christian or Pagan. We chatted a few more minutes, then moved on with our lives.

She went to work, and I took the kids over to their friend’s house – and my new friend, the one who offered me blessings. I met them a few weeks back at a large home ed gathering and we ended up talking because Coco really hit it off with one of her boys. I liked the kids, I liked the mum, I scored her digits and BAM. Playdate time, baby.

It turns out she is Christian. The sort of Christian that has all these cute amazing crafts hanging up that her kids have made, but they all reference Jesus. Lots of Bibles.

And, you know, that’s fine. Except that super Christian people don’t always love gay people. And I don’t remember if I came out to her when we met.

Now, the whole should I or shouldn’t I coming out debate is not one I often participate in. The decision to not come out is one I very, very rarely take. I can remember once or twice in the last thirteen years I’ve let someone assume I was straight. My long blonde hair, style of dress, etc often means most people assume I am straight. So I am very practiced at coming out, and usually work it pretty early into a conversation because I find it’s better to let people know they are in conversation with a queer bee, otherwise you end up in awkward conversations where they are asking about your husband and you tell them you have a wife and they are horrified they assumed wrongly and apologise and tell you all about their gay friends. Seriously. Better to avoid.

But this lady? We met at a farm. Our kids played together a lot. We looked for baby chicks together. My son smashed his face into her kid’s head on a trampoline and we couldn’t get the bleeding to stop. So I don’t think the gay thing came up.

I try to assume the best of people. There is no reason to think she wouldn’t be okay with me. The amazing Aussie is Christian and she is a staunch defender of civil rights of all shapes and sizes; she is the sort of right on, activist person I think Jesus would have totally dug.

So, should this lady ask, of course I will come out. But today? Today I kept my mouth shut.

Because all the Bible quotes and crafts made me feel a bit uncomfortable. A smidgen awkward. A mite squeamish. I wouldn’t have minded them at all if I knew she knew I was gay and invited me over anyway.

Generally, Christians in Country B are much more progressive than those in Country A. My experience with Christianity, in many flavours, in Country A, has left me with pink scar lines running across me. People have hurled insults at me, made vitriolic comments, told me I was going straight to hell, and much, much worse. My own mother would have nothing to do with me, all in the name of Christianity. A blog reader once told me she liked me even though I was gay, then emailed me a five page letter about my sins. I spent twelve years in a Catholic school that wasn’t shy about their ideas on homosexuality. It’s made me automatically register when people mention they are Christians in a way that I don’t react to Jewish people, Muslims, Buddhists, Hindus, whatever. And perhaps that is wrong of me, but I also have no firsthand experience with Christian Christians here in Country B.

The Christian toys, art, books, etc that were everywhere, combined with the blessings text, make me assume she is a Christian Christian. I look forward to coming back here and telling you all she is super okay with me and my ‘lifestyle choices’. I hope none of you call me a Christian basher. But it is true that much of my life is spent reading, listening, and observing what Christian people think of homosexuality, and a lot of is a poisonous.

I don’t assume all Christians, or even most Christians, feel this way. I’ve been personally involved in a great Anglican church, various Quaker meetings, and Unitarian chapels. But there is no denying that I have a self protective mode that makes me hyperconcious and uncomfortable….it is also a way I rarely feel anymore, now that I am older and more confident, now that I am surrounded by people of my choosing.

I had a great time today at her house. Our kids still all get along well. I like this woman a lot; she’s warm and gentle with her kids and seems really genuine. So I will be inviting her to our home sometime in the next couple of weeks, and I genuinely hope a real friendship can blossom.

But I would be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous about telling her I’m gay.

Roooooadtriiiiippp.

May 23, 2013

I don’t think my sister has wifi. Why should that matter to YOU? Well, by the time you’re reading this, we will be in her flat.

We had always planned to go to ..uh, big capitol city we used to live in, let’s call it Luvdom, this weekend. She is having all of her furniture and everything shipped from Country A and has been in a bare flat with only one plate, knife, and fork for months, which is why she hasn’t wanted us yet. Well, her furniture is yet to arrive, but we were like, shit, dawg, we can camp there. We keep it real with the plastic bags shoved full of our own bedding and inflatable beds. No probs.

Unfortunately her dog is a bit ill, and Blondie needs to take her to the vet Thursday for some medical stuff to be done. At exactly the same time the Country A people will be delivering her shit. So, like the dyke in shining armour I am, we will be driving up to Luvdom Wednesday night after TMD gets home from work. Me and the kids are staying through Monday, while TMD is taking the train back to our city…..PirateTown (they talk like fucking pirates here, really)… Thursday, going to work Friday, then coming back to Luvdom.

I’m happy she’s coming, because directing moving people around a strange flat while keeping two three year olds out of the way would have been a real treat.

Friday Blondie has to work. So we will be visiting her office – let’s just say every kid in the country would KILL for a chance to do so. She works for a very popular and well known gaming company, and kids everywhere are obsessed with collecting all the merchandise, watching the YouTube videos, playing the game, etc. Her office has recently been featured in My Favourite Newspaper/Website as ‘Country B’s coolest office’ or some such thing. It has a slide between levels! And all sorts of other stuff. The kids will love it. And no doubt walk away with all sorts of freebies.

I’m hoping we will see Lady and her gorgeous boys that day as well – she lives in Luvdom, so we don’t often get to meet up. She doesn’t have a blog that I’m aware of, so I’m saying here for the record that she knows of the chicken pox risk and is willing to take it. This is a binding public statement.

Next Tuesday will make it two weeks from two days before Snort came out in spots, which is Coco’s earliest possible exposure. So hopefully she won’t get spots till mid/late next week, but who knows. In theory she could get them Saturday. Unlikely, but there you are.

At any rate, today is packing, oh, epic packing. A trip to the dentist for my still crazy tooth, all the drama from it gives me copious diarrhoea. Then an illicit drive thru trip for tea, changing kids into pajamas, and leaving for Luvdom around 7. You’re reading this sometime after 10 am Thursday, which means through the magic of time travel we will have already had two kids sleep in the car to Luvdom, before waking up and staying up till like 2 am from excitement and recharged sleep batteries. Which means you are reading this as I weep with exhaustion, fake smiling every time the movers look at me.

Catch you on the flip side.

(And lest you think of robbing us, we are not leaving the house empty and devoid of people.)

POX POWER.

May 14, 2013

YEAH BITCHES.

I reverse psychology-jinxed the universe! Posted on Facebook that the kids weren’t getting chicken pox in order to make them appear. AND IT FUCKING WORKED.

We have to go to the doc to confirm, though I have no doubt because they are literally appearing before my eyes. Just on Snort so far (please let them show up on Coco soon so we have joint spots and not a loooong poxy haul), and the doc will need to advise. Snort’s eczema makes him at risk of thousands of spots rather than hundreds, and his asthma makes him a bit more at risk too. I don’t think the steroids he is on will put him at risk, but will check with doc.

This is all proof I am magic. Or that my intuition is super awesome and to be listened to.

Though I thought spots were only a handful on the first day……and they are already passing the handful stage. And some already appear blistery? I told him that he will look like a dalmation. Both kids love dalmations and puppies, thanks to a certain movie.

If any of you live nearby and want the pox, you are welcome round.

Feelings.

May 3, 2013

Every now and then people post stuff to my Facebook page and say, ‘This made me think of you!’ Usually it’s great stuff and right on.

But occasionally I just stare at the screen, thinking, ‘What the fuck. This is what you think of me?!?’

Just FYI.

May 2, 2013

Oh sweet Christ, if he has a sun allergy I’m going to dig myself a hole, crawl in, and pull a duvet on top of me.

Figuring out what authentic means. Motherhood and me-ness. Just being.

April 18, 2013

I read a status update on Facebook by an unschooling page I follow. It was essentially all about how difficult it can be to support others, to inspire them, and always have to push your own dreams aside. That it is okay to never achieve your dreams if you help others. The line that really hit me was something like, ‘Sometimes I feel I will always live on the edge of a black pit, helping others climb of their black pits.’ That resonated. Strongly.

The author finished the post by saying hey, that’s okay! This is the good life.

That bit didn’t so much resonate.

Parenting requires, no, DEMANDS more squashing of self than I could have ever prepared for. Of course, I transform, I submerge myself with abandon into this new life, mostly. I want my children to be more courageous and creative than I am, and I feel that I play an instrumental role in allowing them to explore, to be who they are, to experiment and wonder. I want them to be curious and engaged and philosophers. Scientists. Artists. Literary giants.

I don’t begrudge them these things. Sometimes I question myself and my own motives, wondering if I am already trying to live vicariously through them. I pull myself back. No one deserves that pressure, we all need to be our own selves in the most authentic way we can. And that doesn’t come from other people telling us how to live or what to think.

So this status update made me angry, and made me sad, and made me THINK.

Then a lone sliver, a wisp as white and frail as anything else, floated across my mind. That one of my happiest and most fulfilling times in life was at camp. And my job, my life, was about inspiring children, young people, and adults. To help foster an environment where children could play and learn how to be themselves and take risks in a supportive environment. My life was all about helping others, and fuck, was I happy.

But I can’t lie. The campers at that place fucking loved me, and that fuelled me. I was able to be more fully, authentically me there than I had ever been anywhere else. The crazier I dressed, the weird impulse to shave my head, the outrageous singing and making a fool of myself – the more me I was, the more people loved me. And so, of course, that sweetest of lessons helped me grow and be joyful.

I feel on the cusp now, but it isn’t the same cusp I know and am old frenemies with. This cusp has that black pit on one side. I don’t know about the the other side.

The grand dreams, the feeling of factual endless possibilities, I don’t think it is there anymore. Those things may actually be in my own black pit. I think of my best friends I’ve known fifteen years, longer. How we all started with big dreams, and the certainty they would come true. I’ve watched people’s dreams deflate, and I’ve mostly felt sad about that. Because I know what we are all capable of.

But now a quiet voice says, find a third way. You don’t have to always give of yourself so constantly and consistently, this is a season in your life. When that voice is pushy, it asks uncomfortable questions about what sort of model I am being for my children. When it is melancholy, it asks what sort of life I am living for myself. Can I look up to me?

How am I so good at inspiring others, at believing wholeheartedly what I say, but then I sit here, in my tattered and comfortable slippers, perched on the edge of a black pit?

Maybe it is the time to look for an overgrown path. It’s small, dusty. Meandering. I’m not sure where it leads, but I do know it is away from that pit.

Or maybe it is still the time to sit here. Trying to rest and regroup when I get small moments, stretching my neck and checking my supplies. Casting my eyes about for that path, debating if I even want that path, or something else. I’d like my black pit edge to have a stream for my feet to rest in, but then I don’t want it to be too comfortable.

So I sit here, helping my children be and believe in themselves.

While I wonder who I am. That old me, who is still in Country A, laughing in thunderstorms and driving golf carts wildly? Eating ice cream in the summer twilight?

The impossible me who was brave enough to move across the world for true love?

The new and older me, who is often achey and short tempered?

I think I’m all those, but I feel I’m something else, too. Maybe my dreams have shifted, maybe I don’t want to chase them, maybe I’m just taking a breather. Maybe it’s easier to try to forgive myself for not trying at this moment in time. Maybe it’s okay to not know. Maybe it’s fine to let the sun warm my back, to sip water, to extend a hand to others. Maybe it’s not my time. Not yet.

Maybe it will be, soon.

Boston.

April 17, 2013

My kids listen to everything. ‘What are you talking about?’ is a question anyone who has hung out with us will have heard.

And Tuesday morning I heard it, ‘What are you talking about, Mama?’

So I said it. ‘There was a bomb in a city called Boston. Some people got hurt when it exploded.’

Silence.

‘What?’

‘Some bad people exploded a bomb, and it hurt other people. They had to go to the hospital for help.’

‘And the police came? To help?’

‘Yes.’

And off he scampered to play.

I’ve seen lots of posts about how to talk to your kids about tragedy. Surely we should talk to the the way we talk to them about anything – honestly, age appropriately, with clear language. Answer their questions. Don’t add anything unnecessary or confusing if it is a difficult topic and your child is very young, but don’t assume that because they are very young they cannot understand or empathise.

Just my opinion.

Keeping it real.

April 16, 2013

If you are matter of fact, kids don’t question shit. Case in point:

I’m observing bathtime. Snort splashes water in Coco’s eyes.

Coconut: OW. My EYES. Ow, Mama, ow!

Me: Are you okay? I can’t touch you right now, my hand is dirty.

Snort: What is that little cup?

Me: Every now and then, grown up ladies have blood come out their vaginas. So I use this little cup to catch the blood.

Snort: Oh.

Coconut (who has been listening and totally calm and fine): Oh, okay.

Coconut: MY EYES!!

Overload.

April 15, 2013

I’m just so tired. Just want to sit and do nothing. Like, be in a comfortable chair, maybe under a blanket, and just stare into space.

The kids are still recovering. Fevers still ongoing, Snort’s nose is like a tap, Coconut is coughing like crazy. She also just gagged at the flavour of ibuprofen and threw up on me. No matter how I clean it, my wrist still feels sticky.

I know I should be cleaning the house, getting rid of germs. But I can only just at manage to pretend to be a dog and play catch with Coco, or feign enthusiasm over Snort’s Angry Birds video. He’s now quietly doing Hama beads on his own while Coconut is singing in the corner. Ah, no, just the act the typing that has jinxed me and he wants me to play.

I’m too tired to play, to clean, to cook. It’s day five of our housebound odessy of illness, and the way I feel right now I may never want to leave the house again. I need a break, y’all.


Follow

Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 130 other followers