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*My* chair

A couple of years ago, I was having trouble coping. It felt as though my life was one big pile of pressure, and there was no relief in sight. I felt that there wasn’t even any place in my own house that I could escape from the demands of others, or of my own (sometimes unreasonable) expectations of myself as a new mother, happy wife, and indifferent yet not-TOO-slack housekeeper.
So I snapped, and demanded Hubby buy me a chair. One of my own choosing, for my personal use ONLY.
(Plus, baby number three was unexpectedly on his way, and we’d given away my feeding chair with all the other baby stuff, after our second daughter had arrived.)
So I threw a right royal tantrum, and got *my* chair. Rule number one: it’s Mummy’s chair. No-one puts toys or books on it, and no one sits on it without asking first. Grown-ups included. Rule number two: never forget Rule number one.
I love my chair. I use it, and no one else does. It is wholly and solely, irrevocably, MINE and everyone knows it.
And I love it! My ‘special place’. Just for me.
My chair.

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family anecdotes More about me Random thoughts

Waking

I love waking up. It’s something that happens very rarely, maybe once or twice a year. Okay, maybe three. Or four. But not more than half-a-dozen, I’m sure of it.
Right now you’re thinking “This chic is crazy”. And yes, I probably am a little, but not over this. So I guess I’d better explain myself.
I rarely ‘wake up’ because I’m always being ‘woken up’. Yes, there is a distinction. No, I never understood the distinction until I became a parent.
I absolutely LOOOOOOOOOVE waking up. The sensation of realising that you’re awake, and that you’ve slept, and that now that you’re awake you can tell that you’ve achieved this state of wakefulness all by yourself, and that you don’t have to immediately rush out of bed to attend a child, a pet, or other miscellaneous disturbance, but that you have the leisure to lie there for a minute, or two, or three, (or even maybe to go back to sleep again!) with noone demanding your time, your attention, your energy… Yes, I love waking up.
I have never owned an alarm clock. I have always been a ‘morning person’. I have always woken at 6, or before if I was anxious about anything. Those days are gone now. A pity, in a way, but I’d NEVER give up my kids just to get a few hours more sleep. The benefits far outweigh, and all that sort of stuff.
Take my mornings, now.
Most of them, say around 17 or 18 out of 20, I wake up when the door to my bedroom opens. It’s generally around 5.45am, and the house is dark and quiet. Mr 2 walks quietly past Hubby and around to my side of the bed. He then stands there with his hand on my shoulder or arm, until I put an arm around him. Or he climbs up next to me and lies down. He doesn’t make a sound. He’ll stay quiet, not moving. He won’t fall asleep. He’s just happy being hugged. And he stays with me ’til I take him out of the room.
My daughters never did that. Sure, they came in on the odd occasion, or they tried to, but it was always a ‘middle of the night’ thing, not a ‘I’ve woken up now and I know it’s morning but instead of playing with my toys in my room (which is what he used to do) I want to give you a hug until you’re ready to get up and play with me’.
I love that about my mornings. I know it’s a phase, and he’ll grow out of it quicker than I want him too, but right at the moment, his early morning cuddle trumps even ‘my waking up’.
And I love that.

Photo: Mr 2. Taken by the exceptional Greg Parsons.

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Hand in hand

Miss 4 is my ‘Wha?Huh?’ child. Not because she asks questions constantly, but because that’s what everyone always says when they see us together.
I’m Eurasian. My hair is thick, straight, and very dark brown. I also have dark brown eyes, and olive skin that can get VERY olive when I’ve been in the sun. Miss 4, on the other hand, has wispy thin blonde hair, very blue eyes, and fair skin.
Exactly. My ‘Wha?Huh?!’ child.
Yes, she’s mine. Yes, she’s my husband’s. (It’s both amusing and disconcerting, just how many people – from strangers through to close friends – have insinuated that I’m a tramp, since she’s been born. The strangers, I admit, wouldn’t know me from a bar of soap. But acquaintances, friends, and close friends? Surely they’d know that Hubby and I’ve been happily married for over 16 years now…?!!) I don’t remember such insinuations ever happening beforehand. Plus, when you think about it, even alleged promiscuity doesn’t make sense. I gave birth to her but it’s ME that she DOESN’T look like!!?)
She also doesn’t have an ounce of my ‘perfectionist, cranky, must be done my way’ nature. She’s a cruisy kid who loves to laugh. She’s a beautiful dancer, but hopeless at singing in tune. A big fruit eater, she’s the healthiest of all my kids, and will probably be the largest, if the first few years of her life are anything to go by.
The other day, I was sitting in *my* chair (topic for another blog post, dear readers) and she was standing next to me, hand in my hand, while I was trimming her fingernails. I finished, then, as she does at least a dozen times a day, she said, “Hug and kiss, Mummy?” then proceeded to give me one of each.
I looked at her, looking up at me and smiling her gorgeous smile, those big blue eyes wide open and full of trust and innocence, and counted myself blessed. So blessed to have such a loving child. So blessed to have three loving children, who are happy and healthy and who enrich my life so completely.
How lucky am I to be hand in hand with such treasures. Thank you, Lord!

Photo: Greg Parsons. Great guy, brilliant photographer.

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Family photos

Yesterday I wrote a post about my insanely busy week last week – and included a photo of my gorgeous three cherubs. This was the first time I have ever posted a photo of them – any of them – online, as I am paranoid when it comes to their security. I have asked all my family and friends to do likewise (to not post photos of my children, if they have them) and even emailing is something I am wary of.

To some, I know this sounds absolutely crazy, and I must be certifiably insane. To others, that I’m taking my role as their protector a little too far. To a few, such precautions are prudent. The world wide web is simply NOT a safe place, and although I hate to admit it, I know that there are some very poor children who have simply horrendous things done to them, and I want to keep my children as safe (and as innocent) as possible, for as long as possible. It would break my heart if I inadvertently was the cause of anything remotely close to their being in danger.

Reason being: I have cute kids. Yes, I know that every parent probably thinks that about their children, but in my opinion, they are really quite good-looking. I am Eurasian, which gives them slightly olive skin, high cheekbones, and cute button noses. Miss 7 has light brown hair and brown eyes. Miss 4 is blonde with blue eyes. Mr 2 has almost black hair, and eyes so dark brown they’re almost black. And I’d prefer for them to be in their late teens before they start posting identifiable photos of themselves online. They’re all listed with Faye Rolph models, and the girls have both had modeling jobs in the last 6 months (Miss 7 was in the Christmas Amart All Sports TV ad) but any identifiable photos which can be traced back to our address – or even any specific location – are a plain scary thought.

That being said, the photo of them yesterday was cute without revealing too much. And I liked that. They’re a huge part of my life, and I like writing about them. So I’ve decided to post more, similar, photos of them here. (They DO take a good photo, I must admit!) Today’s is the whole family, taken early last year. It’s probably my favourite photo ever.

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Day 7 and the year is ending…

Today started with a song. I sincerely hope that means that it won’t end, in a few short hours, in tears! But in the style of @fionawb, I’m going to quote some lyrics here. They were the first thought past my brain this morning…

“The morning sunlight moves gently ‘cross our bed / the sound of distant traffic floats into my head”

and it had me thinking about how wonderful it is to have a large sliding door on the wall at the foot of our bed, with a gorgeously landscaped fishpond almost immediately in front. (We have a HUGE amount of privacy – I wouldn’t recommend this to just anyone!) But with the curtains open, the sunlight on water reflects onto the ceiling of our bedroom. It’s so incredibly peaceful, just watching the reflection move slowly. And listening to the distant traffic on the Bruce Highway, warring with (but thankfully mostly drowned out by) birdcalls is pretty magical.

Today I got busy. Cleaned out the house (even managed to push the vacuum around a bit!) and tackled Miss 6’s bed, as it’s been bugging me for ages. Silly me, when Miss 3 was big enough to move up out of her cot, chose expedience and bought two single doona covers. Was proud of myself, as I had managed to score prints that the kids would like (Miss 6 was into dinosaurs, and the other -for Mr 2- was blue and soccer-themed) but this quickly changed when I got them home and out of their packets. The extremely thin material (can’t remember the name of it now) was also absolutely PATHETIC at assisting the doona to hold its shape, so every morning Miss 6 wrestled with a very twisted doona, inside its thin, slippery cover. A difficult situation, when you’re trying to make your bed up on a top bunk anyway! (Mr 2’s wasn’t as bad, as not only does he not writhe around so much at night, but being on a normal single bed, there isn’t the height problem to deal with.)

So I finally talked myself into making another one. The first I had made (Nemo on one side, and Pooh Bear and friends on the other) had been Miss 6’s, but Miss 3 inherited it when Miss 6 got the dinosaurs. I’m not the best seamstress in the world (I just tried typing ‘sew-er’, but without the hyphen it looks COMPLETELY different!!!) so this was  a rather unusual occurence for me. But I got it done – and a pillowcase to match. Pretty pleased with myself.

Yes, it’s plain. Red. No, not her favourite colour, but just some material I had to hand. Still, it’s SOOOOOO much better than the twisted dinosaur one! Oh – and in case you’re wondering… here in our part of the world, we’re close enough to the water to get cool breezes pretty much year-round. So while the rest of the Sunshine Coast is in summer pj’s, we’re still under doonas! LOL!

That, and relaxing with hubby this afternoon while the kids enjoyed Madagascar on the PS2 (Christmas present) was my day. A very enjoyable one. Lots of reflection (not just the water! But thoughtful reflection on the year that’s passed) and sone tentative musings on possible New Year resolutions. And a conversation with Miss 6 about the *possibility* of waking her up to see the fireworks at midnight. And that was it.

All in all, it’s been a wonderful year. NEVER would have thought, twelve months ago, that today I would be a self-employed marketer. NEVER could have dreamed that I would be THIS happy. Thank you, Lord, for blessing me with so darn much! And help me to appreciate it far more than I do.

So I’m looking forward to 2012 with excitement… some apprehension (that’s the control-freak part of me talking)… and a sense that everything – at this moment in time – is ‘right with the world’. Maybe sometime in the next few hours I’ll muse those resolutions into a more solidified form. Maybe not. Either way, it’ll be great to see what happens!

Happy New Year, all! May you all have wonderful – and safe! – celebrations tonight, and may your 2012’s contain everything you wish for them, and more.

Til next year!

(oh, and the song was ‘Hold me in your arms” by the Southern Sons)

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Hanging on by my toenails

I feel like a bug. Still alive – barely – and hanging on for dear life. I’m standing on the windscreen of the vehicle that is my life, and it’s currently going full-speed, flat out, non-stop.

Hopefully that vehicle’s not a train careering along a decrepit railway line, else I’m headed for a massive train wreck!!!

(On the up-side: I’ve completed two of my three assessment pieces for AMN400 Consumer Behaviour – which I’m loving, by the way – and I’ve painted seven street signs in the last two weeks; and I’m on top of the St. Paul’s yearbook to date; and I’ve started working (successfully, too!) at St James at Hervey Bay, both in person and over email, internet, skype; and Miss Three is now completely toilet trained; and – best thing of all – Spring Fair is on today which means that sometime around 4pm I’ll be able to breathe again!!!!!!!!)

Woohoo!!! LOVING my life right now!!

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Sheltering in the lee

It is not quite 4pm. Monday. I am at home, sitting on my bed, and the house is quiet. This is extremely unusual, and I love it.

Miss 6 needed to be brought home early today (still sick, poor love, and milking it for all she can get!) so Hubby and I vied for the opportunity. I won (his job is far more important than mine!) so brought her home while he gets to continue working and then pick up the younger two from childcare.

So here I sit, surrounded by papers. Papers from work, reminding me of urgent things to do and far more urgent things to do, drafts from Uni assignments due this week, due the following week, and feedback from assignments submitted two weeks ago… and silence.

Miss 6 is sleeping (?! yeah right! try ‘playing quietly’ in her bedroom,) and I can hear the clock ticking. Very strange sound to hear in daylight hours; normally it is the accompaniment I associate with working into the late hours of the night.

I like it. A pleasant sound. Strange to hear it with a backdrop of birdcalls instead of crickets. But this… this silence… it reminds me to breathe. To relax, if just for a moment, even when surrounded by all the trappings of my responsibilities, and just breathe. Just exist in the moment. It will be over soon enough… hubby will be home with the younger two, and then when they’re all abed, it’ll be time to dive straight back into the Caboolture Show prep (display being created tomorrow) and INN332 Final Report (5000 words due Thursday).

Okay. Just breathe. In… out… in… out…

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When the fun has gone…

There’s a little bit of a tinge of sadness in the air. A greying. Cool mist. It’s as though the laughter-filled ‘honeymoon stage’ has passed, and the vision of ‘hard slog’ has just started to inch towards me over the far horizon. Ho hum.

Today is the 23rd of January. Exactly one month ago, I set up this blog, in preparation for @fionawb’s #blog12daysxmas challenge, which would start on Christmas Day of 2010. So that’s it. Been blogging for a month now. How sad – I can’t really class myself as a ‘newbie’ anymore. Well, not really.

Generally I find milestones exciting. They signify the culmination of something. But that can mean the end of something, too… and in my experience, when something ends it is never repeated again. Which can be sad, I find. Today also marks the end of my 6 posts on ‘momentous events in my life’. It’s been an interesting challenge I set myself… I had NO idea when I started, just how confronting it would be. Bearing my soul and my innermost thoughts at the most emotional experiences I’ve had! And only a brand-new blogger! So this week’s been rather a soul-searching one for me, deciding how to best present the stories of my life, pitting the ‘truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth’ against the ideas of privacy, discretion, and of course a pretty massive word count when I get all rambly!

Still an’ all… today’s event, number six, while still extremely emotional, was one which still leaves me incredulous. It goes like this…

It was the latter half of 2010. August, maybe? Or September? It was a warm day, and it must have been a Saturday because hubby was home. So we decided to swap the baby seats into our Pajero and take the 5 of us to Bribie for the day. So we did. On the way, I noticed that I was still wearing my watch and rings (I never take them to the beach, as I don’t like the potential that sand has for damaging them!) and was about to take them off and put them safely into my handbag, when I was distracted (probably by two fighting daughters in the back seat!) and so didn’t. And it wasn’t until we were actually ON the beach, the car unpacked, the kids changed into their swimmers etc that I remembered that I was still wearing them.

I should probably pause and explain… I’m not into jewelry. I wear my engagement ring and my wedding ring and my gold watch. That’s it. And I only wear them when I’m out somewhere – as soon as I’m home, I take off the rings and store them on the watchband; do up the watch again, and presto! Safe. I probably started the habit when my eldest was born, as I didn’t want the stones to scratch her when I was picking her up so constantly, but now it’s a bit of a habit.

Anyway, we got home from the day at Bribie tired and happy. And the following morning, headed off to church. I opened the section of my handbag where I usually keep the watch / rings… and they weren’t there. Back home, after church, I check the box where I leave them… and they weren’t there. I go back out to the car, check the glovebox, the floor… no. I go to the Pajero, check the glovebox, the floor, the centre console… no. I panic. They’re gone. Completely. Gone.

Questions, guilt, more questions, more guilt. Why can’t I remember! I must have taken them off at the beach… but maybe that was just before my youngest crawled head-first into the water and got knocked over by a wave?

A week goes by. A very very very sad week. I was coming up 15 years married and had lost my rings. Worse – I couldn’t even remember when I had removed them and where I had put them. Hubby suggests calling the Bribie Police Station. Sure, I say, but don’t. (I’ve mentioned how depressed I get, haven’t I.) The following weekend it rains, or we’re busy, or something. Anyway, we don’t go back to Bribie. I don’t think I would have handled it too well, if Hubby had even suggested it. He keeps reminding me of the Bribie Police. I say, ‘Stop nagging.’

Monday after lunch. The eldest is at school and the younger two have gone down for their naps. I can’t put it off anymore. I call Bribie Police. Teary, I tell the constable my story. She asks me to describe them. I do.

She them says, “You’re not going to believe this. They’ve been handed in, not half an hour ago. A lady found them on the beach this morning – well, her husband did – and she wanted to hand them in straight away because she knew that whoever had lost them would be devastated.”

I die. (Well, not literally, but pretty darn close!) I bundle the kids into the car, rush down to Bribie Police Station, and reclaim my beloved watch and rings. Oh my GOD!!!!! How absolutely INCREDIBLE!!! I had been praying, and praying, and praying, all week. And here they were again – back on my ring finger; back on my wrist – without even any extra tarnish for their eight days in the sun, wind, rain, exposed to the salt and the sand!

How awesome is my God?!! Pretty darn! I was completely blown away. Incredulous. And so, so, so grateful. I had thought them gone literally forever, and been in various stages of mourning and denial. But they had been preserved somehow… heck! The watch hadn’t even lost a minute! How absolutely INCREDIBLE is my God!!!

Anyway, that’s it. The sixth, of six ‘most momentous events in my life’. The list is complete. A little sad, in a way. A little grey. But touched with golden around the edges, for a challenge completed successfully. And as for the next? I haven’t decided yet. Might go sleep on it.

As always, thank you for allowing me to share my story with you. And, dear readers, have a lovely night!

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momentous events

It’s party day…

I mentioned in last night’s post that hubby and two daughters had birthdays in the past week.  So today is party day. Yay – I think! (The rain’s just started, and it looks like it’s setting in.) Wish I’d had more sleep last night, rather than waking up every few hours, having dreamt about (yet more!) ant invasions.

Still, the point of this post is to reminisce the fifth momentous event in my life to date. And that was another celebration – much quieter though. MUCH. Internal, as a matter of fact. That ‘want to jump out of your skin because you can’t contain how happy you feel’ kind of celebration. And the reason? Gaining full-time employment for the first time ever.

From memory, it was January 27, 1996. I was in the Principal’s office in Chisholm Catholic College, Cornubia. I had spent the better part of my mental and emotional energies over the past fortnight being concerned that schools were going back. I had been offered the position of Music Coordinator of Mt Isa State High School since finishing my B.Ed a few months earlier, but, being only a few weeks married to a NAB Lending Officer based in Brisbane, had turned it down. So now I had found myself unemployed, with the schools going back. And with nervous energy to burn, had applied for and been given an interview for the position of Music Coordinator at Chisholm, a Term One replacement for Peter Shaw, who was on Long Service Leave.

So I sat in Mike Ashton’s office, explaining who I was and trying to demonstrate how enthusiastic I was to have the opportunity to finally have my ‘own class’, rather than the classes of supervising teachers. I guess it must have worked, because Mike asked me to wait outside while he called my referees. Then he called me back in and offered me the job. I could hardly contain my excitement! I was engaged to start the very next day, and he took me for a quick tour of the school.

I think I may have impressed him that very first day. The students had returned, and he hadn’t yet organised the relief for the Music classes that would start that afternoon. So I offered to take them. To start that day. He agreed, surprised yet probably relieved. And so my first day’s (well, half day’s) work was that same afternoon. What a ride! And what an excellent school! And when I left at the end of Term Three, (a Maths / Science teacher had taken maternity leave in Terms Two and Three, so Mike had rearranged the timetable so the classes were covered internally, and so I could stay there, teaching English and Music classes,) I couldn’t have asked for a better start to my career. I learned so much, grew so much, and gained far more than I thought would have been possible. Even now, I’m smiling.

I’ve been thinking about that quite a bit this week. Again, I find myself in the position of being ‘unemployed’, with the schools going back. And again, I find myself with huge amounts of nervous energy to burn. I need a job. No, really, I NEED a job. Know of one I could have?

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On your marks… get set…

I’ve just recently started seeing the value in long term commitments. You see, I suffered (and sometimes still do, to be truthful) from pretty major depression as a teenager, and quite literally believed that I would never see January 1, 2000. I had worked out that I would be 26 years old, and, as I could never imagine myself EVER being ‘that old’ (“HA!” my brain is saying now,) I just assumed that I wouldn’t be around. That I’d be dead by then.

So, seeing 2000 was pretty momentous for me. But not enough to make the list I’m starting today: the six most momentous events in my life (to date). And the first would HAVE to be the day I commenced the long-distance “marathon” I hope to finish only on the day I die. (Which will hopefully be many, many, MANY years from now! I’ve kinda gotten used to this whole ‘living’ bit!)

The 18th of November, 1995 dawned just as the day before it had, and the day after it would. Nothing momentous there. I was up early, full of adrenalin and my brain working overtime with those “last minute” things which absolutely HAD to be done. Then it was a quick dash (no, I didn’t speed!) from the family home at Eight Mile Plains to the Stradbroke Ferries Water Taxi at Cleveland. Arriving with a couple of friends with a few minutes to spare, we clambered aboard the 6am Taxi and spent twenty minutes being jolted across to Dunwich. Once there, we made our way to the first of three destinations for the day. Meanwhile, up the hill, in the green house with the stupendous view overlooking the whole of the Bay, and the mainland from Coolangatta to Coolum, more people were busy, getting ready for the day’s activities. An informal bus service was set up, from the house down to the Water Taxi terminal, to collect the many visitors that would be arriving, and bring them either back to the house or take them to the second destination. Which itself was also a hive of activity – being decorated with flowers, ribbons, and candles, ready for the midday celebrations.

By 8am it was starting to heat up. So much so that by 9.30, it was raining. Enough to dampen the spirits of others, but not mine. I was determined that nothing could spoil this day for me… and sure enough, the rain stopped well before 11, leaving a cooler day and enough time to dry out the ground prior to the big event.

By midday, everyone had arrived that was meant to, and all had been transported to the second destination. St Marks Anglican Church – a tiny wooden building on the road north. It had louvres for windows, and each louvre was a different colour. “Perhaps the Australian version of stained glass windows?”  I joked later. Still, everyone was there, milling around, catching up with old friends and acquaintances, and meeting new ones. By 12.10 Pastor John Geoghegan could be seen checking his watch. He then started pacing from the altar to the front door, looking earnestly. He was there, ushering the last of the stragglers inside, when he caught sight of the car. He happily turned to the church and announced, ‘Well – Ceridwyn IS here’ and then took his place back at the altar.

Steeping out of the car in my dress and heels, veil over my face, I remember I couldn’t stop grinning from ear to ear. My father took my arm, and as the flower girl and bridesmaid walked ahead, I thought to myself, “Well – this is it!”

It’s now over fifteen years later. I’m 36, and on the 18th of November 2010, my husband and I celebrated our 15th wedding anniversary. No, it hasn’t always been easy. Some of it’s been downright TOUGH. But without that first day, I wouldn’t be sitting here now, on the 18th of January 2010, proud of the longest commitment I’ve ever had. (Well, with the exception of being alive, that is.) Without that first day, I wonder if I would indeed lived to see January 1 2000, even. Looking back, I’m very glad I DID live to see it – and glad that I’ve seen every day since then, too!

Well that’s it. The most momentous event in my life. My wedding to the man of my dreams (yes, literally!) on the 18th of November, 1995. A brilliant event. One I’m so appreciative I’ve experienced. And I hope you don’t mind my sharing it with you today.

So – any thoughts on YOUR most momentous event?