Mawage

When I was young, I thought it would be nice to get married. The romance, the ring, the big shindig and the tropical honeymoon...
I guess like (almost) any young girl, it seemed so romantic and wonderful. Movies with men sweeping pretty young things off their feet didn't do anything to hurt my semi-fantasies either.
As time went on and I started seeing a bit more of the world (and the ways that people could truly hurt each other if they wanted to), the sheen started to wear off a bit. My parents were always good marriage role models (they've been married 40 years), but there were plenty of people around me that marriage didn't agree with.

When I got myself knocked up and decided that I'd stick with Anthony for a while, he pretty much vetoed marriage right from the start. I don't know what it was, perhaps growing up in a single parent family, but he just didn't want to do it. Perhaps at the time he didn't want to commit to anything, but he's also pretty introverted, and would feel fairly uncomfortable when involved in any public display of affection.

At first I was worried about it - I'd always thought it would be nice for my dad to walk me down the aisle, but after a while I forgot about it. We spent some money buying a house instead (which was a pretty good move - just the unimproved land value is worth three times what we paid for it!)

We've been together nearly 17 years (I know, I know, I've heard it before: 'you get more time for murder'). In that time, I've seen more than one marriage fail. There are people that I know who are on their second. Or third.

So now, when I see all the fuss that gets made about marriage, I wonder why we (the societal we) do make such a fuss about it? Many people don't enter into marriage with the conviction that it will be lifelong. And then you have the people who want to get married but that aren't permitted by our laws to do it.

Oh, weddings are nice I guess, if you've got the money and lots of friends. I'm even going to one this year which will no doubt be lovely. I'm all for it if that's what people want to do. In fact, for many people the best part of a marriage is possibly the wedding!

I guess what I'm trying to say is that as an institution, marriage is changing. There are some who would have us believe that it still means the same as it did 500 years ago, but I beg to differ.
So why can't we change it? Make it a bit more fun. If it's not going to be permanent, then perhaps we could shake it up a bit, make it more exciting. And allow anyone to do it. If that's what they want.

What do you think? Did you get married? Was it worth it?

And while I'm on the subject, did you hear about the folks in the U.S who  started a petition calling for Sesame Street's Bert and Ernie to get married?
Is it just me, or is this just silly?
They're so totally not gay. If they were, I'd be all for the marriage (the best wedding I've ever been to was a lesbian/pagan handfast thingy), but they're not gay. But gee people are making a fuss about it!

I think Armistead Maupin summed it up quite well actually:
"The folks who fret that a wedding between Bert and Ernie would "sexualize" a kids' show were remarkably silent about a frog porking a pig."

What do you think about it all?

Lies! All Lies!

The best way to keep one's word is not to give it.  ~Napoleon Bonaparte

I place a lot of value on honesty. that's not say that I'm a saint that's never told an untruth, but I try very hard not to. I also try hard to do the things that I say I'm going to do.

So, you can imagine that two things that really get to me are when people lie, and when people don't do what they say they're going to do.

We tell lies when we are afraid... afraid of what we don't know, afraid of what others will think, afraid of what will be found out about us.  But every time we tell a lie, the thing that we fear grows stronger.  ~Tad Williams

Being  a mother, teacher and someone who reads people fairly well, I can spot a lie pretty easily. My kids learned early on that it probably wasn't worth telling me a lie, as they tended to get caught out fairly quickly. There's not really much that makes me more angry than someone who disrespects me/themselves so much that they feel they have to lie.

Now, I know there are times when we 'have' to lie. The whole Santa Claus/Easter Bunny/Tooth Fairy thing comes to mind. I guess I could have told them right from the start that it was all a concoction, but I didn't want to be the party killer in that respect. And I didn't want them to be the only kid in the class that didn't believe (and spoiled it for everyone else). I'm not comfortable with it, but it's one of those 'for the greater good' lies; like telling your friend their butt doesn't really look good in those jeans, or your kids that you really did like their char-grilled toast.

Apart from that, we've tried hard not to lie to our kids. It's led to some pretty hairy conversations over the years, but at least we can look back and say 'we didn't lie'.

I guess part of it that I've never been very good at telling lies myself. My dad could always spot me in a lie (perhaps it's a Sagittarius thing?) , and I guess I lost confidence in my abilities pretty quick. These days I try not to tell lies, because I know sooner or later I'll stuff it up. It means that I occasionally upset people - the whole truth thing plus my propensity to talk first, think later, is probably not the optimum combination for keeping people happy - but in the long run it's better.

But I'm surprised at how many people think it's OK to lie to me. Sometimes people that are close to me. I always know, either straight away from their body language, or later because they forget some aspect of it and stuff up. 

I don't call them on it. Perhaps I should, but you know me, don't want to rock the boat. It pisses me off though. Especially when they're standing in front of me telling me a bald-faced lie that I know is absolute rubbish. Each time they do that, I lose a little bit more respect for them.

Promises are like the full moon, if they are not kept at once they diminish day by day. ~German Proverb

And then there's the lying by omission. The other thing that gets to me is people that say they are going to do something, then don't.

Now, of course I don't think that everyone should be running around doing things for me, and I know that sometimes things come up that get in the way of what we've promised. But once again, it all comes down to respect. 

If I have told someone I'll do something and something gets in the way (I don't want to any more, someone gets sick, I can't afford it etc), I feel like the least I can do is tell them. I don't always tell them why, but I try very hard to let them know that it's not going to happen.

Because it really pisses me off when people promise something, and don't deliver, but don't let you know.

One example I can think of, a few years ago we had a New Year's Eve party. I know now this is dangerous territory, as everyone has lost of invitations on New Year's Eve. Anyway, I talked to a lot of people about it, and invited a lot of people, most of whom said they'd come, or at least 'drop in for a while'. So on that basis I bought a heap of grog, food and decorations. I even forked out $400 to hire some pinball machines and a pool table for the night.

Less than 10 people showed up over the entire night. Now I know you probably think it's silly for me to mention this several years later, but it's a good example of what I'm talking about. Of the 30-odd other people who told me they'd come, only 1 or 2 bothered to call and say they couldn't make it. If they'd all called, then perhaps it wouldn't have gotten to me so much.

I get so sick of it, because it does happen a lot. How hard is it to call (or send a quick text message) to say 'I'm sorry, something's come up'?

Like I said, I think it's all about respect. What do you guys think? Do you take the time to call text? Can you pick a lie at 30 paces? Am I overreacting (apart from the NYE party thing, I know I am there!)

"Liar, Liar, Pants for Hire" - Oliver

The first time my life changed

Bet you were a beautiful baby...
As you can see, Samuel was a cute baby. In fact, in the hospital they picked him to show to childcare students as an example of a perfect baby.
This is because he had a normal shaped head. Most babies that are squeezed out of a woman's nether regions are a bit squished around the skull when they come out, but because Samuel was delivered by cesarean (how on earth do you spell that word??) section, his head was perfect.

Whoops!
All the people that read this (so far) are likely to know this stuff, but I wanted to start at the beginning. Knowing me, things aren't likely to follow sequentially, but it's always good to start at the beginning don't you think?
Anthony and I met through a mutual friend (in fact I think it might have been my ex-boyfriend). We hung out for a while and then one day in late November 1994 we 'hooked up'.
At first I was a little resistant, but he wore me down, and by my 21st birthday in December, we were 'an item'. Being the talented woodworker that he is, made me a beautiful clock for my birthday, which would still be hanging on the wall if the hands hadn't fallen off. Ah, we'll get around to fixing it sometime...
Anyway, one of the very first things Anthony said was that he was not going to have any more kids. He'd just come out of a difficult breakup involving a child (one that we do get to see now and then, which is nice), and was hurting. I was happy with that, I was 21 and still a party animal. I had plans to travel and make lots of money before I even began to consider children.
Early in 1995 I had my wisdom teeth out. One thing I didn't pay much attention to was the warning that anesthetic and anti-biotics could interfere with the effectiveness of the contraceptive pill. So before you could say "what's a good test of a relationship in its early stages?", I was pregnant.
I remember the day I found out for sure. I went to the local clinic because I didn't want to face my GP. They confirmed I was 11 weeks pregnant while Anthony sat in the car waiting for me. Needless to say I was nervous about his reaction.
"Oh well, we'll just have to give it a go then," he said. No freaking out, no screaming, just wonderful, supportive Anthony.
Thankfully my parents had a similar reaction. A little freaked I guess, but they hid it well.

But you weren't going to make it easy
(warning, gross descriptions of birth and labour to follow)
The pregnancy went pretty well, considering we were young and dumb and, well, broke. We moved in together and started putting together a home. We got along well, and it all seemed cool. I was a little worried that Sam was due on the 29th of February (how do people deal with having a birthday only every 4 years?), but I needn't have been.
I started my labour in the evening of the 4th of March. I rang the hospital but they said I didn't have to worry. I went to bed and endured my contractions. Not text book contractions that start 30 minutes apart and get closer together, but strong pain every 5 minutes.
Early the next morning I got up to go to the loo, then my waters broke. That was when we went to the hospital. Sally arrived not long afterwards.
I knew it wasn't going to go well when they gave me some nitrous oxide and I barfed. It wasn't long after that they decided I needed a c-section. There was some fetal distress and I wasn't dilating, so they decided to put me under. I gave Anthony strict instructions not to tell anyone about the baby until I knew, then went to the operating theatre.
When I woke up a couple of hours later, Anthony handed me a baby wrapped in a pink blanket. I assumed that it was a girl (how conditioned are we??), but soon found out it wasn't. That was the day I fell in love.

Parenthood and making a life together
I wasn't a soft, fluffy earth mother. Not by any means. I had a bit of PND and was generally not nice to be around, but Anthony stuck around anyway, giving up his job to stay at home with Sam. I went back to work at the cinema, and he started his business (making and restoring furniture) between nappy changes and bottle feeding.
We eventually got fed up with the rental thing, and went to live in the granny flat behind my parent's house. It wasn't too bad (if not a little squishy), and it did give us a chance to save for our first house. Two days after Sam's 2nd birthday, we moved into our current home. We've been there ever since.


On reflection?
I think it's safe to say that we weren't ready for parenthood, but instead of turning tail, we had a good go at it, and made a life for ourselves. I often wonder (frequently out loud to anyone who'll listen) where I would be now if I hadn't had Sam. There are two possibilities:

• I would have pursued my ambitions to make movies and become a rich, famous movie star/director (or perhaps bit-part actor in a series of terrible Aussie TV shows);or

• Failed to make anything of myself and ended up a burnt out, dope smoking, hard drinking party animal, working as a roadie for some obscure band (or perhaps still in the cinema industry).

Either way, I probably wouldn't have been nearly as happy and fulfilled as I was being a parent. It's hard, it's draining, it's expensive, dirty and heartbreaking (especially at the moment), but it's wonderful.

So thanks to Samuel I grew up a bit quicker than I might have, changed my wicked ways and bought a house (luckily when house prices were much lower).
There are other great things I did because of Sam. But that's a story for another day...