All you need is love and understanding

If this ends up being my final post before Christmas, well... how very fitting.

For a special woman (you know who you are) who is feeling it this week. Come on guys, let's all get in a big group hug. Put your word-weapons down and cop a bit of Ronnie James Dio with me. Shout it or sing it, either is perfectly acceptable here. Whatever makes you feel happy.

Merry Christmas if I don't get back in here! Remember there are a lot of emotions pinging about the place, peoples. Stresses that aren't usually there any other time of year, more realisations of what you've got or haven't got (or who you have or have lost) - and if you don't think it affects you.... think again. Even if not directly, others' energies will be having an effect on you as well. As always... go gently with each other.

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The Butterfly Ball: who remembers this? In the 70's, I think, they used to play it as a filler between shows on the ABC - The Goodies, Monkey, maybe The Tomorrow People (god that show used to freak me out...) - and I always loved it as a young child. A friend re-introduced me to it earlier this year. So today, I'm posting it for her.

Love Is All

Ronnie James Dio/Roger Glover

Everybody's got to live together
All the people got to understand
So love your neighbour
Like you love your brother
Come on and join the band

Well all you need is love and understanding
Ring the bell and let the people know
We're so happy and we're celebratin'
Come on and let your feelings show

Coz love is all
Well love is all
Love is all can't you hear the call
Oh well love is all you need
Love is all you need at the Butterfly Ball

Ain't you happy that we're all together
At the ball in nature's countryside
And although we're wearing different faces
Nobody wants to hide

Love is all and all is love and
It's easy, yes it's so easy
At the Butterfly Ball where love is all
And it's so easy

All you need is love and understanding
Hey ring the bell and let the people know
We're so happy and we're celebratin'
Let your feelings show

Love is all, yes love is all at the Butterfly Ball
Love is big, love is small
Love is free, love is all
At the Butterfly Ball

When your back's to the wall
When you're starting to fall
You got something to lean on
Love is everything
It can make you sing
At the Butterfly Ball
Love is all, I say love is all, yes love is all
At the Butterfly Ball

I made a button! Was it a waste of time?

I missed the craze of button-making when it first happened a couple of years back. At the time, I didn't see my blog as being of any importance or relevance enough to make one. I wasn't a "this" blogger or a "that" blogger. I even made some for other people. But never my own.

The fact is, if I want to potentially reach further, I have to make it easier to find this blog. I have to make like the cool kids and do what they've done already. And I do want to reach a further audience for I have come to realise that this opportunity is what encourages me to persevere writing here. Delving into the depths of my compassionate self to dig up The Good Stuff (and in my line of focus, that centres around "life after infant loss, miscarriage and infertility") is not done lightly. So I may as well do all I can to share my experience in the trust that it reaches those who really need the solidarity today. At any moment.

It's been a funny thing, setting up this button. I realise the shift away from those things I used to write about often (and write through) is inline with my current point of healing - one, after all, cannot write about the same thing repeatedly forever, for that would show a lack of moving forward through a life experience - but it's not forgotten.

I am still intending to periodically dig out the old posts (I don't want to bombard or flood regular readers and I am sharply aware of this). But at the moment, I feel caught in a strange turnstile between readers who have been with the blog and my story for long enough that I don't need to rehash and new readers testing the blog out, probably wondering where all the deep, reflective writing is that I once did as a rule rather than the exception it has become.

So! Let's see if a button is something you want to pop on your blog/s. I feel like one of the kids who's trying to be cool in fashion that's 2.5 years behind the season it trended in. But that is me. I've always been the slow and steady (if not discerning) Tortoise.

There are many blogs these days who only list bloggers' buttons now and I have to admit, it's kinda cool to just click on an image and jump to blogs that way. Especially if you're a visual browser. So I just wanted to give the option to grab mine. Button, that is.... The code is in the sidebar:

Have you flogged lately? Come join in at Where's My Glow!

They walk among us

Those people with the nasty M-word in their history.

Years ago, this blog used to struggle with the minefield that was being pregnant (again.... again) after neonatal loss. At the time, I was indignant. I held on to my feelings about it all while I made every effort to safely get through (and by "safely", I also include every reader of my words).

You see, over time, I have been silenced. I did this to myself. Putting my neck out to speak up for the "club" I belong to - a complicated one - used to attract ire from time to time. Once upon a time, at the height of my "aloneness", the less I felt heard, the more I yelled into the cyber-void. It became a vicious circle. Passing through that phase, I was fortunate to come to a place where I could step outside of myself and my situation and consider others, no matter what their standing or their misfortune (or lack of). I cared enough for myself, too, and the shattered person I was, to strive for this understanding.

This, I believe, is called compassion. 

com•pas•sion –noun

1. A feeling of deep sympathy and sorrow for another who is stricken by misfortune, accompanied by a strong desire to alleviate the suffering.

I learned and I practiced and I was diligent in seeking a way that was less and ever less offensive to anyone who happened across my words. It took time, it took years. And it took a conscious, concerted effort on my part to be responsible for my own words. I had to face the fact that although I justified my ranting writing as "my blogspace, I'll do what I like with it", I would be doing myself a great disservice if I did not grow from each and every post I chose to publish - if I did not acknowledge that my words had the potential to change someone's day or thinking, then I was acting terribly irresponsibly. I took my blog very seriously as I practiced. I still do.

My book has been written under the same protective, careful umbrella.

When I was heavily pregnant with Miss Lolly and grappling with being swallowed in the huge leveller that is Parenthood, I was confused by "the others" (parents) and their flippant attitudes towards what I was really facing. I felt very alone in a big, cold world. I became blinkered to the plights of so many millions, spread across all countries of the globe, battling their own hardships, because mine was all I could see in that instant.

My situation was equal to the girl who got the awful botch hair cut and colour. For her, as for me, she could not possibly see any silver lining and writhed and wrote her way through her situation. (This is a made-up situation, please take careful note! It's just to draw comparison...) It took me a while to accept this, but I did come to a point where I could see that even in lives that were seemingly so fine and perfect, there was struggle and strife. Whether admitted to or not. And that was how I came to my own personal peace with the situation I found myself in. In some respects, I was no worse off than the girl with the bad dye-job because, in our respective situations, we were currently in the worst circumstances we could ever be in.

So why is it that being told I have written something "depressing" grates on me so? Why do I find it almost disrespectful of someone to tell me, bold-faced, that they would not read my story because it's just too sad? Granted, there are only a few individuals who have said this to me over the years and while they are grossly outweighed by people itching to read it, I admit I'm affronted.

I have already lived with being "too hard to talk to" or deal with. I realised years ago that it was very difficult for some to be my friend (because of my history). I would like to think I have grown exponentially since thinking that about myself, while also not allowing my skin to grow too thick at the same time. It's been a tricky thing to balance.

I understand, I truly do, that it is not a book for everyone. And of course, to each their own - no arguments there. However, I think I have finally figured it out (why this sticks with me so much). 

However, there is a proper, compassionate way to deliver such an opinion to a person about their own life. If you must tell me my story depresses you and you don't want to know it/read it, please at least be apologetic about it! Or.... hey.... just don't tell me. Um, or, I know: Don't read anything I write! Pretend I don't exist, perhaps that would work better for you. For when you say that to me, you are saying it to EVERY parent who has lost a child and I find that so cold and callous and short-sighted, dismissing all the tiny little personal victories that go with moving through this most awful life event. Managing to get out of bed in those early weeks is a feat beyond imagining, let me tell you. That's just to name one achievement you are dismissing (it's so basic it would be easy for one to overlook it as important) when you wipe off our stories as too sad or depressing to warrant your attention.

Have a serious think about this, if you will:

How would you honestly feel if your life/ your story was belittled to such a pin-point that it was merely cast aside as "too depressing"? The life you have lived, the one that has saved you from yourself, inspired you beyond belief, reached and touched many and become a pillar of positivity to YOU because you lived and survived it...  To be told, without any sort of apology or tact, that your life depresses someone would put you on the back foot, no? Saying this reduces all the good, hard work I feel I have (had no choice to have) done.

The only thing that is "depressing" about it, to me, is the ignorance that miscarriage/child loss is written off so quickly as just so negative that there can surely be no positives out of it. 

THIS is why I write this blog. 

To keep myself reminded, and to inform, that there is far more to pregnancy loss than the loss itself. There ARE positives to come out of them - sure, they sometimes have to be sought (and even hunted down sometimes!), but they are there. 

I must thank those who think my story is too depressing (but who, intriguingly, still choose to read my blog) because it gives me renewed resilience to keep advocating for a huge collective consciousness - the bereaved who are mourning their unmaterialised child/ren - that have the lid put on their trials. 

Is it any wonder, really, that so many women choose to move on without more thought to what actually happened to them when they are faced with such dismissive attitudes by society? Often by other women, no less?

We walk alongside people every day who have all sorts of hardships, the depths of which we have no idea. The immensity of what some are coping with will often bely their quips, their smiles and friendliness. But it doesn't mean they are not doing an admirable job of carrying it all. 

Please... have a little heart. Consider your words and how you are delivering them on others (no matter what the justifications you can give for them). Remember your compassionate self. 

A sad story can still be uplifting, enriching and optimistic.

Party pissa: My kind of party

The LGBB and I have handed out all her party invitations (except for a few who will get letterbox dropped shortly).

It started with "You can invite TEN. Only ten." She wanted a disco karaoke party. I know. Did you just groan and laugh at the same time like I did? Weighing up the ratio of room size:her ability to befriend any child, I knew I had to set a limit early. But I also had a feeling it wouldn't be just ten in the end. Despite her initial statement - "No boys" - I also kinda guessed she'd try and sneak some boys in to the list when she realised she wanted them here. It's a recording that's made its way in to her head via some other little girl's vocabulary. Lolly has plenty of boy friends. She just sometimes forgets. And I sometimes forget to encourage her not to forget.

I admit, I took the easy way out. I was thinking of the head count only. If she said she didn't want boys, then that would instantly make it easier to keep the numbers down. "Fine," I said two weeks ago. "No boys then." Not that my floors and walls are the most spot-free in the world, I didn't relish the thought of a huge number of children descending in a party-frenzied furore on my house and furniture.

Fast forward to last weekend, after much gnashing of teeth and also realising that not only did she want to invite three boys from kinder, she simply HAD to (evidenced by the writhing on the floor holding her stomach as if she was trying to digest her own bad acting) have her cousins here as well, my little girl was not able to be convinced. I was secretly very glad that she had found her own way through it and realised she did want her boy counterparts to come and share in the fun.

Initially, I tried to advise her we could have a "family dinner" with her cousins and two of her other family-friends boys - make a night of it at a pizza place, I thought, which sort of helped smooth over my own social etiquette-bound self (I assumed all along that her beloved boys would not want to come to what was being touted by Lolly as a "disco princess fairy dance party"). And I wrote the five boys' names down and explained to her that they probably wouldn't want to come, and I talked up how fun a pizza night with her and them would be. She was confused. She wanted to invite them. It was boof-head ME who fed the stereotype.

It was sorted. For a few days. Lolly got to work drawing a poster in honour of her own birthday. It had balloons on it and pieces of pizza (spelled "pissa", which was, very much, a "pisser" to me and her Dad) with smiley faces. She was extra specially careful to ensure lines went from the pizza slices to each of the boys' names. So they wouldn't miss out.

Pardy piss-aaaaaa. Whassuuuuuup!

It broke my heart a little bit. And I gave myself a verbal shake and said "Wake up, ninny!" She was showing me in plain scribbles that her kids were segregated. For no real reason she could understand. I mean, who can be bothered listening to their mother crap on about how hard it is to keep the house clean? Right?

So the list grew. My limit blew out to fifteen. "Okay," I said, "FIFTEEN... but that is IT," I said.

And she nodded and did her wide-mouthed old-soul matron grin and presented me with 22 names. Off the top of her head. It was pitiful, the indecision over who she had to leave off if she absolutely HAD to invite another. In the end, I couldn't do it to her. She is the sort of kid, I suspect, who like me would take in any number of strays (people, animals, she doesn't discriminate).

After negotiations were finalised, I wrote a number down and slid the paper across the kitchen bench to her in silence, nodding suggestively - This is a good number, take the deal - and she nodded back at me. We settled. We're idiots like that. She doesn't even know what I was parodying. But she thinks I'm a cracker crack-up. Whatever.

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A post from the incomparable Mrs Woog has stopped me in my tracks this morning. It reminded me of the message I was unwittingly sending to my daughter and I was relieved that I had not encouraged her to go with her no-boys rule. Go read this: Performing Princesses.

I'm not saying I don't think boys *want* to dance or come to a fairy/princess/girly-girl party, but I am saying I sometimes get so blinkered that I just expect they'll not want to come. I almost supported my daughter's decision not to invite who she truly wanted to be here. Based on gender. When it wasn't really what she wanted anyway, it was what she had heard in "the playground."

I am lining up for a smack. Take a number. I'll bend over shortly.

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Nineteen invites are going out today. Eight of them are for boys. I came home from distributing them into the parents' folders, made a cup of tea and sat down to discover that post. I read it and felt humbled and confirmed.

This time I'm playing to (not) win

I met a pretty car on Monday night. No, really. I'm not just saying that for obvious reasons.

The Kidspot Top 50 Bloggers launch party was a hoot. And I'm not just saying that either. My favourite part of the night was probably watching Doug from Ford Australia change tactics during his plug of the car when he heard the whoop go up from the crowd about its wine bottle holders (it was hurriedly pointed out these were not to be used on the school run). So he deftly skipped the technology aspects - not that they aren't fantastic - and went on to mention the car's 30 storage spaces. Ooh-err. What a smooth operator.

It's official.

My wrap-up is going to be shite, so I shan't attempt one. But here's a real good'un from Danimezza (and her photos are brill)! Or you could laugh your patooty off like I just did over with Bianca at Bigwords - her description of the hotel (and champagne on-tap) was SPOT. ON. I'm going to blame a head cold, lack of photo taking to remember, a bottomless champagne glass and sheer work/sick overload since coming home. Sorry for not getting my act together.

Suffice to say, I had a brilliant time and was glad of Farmer's Wifey's hand to hold to and from the airport/hotel. Although, I could have done without seeing her snog this taxidermied bull/cow/moose/thing:

Pucker up, Buttercup

WHY it was there (at the after party-pub-shady-pines-place) I have no idea. But there it was. In the corner, next to us. It's been trying to pick up for months, the poor thing. I'm sure Michelle will make him very happy. She is a farmer's wife, after all..... Too far? (Michelle, you know I love you!)

I had the pleasantly good fortune to meet two of my personal favourite bloggers - Maxabella and Caitlyn Nicholas - you know those blogs you have a soft spot for because you have fun every time you go there? No matter what the subject of the latest post? And not necessarily even because they have written them for entertainment value or with a target hit count in mind (although I find both thoroughly entertaining and usually giggle at least once before leaving), but just because they speak through so much other bullshit and just get right to my heart. Love. Them.

I also met two new people (amongst others, of course) who I'm keen to get to know better via their excellent looking blogs - Claire from Checks and Spots and Andrea from Fox In Flats. What women! Cool, cool chicks. Easy to talk to, interesting and interested. Real.

*  *  *  *  *

Look, I'm going to come clean right now. I don't have a hope in Haiti (....too soon?) of winning any Top 50/Top 20/Top X Factor/Blog Diddly darn top gong. Ever. Er... Well, technically, that's exactly what I said to myself when I entered the Best Blog Post of the Year at Kleenex Mums, and we all know how that ended...... 

Annnywho, I need to set something straight here at the get-go of the competition.

I made a decision on the plane ride home from Sydney yesterday. I'm not going to pimp my blog for votes. There I was, Jetstarring it south, homeward bound, head full of cold being kept at bay by my nifty pill-popping efforts. My manuscript was on my lap. The flight attendant - the most normal, human, friendly, not up herself loveliest one I've met in a long while - motioned towards my scribblings and said, "Wow, you're hard at work already!" and that began a brief conversation whereby I told her it was my book I was working on. Her face lit up and she said, "Oh, how exciting!" Just two words. How. Exciting.

She was right. I was (am) excited. I am propelling myself to finish this book and make it the best I know how. Then make it even better. Then pay someone to make it even bettererer. What did I think I was doing, distracting myself like this?

And I thought, What am I doing here? How did I get on a plane to Sydney? I am "just" a writer. Of a blog. That is kinda in a niche market given the usual subject matter on it. I'm a mere speck in the blogosphere. Why did I accept this nomination? What would I do with a massive car that'd just remind me I only have one child to fill it?

Blurg.

But then I remembered:  I'm doing it because I'm reaching out. I am seeking. Til the day I die, I shall seek. Connection. Camaraderie. You know? Good fellowship. And I can tell you, I increased the fold again on Monday night. I entered a room of people only half of whom I had ever heard of and/or met before. Not an easy feat to meet new people when your ears are half clogged and you're hoping like hell that those Codrals you took are going to keep your dewey bits in check/inside your nose/eyes/head long enough, at least, that you won't start coming apart like Cinderella at the stroke of midnight.

Now, a good-fellow doesn't stretch the friendship by nagging for votes. I trust that those will happen - or they won't - on the basis of how moved people are to do so. And if I am getting back to reality, the vote part is not why I accepted the nomination to this competition in the first place. The exposure part was. The connection part was.  And although I may just go to hell in a glovebox for saying so, but Ford Australia wouldn't find me a terribly wide-reaching good ambassador anyway.

Ha-HA! In your face, bloggers! (not very likely)
Image source

If a miracle happens and all the other blogs trip over and I do a Steve Bradbury at the finish line, well, you can bet your kids(pot) you guys will get the scoop on the New Generation Ford Territory in my own inimitable (thank god for that) entertaining and fact-filled-fun way.

So it's win-win, really. They get the plug by proxy. I get my name included somewhere in the honour role. But apart from that, I'm not going there. I think I always knew it. My human nature just distracted me with thoughts of desperately wanting to compete.

Damn human nature.

I have the most-read blog in the WORLD, people

If a tree falls in the forest... does it make a sound?

If someone says something about you and you don't hear it, nor hear it from those who heard it first-hand, that is, you are never wised-up to the conversation.... have the words been spoken?

What happens in today's social media age when someone makes a faux pas? An honest hiccup of judgement, something they deem quite suitable for publication but another individual (the subject, most often likely) feels is highly inappropriate? Can the words be taken back? Unsaid? Unwritten? Unblogged, untweeted, un-...Facebook-statused...ded? Really?


Do we all think everyone is talking about us, or has the potential to, and is that making us paranoid? Are we too precious, too careful, too narcissistic because of the wide range of ways we are now "available" and able to be reached and heard about, talked about, contacted?

"That's why I'm not on Facebook," (the fictitious) she says proudly. "I keep out of all that."

Little does she know, "they" still probably talk about her on Facebook and - more fool her - she has no account with which to log in, befriend "them all" and keep "them" honest while she's at it. But is she really so harmed if she is none the wiser to "their" tattle? And their photos of her that "they" posted on their walls and shared around, all without her knowledge or approval?

"You need to take that off your blog, I did not go there and I was not with her," (the fictitious) he fumes at his friend, the blog owner. "You've taken it all out of context."

Little does he know, the world's blog reading audience does not have eyes firmly fixed on that blog. At that moment. In that hour. That the link to its latest post will be so far down that Twitter feed - just his Twitter feed, nobody else's in his network because none of his friends follow the blog so, therefore, don't get the notifications he gets - he would have missed it had he blinked at that moment. For let's not forget, he's only seeing that post because the link came up on his feed but because he clicked on it AND it involved him and named him, he automatically considers the post too public for "The World" now. Even though nobody knows him.

Do we cringe at being a Nobody? Or do we cringe at potentially being found-out Somebody's? Is the world really that small a place? Or is social media turning us into out of control control freaks about our personal information? And I mean personal as in, common knowledge, the stuff of yesteryear's folklore, not tax file numbers and criminal/dental/medical records. Is it safer to use the word "allegedly" at the end of every statement, or at least every sentence? Just in case? Does that trick even work in the blog/Facebook/insert-social-media-forum-here world?

Put it this way:
Did Barry the Farrier from down Mill Lane get the shits up when Betsy the farm girl told Reginald at the pub about his embarrassing problem? You bet he did. You wouldn't blame him, would you? But see, only Betsy and now Reginald (well, and Barry as well) knew about it. That's as far as it went. Because the world was a smaller place. Without the internets. Oh, and electricity and cars and Google and whatnot.... Today, Betsy has a blog and she uses lots of air-quotes to "allegedly" get her out of any "legal trouble" with "someone whose name rhymes with Flarry" but whom she feels compelled to speak.

Is that fair of her? To decide?

Are there any rights, wrongs, happy mediums here?

If you had to stop writing about people, any people, any situation... what would your blog be like? Serious question. Even if you don't rely on the practice, can you honestly, truthfully say you don't talk about someone (what someone did, something someone said - whether positive or negative, in your words) on a daily or weekly basis? Do you never do it? You'd be rare if you can claim that. But if you could claim it, be proud of it! Huzzah to you! Long live your blog and your friend/family cred! And, have you just considered that serious question and waved it away with a swift "..but that's different when I do it. I don't use names, I never give away my location, I even blog under a pseudonym." How are you any different? How have we judged it fair and okay, when it is not our situation to share?

And please..... don't be thinking I am the pot calling the kettle a darker shade of pale here. I know I do it too. I have been firmly shaken awake and am now being made to smell the roses, thanks. They smell like shit today. Must be in the compost. Good for growth, wouldn't you say?

Does the most damage to relationships occur because of how the fallout from such a skuffle regarding an online faux pas is handled? Have you ever been in a maelstrom of twitterific proportions, whereby what you say - little old you - is classed as public and globally wide-reaching as CNN? Do you sometimes feel that people mistake you for a 24 hour news channel with a huge readership, when the reality is (come on, you can admit it) quite pitiful and about as non-newsworthy as they get? Does it strike you as ironic that the assumption is usually made by those unfamiliar with the vastness of blogs and other platforms of social media who don't realise the great unlikelihood of your blog coming across the computer screens of pretty much everyone they know... unless they themselves point people to it? To make their point of how dangerous blogs can be?

Deep breath.

But it still does beg the question: If you don't hear it, if it doesn't come up in your Google reader or on your Twitter stream, does that mean it hasn't been said? And if you do see it written, do you automatically assume the world's online masses are reading that very same thing (or at least, will read it at some point before they drop off this mortal coil)?

Am I asking far too many belligerent rambling questions? They're all rhetorical, please don't attempt to answer any/all of them ('tis your choice if you feel inclined, though). Am I even making any sense?

And finally, a statement:

I swear, sometimes I feel like I should have a head too large to fit through the door, such is the reach and influence my blog has. Allegedly.

A question on old posts: Feedback sought please!

I have been giving a lot of thought recently to resurrecting (well, more technically, just reposting) a lot of my old posts from my first blog - Musings - to here. There is a lot of useful information in them, a lot of "working through thoughts" that, while no longer relevant to me where I am "at" today, here and now, is still very real and pertinent to people going through the hoops of infertility/parenthood after loss, etc., and that will never change.

Without puffing my chest out too much, there's quite a bit of good stuff. And we all know how that goes: You're kinda only as good as your last blog post, aren't you! The good ones just get buried. A blogger who has been around as long as I have, posting pretty much daily for almost six years, is going to have LOOOOOADS of posts, at probably a 70/30 "crap/good stuff" split.

I have been hesitant to do this, though, on two main counts:  1) I don't want to stuff up anyone's blog roll/reader thing, and 2) as I assume they won't appear as the latest posts because I will keep them date stamped the same (ie. back in 2005-2007), they will probably just tuck neatly in to the blog's archives, meaning they won't be seen anyway. Aaargh! What to do?

I've been thinking I might move them across and then create a page - in fact, a whole new blog platform is in the (very fledgling stage) works - that contains links to the posts. Grouped in some sort of categorical order.

What do you think? Should I be bothered?
If you are a reader who is going through the throes of the crap associated with infertility/family and friends not getting you, or if you are recovering from the loss of a child or pregnancy... would this help?
If none of these categories sounds like you, but you read this blog, would you have any interest whatsoever in reading posts that are long in my past?

Just benchmarking today. Any and all feedback, opinions and suggestions welcome! Many thanks in advance for your input.

Stymied

Image came from here

Stymied. I wanna be like Hymie (in Control). But I'm currently stumped. I lack my zeal. For anything.

I took a short break this week, didya notice? No, I bet nobody did. I guess I should quickly update that no news is not necessarily good news and that I went to Monday night's information night for the beautiful Heartfelt organisation. I went to their exhibition in the city and stayed for drinks, chips and a breath-taking (literally) presentation from Gavin Blue.

But, alas, I doubt my skills are going to cut it. It seems a piece of paper - or at least, more skills than what I possess - is what they are looking for. I have done all I can; sent in some examples at their request (I felt proud but a bit funny about using my personal photos of Ellanor to prove to somebody that, yes, I can use the tools of my trade and recreate facial features and whatnot, in order to show my talent).

Henyway, perhaps they're just busy. But I've heard nothing back, despite reading an update the next day that two new retouchers had joined up (no... I don't think I am one of them! nothing was formalised and it is a very well-run team). My best guess is they don't need me, so I'm thinking.... I wasn't good enough. And while on the one personal hand I'm gutted, on the other hand no mind! All that matters is a) that I went and offered my help, and b) that my skills have been perfect for me and Steve to see Ella without the heart-tugging reminders of her precarious journey through her short four-week life. And better still, it has allowed me to introduce our second daughter to her deceased sister - something I didn't realise until last weekend that I have gifted the LGBB. I need no further proof that my skills are "good enough" than that.

I want to thank each and every one of you who commented, emailed and .. er, twitterered (tweeted? that sounds better) about this and encouraged me to at least go. Without your support after I made this post, I would have stayed home and kicked myself for not going. Oh how I love to self-flagellate at whim for no real legitimate reason.

At the very least, all I can say is, whoever you know, wherever you are in Australia (if you do live here), please do keep this organisation at the front of your mind. You just never know when you might need to suggest them to someone you know. And they are, indeed, truly exceptional. Trust me on that one. I don't say it lightly.

--------------------------------------------

So. As that was the start to my week, I have felt somewhat like a slowly deflating balloon ever since. Couple that with the hot topic around the Aussie blogosphere this week about whether you're a Mummy Blogger or not (STOP... my head.... it friggen hurrrrts!), on the back of what was (for me, at least, I still maintain) a wonderful and fun and personally fufilling weekend in Sydney at the Aussie Bloggers' Conference - and I am waning in gusto to do another post right now.

Despite the fact I didn't meet everyone in the room and possibly, therefore, contributed to this general view that is going around about people being snobbish or cliquéy or not letting non-Mummy-bloggers feel welcome (when in reality, I only stuck to the same few people I had already met by the end of the night because I am shy and retiring and get overwhelmed and sensitive towards crowds of energies in a room... and there were many and they were vastly varied!), I'm still so glad I went.

By the end of this very loooong week, I am trying to work out whether all I once saw in my blogging community is actually just a shadow or a farce or whether it was actually truly there (and still is), because WE made it so, collectively. All of us. Even the bloggers who are part of that particular community who aren't actually even mothers!

Put all of that above together and you are left with one sorry mess of a Mummy/Blogger/Wife/Friend/Disgruntled Pet Owner (I won't even BEGIN to bore you with the many ways the animals are giving me the shits) tonight.

--------------------------------------------

I have actually paused a moment from packing (and putting together the kinder newsletter... oh yeah, there's still a hint of Mummy Blogger in me) to tell you I won't be back til Monday. Ok, Sunday night at the earliest.

You see, Steve, Lolly and I are taking a quick vacation down to the seaside for a little spot of internet-free camping.

I am desperate for the time out. An enforced break from this crazy whirlwind I seem to have whipped myself into.


So, I maintain, I am stymied. I bid you adieu, wish me luck and no rain (or lots of it, depending how much you like us). While I'm gone, I'll see if I can't string together a few more happy post ideas, eh? And a way to get my head around this current feeling of losing my community that I didn't realise was so important to me until it began disbanding.

Consider these my presents to you on my return. Because I sure as hell ain't bringing back any souvenirs. No more room in the car! Who knew you needed to take so much shite camping??

Like peaches and cream....

And a coach and a team....

I just put the total number of comments in to random.org, hit the button and.....

We've got ourselves a perfect, perfect, per-fect match! If you don't know what I'm talking about, here - please acquaint yourself with some fine Ostrayan tv circa 1980's:






I can't tell you how super-excited I am to be giving away my winning ticket to someone. I WANTED TO GIVE ONE TO ALL OF YOU, promise!

And now, without further ado, the winning comment - with a compatibility score of 11 (percent?) - izzzzzzz....

Tenille from Help!Mum !

Congratulations!

Kerrie, Greg and Dexter are very happy for you.

Thank Maxabella

I'm going to turn off my word verification.... er, thingy. You can thank Maxabella and her commenters on this post for that.

I have to admit, I don't mind typing in my best guess in that little box on others' blogs. But it does take an extra ounce of time and, although I get comments (thank you!), I know it probably peeves some of you.

So let's give it a shot, eh? Now, I'm not making any long term promises. If I get slammed like I used to with spam, it goes back on. Oooh. Sorry. I got all sort of Mum-tone on you there. Pointed finger and raised eyebrow have been stood down. I'll save it for the spammers if they come back.

Deal?

Island oasis in the midst of the silly season

I just spent two days without internet. Forcibly removed from my one outlet in this home-mum life, I was sure it spelled certain insanity. The first day didn't bode well. The LGBB had obviously got up on the wrong side of the bed, at 5am, and found her way into ours so that was the time my day started. When she woke again at 7am as Steve got ready for work, she started with her... ah, "four year-oldness". It was going to be a whingey day. And I had already discovered, at 5am, that our internet was down and out for the count.

By 7.30am, Steve was ready to leave, I had had Dame Whinge-a-Lot in my ear for a solid half hour and felt like I wanted to just go back to bed to reclaim even an hour of the two hours' sleep I had lost. As Steve stood at the front door lacing his shoes, I came towards him with a demanding, belligerent and determined miss following me at the top of her voice, and I murmured over and over under my breath so only he could hear, "Don't leave me alone with her today, Don't leave me alone with her today, Don't leave me alone with her today..." It's a running joke we have with each other, whereby we turn into the kids who need our mummy or daddy to rescue us if we think it's going to be too 'scary' to handle.

Let me tell you, with not enough sleep under my hat and no internet, it was indeed a scary start to my day. But I had no choice. I couldn't run home to mother. I just had to suck it up and see what a day with no contact with my cyberworld was like. And...

IT WAS SPECTACULAR!

Away from the distraction of "just checking this blog" or "just going to hit refresh on my Ebay listings", unable to upload the latest finished site for a client (okay, so that part was a bit more painful as I despise letting people down, especially if they're paying me!) and not even able to receive emails from dear friends, I actually spent the past couple of days chillin' with my daughter.

We went to Spotlight (OH my very goodness, they are practically giving away Christmas decorations and crafting things down there!! Have you been?) and came home laden with wire-edged ribbon and wooden letters that spelled the word "MERRY", we had glitter and baubles and holly. We made a mantelpiece hanging together.

 

We hand made twenty-six kindy class cards, each one hand signed by the LGBB and some with very special messages that I helped her to write, like the one to her kindy teacher that read "I love you and I will miss you so so so so so so [I had to abbreviate and could only put in about five of the dozen or more "so's"] much. Love heart, kiss and cuddle..." which makes me tear up every time I look at it. And one to the teacher's assistant, "To Lisa, Merry Christmas. I put my tree up already. I will miss you." And the one she wrote to herself... using her actual name, of course (not Lolly):
"To Lolly, Love Lolly. I love Lolly so much. Merry Christmas." And then she's signed that one with her name as well.

We decorated the tree and shared turns to climb a chair and hang the higher decorations (a very favourite of the LGBB's, she thought this was an incredibly grown-up thing of her to do).

We went to the local community centre's Christmas party, an annual lunch time invitation that is open to the community. As you can imagine, there are plenty of elderly folk with nothing much to do who wander in. The staff at the centre, which is impeccably run, put on a brilliant spread, as good as any lovingly made food. What's more, only four of the kindy kids (Lolly has been with their brilliant early learning program for children which is like a pre-four-year-old kindy program with lots of structure and adorable staff and wooden toys and teacher-led songs and stories, since she was two) turned up and their teachers were there so she got to spend some really gorgeous one on one time in this casual, family atmosphere setting. It just filled my heart to overflowing hearing her teacher tell me she was "really going to miss this one" as she squeezed my daughter. Deb has been an incredibly warm and caring teacher to the LGBB and her kindy mates and we are going to sorely miss her next year.

But, ahhhh! I feel like I have been on a mini-vacation, in my mind.

I also realised that even when I don't blog so much, I'm still at this computer more often than not due to work and as a social/news portal. All very well and good. However.... what's been highlighted to me is that I don't have enough of a variety of outlets. I have more of a clue now what the balance might be and how to strike it. During the course of the day yesterday, I got really talking with a neighbour who also just happens to be the mum of one of Lolly's best-best-best friends (children love repeating words for emphasis don't they! or mine does) and as I stood and eyed off their gorgeous garden decorations, she told me she and her husband had made them. They are stunning. Honestly, I thought they had been shop bought.

So I have received a casual invitation to come over and make some of my own with them in their work shed. The girls can play in their beautiful huge back yard and we can let the guys do the jigsawing (I'm sure champagne was mentioned as part of the deal, so probably best not to drink and drive a piece of machinery, lest my hand take on the shape of Rudolph's antlers.. or something).

And today, they have Lolly again - who I think would love to move in to their house and just drop us a wave from their front porch (we can see door to door) every now and then... - and are walking to a local kids' Christmas activity day. Steve and I are spending time together alone at home. A rarity so bleedin' rare that, actually, there hasn't been a time in the past 4 1/2 years that I can recall. What a change that has been, from the days of old when we wished so fervently that we didn't have to spend another season in our big empty house alone without any children to fill it. Wow. Big moment, recalling that one.

No rushing about at the shops, Lolly and I are making Christmas baked treats for everyone (ok.... we all know it'll end up being me doing the lion's share, if not all of it). We have no desire and no need to enter into the materialism that has taken over. The kids will get toys, of course, but none of this gnashing teeth over what to get him and her and wonder if it will be received well. Ugh! Thankfully, we did away with that, oh, about six years ago - wholly and solely thanks to our very own guiding angel, Ellanor, who taught her Dad and me there is much more to life.

It's beginning to really feel a lot like Christmas. Real, genuine, people caring and looking out for their neighbours and fellow men and women, Christmas. Like I felt it as a kid. This feeling has eluded me for nigh on two decades, maybe even three. And it is seeping in to my soul in a very fulfilling way this season. Enjoyment of others, providing a home spilling over with excited kids, spending time chatting with neighbours. Now that I have allowed myself the time to step out of the life I had created, with its walls (which I hadn't really noticed were there) and distractions (which I absolutely know are there!), I'm feeling happier. Lolly is happier.

I wonder how long I can keep this going. This wave I appear to riding the crest of.

How about you? What are you feeling leading up to Christmas?

This post is loving it up with all the others this weekend over at Maxabella's place...

ReadNorWriteNoFlo

I am in a bit of a writer's rut, at the end of an ardous few weeks. Health wise, I'm getting there. As I type this, I hear the LGBB coughing her lungs out (she is fast asleep), neither of us are sleeping soundly and haven't for a fortnight. Mercifully, Steve hasn't caught this (yet) and it is my firm intention to keep it that way. There is nothing quite so tedious as going through nursing your child, then yourself, to find you have a case of man-flu on your hands. To be fair, though, I'd humour him going to bed with this one, it's been right awful.

So. There's not much bloggy inspiration in me. No desire to use up the brain space for my dear, trusty blog. Instead, I've found myself drawn to looking at pretty, very pretty, things like this and this, all terribly gorgeous and dreamy and just letting my brain go "ahhhhhhh", much like looking at a photo of ABBA used to do (it still gives me a feeling of comfort, looking at that lot and remembering how very, very happy I was as a kid to dance around my grandparents' lounge room to Arrival and make up concerts and be Agnetha.... wha? shuddap, why're you looking at me like that?) and not feeling much like being the one doing the talking right now. I hereby advise I may not post for a little while after this one. There is a website project I need to finish up for a client (and it looks awesome, he's a landscape designer and I'm steeped in all these professional images of the most amazing formal backyards - those outdoor-room types - so am channeling a lot of my inspiration into that. And I've a tonne of readings to catch up on (loving my homework for the Tarot class!).

And finally, I can also see the last page of my book. I am *this* close to finishing now. Excruciating, the wait to see how it will end (even I don't know yet!).

Exciting times. Gruelling times. Bit draining on the old creative reserves, in fact. It's little wonder, really, that the mere thought of the pressure writing a post a day (or anywhere near that) for the month of November is enough to make me break out in hives. So I shan't even attempt to take part, piker that I may well be.

See you soon! I shall be reading and commenting wherever I go. Mwah-mwah, hugzzzz.


I cheated and linked this several days' old post to Lori's FlogYoBlog Friday  instead of writing a new one today... Have you joined the linky?

What to expect when you're expecting a Cocktail At Naptime

In the year 2000, I was expecting my first child. By month two of the gestation, I was eagerly poring over a copy of the seemingly staple and somewhat stuffy (personal opinion only) self-proclaimed "iconic" pregnant woman's bible: What To Expect When You're Expecting. I have to say, it took itself very seriously.

By the time my little Bliss-Bomb arrived in 2006 - that's her there, nawwwww - I felt like I had a handle on what to expect. After all, I was now expecting for the 10th time. I was done with the expecting part, certainly the reading of what I was going through and what I could expect. I wanted to get to the euphoric huggies-commercial baby-gooey-lovin' part!

It didn't happen. Of course it didn't happen. I mean, it did, but it also SO didn't live up to my expectations that I had built upon over the intervening six years as I waited to bring home my first child.

Then, when I got my Bliss Bomb home, I scoured the "modern-day" new mother's bible, Baby Love, but still.... STILL I did not feel one bit normal. I hardly felt placated. I mean, this book told me what to do with my baby and it was good for that. But, being a girl who gets by without a mother or sisters or any influences like that, I needed.... well, I needed a bloody cocktail at naptime friend. Who knew?

I know what happened now.  What I didn't have was the real take on the gig. The bit about the episotomy I'd get. And the bladder weakness I'd be subjected to. And a random leaky alpha boob that could squirt a sales clerk at ten paces. What if I had been forewarned? Prepared? Chortle-chortle...... I would have scoffed in this book's face if it had tried to convince me before my sweet cherub had arrived that I would be faced with any such quandry.

And this is where the book - Cocktails At Naptime - comes in. If you've been under a rock in the mummy blogosphere, not only will you not have heard of its existence (and shame on you), but you also won't know that Gillian Martin and Emma Kaufmann co-authored the book and have never actually met. It's now the stuff of folk legend, I'm sure, for it remains a mystery to me how anything so well crafted has been put together by more than one person who don't even live in the same country. As a wannabe published author myself, I find that a remarkable feat on its own.

But as it stands, I've devoured Cocktails At Naptime cover to cover and I have to say, this book is such a delightfully refreshing, funny - frankly - pisstake on the entire debacle oh sorry, miracle that is bringing home a new baby. You can't help but laugh out loud, even if you're the hardest nut to crack. Hmmmm... like me, when it comes to babies and taking them at comedic value (I mean, come on, just look at my history).

This is the sort of book that can span the years. It will be equally as comfortable in the hands of someone who is in their babymoon, in the throes of those first delirious months, and in the first, second or third year (and beyond) as a retrospective. The biggest appeal about Cocktails At Naptime is that it's like that friend who not only encourages you to be led astray to the 'dark side' of succumbing to that want/need/desperation to see yourself as still normal even though you're a mother now and still haven't gone back to being your previously knowable self, it's also there to educate and even guide (in the most frank and real and "They didn't write that, I didn't actually just read that?!" kind of way).

I began reading this book after being approached by the authors to host a review as part of their bloggy tour - a request I could not turn down, as I was frankly very chuffed at simply being asked - and thought it would take me the usual aaaaages to read. I am an awful reader, I'm bad at it. It takes me months to finish anything, even books I adore.

So I was delighted that this was a read that was, obviously, so captivating that even little old slow-poke me devoured it in a couple of afternoons. AND I retained information. AND I had a bloody good time reading it.

In no particular order, I give you some of my stand-out favourite bits sorry, sections is a more comfortable word, considering the subject matter (and without giving too much away, a-course, because then what would be the point of my blog's very first ever GIVE AWAY at the end!?!?!):

• Say hello to your new vagina (authors' words, not mine) - I told more than one friend in the first few months that I was certain I was being applauded every time I used the toilet because.... LOOK AWAY NOW, GENTLEMEN AND LADIES....... I could hear clapping. Full on clapping when I *aherm* shook the drips. Turns out, it was the Labia Sisters still not snapped back to their original form. Now, there, right there, is sommit they do NOT explain in any preparation class I've ever graced (my words, not authors').

• Did the person doing the needle-work have glasses that looked like the bottom of a Coke bottle? - For serious, that question made me draw in my thighs to protectively cover The Girls. I mean, HOW did Gillian and Emma know the description of my Obstetrician? Were they there?? Uncanny.

• Your boobs and you - made me feel so, so, so normal about my previously decent and generous cup-size expanding to something of gargantuan proportions, five times larger in terms of cup size, in fact (never to go down, by the way, and don't be thinking that's fun... there's nothing FUN about carrying around a craptonne of weight in one area of your body - think scoliosis and permanent back strain, people, as well as not fitting into anything anymore because of that localised area alone)

• Your stretch marks - and their marbling design. Oh, Lordy-maird, yes. Sob. Yes. I could show you photos but honestly, we shan't go there. I still want readers tomorrow.

• "He said/She said" - very informative, a must-have for those times where the new mother is feeling so low and thinks she's reacting normally to everything her partner does or says (in Twitter terms, the hashtag would be a resounding, #newsforyouhoney)

This book, simply, has a little bit of everything. I don't think anything was left out, or if it was, it's so full of great stuff to dip into that you won't notice. There are too many things to list as my fave because really, it all was. A really spiffy read! And without trying to sound trite, I have to say... Awesome job, Gillian and Emma. Truly.

There's only one slightly negative thing I'd like to say:   Where were you four years ago?!?! I so could have used this then (even though, strangely, it's so validating even now to read your book and realise, owh migod, I was normal back then!)

You know possibly the best bit?  You can WIN yourself a copy - I have two here, thanks to the remarkable posting efforts of Joanna at Finch Publishing to get them to me quick-sticks last minute - to either covet for yourself or give away (they are so speccy, honestly, what a fantastic present) to a mum in your life who could use the giggle and confirmation.

So.... I know it's been done already, by Holly to name just one, but I want cocktails, people. And not just a name. I want details, I want recipes.

Your favourite cocktail: Hit me with it in a comment below! The best sounding two, with ingredients, score themselves a free copy of the book, Cocktails At Naptime.

Yes, it's all about the alcohol.

And here's the fineprint: 
Sorry, only open to Australian residents.
Don't worry so much about the quantities, I can make that up as I go along - muahahahahaaa
Competition closes 8pm Sunday, so get your comments in quick!

Getting a bit tired

Look, I don't mean to harp. And I promise I'm not moping about this. But I just want to say.... nay, let me SCREAM it....

I don't care so much that I "still have plenty of time" and that, apparently, at 35 now, I am "still young". What the HELL!?!?  I have heard these same two sentiments since I was 24 and was scraping myself back together after our first miscarriage. Twenty-four! Now thirty-five. Thirteen babies conceived within that time. Still hearing it. Still hearing that I am still young!! Perhaps it's meant as a compliment, after all, I do still look like I'm a twelve year-old....

Do people honestly think these platitudes bear any weight with a woman who's just lost a baby?? If you have ever said these words, ever intend on saying these words, ever overhear these words and think it's a nice thing to say...... please have a good, hard think again.

I don't appreciate the inference. That I am somehow still good and should still be up for another 5, 7, maybe if I'm "lucky" 10, more years of this pain and torment. I never have liked it and never found comfort in knowing I still have all this time in the world to accept, graciously, more and ever more pain and sadness. This is my 11th year in this "game". It goes far beyond what I'm experiencing physically and I know it. I've stared that realisation in the face for a good seven years now. Ella taught me that.

This trite spouting of words is not helpful. The best thing that a few people have said this week to me is, "God.... that is just awful. I don't know what to say, except that I'm sorry."

The rest? All bullshit. Especially, and not only, the neighbour who replied (when seeing me hobbling around after Lolly in the front yard and learning what was happening), "Oh, geez.... well, you don't want to hear that I'm pregnant with number two, then, do you ha ha ha?"  No. No I probably didn't. But what choice do I have? You've blurted. I've heard. Ya think you could've maybe told me some other way, some other time perhaps? Considering we don't move in the same circles, it could have waited. Anyhow, congratulations.

That is all. As you were. I'm off to the chocolate shop to drown in a mug of mocha with Lolly and my dear friend and (another) neighbour. Still nursing these crippling cramps, four days post-bomb-drop.

Tweet-Tweet

Quite a bit longer than a tweet, this one.... There is a new post up at the private blog. And it's a bit of a doozy too, just quietly.

Bit o' housekeeping:

Have had several people tell me new posts on the private blog don't come up in their readers. Huh? I know. They've made it a bit hard, haven't they? *angry eyes at blogger... although, it is a free service soooo... y'know* I think that's a private blog thang, peeps, sorry. What I have done, with the 10 email addresses I'm allowed, is set up an auto email to go out to those of you who I know generally don't check in on this blog here... the rest of you who do check in here at each post and are also viewing the private one will, I trust, find your way over there if/when you're so inclined.

Hope that is a good arrangement for everyone? Let me know if you got an email about the private blog post and DON'T want any more! :) Someone else will no doubt want your spot.

Bit of new-blog housekeeping

It's been brought to my attention that some of you might not be seeing new posts (for the private blog) in your readers. I don't know what to suggest, unless you unfollow that blog then follow again? There are new posts over there.

Perhaps I will just do a little heads-up post here each time I post there, I know there are others who run various blogs who do it that way.

Thoughts? And anyone know a way to resolve the issue of a private blog's new posts not appearing in one's reader, other than re-following?

I'll be back.  With cake photos!!  (ground floor is complete, now for second storey....)

Procrastination-arily speaking

The LGBB and I wandered around to a neighbour's home today, to invite a playmate over for a couple of hours. The plan was, my young charge would be amused by her little friend. The two of them would play merrily, whereby I would be able to work, uninterrupted for another sneaky hour or so.

Ha! Best laid plans....

It was gorgeous having her friend here, though, I'll grant that. How I do love a friend who loves my daughter and treats her toys and things with the same respect and care as Lolly herself. In her excitement of having someone over to play in her room, it was actually Lol herself who has had to be calmed down and reminded to treat her things gently, and not the delightful friend, this time.

When we went in to our neighbour's house, after being neighbours for the past 2 and a bit years, it was strange to see the inside of this lovely home. I was struck again at how interested I am to see how other people have their places set up. The outside is neat as a pin, a gorgeous stately old place. Inside.... well, it was rather more lived-in than I had expected, compared to seeing it from the outside. Then again, I was really impressed that my neighbour, amongst the jumble, had a perfectly neat and clean sink. Not a dish in sight. There were papers and piles of books, clothes, toys, a right dog's breakfast from here to there. But the kitchen sink was immaculate. It put my own to shame.

After coming home, I was given cause to ponder how my house would appear (say, for instance, to the LGBB's friend's mother who would be coming in a couple of hours' time to collect her daughter). The pile of un-dishwasher-able dishes to the left side of my sink seems to be permanently there. Given the high priority I gather she places on diligently having the dishes done, I daresay I'd look like a slovenly sloth, me and my umpteen melamine character-transfer kids' dishes that DON'T GO IN THE DISHWASHER *angry grimace*. I don't do them every day, it's just something I put off, in favour of other chores, paid work, playing with the LGBB and..... ok, yes, blogging. It struck me that to anyone visiting, they're just a little pile of dishes. But to me, they are the most annoying of little jobs that I put off and put off and put off. Which is ridiculous, really, because they are so in-my-face and cause me such a grievance to see them every time I'm in the kitchen (which is one of those kitchens you can see from everywhere so you see dishes in plain sight all the time).

Oh, the whole thing just gets me a bit hot under the collar. Silly, really, comparitively speaking. But still. There you have it.

What is your put-off chore? You know, the one that is really a piece of piss to do, but you never do it? And then it not only builds up and gets worse the longer you put it off, but drives you nuts every time you pass it, either busy doing something else or otherwise just cannot be fagged doing it right then and there? I mean, I have several, but this dishes thing... it's really one of the most annoying!

Supportive commenters a.k.a. I WOZ 'ERE

Now, here is a different kind of award. They're flying around all over the place at the moment, aren't they!? But I'm rather passionate about this one because it's a passionate subject of mine: the Blog Commenter.


My recognition of its receipt is long overdue, but I've been awarded a Supportive Commenter award by a relative newcomer to my bloggy world awareness, Kellyansapansa. I must say, the girl deserves this from me as well (being a regular commenter here already - cheers!) but she already has it from someone. So that'd be kind of a moot point. Anyway, thanks, Mrs..... Ansapan...sa? ;=P

I admit, I still find it slightly unnerving that I don't hear from the majority of people who regularly read my blog. It's probably something that is curious to many of us bloggers, right? when you can see how many people read compared to how many actually comment? It's a strange thing, I couldn't read about someone's life and then not say anything. Especially if I was making a point to come here daily, or sometimes more often than that.

I get anything from 30-60 readers every day, more if it strikes a cord (one never knows which posts will get the most attraction) - with a usual minimum of 40-something - which doesn't even count those who have it on their RSS feeds, but I rarely get more than a few comments. So while it's a leetle bit unnerving to think some of you guys read and don't ever stop to say hi.... to each their own, people have their reasons! *sniff-sob, no-that's-fine*

Anyway, I have decided to pass on this award to people who have been there to support and acknowledge and have been commenting here since the very beginning... It has never gone unnoticed and I deeply appreciate these people, in particular, for regularly commenting after they read and for doing so on all different posts (the mundane, the funny, the silly, the paranoid, the downright gut-wrenching). Thanks, bloggy friends, you have made all the difference to my experience as a blogger since 2005.


Charlene - the most dedicated foster parent I "know" and someone who inspires me to be open to all of life's individuals.
Alliecat - has become my bud! I can always count on her to add to/enhance my loss posts here, especially, and really look forward to reading what she has to say (which makes her blog a very enjoyable read, too).
Averil - probably less regular lately, with good reason ;) this blogger's comments always make me feel quite humble, as her readership is so vast yet she still takes the time to say something if she is so moved. A delectable blog, it's like my guilty pleasure of the Blog World.
Danni - another I feel very privileged to "know", who is always so supportive with her and ready to have a chuckle. Love your blog, Dan.
And with an honourable mention to K77 (whose blog isn't active anymore??? but I still hear from and have done, right from the beginning of this journey)


As soon as I post this, I'll bet I'll think of a few others and smack my forehead with the palm of my hand. But these are the ones who came to me instantly, sooooo...

I know I can always count on these core bloggers to comment and let me know they were here, which is very important and shows a mark of respect, especially if/when you put your heart and soul "out there"..... which I often do on this blog. So, thanks! Much appreciated.


And just a suggestion: if you do read a blog regularly (any blog) - or avidly check it for updates - it'd be SO cool and honourable to show your appreciation of the blogger you are following to actually make a comment, even once in a while. Don't you think? You don't have to have anything earth-shattering or witty to say. Even a "Hi, I'm reading!" would be appreciated, I'm sure.

Questions about questioning a loss

(in which she finally gets around to answering the question posed by a commenter over a week ago...)


"So, is it getting any better, love?" Dad asked. He had phoned to say he was thinking of us, after also sending a really beautiful card, 'remembering our Spirit Girl, Ella.' So simple, yet majestic in its offering. My Dad is a masterful card-writer and his secret, really, is to be short and sweet and coming from a place most heartfelt, without even seeming like he's tried or searched or struggled for the right words.

It was an interesting question he posed to me on our daughter's sixth birthday.

"I have to say, it is... and it isn't," I fumbled in reply. How was I going to catch my father up to speed about how much more I had worked on myself [my attitude, my sense of self-centre, my further acceptance about what has happened to me in my life, learning to tailor my responses to people even further so they were real me responses, the genuine ones - after much time and understanding had passed, I would finally feel safe to be me in 2009] when he only asked this every year or so? Beautifully posed cards aside, I don't get checked in on at any other time of year. Not by anyone in my family. Save for my sister in-law sometimes, bless.

"Of course, it's easier in some respects," I continued on, with a real 'comma-but' implied in the trailing off of my sentence that indicated I had more to say.

"Ah, well that's good. I'm glad then," Dad said. He sounded relieved of his post. I left it at that.

There's no way to "nutshell" this process, really. At the end of the day, I'm now beyond needing to hear words of solidarity or comfort from my family and friends. But it's so good to have them delivered on us randomly - it's actually more poignant to be reminded, on any ordinary day during the year, that someone was "just thinking about you and how you're doing" or "had a moment, thinking about Ella today." Those gestures are priceless, this many years on.

So, to the question that was posed in the comments section of a post I made last week. I have to preface my attempts at answering this by clarifying that I am just one of many millions who have suffered the loss of a child over the 'lifetime' of this world. And I don't claim to definitively "know" the answers to these sorts of things. But, of course, without sounding too simpering, I know that I - and so many others like me - have more of a grip on this reality I'm in because of my strive to seek clarity and information and understanding for myself. It is this understanding and perspective only that I can share. And each person's will be different, even if only slightly, because we are all individual. Yes *say it together now* We are all individuals.

The comment:

Years ago, when I was in my early twenties, I was cheerfully chatting to a lady in my workplace and I asked her how many children she had. Two, came the reply. I then asked how old they were, she replied that one was three and the other had died as a newborn.

It totally floored me, I didn't know what to say or where to look. Did I ask what happened and seem nosey? Or should I say something like 'I'm sorry for your loss' and sound glib or insincere, even though I most certainly wasn't? Or should I just bring up the latest episode of Friends and seem uncaring... It all got really awkward and I started babbling about how terrible it must have been and felt like such a clumsy idiot.

In all honesty I'm still not sure I'd know how to react tactfully to the news a person had suffered such a terrible loss. So please, do you have any hints? What is a sensible, tactful response to the news that a person has lost a child?

Firstly, I can't answer this easily. I need to give a bit of background "depth" to this, for it is a situation that happens on a daily basis, I'm sure.

I think the most important thing to remember here is that.... at the end of the day, the woman gave birth to a gorgeous baby. Are we all not very proud of this achievement, as women and mothers, when this happens? The very moment that bubba passes, it's as if all of that joy and wonderment and empowerment gets sucked out of you (the parent) - and mostly, it pains me to have to break it to you, this process happens at the hands of others. Well-meaning they may be, but those who • change the subject, • go straight for the pained or tragic slant on the whole "thing" without properly acknowledging the (albeit short) life of the child, • ask only questions relating to what happened (why the child died).... feel very vampirish. Now, I know vamps are all "in" at the moment. But when you feel like your catastrophic event is being sucked on, it really isn't pleasurable. That joyous moment, the euphoric post-birth high gives way to.... nothing happy. Nothing rewarding. Which urges me to point you to this post (the tulip flower link on the right of this page) about miscarriage and the deep and lasting effects it can have on a woman's body. If people around the parent/s begin to reinforce the fact that theirs is a taboo, ugly, dark, too-hard-basket situation, then the parent/s will eventually have not many places in which to proudly talk about their baby and the experience/s (and life journey, however short-lived) they shared. SO.... my point about all of that paragraph is, what a blessed gift you would give a parent, if you were to provide them an opportunity to talk about the joys, the hope, the blessing they saw/see their child to be, their memories as a normal parent, basically - it is far more rare to receive this welcome opportunity, let me tell you.

All of that being said, one of the hard lessons of becoming a bereaved parent is the difficult realisation of "a-ha, I really DO have such a great duty of care here." When you start to lift yourself out of your own fog of grief - which can literally take years - and see that the responses you've been inflicting, on members of the general public or workmates, etc., who are completely unaware of your situation, are actually really affecting the person in front of you - reactions vary from visible crumbling, instant tears in the eyes, avoidance of meeting your gaze and so forth - that parent then has to become very quickly sound in their delivery. As if to buffer the receiver of the information. So bereaved parent becomes the comforter, if you will. It's a strange dynamic.

What to say, though, in far fewer rambly words than I've just unleashed from the depths of who-knows-where? Well, for starters (see - I can't be succinct with ANYTHING), I'm not a huge fan of directing anyone towards The One Ideal Sentence. There actually isn't one, if truth be told. Because the 'ideal' response is as varied as there are dynamics between personae - both the bereaved parent and the person who is attempting to offer some words of sympathy. Suffice to say, a great start would be - absolutely - "May I ask what happened?" Note that this is very different from asking "What happened" without the "may I ask", for you are giving the parent the choice to decide whether they will or will not go into it.

It takes much energy to explain, for me, even this many years on, and dependent on how interested the person is and how many subsequent questions they ask, I could be drained for the remainder of the day (without properly focusing on why that might be). So be mindful too that whatever you ask, you really are extracting memories that the parent may not be feeling up to delving into at that moment in time. Remember too, then, that that too shall pass (the moment of not feeling up to it) and it shouldn't be taken as read that you should never again attempt to enquire or seem interested. If your relationship with the parent is longer than a fleeting passing in the street situation, it would pay you well to perhaps revisit at a point in the near future - if indeed you have been thinking compassionately about the parent - and say something like, "I've been thinking about you and your baby, I can't possibly imagine what you've been through. But I would be interested/would like to learn some more about your experience with him/her sometime." And leave it at that. You may be pleasantly surprised at the appreciation you receive, if in fact you are genuinely interested.

You could also try:
(totally dependent on timing - both of asking the question and how recently the baby passed - and on your familiarity with the person AND not least in importance, being sound in your own agenda: why do you ask, why do you really want to know... a rhetorical question worthy of some consideration)

• I'm very sorry to hear that. (And leave that as your last sentence.... don't trail off into "But at least you've got one child" or "Are you planning to have any more" etc. etc.... these are extreeemely personal questions that I have never ever heard as being useful or received inoffensively in all my years of reading and talking with bereaved parents)

• Did you spend some time with him/her. (Again, VERY dependent on your comfort level of receiving the answer, your reason for asking in the first place, the nature of your relationship with the parent, the nature of the passing - although, in saying that, I think it is fairly standard these days for parents to be given the choice to determine how long they stay with their child after he/she has passed away... I stand to be corrected if anyone wants to weigh in here)

• Don't forget, the very simple "I cannot imagine."

Mostly, if you really would rather not know "details" and just want to back out without causing harm or offense, the first and last response are fine and would be suitable in pretty much all circumstances as a quick pull from your Memory File marked Social Etiquette Techniques.

It's an extremely important question that has been asked - What is a sensible, tactful response to the news that a person has lost a child? - and one that has no really short answer, as I've *aherm* illustrated. It's also something that can really blindsight a person, asking a seemingly obvious and simple question as "How many children do you have" and receiving the reply that one of the counted is no longer living. I'm unsure if I would be gracious and unflappable in response, had I not now experienced the journey I have.

So you'll find, by and large, that the mother or father you are feeling very inadequate in front of (in terms of a fitting reply, I mean) is going to be very forgiving of whatever response you give. Either way, I always maintain, one must act from the heart. To truly communicate and convey from this very private place within yourself, you have to first really know yourself - the Self you are today, forgetting tomorrow because things are going to happen today that could change that truth and standing of 'tomorrow', aren't they - and from there, that's when the giving and connection (between parent and innocent bystander) can truly begin to unfold the magic. Depending how you do it, you could deliver on each other a most astounding gift for the future, without either of you even realising. I think it's called........ unconditional, Universal love, in that brief moment. Remember this post and its story.

Don't know if that makes anything clear at all. I'm pretty satisfied with my response. But I know I've probably disappointed some by not being dot-pointy. I tried! I did. See the dot-points? I just don't do abbreviated, though..... Hnnngh.

But I guess, in closing, I have to refer back to the beginning of this post and my comments about my father's card: an honest, sincere and simple gesture is probably almost always going to work best.



By the way: please excuse any inappropriate Google ads that may appear beneath this post... they change at random and sometimes aren't offensive, but the one I just saw was about as poorly placed as a Libra oddspot.