Her Morning Elegance

I think I've just been hypnotized. Highly watchable! (in an open-mouthed how'd they DO thaaaat? kind of way)

The week that was

Well. What a week for Melbourne it's been. I won't reiterate here, I'm sure those of you up with the news will have probably heard about the crazy (and unspeakably tragic) times that have hopefully now passed us. A brief summary can be found here, but it's by no means comprehensive.

Amongst the victims of the heat were two wee baby birds who had just hatched in their nest in our lemon tree. I had sheer thrills of delight - like when I was a kid, on our 2 acre property amongst the nature there - observing the mother native wattle bird tend her young. Their little beaks would appear over the top of the nest when she flew back to deliver their food.

They're dead now. One gone and the other blown out of the nest in high winds preceding a freak lightning storm yesterday morning. Its condition indicated it had probably perished days ago. I was really distraught, not so much for just these birds alone (and the poor mummy bird, who hasn't been seen since the heatwave, probably no need for her to stay around anymore), but for all the creatures - including the leafy varieties - left to fend for themselves in this relentless heat. With no water or shade. Not a pretty way to go, heat exhaustion.


Changing tone now, another victim this week was our TV. What you see here may appear to be harsh punishment ("You! Turn around and face the wall and don't you ever let me see you show us Tyra Banks' talk show ever, ever again!") but it was in fact what the doctor ordered. See, yesterday morning, a storm came through the valley here. A really intense storm with lots of lightning hitting things on the ground. I swear, if the dogs had been outside I wouldn't like to have thought what might have happened. As it was, Steve and my brother were out on the deck "enjoying" the light show and the rain. The LGBB was cradled in my arms, quite alarmed but not really petrified, and we were singing My Favourite Things (because she is now a life long fan of Freulein Maria and sings that movie's musical score randomly throughout any given day).

And then, the most enormous explosion I have ever heard rocked my house. It pulsated the floor. I bit my tongue in surprise. The girls all cowered and the telly.... well, bow your heads, readers.... it went ftzzz. And is now fast asleep. Along with its friends, the amplifier, speakers and dvd recorder.

We had no idea where the bolt had struck. Steve and my brother were rolling about on the deck in fits of shocked laughter, squinting their eyes (probably to check they were still seeing) and mouthing at my sister in-law and I through the window, Did you SEE that??? Oh my f***** dog! It was loud.

Later that day, an SES truck pulled up out front of the neighbouring house. The boys sprinted through our house down the back, following the SES worker's path down our fenceline - they guessed they'd turned up to inspect property damage related to the storm, which had now passed. And they were right.

The SES worker stopped, hands on hips, gazing up at the massive oak next door (adjacent to the LGBB's room, somewhat alarmingly). The big old tree had taken the force of the blow. It had travelled down the trunk and blown the bark clean off the tree. This is the best shot I could get over our fence.


I guess we'd better break the news to the LGBB when she wakes.

The TV is poorly. And it can't play her "the Monsters one" or her beloved Maria until further notice. Wish me luck, folks *cracks knuckles in preparation for some toddler sized heartbreak fallout*

Just how can you help a bereaved parent?

Something came to mind very recently when I was reading (as I do) various posts from grieving parents. It prompted me to start making notes in here of how to "help" (I really don't know how comfortable I am with that term yet... but that's for another blog post) bereaved parents who are trying to continue their lives without their baby/ies.

This pertains more to the early days. The early months too. I hope to build on this post with others that follow suit, in order that I might create a bit of a helpers'/supporters' guide - and I may very well be pre-empting the work I am about to undertake when I do the grief counselling which is merely days away, but anyway, here goes today's thoughts:

• Don't ask.... please just do
I said "No, that's okay", "You don't have to", "Nothing, but thanks for asking", "I don't need anything" very often. I really meant, "Please just do it. Show that you care by just turning up. Bring us nourishing food. Call me often, but not for very long. Sit with me in my stillness. Help me catalogue in my mind, now, while they are fresh, all the things I am scared I will forget."
I would imagine it's very rare to receive a "Yes, please, I want your help" from a grieving parent who's been asked if they want any. Before yesterday/last week (when their child died), they were capable, strong, independent and not requiring any special attention or kid-gloves. They were preparing for their child's arrival (or their child's arrival home one day, if their baby was treading the treacherous NICU/SCN path). There was never any intention or assumption that they would need your support, shoulder, meals, attention. While they are now integrating the gravity of their newfound situation, requesting help (and even accepting it) is not something that's going to be at the front of their minds.
Think of yourself as the unseen waiter/waitress during this time. Serve, selflessly, and just know you are helping immeasurably. It might seem like a bottomless pit you are throwing your energy into, but keep remembering to put their circumstances into perspective. Hopefully, this will keep you buoyant with your task and be prepared - it could be a long one.
Obviously, it's important not to be too overbearing with this, so a gentle manner would also be wise - newly bereaved parents are especially raw in their grief and for a time, everything will probably be feeling like it is moving way too fast. Things feel louder, crowds seem much thicker. It may be very difficult to go out for some time.
If you are looking to support someone - whether they are a close friend or just a loose acquaintance but someone you feel compelled to reach out to - please remember to slow your pace, be gentle, don't push yourself on them. But do check in. Often. Little visits, very short calls. Be gentle but persistent, I cannot stress this enough.

• If you are uncertain what to say, say nothing
Your task is really, though probably very daunting to you, quite straightforward. Just be there. Offer some open questions if you feel safe enough to ask them. But remember, you are that parent's safe place to talk first and foremost. It would be most helpful to shelve any of your own personal needs and save your vetting of these for another time (with another audience) - in other words, please don't burden your grieving friend with your troubles at this time. It will become apparent to both of you when the time is right to allow some more normal give-take back into your conversations.

• Don't apologise for your tears
That parent will know why they are falling and those tears will be appreciated. But do stop short of making their pain yours (if that makes sense!). Remember, you can debrief after the call/visit with somebody other than the grieving parent/s. It is not their place to counsel you (nor, actually, yours to necessarily "counsel" them either).

• Beware of offering advice
It is possibly something you are keen to do and feel an urgent need (to rush in and say words that are designed to comfort). But please note that the death of a baby is an entirely different situation to that of an adult, a friend, even a child. It is a very specific grief and one which may take careful, long months and even years of working through.
A parent in this position very quickly learns the painful lesson of recognising that not all in their acquaintance are going to be there for the long haul. Those who wrap up their experience in neat "word packages" - 'it was nature's way', 'it's for the best, s/he was very sick', 'what if s/he had been older when s/he died, it's better it happened now' and so forth - are very noticeably the ones who will steadily drop away from the supportive circle of loved ones who are intent on seeing these parents through the toughest trial of their lives.

And here endeth the first instalment. I hope it helps somebody. I can't help feeling a little like I've told people how to suck eggs... but I just have to trust this is now "out there" for whomever (even just one of you!) needs to read it today.

What 45ºC looks like

Things you wish your husband wouldn't just come and say without warning

I am beyond speech about this. So... I guess, a mega reader warning if you are not up for hearing about a child tragedy. Here is the link to the news story. Please don't click if you don't want to read this news.

News that actually, for me right here and now, dwarfs anything else I have ever heard. I feel absolutely ill, having just found out about this unthinkable case.

The pain that is...

... does not just start and end with merely existing through this dry, hot, hot heat (overnight low last night was 33ºC, we're in our third day - is it third? I don't know, for I am by now delirious from heat exhaustion... or is that just toddler exhaustion in the heat?) of scorching temps. Yesterday was 42.9ºC. Today was 43.7ºC.

But the pain doesn't stop there. Oh-hooooooh no. It is then getting an eyelash stuck in your eye.

Your eyeball, not even moist enough to relinquish its grip on said eyelash even when you poke a ring finger pad in to pick it up, remains uncompliant. And gets redder by the second. No amount of lid twirling or squinting will make even one pinprick's worth of extra liquid.

And then add to that the fact that you remember, while sliding that big ole finger around, that you've totally forgotten to rinse your hands after having your fingers in vinegar-laden sushi rice.

Pause.



OWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW that stings like a bass turd.

Good luck sleeping, all you Melbournians.

Or so help me...

Just cannot "do" heat. Especially not this early in the year.

I remember 40º days in Melbourne last March, not so much January. We used to have hot days like this around Christmas and in our school holidays on family camping trips... urrrrrrrgh, the kind of heat that was so hot that you got goosebumps and the chills when you brushed against the tent canvas... but in recent years, I've noticed a distinct pushing back of the 'serious hot' days like we're having this week.

Boo hiss. Because I'll bet that doesn't mean we won't still be getting them in a month or even two months' time.

And, as I am seriously at the end of my rope single-handedly looking after three little munchkins, two of whom don't have English as their first language and are quite... shall we say.... a lot more boisterous than what I'm used to with the LGBB, I'm fresh out of niceties. So all you "Oh I love the heat" people: BITE ME! (but just for today. Thanks ever so.)