Don't light that thing up in here!

I just realised I'm sullying Jazz's good health reputation when I noticed my recent Ebay clothing auctions have stated, "Comes from a smoke free home (we have an outside dog)."

What the?! What planet was I on when I crafted that statement? Well. At least she thinks to take a drag outside. Right?

And yes, Pep is still staggering around blindly like Judy Garland in between takes - I just didn't think it needed to be mentioned that we have two dogs.

The Big Questions: How I answered them. Today.

They're starting again.

With my head in my hands, I left my daughter's room this evening, breathing the deepest sigh out of my lungs. Really feeling, in my body, how her line of questioning had made the yearning ache come back. Instantly.

Ironically, since my very recent previous post (regarding the book) this afternoon, and despite me not saying a word out loud about either the contact with my editor or what I had posted about, the LGBB began her questions about Ella.

"Muuuuuum!" she yelled out from the toilet where she had been merrily singing away as she carried out her obligatories. "I need to cry!!"

I went in there, wondering what on earth she was on about now.

"What are you needing to cry about?" I asked, with the slightest hint of 'Don't be testing me' in my demeanour (we have been going through a real phase lately, regarding using a "whinging tone" for things that simply don't need it), which I instantly felt guilty about when she replied, "I miss Ella and I want to seeee her. I want to go there."

Ohgodohgodohgod. It has been a good 2 or 3 months since the last time Lolly brought up the subject of missing her sister. Last time, it had been Steve who was caught out. He had told me that in the amount of time it had taken for them to pull in to the driveway, happily singing away to something on the radio, and then for him to stop the car and go around to her door to let her out, she was sitting there in her carseat with her big blue eyes full of doleful tears, telling her Dad that she misses Ella.

What do you do with that? When a child, a baby herself really, realises that there is another person she was supposed to look up to? Someone else in the family whose face would not be seen. Ever, ever, ever in her life. I can remember knowing how young I was, from an early age (my family at various times have called me a freak for my accurate recall of events and places we visited when I was only a tiny tot), and thinking how very, very long all this learning of things was going to take me. Possibly an odd thing for a small child to ponder, but ponder it I did. Quite frustratingly often. So I can sympathise with these moments that Lolly is having, more and more, as she is probably grappling with the dawning realisation of just how tantalisingly long it's going to be that she won't be able to share her life with her sister.

So, what did Steve do with that, exactly? And what did I do, in response to her today? We both simply agreed with her and said we missed her too. Putting it bloody mildly.

Usually, in the past, this has been enough to satisfy Lolly. But today, she continued this discussion with me. Wanted to know where she was, wanted to know why she was an angel (she corrected me on that one and told me Ellanor is a fairy - probably more accurately, faery, I guess, because I don't imagine her as some flitty little delicate Disneyfied version of the definition of "fairy", which is all you seem to be able to find these days). She wanted to know why she couldn't see her, and her tone was a very frank "Enough of this, I demand an explanation."

I ended up talking with the LGBB about the fact that Ellanor's heart was sick and she just couldn't stay. I surprised myself by not tearing up this time. And the mood was lightened when Lolly declared, in perfect comedic timing, "I did poo." Right you are, m'lady. Happy you're ready to move on, for now.

But then this evening, going to bed, Lolly (using that ruddy whingey voice we've been advising her she doesn't actually need to put on in order to get what she's asking) announced she wanted me to read her a story before bed. "I want two ones," she whispered to me as she hugged me tight. "One about Ella and another one."

Ohgodohgodohgod! That one! The one I can't ruddy well get through without a half a box of tissues (I'm getting better, see) and she wanted me to read it to her all of a sudden. She knows it exists, she's said yes to having it read to her before but I've never made it past the middle of the second 'chapter' where our names are mentioned. And it happened that way again tonight.

I read to a very attentive Lolly, right up until the bit about us loving all children and wanting a baby of our own.... And then she firmly told me she didn't want to read anymore, rolled over and told me softly that she had been a baby once too. Far OUT. Far out. Nobody anywhere could ever tell me the right way to do this, but I'm sure anyone, if faced with the same situation, would muddle through admirably. And so I did.

"Oh, yes, you were, a most adorable, beautiful little baby," I told her, gently stroking her back as she faced away. "And you are our precious big girl now."

Lolly turned back towards me, a furrow in her brow and a down-turned mouth. She was still trying to figure this all out and get her head around why she can't see her sister and yet, she is still technically in our family. Good luck to her, it's been six years and counting for me, I thought to myself just quietly.

"She's a angel... a fairy-angel," she said, as if what we talked about earlier today had dawned on her suddenly. And then a look of shock. "She's not... in the hospital anymore." And you could have run me over with a steam roller at that moment, I think it might have hurt less. My baby girl made the connection. And it tore off a bit of my heart.

"No, she's not," I stated factually.

"But where is she?" Again.

"Well.... her body.... stopped growing." I didn't know how else to put it by this stage. "But the very special 'thing' that makes Ellanor Ellanor, well, that is still alive. And that is the part of her that is in our family."

Lolly seemed fairly okay with this explanation, although the puzzled frown was still there. And then she told me, "Ella's... well, she's in this house... but she's not in our family." I agreed that sometimes, yes, she probably was in this house. But I corrected her and said she will always be in our family. A very, very difficult concept for a young person to comprehend. I'm going for rote memory on this one, it's all I have for the time being.

"Yes, she is (in our family)," Lolly decided I was right after all. "I know her," she told me adamantly. So I just nodded.

All this conversation was happening after lights-out. I was asked to stay, she had looked kind of unnerved by all the thoughts that were obviously chasing around in her head, so I stayed and we had this chat. As the conversation naturally wound down, I remained by her side, stroking her forehead gently. And I whispered a few paragraphs from one of my most favourite books of hers - a present we were given by an exceptional, dear old friend (the mother of a primary school friend of mine who took me under her wing during my rocky childhood):

"I wrap you in a rainbow of light
To care for you all through the night
Your guardian angel watches from above
And showers you with her great love.

This rainbow, with all its colours, will keep our hearts together
All through the night.
You, me and the Rainbow."

I finished by telling her that she was right, she does know her sister. "You and Ellanor came from the same place. You do know each other." Lolly opened her eyes and nodded soberly at me. And then eased gently into sleep. I sat there and looked into her face closely for the longest time. Tonight, I only saw her. Our little Lolly, whose chosen names mean "Place of honour/victory", "Reborn".


And on that note, I give you one of the most astoundingly grand children's books I have come across for dealing with situations such as these - it has been purposefully written to help children dealing with all sorts of traumas, such as divorce and, hey, it's handy in dealing with the death of one's older sister too. I would highly recommend it. It is simply stunning in its easy, yet profound, imagery and story - a little self-contained healing ritual for nights when worries seem bigger just before bedtime. It's written by psychologist Petrea King, whose technique with this story is so subtle and simple:

Automatic thoughts

I came across a pile of notes today that I have made over the past three years, relating to my writing of the book.

Coincidental I found this notebook today, while I was looking for a work book and thought initially that it was one and the same, because I made contact with my long-lost editor just yesterday. After many months of not communicating, we've both made it back to working together again - I went AWOL to take on board her many valid points about the restructuring required of my manuscript and she went AWOL due to some really heavy-duty personal circumstances - and we have decided to work out a deal where we trade time-for-time using our respective skills to help each other out.

The point is, though, that the book is rising to the surface in importance again. When I flicked through my notebook, it fell open to a page where I had been searching to ground my intentions and purpose for writing such a deeply personal account of death and birth and everything in between. For it has become far more spiritual than I would have ever imagined I'd be comfortable sharing in print. But if it does make it to print, readers will be coming on the journey that has been me being introduced to that realm I have been getting more and more familiar with.

When I asked myself these questions, in 2007, and wrote down the answers I don't think I realised how profound I would find them, some three years later and in desperate need (once again) of some inspiration to continue on with this story. For what I wrote was thus:

What is the purpose?
"The purpose of the book is to simply tell Ella's story. The whole thing. From my perspective/experience. Her coming into existence and my awakening awareness. Her physical story. The impact of her life and death from a mother's point of view. The challenges presented when living with a child's death."

But most amazing of all, and I don't even remember writing this even though I remember where I was sitting (in a gorgeous garden in the country on a really beautiful, crisp, cool, sunny day), was what I wrote of the running theme of the book. Something I'm not entirely sure yet that I've adequately captured, so I will have to go back and take a look:

"The task of the mother is to insure the continuum of the soul of her child, after their death, amongst those still living."

"If my makeup is uneven when I get home, you'll know it didn't go well."

Those were Steve's parting words to me this morning as he headed back to work after two months' long service leave.

You think I have the title of this post mixed up with the content, don't you?

Let me explain.

If you are fairly new to this blog, you will be forgiven for not knowing that many, many things in our household are related back to either a movie line or a Simpsons quote of some sort or other.

So it will come as no surprise to regular readers to learn that as Steve was getting ready to head out the door, I just had to reference his return to work to one of my all-time favourite quotable movies - Flying High - wishing him a good, productive day and hoping he did not feel like he had to "calm down" or "get a hold of" himself.

Steve, of course, was talking about the woman who tries to apply makeup as if nothing is wrong, while the plane is crash landing and there's bedlam all around her, and not actually the woman who loses her composure and begins to freak out - and by the way, NONE of this is going to make the slightest sense and, even if you have seen the movie, it's probably only amusing to one or two of you... or, let's face it, just to me. But it's my blog and I'll write what I want to, so you'll have to just humour me.

Why he would liken himself to an elderly Jewish woman putting on her eyeshadow and lippy is an entirely different kind of post...... "All together". But it was a bloody funny visual when he said it, all the same.

I shall now let the clip speak for itself and back away before I make any bigger turkey of myself. Or my husband.

Bloody Facebook!

I think the downfall of society will eventually be traced back to Facebook. There. I said it.

I noticed today that I have been un-friended. How bizarre, I thought! Mind you, there's nothing terribly untoward about it, on its own. Perhaps the friend was downsizing/doing a cull of their friends list. But then, plenty of our previously mutual friends are still listed and now.... ooh, I wonder if I've done or said (or not done or said) something. Via Facebook, that is. Because that is the only medium with which I've kept in touch with them for the past two years (and my account is less than 6 months old, so you do the math, peeps).

I pondered the un-friending of this "friend" for all of 30 seconds and was over it by the time those seconds were up, mainly because I haven't actually been fussed over accumulating any of the friends I have (no offence if any of those said friends happen to be reading this!) because I still, after these past 6 months or so with the account, just don't get the whole "FB" thing and am pretty sure the end of my account altogether is nigh.

But the act did get me thinking more about good ol' FB.

The people I really need to keep in contact with, I do so outside of Facebook, and the ones on Facebook are... well, nice to have and it's good to know I can contact any one of them from that central place without having to dig out phone numbers or emails (or, gasp, that ancient practice.... go through the phone book).

I have a miserly 45 friends and can't see myself adding any more*. Well.... 44 now. It's not likely to go up, but it apparently could go down! Hadn't contemplated that happening, particularly when the "friend" in question was the one who hunted me down and asked why they hadn't been added so I acquiesced in a moment of the guilts and hit Add Friend.

It seems such a throw-away thing to do - click a button and add someone as your "friend" - because so many people seem to need to do it. But to me, it is far more complicated than that. Or should be, to more people, perhaps. I don't think I really know how it all works yet, but it seems to me that if you're not on there several times a day, watching the status updates or Most Recent Updates or whatever (Top News, perhaps? I can't remember what it's called), you'll miss many of your "Facebook friends" as they update their status. So if I don't come on for days at a time, I've missed out on entire threads as diverse as discussing global politics, the fuss about Justin Bieber (is that the kid's name? Shhh, please don't tell anyone under 25 that I'm so uncool that I thought his name was Justin Beaver... I thought that's what everyone kept saying...), their most fantastic cheesecake recipe ever, the number of times their dog farted today... It goes on and on. And I'm so sorry to say, but I miss probably 95% of it. Because I'm simply not on there enough.

I had not considered before today the weapon that is Facebook and did not realise this new social phenomenon existed. In medieval times, our ancestors sharpened their arrowheads on rocks (or flint?) and took aim at their enemies. Now, it seems "you've been un-friended" is the new equivalent. Sort of.

Besides this murky social etiquette water we find ourselves in, in this current age, there is also the question of privacy. New privacy settings on Facebook really quite unnerve me. If one of my "Facebook friends", for instance, comments on any of their friends' status - of whom I am not a friend - I get to see both that original friend's status and my friend's comment to them. I find that sort of thing really pushing the boundaries of what is and is not acceptable. I do not feel comfortable being able to see people's comments to their friends - regardless of whether Facebook is, first and foremost, for all intensive purposes a public social network. I feel like I'm eavesdropping, no matter how flippant or generalised or banal the status update of my friend's friend. I don't like it! I don't think it should be allowed.

What this has the potential to lead to is more of this social paranoia - the "why isn't my friend commenting on my status updates, when I see her commenting on her other friends' updates" and so forth - and there, for me, lies the heart of the matter:

I am not about using Facebook to be a people pleaser. I mostly use it to keep loose track of my cousins, for they are spread out over the globe, and people I don't mind having occasional interaction with. None of the "friends" on my Facebook account are people I catch up with regularly, except for one or two, and of the good friends I have "friended" on there, my communications with them are more regular and occur by phone, text and/or emails.

SO... I guess if I've appeared remiss in making comments to any of my 45 (now 44) "friends", it's because I'm not on Facebook. I didn't realise Facebook as a whole could be so fecking needy!

Oh who am I kidding? It comes down to this: I just don't like Facebook. Why the hell am I on there!?


What Facebook dramas have you experienced? Or do you hang off your every Friend Status update and love the site more than life itself? I'd love to read your say!





* (unless my dear old bestie decides to create a Facebook account and then I must add her)

Notes from the Cruise Control

Having done several hundred km's (at a time) over the past month, long distance 110km/ph zone driving, I think I have finally narrowed down the most obvious, cliché driverly types to the following specifications.

My observations have two constants:

1. A two-lane, fast stretch of freeway (or highway) through rural/bush land, clear of obstruction and superb visibility.

2. Once I hit the freeway, I set the cruise control for 2km above the speed limit - so sue me - so that I stay out of the way of anyone else who either has no cruise control or has set their own control to the exact signed limit. It just annoys me less that way.

Disclaimer: I'm using the male gender here, for the most part, but realise that either sex can be equally guilty as charged.

The Stall Guy - you think he's stalled in the left lane. But no. Wait. He is actually moving. Like a snail. Even at the speed limit, you overtake this car - usually some sort of van (tinny vertical ladder attached to rear for ease of... climbing on roof...? optional) or clapped-out *insert vehicle model of choice here* - this one makes you feel like you're playing Need For Speed. Reeeeeally well.

The Slow Creeper - this guy is one of the most difficult to judge. His speed seems to wax and wane in your rear view mirror, edging ever closer to you but also remaining equally as far away. It's a mystery. He's like a goldfish that darts in and out of the same ruddy treasure chest. All day.

The Out-Of-Nowhere Bullet - one minute, the overtaking lane behind you is clear for use to pass the Stall Guy in front. The next, you are having to hot-tail yourself out of a road rage incident because he came up so friggen' fast on you that he SURELY created the Doppler effect. And no, he was certainly not there and you just missed him! This one is usually a business/on-road rep type. Guaranteed, he will be wearing a collared shirt and driving an executive car.

The Formation Driver - this one really takes the cake. This is the guy who sits just inside or just outside of your blind spot.... for miles. You'd alter your speed, but you're frankly too gobsmacked at the synchronized driving you are witnessing and want to see how far it will continue. For you are maintaining a constant speed of 2km above the speed limit, but then, Lo! He needs to make a move.... Riiiiight when you are coming up on a slow car in your lane. Fancy, what a coincidence. With this driver, every time you encounter him, you have to come off your set limit, which you would think would make him go past, but noooo... he matches you and stays in your blind spot! Genius!

The Defies Logic Nut - this one engages you in a bit of light flashing. This is the one who gives you a bit of a chortle as you're cruising past. You see, this is the one (ALWAYS, without exception) who thinks he is your father who knows better - err, complex, much?? *note to self: explore father issues* - and decides to reprimand you for overtaking him. No matter that he is doing 10 under the speed limit and you yourself are not speeding. You are overtaking! You blighter. And you'd better say sorry or you'll go to your room. This driver also, 99% of the time, has his wife in the passenger seat. And they are both well over 60. And drive a gold Camry (or other model, but always gold... or that lovely metallic green...)

So there you have it. I think I've covered them all.

Have you noticed any others? Do tell!

Upshot for the Tabster

It's a good old-fashioned UTI. I'm no stranger to urinary tract infections myself. I feel sorry for her!

But with an anti-inflammatory, a shot of antibiotics (really just a precaution, the vet said, as there was no evidence of infection) and more of an idea where I should be heading with her dietary requirements, we're back home and "only" $145 lighter. Steve's old boy, Rusty, used to cost us more than that on a regular basis.....

Thanks to you kindly kitty-cat folk who replied, I was most concerned about her overnight and glad I could get an appointment so quickly today. God, I love our vets here up the street!