I'm booooooored!

That's what Oli's just informed me. 

Not at all reasonable of course, because of the following:

• His friend, Spencer, has only just left after a sleepover.
• He has 40 000 toys to keep him busy.
• He has about 10 drawing books, heaps of paper, pens, paints and canvases.
• The TV's on.
• He's got my iPad.
• He has a whole room full of Lego.

and

• He has a Nerf gun in his hand that his dad was kind enough to modify for him this morning.

Yes yes, you say, but why aren't you doing something with him?

I know that me complaining about Oliver's boredom may lead you to believe that I'm a terrible mother that never does anything with my child, instead plying him with toys and friends to keep him busy. Well, that's true (in part), but I do like to think that I balance that with quality time. Sometimes.

The truth is, at the moment I'm supposed to be marking a bunch of uni assignments (can't you tell by the way I'm bent over the books?). Which is why I had organised the sleepover. So that I wouldn't get the 'can we play a board game/hide and seek/Nerf wars' requests all day.

But of course now Spencer is gone, and Oli's got to entertain himself. Hence the 'I'm bored' statement.
I'd be interested to know whether this is a new phenomenon, or if it's as timeless as the act of having children.

Certainly, I remember boredom as a young 'un, but hey, I didn't have iPads or the internet (god I'm old!).

In their defence, my boys were always pretty good at entertaining themselves, and didn't seem o hate their own company as some kids do. But they have their moments.

What's your take on the 'I'm bored' scenario?

Anywhere but here

The grass is always greener on the other side, right?

I know this, but it doesn't stop me wanting to leave here, go somewhere. Anywhere. Anywhere but here.

When we were in holidays, it was always in my mind: I could move up here (Queensland), open a theme park maybe (Legoland of course- don't you reckon Australia needs a Legoland?).
Of course, the far north coast of NSW was even better. I fell in love (again) with the green rolling hills, little macadamia farms, views forever...if I had a million bucks, I'd move there now, somewhere between Mullumbimby and Bellingen.

Of course, I do this every time I travel. You've probably noticed. I'm pretty sure I mentioned it in my last post.

But what's worse is that I do it when I'm here too.
A couple of days ago, I came across an awesome job opportunity with Apple. A job that I'm actually qualified for and would love to do. Reading the job description, it actually seemed like on that I'd have a good chance of getting.
The problem? It's based in Melbourne.

Now I'd love to live and work in Melbourne, so it was very tempting to dash off an application. But of course once I talked to Oliver, I realized I couldn't do it. He was horrified at the prospect of moving, going a new school. Leaving our friends and family behind.

So shelved that idea. Because as much as I'd love it, at the moment I need to consider Oliver's best interests. Not because I'm some martyr that lives for her child (although I guess I do), but because he's had enough upheaval in his life. And, I must admit, I'd miss my family and friends too.
So I'll stay put. Moving may might stay a retirement dream.

But where does that leave me? How do I keep myself satisfied and happy?

I don't know why I have this urge for change. Perhaps it's my new, post-Sam attitude. Or maybe it's because I didn't do all those travel, party animal, career-advancing things in my 20s (I only regret that a little bit- I'm very happy to have had my time with Sam). Perhaps it's even my sagittariun 'wanderer' tendencies. Who knows?

But...I'm staying put for now. I've told Anthony that he's got until I'm 45 until I pack it all in and move somewhere. Perhaps that will be some land in the ACT region where I can grow my berries and enjoy the views, or maybe I'll go further. I not know yet. I hope I'll be able to stifle some of these urges until then...

The Heebie-Jeebies

No passion so effectually robs the mind of all its powers of acting and reasoning as fear.

Edmund Burke

While we were on our holidays, like every good visitor to far north NSW/Queensland, we visited the theme parks. Movie World and Sea World were quite fun for all of us (with Sea World being our favourite), but Wet n' Wild proved to be most challenging.

As you may know, Wet n' Wild is a water park. Full of water slides. Big, long, fast, scary water slides.
And it just so happens that I'm terrified fairly nervous when it comes to those big, wet, winding beasts.
I don't know where it comes from, but I do know I've been scared of water slides my whole life. I guess you could call it a phobia.

Some of you may be wondering why I'd put myself through a whole day in this hell. Luckily there are other things to keep me interested. I love water, and there is a wave pool, a very cool kiddy water play area, and a cool 'river' where you just jump on an inner tube and float around and around. This is my idea of fun. And, I do like watching my family having fun on the slides too.

'Cause they do like them. Anthony loves water slides (though he will only go in the water if it's really, really hot outside); Sam loved them too (he had a fabulous time at our local - much lamer - water park with his school only a couple of days before he died); and Oliver is beginning what will probably be a lifelong love of them too (although, he does prefer the lower, smaller, slower ones at this point). Luckily for him there was a small slide at the caravan park we stayed in, and he had lots of fun on that.

This slide was also the origin of my downfall.
Because I went on it. Quite a number of times. And came to the conclusion that it was actually quite fun.

So when we got to Wet n' Wild, I naturally thought that I had been magically cured of my phobia. After all, I've successfully conquered my spider squeamishness and my up-high upsets (well, sort of - you probably won't catch me skydiving any time soon). This new 'can do, live for the moment' attitude I've manufactured over the past couple of years has certainly been a factor in these turnarounds, and I was all set to attribute my new water slide loving persona to it too.

How silly I was. I guess I should have seen it coming, but I was caught up in the excitement. People everywhere, warm sun (but freezing water!) and an excited family...
When we got to Wet n' Wild, we tried to take Oliver onto a fairly tame (I guess) slide first up. Pretty much a replica of the big yellow slides you get in the sideshow, except wet. We picked up our mats and were halfway up the stairs when Oliver baulked. We tried talking him into it, but he got upset, so we turned around and went back down.
Then we went for a walk and found the 'boat slide'; where everyone sits in the same rubber boat to go down. Once again, we got halfway up the stairs and Oli decided it wasn't for him (though he cleverly disguised it as needing to go to the toilet).

By this time, Anthony was a little frustrated, but declined to go off on his own, so we walked around a bit, floated down the river, went in the wave pool and had some lunch. Oli had a bit of a play in the kiddy park and then they finally decided they would go on a slide.

They chose what is probably the tamest and slowest slide at Wet n' Wild - a long, windy (but not too steep) slide set on a hill. I decided I would watch them go down.
Of course, Oliver loved it (Anthony found it a bit slow and lame), and it looked OK to me too; little kids and old ladies regularly popped off the end looking quite happy. So when Oliver decided to go on it again, I thought I would join him.

Well, I got all the way to the top of the hill, all the way to the front of the (30 minute wait) line.

Then I froze.

I saw the water gushing down, the steep(ish) drop at the beginning, and I couldn't do it. I even had a bit of a panic attack: quickened pulse, shallow breathing, nausea, even tears - though I managed to swallow them until I had successfully (yet sheepishly) made my way past the grannies and toddlers waiting to hurtle their way down.

I regret that I didn't just do it anyway, I really do. Because I didn't show Oliver that day that it's good to be scared but that you can have a go anyway. And deep down, I know I would have liked it too. But I didn't. Because I was scared.

Perhaps one day I'll be able to do it. But this time I didn't. Fear is a funny thing, isn't it?

What are you scared of?

Hello?

I know, it's very cheeky of me to think that anyone would still be around after completely neglecting my ever-faithful readers for the last month, but I thought I'd better pop my head in.

In my defence, I've been exceptionally busy since I last spoke with you, not to mention horribly ill for the last couple of days (it's so nice to be able to sit up for any length of time!)
Mind you, I'm not completely better yet. I got hit with a very rapid onset cold on Monday night, and have been in bed since. In fact, I'm writing this while all snuggled up. I think I've got a little bit of a chest infection to be honest, so if I'm not better tomorrow, it's back to the doc. I don't want to get pneumonia (again).

So, my last post was on the 29th of August. I've had many adventures since then: There's been a strike, which is always interesting, if nothing else. There's been lots of work-related hi-jinx with some new, and very interesting and fun, colleagues - did you know it's been a whole year since I started my new job? And I still love it!
I've also started my other casual job doing some tutoring at the Uni. That's been a lot of fun too, though at times frustrating (I'm a little pedantic about spelling and these are university students - I'll say no more...), and scary (do I really know enough to teach at a university level?). I'm even giving a lecture next week, which is even more scary! Still, I'm glad to be doing it. It's a nice kind of teaching.

We had Father's Day, which was a pretty quiet affair, with my Dad away and me not 100% (what is it with me lately?), but the boys did some nice kite flying:

We have also been busy creating a 'Lego Room'. We have an old trailer/caravan thing that's been sitting out in the backyard full of junk, so we cleaned it out (chucking most of the junk out thank goodness!), and moved all the Lego from Oliver's room.

Last week, James and I went to see The Living End at the local uni bar. We probably wouldn't have gone if not for the whole Sam thing. As you know, The Living End was Sam's favourite band, and I had said that I would go the next time they were here. If Sam was alive, he definitely would have been there with me (it was over 18s, but we would have worked something out!), but it was good having James there, as he gets it. So once again, it was a good night tinged with sadness. It was a pretty good night, they always play well and they played enough of their old music to get most of the crowd involved.

I also spent last Saturday night being extremely wicked at the Hen's Night of a good friend: drinks, dancing, strippers, you know - the usual. You know, despite the horror of finding myself at Mooseheads (check out the photo!), it was actually fun, and a bit of an ego boost, as many boys came up and tried it on with me, and not just the ugly desperate ones!
It was a great night in which I (of course) had a bit too much to drink, which was a bit silly as the next day Oliver and I were due to take part in the annual Canberra Times Family Walk. 


Luckily, I was spared any sign of a hangover and we had a pleasant (if very cold) 5km walk around the lake. It's the second year we've done it (my friend Deb went too with her daughter Lucy), and it's lots of fun for a good cause (The Heart Foundation).

Phew! It's no wonder I've had no time for blogging! I will try to get back in here regularly, but it doesn't look like slowing down. We're going on a holiday soon (robbers beware, our house will be inhabited), plus it's not only social season (have you noticed that the social engagements seem to pile up when the weather starts to warm up?), but it's birthday season around our place. This month we've got Anthony's mum's 60th (it was on Tuesday but we're having lunch on Sunday); then in October we've got Oliver and Anthony(40!), as well as Anthony's brother Tim; then in November we've got Anthony's brothers Phil and Christopher and foster sister Ange; and finally in December there's James, my Dad and me! Lots of cake. Not so good for me who is now on a no-cake diet!

Actually, that's the other thing. My doctor told me the other day that I'm 'this close' to diabetes. So I'm going to lose some weight. No, I really am! It may well take up the bulk of my future posts.

So until the next one, much love to you.

Do I have to come home?

 

This is what I see when I look out m hotel window.

It's not the traditional 'Melbourne City View', but it's still a nice one. There's the markets, a tram that wanders by every 20 minutes or so, the big container cranes, and in the distance, the big pillars of the Bolte Bridge.

I like Melbourne. Very much. If I had to live in another city it would be this one. When I asked Oliver if he'd live here, he said 'yeah! there's so much more to do here!'. Then he mentioned that he'd miss the family. Bless him. Damn families, stopping us from doin' stuff! ;p

We've had a pretty great time. For the first four days, we stayed pretty close to Eric and Karen's place (where we were staying). We visited my Grandpa a few times - he went to hospital for a night while we were here, so we went and visited him there too, we went swimming with my aunt and cousin (Oliver loved the wave pool), and I even managed to fit in almost a whole day of relaxing on the couch.

Which is probably why my body decided to let me get sick!

I haven't been sick in quite a while, but on Monday, I woke up with the definite signs of a cold. See, I just shouldn't have relaxed! Because today, I've got to drive home, and I'm feeling less than wonderful. It's going to be a loooooong trip...

Nevertheless, we've packed a lot in to our three days in the city.

On Sunday when we arrived, we went to the Queen Victoria Markets, where Oliver drained my wallet and I picked up some yummy olives and things (which ended up as my dinner!). Then we went down to Federation Square to the 'Art of the Brick' exhibition, which was pretty amazing:

This thing was HUGE! And made completely out of Lego!

 

We wandered through the town, ending up at the midtown Myer store's toy section (surprised??), which is pretty cool, with lots of Lego models, and too much Lego for sale!

And that was only Sunday! On Monday we went to the Melbourne Aquarium, which was cool (if not a little overpriced, I thought), the highlight of which was the gorgeous penguins (sorry, don't have a photo yet). Then, in a slightly cheeky move, we went at had some lovely fish and chips down on the Docklands. There is a great new shopping precinct there, but by this time, Oli was footsore, so we headed back up for a rest, briefly showing our faces down at Melbourne Central (about 350m away from here) for dinner.

Yesterday, we went to the fabulous Melbourne Museum (again, no photos yet!). It is a very well put together museum with some fascinating exhibits, like the taxidermied (not a word, I know) Phar Lap and the wonderful indoor 'forest', where I was very excited to get up close and personal with a satin bower bird and his blue bits (such a bird nerd!). 

We also saw (after nearly 30 minutes of queuing) the Tutankhamen exhibition, which was fascinating, but probably over priced and over hyped for what it was. I was hoping for Tut's mask or at least his sarcophagus, but it was interesting to see some of the treasures he was buried with.

Wednesday's adventures didn't end there. We then walked down to Eureka Tower (one end of town to another). We'd been there before but Oli was keen to go again, and I wanted to see it all by night. It was very spectacular, despite the low cloud that came in every few minutes, at one stage completely obscuring our view!

Oliver was exhausted by this time, so we jumped on a tram which took us almost to the door, and tucked in for an early night. 

This morning, I've promised Oliver a buffet breakfast in the hotel's restaurant, then we begin the long trek home. I have a feeling it will take me a little longer than the trip here, but that's OK. It's been nice.

Plastic Rocks and Padding

Oliver and I went for a walk today to the 'Adventure Playground'. It's about 3km from our house, so a decent walk. 'Cause Oliver wanted to go there and play.

Oli enjoyed himself. There's a flying fox:

and some swings,

and a nice long slide,

He had fun. But something's still missing.

The Adventure Playground has been around since I was a kid.But back then, the big slide was a big, high thing with only air underneath, not a bouncy soft fall. To get on the flying fox you had to climb up some bodgy tires and make a bit of a leap of faith. There was a great big rope swing, which sat next to a grandstand-like set of seats. The boys would all climb to the top and pile onto the rope, 10 kids at a time, and then swing higher than you would imagine anyone could go. There was also a cool wire bridge - just one wire suspended high above the ground, with a couple of extra wires for balance.

It was cool back then. There were big, high tree houses and a concrete slide that used to get covered in water in the summer. And one of those pods that spun around and around until everyone inside was well and truly sick.

Playgrounds have changed a lot since I was a kid. And not for the better, I don't think.

It seems that the agenda at the moment is to make everyone completely safe when playing - to the point that it's just not much fun to visit the park any more. I guess the kids don't notice, but that's because they don't know any different.

When I was a kid, there were lots of really high slides, that rocked when you climbed the stairs and were lots of fun on the way down. There were big wooden play structures that wobbled and dropped odd parts off periodically, and gave you a wicked splinter if you rubbed them up the wrong way. We had lots of fun climbing and jumping off - daring each other to ever more dangerous acts and timing ourselves as we raced around doing increasingly crazy things.

I may be paranoid, but I believe that the government (particularly the ACT government) is systematically removing every ounce of fun from our playgrounds.
Recently, they attacked our local park (the one out the back of our house), removing every tree branch that was within arm's reach (and there were some pretty awesome climbing trees), and they are in the process of 'revamping' a park near my parent's house. God only knows what they'll end up with. I think it will probably be a little plastic fort with a 1.5m slide and a distinct lack of fun, challenging playground fare.


It's not that I want to put my kids in danger, it's just that kids should have the chance to play, and climb and challenge themselves, and take risks. Maybe they'll break their arm, but then again, maybe they'll find out that they could do something they never though they could do. Am I wrong to think that a little 'danger' is better? Me, I figure that a kid can get in trouble anywhere (look at Sam - he died when he was in bed!), so surely they should be allowed some FUN!

TAMS (our local 'council') recently asked for our feedback on some of the playground spaces. I told them what I think. I hope a lot of others will too.  Our kids need the opportunity to play and be kids. Don't they?

What do you do when you don't know what to do?

My little boy is hurting. I think.

I told you a little while back about the tears when we told him Merlin was going to die (who, by the way, is still well and truly alive. And nearly 17 in people years!)

A couple of weeks ago, his teacher called me, and said he'd 'changed'. That he was 'flat', and not as chirpy as usual.  That he was regularly drifting off, and not snapping back to attention like he used to. That he was being a bit more 'silly' and 'naughty'. Mainly following others (how like my boys!), but still, somewhat out of character.

He's also lost some of his energy. He's more inclined to want to watch TV or play a video game than to head outside. Some of this is the horrible cold weather we're having at the moment, but I'm always looking for other signs.

Granted, he's been sick lately (the flu kept him at home almost a week), and seems to be still a bit flat after that (with big, worrying black circles under his eyes until a couple of days ago), but always in the back of my mind is that it's about Sam.

Which is fair enough, yeah? I mean, it's only been 18 months (last week) since we lost Sam. And Oliver was a lot younger then. I'm still having trouble understanding it, I can't even imagine how Oliver's processing it.

And the bizarre, tragic, pointless stuff doesn't stop either. Never do we get a chance to say to Oli 'everything's OK. No one's going to die today', everyone's OK.

Last week, a good friend of Anthony's mum was in a freak accident. Something you would never imagine happening. She's now on life support with little prospect of recovery (and no prospect of healthy brain function). Of course Oliver sees how this has affected his grandmother. How could he not? His cousin is also in hospital with complications (I'm assuming) from his recent epilepsy diagnosis. A kid in the class next to his has been in hospital for the last few weeks with collapsed lungs and goodness knows what else.

It's terrible that a kid so young has to see so much death. So much pain. So much grief. But how do you shield them from it? You just can't!

So what do I do? I told Oliver's teacher that I wasn't too worried if he fell a little behind. Which is kind of true. I've always thought that primary school was more about developing kids as people (social skills, communicating etc), so I can handle it if he's a little behind on his reading or maths. Plus I'm a teacher, so I can catch him up if necessary. But what can I expect from them in terms of mental health?

The school counsellor's not an option. They are only in schools once or twice a week, and Oliver doesn't really have an identifiable (by testing) special need, so it's not likely the counsellor will be able to do much.

She also referred me to the school chaplain. At first I baulked at that, because I'm an atheist, but she assured me that they had a non-religious approach to working with kids. So I'm thinking about that.

I think what I'll probably do is take him to my GP. Get him checked out - the full works. Perhaps from there a psychologist? I don't know.

But in the mean time, I've organised a special trip. Just for him and me.

In the holidays, we're going to drive down to Melbourne. We had a fairly nice time there last year, and I wanted to see my Grandpa, so I took some leave and decided to take him down. During our trip, I've booked a hotel near the city for three nights, so we can do some touristy stuff, like the zoo and the Tutankhamen and Lego exhibitions, and just hang out. The two of us. Days busy doing the running around, but nights at the hotel watching movies and playing cards. With no distractions. Just me and him.

Because a lot of how I react to Oli's situation is guilt. Guilt because I'm at work every day, and taking on study and gym commitments; which I know are good for my mental health, but I feel guilty about them because I'm not 'here' for Oli.

It's not like he's all alone. I mean, Anthony's here with him all the time, and he does a good job of it too. But still I have the guilt. It's probably not rational (and I know I shouldn't worry about Anthony thing, because he's not the same man that he was when he and Sam were in this carer situation - something I may write about one day), but it's there.

So to compensate, I do what I do best: overcompensate.

Still, I think it will be a nice trip. It will be nice for us to hang out, to talk (6 hours in a car together kinda promotes conversation), to do some mum/son things. I'm looking forward to it. I think he is too. Let's hope it helps. Even if just a little bit.

Oli Update

A few things have been going on with Oliver lately. Some of which have been keeping me from you. (I know you don't mind if it's Oli!).

The Thin Fat Kid

One thing that surprised me recently was a letter I got from the school. They had been doing this program called 'SmartStart', where they check the kid's health and fitness levels. Oliver's 'report' at the end was not what I expected. According to them, he is pretty unfit, and overweight.

This kid is 7. He's not a skinny rake of a kid, but he's definitely not obese. He develops a little tummy every now and then, but tends to run it off pretty quick. And run he does. He spends a lot of time running, because he actually likes it. So it surprised me to see that he had low levels of fitness and was int eh 90th percentile for weight for his age (I'd be interested to see what the 50th percentile is!). Mind you, he's also in the 90th percentile for height. Anyone else see a pattern here??

I'm not going to get too riled up about it, but it did surprise me. So he's now doing this workshop thing once a week after school, where they talk to the kids about health and nutrition and do lots of fitness stuff. He actually enjoys that (because he loves running around), but he has to do weird stuff like wear a pedometer and record his food and exercise in a diary.

I'll repeat. The kid is 7!

Good god! he has a hard enough time getting his shit together homework-wise (reading etc), let alone filling in a diary every second day.

Don't get me wrong, I think the concept is probably a good one. And there are probably many kids out there that don't have weight-obsessed mothers who do lots of home-cooking (including school snacks), insist on vegies as much as possible, and do emphasise good health choices regularly. But Oliver's not lacking in knowledge about healthy lifestyles. Yes, he probably eats more junk than some kids, but I don't know any of those ones!

Plus Oliver actually likes exercise. He likes to run. He often opts to come on my walks or go bike riding with me. He spends a lot of time climbing or playing with his friends outside.

I don't know what my problem is with this program, and maybe there isn't one. But if they start telling my beautiful boy he's fat and unhealthy. WATCH OUT....De Castella or no De Castella (Robert De Castella is the - apparently major health nut - who started the program), they'll have me to answer for!

The Emotional Kid
Oli's also going through another clingy/emotional stage. He wants me around all the time, and is back to cuddling up to me on the couch and giving me lots of hugs. He keeps asking me to take him/pick him up from school and gets disappointed if I can't (which unfortunately is fairly regularly).

On Sunday night, I told Oli that Merlin (our 16.5 year old labrador/retriever) was probably going to die soon. He had been pretty sluggish over the preceeding few days, and a couple of times we have not expected him to last the night (mind you, it's been very cold). Bless him, he's so old and has lost most of his hearing and sight, has dementia of some kind (he often barks at nothing at all) and has absolutely no muscle tone, but he just keeps on going. We were glad he hung on for a while after Sam died, but even Anthony is ready for him to go. Poor old chap!

Anyway, back to Oliver. When I told him that, he didn't say much. Just went out and gave Merlin a pat. But after his shower he suddenly burst into tears. He had to go back out and pat Merlin again for a while, and then came back and cried and cried. He then started talking about how when Merlin died, he would know 'four people who have died'. He named Anthony's grandparents, and Sam of course. Poor kid. So much for him to think and worry about. So much death in his short life.

Well of course we talked about how we make every day count, and how we love the time we have with people, and how death is a part of life and all that stuff, but I could see he was pretty upset. And probably not so much about Merlin.

Merlin's still with us, but we know he'll go sometime soon. Hopefully Oliver will be OK with that.

The Second Mother's Day

"Celebration" days like Mother's Day will always be a little bit tricky. Mainly because there are always reminders of Sam in them. Mother's Day particularly because what mother would want to celebrate when one of her children is gone forever?

But in the spirit of 'going on', which as you know I am pretty good at. I put the sad thoughts behind me (for the most part) ans set about having a nice day. Hope you don't mind a blow-by-blow...

I woke reasonably early, and looked at the photos of Sam on the wall, a bit of quiet reflection time before anyone else awoke. Get the 'sad bits' out of the way early.

I knew that Oliver had intended to get me breakfast, and sure enough when he noticed I was awake he came in and asked me what I wanted to eat. We've never really done breakfast in bed before (I usually am the first up by a long way), and I wasn't really hungry yet, so I told him to give me a while, thinking he and Anthony could sort it out.

When Anthony got up, he noticed that the gate was open, and was worried about Merlin (our 16 year old dog who does tend to wander off when the gate is open), so being the little bit of a drama queen that he is, he made a fuss and I jumped up with the intention of going to look for Merlin.
Who was of course safe in the yard. But by then I was up anyway.

Oliver had made me a nice card, with this message:

To Mum

Have a rily good muthers day and just rembr that I love you so so so so so mutch. From Oliver

Awwwwww! He'd also made me a poster with a picture of him on it and a door hanger that says 'Mum resting'. Very cute.



The boys also bought me a pair of slippers and promised foot rubs and massages (yet to be delivered).

We went over to Phil and Laura's for brunch, which was lovely. A very nice meal in the sunshine with some great company. Oliver came back covered in blueberry juice:

We lay around on the couch watching 'King Kong' and then I went out and did some gardening. I'm now waiting for dinner, as the boys debate what thy're going to do. I told them that I don't care - I'm definitely not cooking! Anthony doesn't really cook (apart from toast and heating up the odd pie), so I'm sure it will be interesting!

After dinner, we'll curl up on the lounge together and watch a movie. Then I'll get my foot rub and massage.

A pretty nice day I think. Only one thing missing....

A new addition...

I can hear my dad groaning all the way from Scotland...

OK, I admit it, it was a bribe. But I had to do it!

Oliver has been relentless on his quest for a baby brother or sister. I must admit for a while he had me convinced. I would very much have liked another baby. There are lots of reasons (including my insane cluckiness, and other darker, sadder reasons that I won't go into), but I was most worried about Oliver not having a brother or sister to bounce things off as he got older. I love having Anthony's brothers around - we have the occasional beer-fueled fun afternoon, go to concerts together and generally do lovely family-type things. I was (still am) concerned that Oliver will miss out on that.

But then I figured that he'd probably marry some girl (or boy) with 5 brothers and sisters to make up for it. Or something like that. Here's hoping.

And I thought about all the reasons I shouldn't have a kid: I'm 37, terribly overweight, getting settled in a new (and ever upward, I hope) career, fairly financially stable, and enjoying the no-nappies-or-crying-but-a-full-night's-sleep-yay! years.

We talked to Oli. We told him all the reasons that a new baby might be a problem. We suggested maybe an animal might be better. After all, we've got a few around here anyway (have I told you about our two dogs, one cat, one duck, 5 chickens and 100 parrots?); what's one more?

So on Sunday, we went and bought a baby rabbit. His name is Roger. Isn't he cute?
Oliver has been a great 'dad': feeding, changing the water, vacuuming the scattered wood shavings, even picking up poop with his bare hands! I know it's early days, but all the signs are good!

So yes dad, it's another animal. But consider the alternative...

What a Bunch of Softies!

I don't think any of the boys in my household would ever be described as 'tough guys'. Oh, Anthony puts on a bit of a gruff show, but he's a big-hearted old thing. Just like my little boys.

Among many things. The three of them also have something else in common. PD.

PD is (obviously) a teddy bear. He hasn't always looked like that, but he has ever since I've known him. He was Anthony's when he was a little boy (sadly, I don't have a picture), and when Samuel was born, Anthony passed PD on to him. I can't find any pictures of Sam with PD either, but here's one of him asleep with PD in the background:

Samuel had lots of teddies as he was growing up, and PD was just one of them. As he got older, he became more attached to some of the stuffed tigers he was collecting (I'll tell you about Sam and tigers some day), especially one called 'Gritty Kitty', which is displayed on Sam's shelf in the lounge room.

When Oliver was born, Samuel decided (on his own) that Oliver should have PD. So he gave it to him early on. Oliver's got quite a few teddies too, but PD has become very important to him. He sleeps with PD every night,

and if he goes to stay somewhere else (even before Sam died), PD has to go with him. Even to hospital.
He was pretty attached to PD even before Sam died, but now he's even more so. He keeps the nightmares away and gives Oliver something to hold on to when he's having a more restless, worried night. PD's been a real comfort to him, and it's almost like a piece of Sam is with him every night.

It's amazing what one teddy can do.

Another Hurdle Jumped

An unexpected outcome of my wonderful trip to see the Foo Fighters was that we (I) had to face a bit of a 'hurdle' in my grief 'journey'.

As you know, Sam died while staying over at his Nanna (Anthony's mum)'s house. So as you can imagine, it's been pretty hard for me to let Oliver out of my sight, let alone let him sleep over anywhere (I still get up at least once per night to check on him).

He has stayed at my parent's place two or three times (they also spent each of those nights with one eye open!), but that's about it.

Of course Oliver is now at that age when kids start to have sleep overs. When his friends first started asking, even he was hesitant. We got around that by asking his friends to stay here instead. And they had great times when they did.

So last Thursday, even though we planned to go home after the show, we knew we'd get back too late to pick Oliver up from anywhere (we ended up getting home around 2am). So we decided to have him sleep over somewhere.

He ended up sleeping at his Nanna's place. This was a hard decision for me to make; not because I blame her for what happened to Sam, but because there was that tiny, very irrational fear about it happening again. You might even call it a phobia. I know it probably sounds very strange to you, but it was something I was having a lot of trouble with!

Well they had a great time together, and Oliver's very keen to do it again, so of course my fears were unfounded, but the fact that I let it happen it shows how far I have come in facing some of those demons that surfaced in late December 2009.

Why can't we all just...get along?

I read this morning that 10% of the people we meet will take an instant dislike to us.

I'm appalled! Everyone should just like me! I'm nice and friendly. Aren't I??

Despite the dramatics, cleverly designed to make you think I don't actually care, this concept does not sit well with me.

I like it when people like me. And I try very hard to be receptive: I listen carefully, ask questions that show I'm interested, smile, act politely and mind my body language. I hate thinking that 10 of the people that I've met in the last year don't like me.

I know, I know, it's a personality flaw, and a major indication of my insecurities and low self-esteem, but I'm always going to wonder now, especially when I meet someone new: are they one of the 10%?

Because I've always been a pretty good judge of character. I read people fairly well (or so I thought - I've obviously had blinkers on to the whole 'I don't like you' thing, but that's more denial I think!). I can usually tell if they're going to be annoying, or rude or quite lovely. I'll be on the look out for the hate signals now!

My kids have varying degrees of success with judging someone's character. Samuel, bless him, was just such a nice guy who didn't want to ruffle any feathers or make anyone feel bad. So he often hooked up with unsavoury types. The kind of kids who'd swap him something really lame for something of his (like the bloody kid who duped him out of his game-boy for a stack of footy cards - don't worry, we got them back!), or steal from him outright (like the one who stole his phone, on the pretense of 'having a look'). He learned his lesson though, and had built up a really good group of friends by the end.

Oliver's a little less tolerant. At the beginning of the year, he told me there was a new kid at school and that he really didn't like him. I'd never heard him say anything like that before. Well, this kid was the one that stuck a knee into his injured groin last week. So it looks like he may be a pretty good judge of character after all.

I'd like to think that I'm above making a decision about a person before I've given them half the chance, but the truth is that there have been a few people in my life that I've taken an instant dislike to. It's that whole 'they rub me up the wrong way' thing. For me, it's usually the people that just won't shut up. They are constantly talking about themselves, usually butting in on other people to do so.

I guess we all have things that irk us, and seeing those things in people are probably going to be the trigger for those negative feelings.

Have you ever taken an instant dislike to someone?

Mama Bear's Claws Come Out

To my dear readers: I'm probably going to bombard you with posts over the next couple of days: lots to say, but all unrelated. Nothing for it but to write, write, write!

I was very dismayed this Wednesday, when I got a phone call from Oliver's school, telling me that he had been 'kneed' in the groin.

For those of you who don't know, Oliver had surgery on his testicles about two weeks ago. He was off school for a week, and had been back only 2.5 days when he was accosted by a child of, let's say, less than average social skills. Well, that's the only way I can think of to describe it. Who on Earth kicks other children, instead of actually trying to make friends?

I know, I should be understanding an nurturing - I'm a teacher after all - but this one got me all riled up. The protective mother within me leaped to the surface: it was all I could do not to march down to the school and drag the errant child out by his ear.

Oliver's OK. We think. We called the surgeon's office, but he's away until next week. My GP said he thought Oliver would be OK. Oliver himself said the pain wasn't that bad by the next day. But a part of me cries 'what if he has to do the surgery all over again?'; 'what if he can't have kids?'...

A couple of nights earlier, Oliver had told me that his friends were playing rough games at school: fighting, punching and kicking each other, and that he didn't like those games. I had told him to tell them 'stop it, I don't like it' (by god, I'm such a bloody teacher!), which is exactly what he did. His friends were playing rough, and he told them to stop. This other kid, who was really only hanging on the peripheral, came up and stuck his knee fair into Oliver's balls.
Bloody hell. Poor Ollie. From what people (men) tell me, it's hard enough getting a kick on a normal day, but two weeks after surgery??

Needless to say I went into mega-hover mode. But he seems OK. Me, on the other hand...not sure if this will ever get any easier...

We did it!

We got through it.

I knew all along that it was silly for me to worry. That it was a simple procedure, one the doctor did several times a week.

But I was worried.

He wasn't. As I said in the last post, Oliver's main concern was that he wouldn't be able to eat anything in the morning before his surgery.
He was a little nervous, and admitted so a couple of times, but he was more excited than worried. People had told him wonderful tales of jelly and ice cream and sitting around being waited on.

Because he was the oldest kid in the room, he had to wait until last to have his surgery. For two hours he sat in the pediatrics day ward singing, chatting and watching half a movie. He was very hyped and jolly.

The spunky anesthetist came along and joked around with him. Oliver told him he was 'cool' (he did look like someone out of Scrubs), and he said it was the nicest thing he'd heard all day....no, all week! He challenged Oliver to a competition: Oliver had to count all the way to 10, but he said he wouldn't make it. Oliver said 'yes I will!'

I went in to the theatre with him. Definitely one of my more harrowing moments. Watching his body twitch as it went to sleep was truly scary. He just didn't look...right. (By the way, he made it to 7, but they cheated a little - they'd already started the gas when he started counting!)

 I had a little cry after I left there. It was just all a little too real. Then spent a fairly anxious hour waiting for him to come out.

When he did, he was miserable. Drowsy, and in lots of pain. The local on his wound obviously hadn't worked. Poor guy. Another teary moment.

But it was all uphill from there. The anesthetist had decided they wanted to keep Oliver overnight because of the way Samuel died. Just to keep an eye on him. He was pretty happy about it.

And he got his jelly (and ice cream), and video games in bed, and generally an adventure any 7 year old boy would be happy with (minus the pain!).

I'll be happy if we don't have to do it again, though...

Surgery

Oliver's having some minor surgery tomorrow. He's having one of his testes brought down (sorry if that was TMI), as it hasn't descended properly. It's a very simple day procedure.

But I'm still a little worried. He's got to have a general anesthetic, which is the part that worries me a bit. I lost one baby in his sleep, and now I'm allowing someone to actually put the other one to sleep.

I know it will be fine, and he's OK with it all too (he's most worried about the fasting part!)

It's just that little irrational fear.

Wish us luck!

Merimbula (again!)

Last week, we went to Merimbula for the 4th time in 3 years. We do like it there!

I had been a bit worried before the trip, as the caravan park had decided to move us off the site we'd booked, to one much further away from everything! But, I kicked up a mild stink and by the time we got there, they had a nice flat site for us about 20m away from the pool and right in the middle of the park. So they came through for us well. We've always been pretty happy with the park, so I'm glad they could sort us out and not sour our experience!

After the success we had with the borrowed one last year, we bought a camper trailer for a very good price from my friend (and workmate) Clint.
This is what it looked like set up:

 It's a great trailer: it has a HUGE king size bed,

plus space inside for a queen and another single if you wanted. Then there's a big enclosed annex, which was great for sitting inside, but still being in the shade or out of the rain. There are also two more annexes that can be attached, but we didn't need them (nor could we fit them on the site!).

We did lots of different things, including a couple of firsts for both Oliver and I. For me, it was the first time I'd ever ridden a bobsled (lots of fun!), and for Oliver, it was both his first waterslide,

 But Dad had to go on first - ('cause mum wasn't quite ready to conquer that fear yet!):

 

 He also went boogie boarding for the first time:

He was pretty amazing; he kept getting knocked down by the waves, but got up again and again. He got some good runs in too! But the next time we went, the waves were a little bigger, and he balked. Perhaps too much water/sand in the belly the last time?

We went to Magic Mountain (where the water slides and bobsled were), and played some mini-golf (I was quite amazed at how well I went, even got a hole-in-one!), and rode the go-karts.

This is sooo cool mum!

Pure concentration.

Magic Mountain was also where Samuel first got into waterslides too, the same way that Ollie did 7 years later. Anthony went on with them both, and from then on, they were hooked. So there were some nice memories made that day.

We had bought a little blow-up dinghy, and took that out into the lake a couple of times. Anthony enjoyed it very much.

 

We built a few sandcastles (as we always do):

And spent a lot of time in the pool and the games room at the caravan park. Oliver's pretty good at air hockey!

There was a cracker of a storm on Friday night, where Anthony and I spent a long time waiting with our cameras to capture the lightning. We need some more practise, but we at least got one each!

Mine

Anthony's - his was better!

Despite copious amounts of zinc and sunscreen,

 

We still came back brown as berries (I've never understood that expression!), but we had lots and lots of fun, as you can see by Oliver's face: 

 

Still, next year, we've decided to go somewhere different. We're thinking maybe Kiama or somewhere around there. I'll keep you posted.

Christmas

Christmas Eve was quite nice. Oliver was determined that he was going to go to bed nice and early so that he wouldn't be 'too tired to go to sleep'. We did the whole carrot and cookies thing and then he actually did a good job of falling asleep quickly. Oliver used to be a terrible sleeper (perhaps it's a good topic for another day), but for the last couple of years has mastered going to sleep and sleeping well.
I made shortbread (I do every year, using my great-grandmother's recipe) while Anthony tidied up and wrapped presents.
You might wonder why I mention this, but Anthony hasn't always been so....domestic....
I'll tell you about it some day; but while Anthony has always been a great provider and supportive partner, I have generally been the nurturing/housework/cooking partner. His attitude to this side of family life has changed lately, and it's lovely!


Pressies! Isn't that what Christmas is all about?? ;p
We actually made it to bed before midnight, which was nice, and as usual, I was up before Oliver! In the last 7 or so years,  neither of the kids have ever managed to get out of bed before me on Christmas Day. Which is OK, I love sitting in the lounge room and watching their reaction when they see all the pressies.
Of which there were quite a lot this year.
I can't help myself! I've mentioned before that I love giving people presents, and while I try every year to scale down my gift buying, I always manage to buy too many for the kids.

Part of the trouble is that I buy quite a few gifts earlier in the year. I like to be organised, and I'll usually order something through Chrisco and buy some cool things in sales during the year.
Then, of course I'll go shopping just before Christmas (just for a few stocking stuffers!) and see a whole lot of things that I know the kids (or Anthony) would love. So I buy those too! Before you know it, there's a great pile under the tree on Christmas morning.
Not that I'm too worried. Despite the fact that I'm really good at spending money, I spend it well, and never spend so much that we have to go without other things. I've never had a credit card, and I think that helps!
And Oliver doesn't mind either! I know it will probably come back to bite me on the bum one day when he's a spoiled, Dudley Dursley-type child (Last year you bought 37 presents! This year there's only 36!), but seeing his excited face just does it for me every time!
This is what our loungeroom looked like Christmas morning:

And yes, most of those presents are for Ollie!

And the 'other' Christmas duty?
We'd made a decision fairly early in December that we would go to Anthony's aunt and uncle's house for Christmas lunch, because there are always lots of people there and Oliver was keen to be around lots of people. When we got there, we found out that Oliver would be the only kid there, which kinda sucked, but it did mean he had the attention (sort of) of all his uncles and aunties.

So we knew it was going to be a busy day. In the past, we have just gone to see one side of the family, because I've always thought the running around was a little ridiculous. We give our kids all this cool stuff, then whip them out of the house for a good 6 hours - away from everything they've just unwrapped (then come back too exhausted to do anything!).
Since I'd always decided to do Christmas just for the kids, this always seemed a little weird, so one set of family it was...

Was. This Christmas Day, we went to see my parents on the way to Christmas lunch. It actually wasn't too bad, because we had a nice peaceful sit with mum and dad first. Usually I'd prefer to hang out with them, because it's fairly relaxed and quiet. Mum and Dad gave us (as well as some other awesome things) these wooden letters for our lounge room. I think they look quite nice!

 

This kind of Samuel-related present I don't mind. In fact, I think it's lovely. There were also a couple of other 'Samuel' presents: an Oxfam goat (in Sam's name) from Anthony's aunt and uncle, as well as a Goodberrys voucher for us from Anthony's brothers and sisters-in-law.
When people start to buy things for Sam (so far not too many, but a little disturbing when it does happen), that's when I start to get a little concerned. (I'll talk about this in another post though.)


It was a lovely lunch, where we all ate way too much (surprise surprise!), but there was some nice conversation and a relaxed time with some of my favourite people. So definitely worth it. In the evening, my best friend and her son came over, and we sat like zombies for a little while, before we all decided to pack it in.

So yes, a nice day all in all. But next year, I think I might stay home!

The C-word

Yes, I'm talking about Christmas (what did you think I was gonna say? This is a family blog!) ;p

Since I 'growed up', I've never been really big on Christmas. I think it all started when I was 15...

As you know, retailers like to start their Christmas celebrations early. And department stores are the worst offenders. Think about how annoying it is to see Christmas decorations going up in September and hearing Christmas carols everywhere you go (OK, I realise this isn't annoying for everyone, so bear with me!). Now imagine what it's like for the poor staff of those department stores, who don't get to pass through for 45 minutes or so, instead they endure the carols (and the festive air) for whole shifts. Sometimes marathon 15 hour shifts...

This was my life for those couple of Christmases. By the time I moved on to other jobs, I was pretty much cured of the festive spirit. And as you well know, last Christmas was just about the worst time of my whole life, so we don't have a lot of good to go on.


Me Me Me!
It also doesn't help that my birthday's a little over a week before Christmas. However I say this, it will sound selfish and petulant, but sharing your birthday with the 'festive season' sucks! There are the 'here's your birthday/Christmas present in one' moments (which thankfully don't happen too often as I have a wonderful family); the fact that your birthday gets forgotten in the rush of end-of term/Christmas shopping/party season; and that you never get a full house at your birthday parties because of all the Christmas dinners and other events that go on at that time of the year.
I can't help it, I like birthdays, especially mine. I like to make a fuss of those kinds of events. It could be a Sagittarius thing (if you read the profile, you may well recognise some of my personality traits!). I do like the attention...

And when Anthony and I hooked up, we weren't all that keen either. Both of us are atheists and it always seemed a little hypocritical to celebrate the birth of Christ. After all, we do live in a society which incorporates many religious perspectives (don't we?).


But...
Having said all that, we did make the decision early on that we wouldn't deprive our kids of Christmas. We didn't want them being the only one in the class who didn't get a present (a little less common when Sam was little); and I loved (love) buying them lots of presents.

And as the years have gone on, I've got a little better at getting into the spirit. I put lights up every year, and decorate the lounge room with the kids. I buy too many pressies for them and usually bake yummy shortbread for gifts. We put cookies and carrots out for santa and hang stockings up on Christmas Eve.

I don't do Christmas cards. I tried it a couple of times, but can either never get them out on time, don't send enough, or forget all together. Eventually I decided I wouldn't waste the paper (they just get chucked out anyway, don't they?) I do try to say a quick hello/happy Christmas to most people I know though.


The Tree
We've never been very traditional with our Christmas trees either. At first we had a little potted pine (like my parents have had for years), but we eventually grew out of them (or did they grow out of us?) We then moved to a potted grass tree that we dragged inside every Christmas and draped a very small amount of tinsel on. Our last one had lasted for a few years but died not long after Sam did...

So this year we've done something different. And I love it!
You all know about the Lego obsession that has taken hold in this house. I'm happy to report that Christmas has not escaped Lego's clutches. This is our Christmas tree this year (and probably from now on). I'm very proud of it (yes, I built most of it!).

We had a great time building it, and it really does look great. We're already making plans for next year's bigger and better on (we will happily accept all green brick donations!) , and we're planning on showing it off in Lego circles.


So take a deep breath...
Given the shaky start that Christmas and my adult life have had, I don't have high hopes for a season of careless abandon, but I will try, and I know everyone else will too. This one will be hard, almost as hard as the last one, and they will probably never get any easier, but we'll give it our best shot. Oliver deserves it. And I guess we probably do too.

Happy Festive Season, lovely readers.

Movies

As I've mentioned before, I'm a bit of a movie buff. Probably less so now; either because there aren't many good ones or because I don't have time to watch too many (unlike my lovely brother-in-law who sees at least three movies at the cinema every week).

I was working at the cinema when Sam was born. Of course, being a casual employee in the private sector I didn't get paid maternity leave (actually I missed the boat on that one with both kids, but that's a story for another day), and I went back to work when he was 3 months old. That's ok because Anthony decided to start a home business and do all the dad stuff.

The great thing about working there though, was the free (and later after a big corporation took over, cheap) movies. We went to the movies a lot!

The first movie I remember taking Sam to was 'Austin Powers'. He would have been under 2, but I wanted to see it and I figured that if he got restless I could just leave, it wouldn't cost me anything.

As it turned out, I didn't have to worry. I had to take out him for a little settle when it it got noisy, but apart from that he was fine.

So from then on, we went to lots of movies. Sometimes just me and Sam, sometimes him and his dad while I was working, sometimes all three of us. He got very good at the routine very quickly. He was great at sitting still, and as he was fairly mature, able to sit through movies most kids his age would squirm through. Not that we let him watch movies that were too unsuitable. There were movies meant for older people than he, but he could generally follow what was going on, and totally understood the difference between fact and fiction, special effects and reality.
Oliver's the same. He can sit through movies (and TV shows) that other kids find scary or don't understand, but he does. He doesn't worry about scary stuff, because he's very clear about the whole 'it's just a movie' thing (we saw Harry Potter 7 (.1) last night and there was a bit where everyone in the cinema seemed to jump, but he didn't even flinch).

Needless to say, Sam grew up loving movies too. By the time he was 12/13, he was going quite often with his friends, but he still went with us too.
I loved having someone to talk to about movies, and actors, and he was also the one who would watch movies with me that Anthony didn't want to watch, like Slumdog Millionaire. We watched that together one night and he was very moved by it. He hadn't really seen much of what other cultures are like (my fault I guess, I hadn't really exposed him to much outside our own little city). I remember we had a great conversation about it afterwards.

Sam also liked the kinds of movies that Anthony likes: b grade and violent. Although, he would tend to groan about how dumb they were while secretly enjoying them. They often went to the movies together, Anthony enjoyed having someone with him who wouldn't cringe or complain about how stupid the movie was (well, much, anyway!)

The last movie we saw with Sam (at the movies) was 2012 (I think, though it could also have been Surrogates, the memories are a little blurred there). It was nothing out of the ordinary, I wish I could hold that memory a little closer, but I can't. It was something we did so many times, the same way each time. It wasn't special, it was just something we did as a family. I didn't think then that I'd want to badly to remember every little detail.

Actually, of all the 'moments' this year, when I've had a twinge of sadness about Sam, or when I've really missed him, many of them have been movie related.

First there was last Christmas. I had bought him 'Year One' on DVD, which he said was hilarious (we watched it some time this year, it wasn't). I often bought him DVDs for Christmas, so last year wasn't; any different. I was hard seeing that familiar shaped package sitting with all his other unopened presents.

About 3 weeks after Sam died, Anthony, Oliver and I went and saw Avatar. Movie-wise, it was OK: the same story I've seen in a million movies, and very impressive graphics. But it was beautiful too, lovely creatures and colours etc. I think Samuel would have loved it - it was an interesting mix of action and story and I remember at one stage crying because I realised that he'd never get to see it.

And I've done that a few other times this year. When we saw How to Train Your Dragon,  the final Harry Potter; Alice in Wonderland, Iron Man 2, even Toy Story 3; I cried because I knew Sam would have loved it. He had loved the first Iron Man and all the other Toy Story movies (he was really little around the time of the first Toy Story movie, so he was the target audience. He probably wouldn't have admitted to liking them any more, but I knew he had wanted to see it).

It's funny, with all those times I couldn't cry, a movie could generally set me off. A lot of it is knowing he would have loved it and will never see it, but it's also all the movie watching we still had to do together, and all the conversations that went with them.

I'll miss that.