28 Days

So I'm near on 28 days of Greatness and there is much to write about.
I'll start with the sadness. As a teenager, I had a close friend who was beautiful, tall, quiet and kind. I loved her, envied her (she was seriously beautiful) and made some pretty awesome memories with her. When she turned 18 I was still almost 6 months away from 'adulthood', so I found myself spending more time with her younger sister, the gorgeous Kate. Not quite as beautiful as her big sister, but  gorgeous, fun and warm. She became my friend.
Over the years I have become quite close with all of Megs family, they are beautiful and kind people. The same time Maggie was born, Kate was diagnosed with a brain tumour, about the same time I started blogging. I started emailing Kate, telling her silly stories of my life as a MILF.
Mother Incredibly Longing Freedom.
We maintained our correspondence, sporadically, and the last I saw of her was at Donno's funeral. She was cheeky, kind, warm and clever. Not to mention beautiful.
She died last week aged 31. It's taken my breathe away. My eyes leak and my heart hurts to write it, to say it, to know it. It seems impossible. Implausible. She was wonderful and she was young. So young.
I went to Melbourne for her funeral. It was sad, and beautiful. I feel a heaviness I didn't expect, a sadness I can't comfort. She was so much, and still she died.
I will remember her forever as a cheeky smile and a twinkling eye. Her Mother held me, after the funeral service, and her strength was enormous, her maternal instinct so huge that she wanted to comfort, which she did. This is being a Mother. For the first time in a long time I was wordless.
As an ode to Kate, I will honour her with 2 completely awkward moments that occurred whilst away. The first was while sharing a hotel room with my Mother, we decided to watch a movie in house. The Kids Are Alright. Spoiler alert. Terrific film, except for the completely excruciating scene where the lesbians are getting down and dirty with one another whilst watching male gay porn. Awkward. Say no more. The second was on my return home, my plane stopped in Alice Springs for 30 minutes. My lovely big brother, the chef, came out to meet me for the stopover. I was showing him some photos on my phone I had of some amazing mexican food (Mama Sita, Collins St? Shit Hot) I had eaten the night before. I was flipping through them happily when we stumbled upon a self portrait of my bottom that I had taken 3 nights earlier, as for reasons only clear to me I had gotten a spray tan (what's the etiquette on funerals & spray tans? Is there one? If so, I was unaware, and goddamn it I wanted to look healthy, and brown, ok?) and after a few drinks with an old friend I had staggered back to my hotel room (sans Mother, she arrived the next day) and taken a few selfies. Including one of my really white bottom. My big brother isn't a huge talker, so he didn't really ask any questions, but it was seriously....awkward.
I still haven't deleted the photo and I'll never be able to delete the memory, nor sadly will he.
I'm not sure how to end this, except to say 28 days is a short month, but much has happened. I've never felt so grateful or blessed with what and who I have. Not to mention I should seriously think about copywriting my MILF acronym, awesome.

Maintenance

It's been 11 days since I came clean with myself about all the shit I'd been hanging onto.
All that shame - you know I was actually embarrassed of myself? Ashamed of things I had done. Guilty because of them. Self loathing as a result.
What a fucking relief to expel that from my head.
Turns out we all have shit we hold onto. It's never as bad as you've thought it to be.
I was left with a strange sort of emptiness. I'd look in the mirror and instead of seeing ugly I saw....me. I'd reach for thoughts relating to losing weight, being an idiot  or being a failure. I could not find them. They would start and then kind of peter out...They seemed so pointless? Like foreign objects. Completely unnecessary.
I can say with certainty there is little to no value in referring to one's own self, in one's own head, as an idiot, or a failure, or even as a fat pig. You heard it here first.
For the first time as a grown up I felt safe in my own head. I trusted it.
What a fucking relief.
I have to say maintaining that state of being has not been entirely easy. There have been several moments this past week when I have heard the old familiar refrain in my mind of 'you are not good enough'.
I would buy into it, but it was seriously hard work purging those demons out of my head, not to mention the couple of thousand dollars I paid for the privilege....so I acknowledge them and move on.
I can tell you that having a 6 year old refuse to get out of the bath because he isn't allowed to watch Transformers is quite trying. 45 minutes. That's a cold bath. I chose to be impressed with his passion (and no he still didn't get to watch it).
A 2 year old who insists I stay in her bed with her until she falls asleep. By insisting, I mean throwing a bluey, hissy fit, barney, complete wobbly for a continuous length of time if I dare leave the room.
I have chosen to enjoy the serenity of laying next to my precious girl while she falls asleep (god knows she's not going to want me in there in 10 years time).
The never ending responsibilities of being a wife and mother. The at times overwhelming amount that needs to be done. Trying to put myself first isn't easy. However, now that I've minus-ed the guilt from my head, it's a whole lot more rewarding. And possibly that is putting myself first? I'm working on turning that refrain from 'you are not good enough' to just 'You Are Enough'.
What a fucking relief.

Ahem

Ahem.
No not Amen. Ahem, like I'm sheepishly clearing my throat.
I have completed my 4 day Greatness In You Seminar. There are many things I could say, many stories I could tell. But I won't. All I can say is this.
There is Greatness In Me.
Quite alot actually.
I've managed to free myself of rather alot of "emotional baggage" in these past few days.
It turns out it was all in my head.
Who knew?!
So this post finds me smiling, calm and ready.
Ready for..... whatever.
My main concern now is what on earth will I blog if I don't have all that self pity and angst to fall back on?!
I reckon I'll think of something ;)

The Evening Of

Tomorrow I go on my first holiday by myself in 5 years. I'm almost overjoyed at the prospect of boarding a plane....without any children.
All I need is a book and some earphones.
Where I am going is another story. Off to find the Greatness In Me, 4 days of seminar spent...
Peeling my layers off like an onion?
Discovering My True Self, my True Potential?
Releasing my inner demons?

I don't know what it involves, but I'm hoping the end result is what I'm looking for. I'm hoping it makes me a better mother, a better wife. That I learn to trust myself and my decisions, that I become my own best friend rather than my bloody worst enemy. That my somewhat cloudy vision is cleared.
Tonight, the eve of, I find myself feeling various shades of anxious.
I'm concerned those demons might be real, and if I confront them, release them, they might be too strong & will eat me up.
Can I just add here we have been playing a few fantasy xbox games in our house and that imagining could be related ;)
I'm worried I won't like who I discover under those layers.
I never use the onion core when cooking, never.
What if my issues, my problems, my dramas are nothing? What if I have wasted all this time worrying on them when they were actually NOTHING?
I have a feeling this could be true, and it might be a good thing. We shall have to find out.
I'm also concerned my family, who on the one hand I am so pleased get to live without me for a few days, will actually enjoy the experience. What if things go wonderfully while I'm away?
The answer to that should be 'fantastic'! Which it sort of is, but it's also sort of WHAT!?
What if the problem is me?

So I'm terrifically excited, terrified, anxious and happy, all in the one.
I will ache for my children, those 5 mornings I'm away from them, but I will also walk each day at 7.30am barefoot on the beach and I will relish every step of it.
See you on the other side...

10 out of 10

We have now loved each other for 10 years.
A decade of laughter and joy, happiness and fun, some sadness, loss, change.
Still the beginning of what is to be a long and loving friendship, connection, romance.
He can still make my tummy flip over. He always makes me laugh. He looks much the same as he always has, with perhaps a few extra grey hairs and slightly (only slightly) a little more tummy.
He is serious, yet silly, strong but vulnerable and he is smart and wise and wonderful.
I am so lucky to have found him. So lucky to have him love me, and for me to love him right back.
He is a kind and patient father, cheeky, warm, understanding. Our kids are so lucky.
He is my best friend, my lover, my ally. We have created in each other a partnership, with our children a family. It's more than I ever dreamt of.
I love his hair, his eyes, his smile. I love to make him laugh, to watch him with his kids, I love his work voice, his strength, his know how. I love him! It makes me smile to write this.
So here is to the next 10 years. And the next. And the next. And so on.
Happy Anniversary JK x

Christmas Cheers

We did it. 10 adults, 4 children, a delicious Christmas lunch and many drinks had by all. Presents, swimming, a few joints, laughter, some tears, love.
Actually when I say some tears that's not quite right. I'd bought 3 candles as a centrepiece for the table and once everyone had sat down to eat I quietly cleared my throat and said something along the lines of "I'd like to acknowledge and remember 3 people who aren't here today, my Dad, Josh's Dad and the beautiful Donno. Even though they aren't here physically, I see each of them in the faces around this table and I feel them in the love and laughter we share together. Thanks for being here."
Between us we were 6 children missing our fathers and 2 wives missing their husbands. 2 kids without Grandfathers and our extra guests were both without partners, one a separated single mother.
When I looked up from my little speech, I'm not much of a public speaker, even in a small group full of loved ones I feel clammy and red cheeked, the entire table had eyes filled with tears, these burly men who are my brothers, those strong women who are our mothers. It surprised me, pleased me and satisfied me. Our pain at losing those men we have loved is still raw, still constant, but the relief at being with one another was great.
The rest of the day was as Christmas should be. Silly, fun, drunk, satisfying. There was no more talk or thought of who we were missing, because we were surrounded by what we have. Family. Friends. Children. Love. Memories, both old and new. It was one of the best Christmases I can remember.
It feels as though we have said an appropriate goodbye to 2012, not the best year, but full of great things. I'm feeling good about 2013, pretty good indeed :)

Dad

It's 20 years ago this Christmas that my Dad died. Like, the actual day, where half of the worlds population are celebrating the birth of some baby that actually happened a thousand years ago. Or is it longer? Not to mention lying to their children about a fat bearded man who snuck into their home and left them presents for being good. I'll save the rest of that spiel for another post.
Dad had been sick for a year, really sick for weeks. He was skin and bone, with this frightening bloated belly, like a child from Ethiopia suffering starvation. It was this awful waiting game, the one with no winners, just a whole lot of pain, a whole lot of waiting.
I've always wondered whether it would be better or worse to lose someone suddenly, like in a car crash, so that you didn't have to watch them die. Better that I never know, but I imagine in the long run it's just the same - constant, heavy and unstoppable grief.
Dad died in the middle of the morning, around about present opening time. Mum was with him, us kids scattered about the house, I was reading a new book that I had been given that day, it was called Rocco, it took me weeks to finish that book, and another 18 years before I could throw it out. I think I held onto it for so long because it was a physical reminder of that moment. It was a really shit book and I could never bring myself to reread it, but it meant something to me.
Mum came to find me, crying, told me Dad had died. It was such a surreal moment, hugging, walking down the passageway to the bedroom, for a minute I thought I was going to burst out laughing (it's a common stress response - these days it happens when my children have their immunisation needles - I get a terrible fit of the giggles. Such a good mother.).
I'm not sure to this day whether his dead body gave me peace or concern. At least he wasn't suffering anymore....and at least I didn't have to watch him suffering anymore. But that emaciated man lying before me was not the Dad I knew, trusted or really loved. I was frightened of him. I didn't know him. He couldn't be my Dad like that. One of the things that always bothered me was his body in the coffin. I hated the thought of him being trapped in there with a pile of dirt on top of him. I still hate the thought of it, so I'll take this opportunity to remind my loved ones that if it's ever me in that casket burn the damn thing up and throw me off Mt Gillen. You can take the girl out of Central Australia but you can't take the Central Australia out of the girl. (I also quite like the idea of everyone slogging up that hill - may I suggest you do it at Easter time -  in the lovely weather.)
What a shit Christmas. My first day back at school, Year 9 (of all the grades at school surely Year 9 is the worst, just the worst. Teenagers are animals.) and a classmate yells out to me as I'm walking in the school grounds "Did your Dad die on Christmas Day?!" with equal measure of ridicule and intrigue. I answered quietly, but still people heard. Yes.
What else to say? I never knew. For years I harboured a deep sadness that I couldn't describe, or share, or confide in anyone. I didn't have the words, or the maturity. I hated my friends for not asking the right questions and I hated myself for not speaking my truth. I escaped in my imagination, dreaming of a day when I would not only be the the fittest, coolest, gorgeous girl but have the fittest, coolest, gorgeous boyfriend. Ohh the hours spent daydreaming.
I'm not going to be able to finish this post today. There is much more to say, but I'm rambling a bit already and I want to say it properly. I still miss him. As a man, as a Dad, as a figure. There is so much I wanted to share with him. And he with me. I hold him everyday in my heart, I speak his name, I remember him always, my wonderful Dad.