Charities - what do you do when they come to you?

Not that the poor, unsuspecting young man at my front door knew any of it, but I had had a crappy kind of day. The sort of first-world crappy that doesn't win me any bleeding heart medals but they were my focus in the moment. The sort that didn't put me in the most ideal frame of mind to humour an uninvited stranger.

So when I was attending to - ahem - the other kind of (monthly) visitor that isn't exactly the most welcome because of its uncanny knack of turning up at unpleasant, unplanned times (one week early this time and paaaainful.... SURPRISE!), I did not expect to have to handle any other unwanted surprise guests.

But sure enough, I heard a rap at the front door at the worst possible moment. Followed closely by "MUUUUUUM, someone's heeeeere" from the LGBB.

I got to the door as quickly as I could - no way is a door-to-door .... what are telemarketers who go door-to-door actually called? (be nice) .... seller going to go anywhere if they know someone is home! - and I was greeted by a very cocky young man standing with his hand placed high on my door jamb. Not a euphemism, thanks for wondering. It was not the most endearing pose, put it that way, and while it may work on a Saturday at the nightclub it's not the best stance to have when you're trying to talk to home owners about the plight of the Ugandan people.

Furthermore, aren't they supposed to wear some sort of badge identifying who they work for? Well... there was none of that. In fact, there was no introduction of any kind. The young man simply launched into a spiel that, while well rehearsed and certainly speaking of dismal circumstances for an entire race, was unsolicited, seemed to be going nowhere and left no gap in it for me to explain as I stood there as patiently as I could that he had not even wished me a happy International Women's Day yet, despite the fact that:

• I was harbouring worse stomach cramps than he'd likely ever have in his entire life
• I had sprinted out of the hairdressers so fast earlier that afternoon, when I realised they had overshot their timing of how long it would take, and now had a half-cut head of hair that would not be corrected until next Tuesday!!! (anyone got a hat they can loan me? Urgh)
• I had been so upset about being, therefore, almost half an hour late to collect my daughter from school that I was still, now an hour later, feeling the after-effects of the sudden adrenaline fight-flight rush
• I now had about 2.3396 seconds to get myself and my kid out the door - her in her swimming cozzie - in time for her class because I had been so late picking her up
• I hadn't had anything to eat since breakfast (it was 5pm)
• It was 5pm! What was he doing here at such a busy time of day!?
• perhaps most alarmingly, there was no chocolate or marshmallows in the house to reverse the effects of the first five points.

Now, I realise their job is to pluck at the heart strings to try and raise funds for whatever cause they are pushing. I will not deny that if I let it, my heart would bleed dry for my fellow man - anywhere in the world, whatever the dire circumstances - but the thing is, how does a person fronting up to my door or calling on the phone know how many (and what) charities are my choice to donate to?

Truth is, while I live a very comfortable life, I am far from a position where I can willingly donate to every single cause that presents itself. I just can't. Factor in the apparently endless stream of school fundraising (that begins in kindergarten!) that we have to pick and choose and tactfully negotiate our way around so we appear to be giving "enough" as a family without giving blindly to everything - I mean, come ON! $6.50 for 6 hot cross buns???? I LOVE hot cross buns but there is a line that has to be drawn! - and you've got one heck of a funds-bleed that threatens to push us into overdraft very soon.

I cannot deny my flush-faced frustration at this kid who was on my doorstep. The sheer arrogance of him - as if his fancy French-accented demeanour was supposed to make me stand there as a captive audience even after I told him not once but twice that I was late to get out the door - made me want to slam the door in his face. But he was talking about clean drinking water. Death and destruction. Women and children. War.

I tried to cut him short with, "Do you want money?" and he said no, he had not asked me for money (I assumed the unspoken "yet" was implied). I asked him if he could leave me the information and he said by law he wasn't allowed to - whaaaat???! - and then proceeded to continue with his torrent.

This kind of apparently endless one-sided regurgitation of recited information makes me seethe. I admit it. It has long since brought me to the decision that I will no longer donate more than a couple of gold coins to anyone who is coming around door-knocking. And if they're on the phone, I bid them good luck and a good day but firmly hang up the phone. Some of our hard earned, scarce money does go to charities but they are ones of our choosing - those causes we are passionate about, everyone has their preferences - and we cannot give to all. Nor should we be expected to give just because they send someone directly to our door.

So.... how do you succesfully remove a person off your front porch? Hanging up on the phone is one thing, but they're wise to that tactic (obviously). I find it the height of invading my space when it's a physical person I'm then forced to be firm with in order to remove them from my property.



What do you do with door-to-door donation seeking types? The ones who have a spiel longer than your arm and don't want to get to the point - you giving money - no matter if you try and round them up to get to that part so you can just work out the money bit already??

Friends of Science in Medicine know best? Alternative therapies under fire

I appear to be uncharacteristically on my soap box about public issues this week. Forgive me. And bear with me. Please also remember this is a post written from my perspective and experience - I don't intentionally mean to denounce anyone else's experience.

There is no denying that western medicine and science is crucial. I won't even begin to count the ways. In saying that, for treatment of minor (and medium, bordering on serious) conditions, I try to avoid it as much as possible.

So today, when I read this article that is reporting an apparent global uprising of doctors and scientists to prevent universities and health funds from recognising alternative medicine, I felt a sense of dread. The article states:

Almost one in three Australian universities now offer courses in some form of alternative therapy or complementary medicine, including traditional Chinese herbal medicine, chiropractics, homeopathy, naturopathy, reflexology and aromatherapy.

But the new group, Friends of Science in Medicine, wrote to vice-chancellors this week, warning that by giving "undeserved credibility to what in many cases would be better described as quackery" and by "failing to champion evidence-based science and medicine", the universities are trashing their reputation as bastions of scientific rigour.  

Read more: http://www.smh.com.au/national/tertiary-education/scientists-urge-unis-to-axe-alternative-medicine-courses-20120125-1qhtm.html#ixzz1kVvHpGFQ

Okay. Now, I am all for everyone finding their own method of wellbeing. I also realise there are "quacks" out there - but you can find those sitting in GP's offices in proper, accredited clinics anywhere in the country just as easily as the oft-joked-about "slapping fish", "hocus-pocus" (etc. etc. etc.) alternative practitioner. Obviously, any healthcare provider needs to be good at what they do. I just take deep offense at my choices being limited by this ruling. What about all the families out there who rely on these sorts of treatments for their children? How will they afford it if they whip out the health cover rug from under them? They want to take away my right to choose - I mean, sure, the treatments will still be around, but I won't be able to receive a rebate because of my choice and what works for me and my family. And damnit, they're going to win, aren't they?

My experience with doctors has pretty much been along these lines:

Scenario 1 (which actually happened)--
"How can I help you today?"
"My daughter is pulling at her ears and crying. She's too young to tell me what's wrong, but I'm sure there's something happening with her ears."
"Any other symptoms?"
"No, none apart from the crying and irritability... oh wait, sometimes she pulls at her cheeks lately."
"Well... I've checked her ears and they're clear." *shrug* "My best guess is that she had a cold or something like that and her ears were blocked for a while."
I left the office with no treatment or solution being prescribed or suggested.

After several days pass, I take her to my Homoeopath, desperate for some relief for her and sure something is happening but she just can't tell me. My Homoeopath takes one look at my ruddy-faced grizzly baby and says "She's getting more teeth! It can affect the ears..." and goes on to describe the mechanics of the sinus region and why this would be impacted by Lolly's teeth coming through. He prescribes a remedy, I diligently give it to her every four hours. The change is remarkable within the first day. I am relieved, she is relieved.

Scenario 2 (which actually happened) --
"How can I help you today?"
"My child is very sick but I don't know what it can be. She has some spots but they're fairly insignificant at this stage and only around her nappy area. She won't eat or drink and keeps crying and thrashing about." (Of course the crying and thrashing stop when we're in the office...... don't they always?)
"Well... I've checked her over, she has no temperature and looks fine. Keep an eye on those spots and watch for any new symptoms. If anything changes or if you feel she is getting worse, bring her straight back."
"Ummm.... o...kay? I guess?"

Dumbfounded, I head to my Homoeopath for help again. This time, I think my child is far too unwell to be helped by the "quackery" (as so belligerently described in this article today) of something so, frankly, mysterious as homoeopathy. I've heard the opinion that the pillules they give out are no more than placebo tablets. I also know that, either way, I don't care if they are if they relieve me - but I'm not so certain I want to risk testing the theory with my child on something that appears to be quite serious this time. More over, I don't want to risk looking to others like I am doing nothing for her but giving her sugar-placebo tablets!
But with little else to do, I turn again to my trusty Homoeopath.
This time, the result convinces me without doubt that I would turn to him before a GP any day of the week for almost anything except broken bones!

As it turned out, Lolly had hand, foot and mouth disease. She passed it on to both Steve and me. I didn't shake the horrible disease for five months (largely because I was stupid and was so concerned about getting her back to health that I ignored the pain and literally swallowed it down every day without focusing on my own wellbeing and getting myself treated... in hindsight, that was the end of my phase of subconsciously inflicting pain on myself). It was a horrendous time. But we got through it with little more than a bit of Pain Stop and the homoeopathics to treat the symptoms. I did take her back to the doctor to discuss it and was there for little more than five minutes, being shown the door and told that it couldn't be treated by them. What the....?

I could go on and on, listing examples of more minor ailments I or Lolly have had over the past six years. I now naturally call on my Homoeopath for things that I am initially sure cannot possibly be treated or eased but will contact him "just in case" they can. One memorable time, I just happened to mention a grotesque little-fingernail-sized cauliflower wart (oh, yes... ewww) that had grown on the side of my chin while I was pregnant. The thing was there to stay. It grew so large that Steve started asking it how the heck that thing grew on the side of its face ("that thing" being, my head... oh he is soooooo funny, no? sigh).

With barely more than a week's worth of aggressive treatment with the correctly prescribed homoeopathic remedy, the bloody thing fell off! And just two months ago, Lolly and I worked together with our Homoeopath to get rid of a painful papilloma (one of those warts that grow inwards in a conical shape usually on the underside of the heel). They're yuck and in my teenage years, I had one removed with quite a bit of discomfort, local anaesthetic, freezing it out and bandaging. I thought I'd try to avoid that for her and see if we couldn't give homoeopathics a go. She was over the moon when it shrivelled up and died and painlessly fell off in her sock one day, about a month after we started treating it with a 3-times daily remedy. I was pleased she was able to see how the treatment had worked for her, as it had been troubling her and making walking uncomfortable - I offered her the choice and explained what the doctor would do. The word "needle" (even though I reassured her it would only sting for a moment) was enough to make her try the (in my opinion, better) alternative.

Placebo? Quackery?  I don't believe either of those ill-advised descriptions for ONE second.

And finally, I just want to say: please note that my Homoeopath was not the one who didn't do anything for you... if you have been given poor or ineffective treatment by one - as with doctors, there are good ones and crap ones. I have the great fortune of having found a damn fine Homoeopath, whom we actually call "Dr K" because he's just as good, if not better, than any I've seen in my entire life and certainly treats me and my family more effectively and more often.

What have been your experiences with doctors, alternative therapists, or otherwise?

Conversations with friends: The beauty of keeping it short

I am limping, guys.

I'm on a slow dongle (settle down) that's giving my laptop some pissy lame excuse for "internet connection" while we swap providers. I hereby solemnly declare.....

TPG, I promise, we will never leave you again

We left them at Christmas time because Steve grew indignant that we couldn't get ADSL2+ here with them (they took their time rolling it out) so we changed providers. WELL. Hasn't that been haphazard, to say the least? Let me just say, I know why their plans were so cheap. Down-time was a lot higher than what we'd previously experienced with TPG.

Now we're moving back to them and changing a few other home services around as well. But this interim period is going to be around twenty days long. I reached 50% of my limit in a DAY, folks! This does not bode well for blog posts (or visiting yours).

So please know that's why I've gone quiet. Bad timing, really, given that Blogopolis is just around the corner. I can't very well keep up with what you're all doing. Ack. Ah well, can't be helped. If you think there's something monumentous that I haven't commented on.... fill me in if you see me on the day. Yes?

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Now, to me being a winner:  No, really. I won something! From the very delightful and amusing Megan Blandford (she Writes Out Loud...). Thanks so much, I was very surprised to win the Coles Myer voucher. And very chuffed.

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I have a cold. I feel like shite. That is all I can say about that.

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My baby girl turns five on Wednesday. As with many of her milestones (and all of her birthdays), I am heading into the strange bittersweet balance-dance of being happy for her, proud of her (and us) and thinking about Ella. Not sad, not anything really. Just... holding her in my awareness more, I guess.

The other day, Lolly had a dear friend over. They played joyfully for five hours straight and both had eyes standing out on stilts when she went home. During the afternoon, I was doing dishes while the girls sat at the kitchen bench eating sandwiches.

I heard my daughter tell her friend, totally unrelated to anything they were nattering about.

"Before, in the hostibool, I had a sister. And her name was Ella. But her heart was a bit funny, so then she died in the ground."

I didn't turn around. Didn't weigh in at all, although I listened keenly to how her friend would respond. Lolly tends to throw this in at moments that don't seem to fit. But they do to her. And this is what I respect about her and the friends she will no doubt gravitate towards and learn to keep - for her friend merely said, "Ah" with a half-interested, half-"this-sandwich-is-yum" tone.


Simplicity, people. Simplicity is what I need to get back to. And ADSL2+.



So, I will see you when and where I see you! If you're wondering where I am, just imagine me under my pile of tissues, stalled by my grossly underweight data usage cap and struggling with my own self-imposed project to "keep it simple." Mark my words, though, I WILL be back with birthday cake photos some day soon.

Come on, folks, this isn't kindergar... oh wait. Yes it is.

Subtitled: Rage against The Machine.

A sizeable chunk of my chill days away from the blog has been spent bobbing around in a stormy ocean of kindergarten politics, gripping tightly to a flimsy little makeshift raft that I had to hastily fashion from committee meeting notes, agendas and a spare pipe cleaner or two. The antics going on right now are in the realm of the unreal, to me, the likes of which I had heard about on various grapevines but never properly accepted as real or ever bound to happen - I thought those telling the stories were surely exaggerating or had just encountered good old-fashioned bad luck.

But no.

Kindergarten committees in Victoria. Ahhhh. The stuff of legends.

A place where a select few parents come together once a month and pretend (or not) to be a cohesive group for the sake of the other 50-odd families they are effectively representing and pulling the weight for. Who knows, perhaps of those other 50-something families, a large portion have "done time" in previous years and vowed never again would they go on the kinder committee. Their hair (the preservation of) and their health were more important to them.

I get that. Now.

Did you know, Victoria is the only state/territory that doesn't have some form of Education body as the provider or responsible agency for its preschool facilities? The Department of Human Services governs the structure of this branch of my child's early learning life. And now, seeing the inner workings of a preschool committee in this state, I'm not entirely sure it's the best or most appropriate way to conduct the program.

Our teachers are great. Love both of them. The kinder itself is wonderful. The care and environment they provide is very sound. But when it comes to costs of running it all? That's where the system can fail abysmally. See, here, a kindergarten is only as good as its fundraising efforts. A preschool with the latest educational/teaching aids and learning toys and so forth has only gained those by way of a combination of savvy teacher and clued-in parents on the committee getting their collective act together to ensure a steady flow of funds during the year. Basically, a preschool in Victoria is only as good as its previous year's committee and how well they grovelled for cash. How well they pretended to be ex-lepers haggling for a spare sheckle.

Is this fair? Is it right?

Actually, it's not the fundraising I have an issue with. It's the structure of the voluntary parent committee I see as problematic. I thought (HA) I could get past any concerns or hiccups. It's only for a year, I told myself when I signed up as Secretary. It's for the children, I reminded myself when cracks began to appear and the true sluggish nature of a group of overworked and unpaid parents kept coming together once a month. Our well-meaning little group has denigrated to the point of no return.

Now, we are on the verge of a show-down to rival the WWE. It's astonishing.

And all I can really do is put my student's hat on and take notes on the sidelines. Detach and observe. See how large personalities are gorging on their over-important egos, muddying the real job we have got to do here. This is not a battle about who's more important or who's got more say over whom. This is about putting one unpaid person at the helm of a group of unpaid people and giving them a modicum of power (usually in title alone - President) to get a rather large task seen to. Let's face it, this mob has nothing to lose if they are not in the business of acting decently towards others. A woman scorned is a scary thing. I've seen it at point blank range.

All of this isn't even to mention the anger, people. The anger! Where does it come from? I know I've got some. I've got lots of the stuff. Or so I thought, until I came across that intriguing creature known as the kinder committee member with an axe to grind. Wow. It seems my pocketful of kryptonite is not as radioactive as I imagined. My rage is nothing compared to this. And there is one reason why I don't even bother getting so pent-up: This, this kinder committee, this year - quite possibly the only one Steve and I will experience with a child of ours (yes, he is on the committee too) - is not important enough to spend so much of my energy. Over what? Something that will last for another 5, 6 months tops. My aim is to work with whomever is left on the committee to the end of the year and hope like hell we're not leaving the bank balance in an embarrassing state. Despite the fact that it personally represents a bittersweet turnstile year for our only surviving child, the antics being pulled by the blinkered few are just disappointing.

When it comes down to it, the volunteer committee represents society in some respects. There are the "gunners", the "doers", the committed, the rubber-neckers. There are the outspoken, there are the martyrs. There are the peace-keepers and the silent. And there are the downright missile-seeking train wrecks.

What would happen, I wonder, if people could get out of their own way a little more often and accept responsibility for their brazen energy-spills? What if they were able to rein in some of their rage - or actually, not feel it over such unimportant stuff in the first place?

Is it possible to talk your ego down from the ledge? Do you dissolve situations in your mind easily once you step back, detach and realise it is not the place for you to be taking anything personally? Do you hold on even once you see something was not directed at you personally? When you're in a committee, how do you handle yourself? Do your own internal rules change - do you blend in to the collective, or do you stand out and stand up for things you believe are right? No right or wrong here, I'm just interested.

In this situation - the good old kinder committee - I just don't feel it enough to make it about me. Even if someone else was making it personal, against me, an "attack" by a committee member would be difficult for me to take on. Because I can put other things aside and get on with the job (with whomever is left after any stand-offs and walk-outs and sackings and resignations).

Is that too Pollyanna of me?  Eh, suck it up. I'm the best and worst person to have on your committee. I am your Homer Simpson to their Drederick Tate.

This book writing business

It's hard, you know. You'll find no argument here.

But I wonder, does everyone find it this difficult? Does everyone grow despondent? How is it that some books get churned out in what feels like a matter of months (from concept to bookshelf) where some take - checking my watch - four years and counting to even find any backing? Is this not the Universe telling me to stop?

I'm sorry, folks, this is going to be a Debbie-downer of a post. A bleat. And I'm sorry, also, to any Debbie's. I'm sure you're not all downers.


I feel like that poor contestant you see in the opening weeks of American Idol. The one who is so convinced of her good singing voice. She stands before the three judges, confident as her nerves will allow. Her family waits outside, supporting her and driving the 9 hours across country just so she can try out in Idaho. It's the moment of reckoning for her. She proudly tells them what she's going to sing for them. They smile, certain that someone with so much self-belief and so much backing from family and friends must surely have a great voice. And then the sound comes out.... She doesn't hit a note, makes the production team's eyes water and they're not even musical. She's stopped with a flailing hand by Randy Jackson and that's it. It's all over. She is stunned beyond comprehension. Hadn't she been told she had such a beautiful voice? Had she not been told by her parents, her teachers, her friends and colleagues that she should go for it, if this is her dream? Ah... the penny probably begins to drop on that loooong, silent drive home. They never said she was good. They just kept saying they would support her as she follows her dream. There IS a difference.

I know there are many who would say KEEP GOING! But at what expense? I can't find more than twenty minutes here, five minutes there each day. That's not enough time to find my creator-space in my mind. That's not nearly enough minutes to get into the groove of what I'm writing. I need hours of space. To sit still and listen to what the book is telling me to write. I need time to let the words mull over in my still silence.

When the latest bit of fluff comedic book comes out, it's easy to sell. You're pretty much preaching to the converted. When it's a memoir traversing the depths of grief and seeking the good in all manner of daily interactions.... well, that's proving much harder. Who wants to choose my manuscript over something light?

Everywhere around me online, there are tips and tricks and hints to make my book more polished. Less offensive to the "done" ways of the publishing industry. The tips are as random - valid, but random - as "Don't overuse the word "Suddenly"" and "Never begin your book with a Prologue".

Well... that's just great. That is exactly how mine starts. No, not with the word "Suddenly". I mean it just begins with a current-time pondering moment in a scene that sets up the entire book. That's all.

If something you've worked so hard at is taking so long to come.... Do you take a step back and say "This shouldn't be so hard, I think I'll stop"? In some ways, I feel like I am flogging a horse that stopped a few years ago. It seemed easier to write back then - back when I was far from approaching agents. Far from feeling like I was close. This is proving a huge lesson for me, one that has shown itself many times in my life. Will I take myself out of the running of this race before there's a chance I will come last? Or worse, not even get over the finish line?? This is my pattern. This is something that will kill me early, I have such a desire not to "fail".

I should have known the biggest thing in the way of this book getting out would be me. I just didn't expect to get this far before I realised.



What do you do when you've put so much into something you are trying to achieve but the end result relies not on YOU, but on finding something/someone external who has the same passion for the project?

Not by choice

If I had had my way, the LGBB would be a big sister by now. Possibly even twice over.

If just one of any of the four pregnancies I have had since her birth in 2006 had come to fruition, she would be that big sister.

If just one of the three pregnancies before she was born had eventuated, or if her sister had lived, then she wouldn't even be here. Not the same wonderful, unique being she is, anyway. Or, heck, if any of the four pregnancies before her sister died had happened then we wouldn't have even had her sister! That's a lot of missed opportunities.

I always wanted three children. We have two. One on this Earth, one not. So really, we are raising at least one less child than we ever expected. But it is as it is. And I am eternally grateful.

I recently read an article on Kleenex Mums about only children which brought these feelings up all over again. By an adult raising an only child (have you met Christie from Childhood 101? Oh, she is an absolute delight and I hope we can one day continue our conversations which began in March in Sydney). The tips she shared were relevant. Further, I was buoyed to read such a well balanced piece on the... I don't know what to call it - Issue? Phenomenon? Situation, is the best way for me to see it, I think. Because this is a "situation". This is our "situation".

It seems a hotly debated topic sometimes, and there is always an opinion to be had. Of course. As with anything. But this one seems to bring more out of the woodwork to weigh in than others regarding families and decisions (or not) of size/number of children. Isn't this an incredibly personal thing to be spouting off about? The size of other people's families?

It is painful to see/read/hear the derogatory opinions of so many against only children. Against my child. (I hasten to clarify the prejudice is not necessarily in that blog post I have directed you towards in the previous link, but in its comments section and so many other places, and not necessarily even online - as well, I hasten to add that I adore Maxabella deeply and she and I have discussed this at some length.... the "only child" post, not my adoration of her...). Opinions that range from them being "odd", that we are "making them miss out on something" by not providing siblings, that they are "spoilt" and "don't know how to share", that "they lack negotiation skills" and perhaps the one that surprises me most, that my husband and I are "being selfish parents" by not giving her a sibling to share her life with.... On and on the self-opinionated lay in unfairly. And I cannot help but take more than just a little bit of slight to it.

Can I just point out the obvious here and say.... have we all not at some point or another come across a child (who is not an only child) who is odd? Who is missing out on something because they actually do have siblings? Appears to be spoilt? Doesn't share? Can't negotiate?? It is really difficult to break out of a label once "society" (or the proverbial "they") has slapped one on a child. Please don't label my child before she's even gone out into the world and truly begun.

I also feel inclined to state that it is not for anyone, not even other so-called "onlies", to speak on behalf of my child. Who knows if she is lonely or not? Or will ever be? One cannot deduce that, simply because their life as an only child was isolating, it goes without saying that every child suffers the same fate. My father was an only child. I have not once in all the years I have heard him speak of his youth express even a tinge of loneliness.

But is this because he never felt it? Or because he had a glass half full mentality about it? Food for thought.

Further, I was third of four children. I was painfully lonely at times. Just as I really do believe my daughter must be lonely... at times. What I am saying is, when an adult only child (or any other adult who presumes to know, simply talking from their own experience) steps up and says they were lonely so, therefore, all only children will surely suffer the same fate, they are speaking about an immeasurable experience - how would they know, if a couple more brothers/sisters were thrown in the mix, that they wouldn't have been just as lonely?? They can't know.

The LGBB will always be a little sister, but that means little to her in the present moment, in terms of someone to bounce off, play with, argue with and plan to grow old together (and share the responsibility of possibly taking care of either or both her elderly parents.... not that I feel I will ever get old, nah! Rather, will never *feel* old enough to need taking care of).

To see opinions floating around that virtually condemn us for compelling our child to live an only, lonely life is rather unsettling. Why are we, as human beings, so hellbent on warning others and being self-asserted "forebears" of the what if's of anything that we feel has harmed us detrimentally? I can certainly understand an only child who lived a lonely life because of their family's circumstances would want to speak to that loneliness and ensure others don't make what they perceive as "the same mistake" their parents made. But the thing is, I am not about to assume I know the entirety of one's situation. How am I to know what that only child's parents were thinking? What they were going through?

More to the point, there surely can't be different rules of engagement either - that is, we can't say to parents who would desperately love to bear a sibling for their child that these warnings about only children don't apply to them, but only to those "selfish" parents who have only decided to have one child. That is just so disappointing. And downright scary (that such bigotry exists).

Stories come out all the time - ALL the time - if we care to listen, they shed light on just some of the legitimate reasons (that I can see, anyway) a couple might "decide" not to have any more children. Stories about mothers who couldn't cope after the birth of their child. Stories about subsequent (or earlier) children being put up for adoption. What if the thought of having a second child brought her to her knees? What if they tried for the next ten years but it never happened? What if? What if, what if? There are so many what if's, this is but one of them I can think of off the top of my head (heh, can you tell who suffered depression after the birth of a much-wanted child??.... cough).

We have only just started to come out of era of not talking about this sort of thing. If any older adult only child out there thinks they know the whole story, perhaps it would pay them to think again. Perhaps it's simply time to forgive their parent/s the "decision" not to give them a sibling (if that is the case, for is it even known if they perhaps had difficulty conceiving any more? Or miscarried and it was too painful to try again?? Miscarriage alone has only just in the past ten or so years, if that, started to be given the credit it deserves for so adversely altering the course of a woman's life).

The LGBB draws houses these days. Chalk board after chalk board of houses with many windows. Faces in all the windows. She proudly rattles off who is at every window. The family in the drawing always consists of me and her Dad, herself, Ellanor, and then variations of the following:

"My little sister, my big brother, my little brother, my baby sister, my brother the baby, my sister the adult..."

She goes through bouts of this and where once it used to stun me into a frozen pause - a literal *pause button* stand-still where I am, can't think, can't move brain and body freeze - now I am not so taken aback. See, to Lolly she apparently IS from a large family. Her imagination is stellar. Her intuition is sharp and insightful. She is a child who is matter of fact and organic.

If I don't get my act together soon, Steve and I will miss the chance of having another child anyway. That is fact. But I shall not be tempted to do it just because apparently, according to some in society, I am crippling my child's emotional wellbeing or chance to be happy or burdening her with my heady ambitions for her.

All it takes is for us to consider what we're contributing to before we go jumping on a bandwagon about which we can't possibly know the full story. Wide public opinion doesn't necessarily make something fact or lore. Being an only child doesn't make one any more remarkable or less capable of knowing how to fight a good fight. It simply means these are the circumstances that contribute to them being the unique individual they are.

So, please.... Can we just stop with the stereotyping - Stop with the guessing - Stop with the labelling and the judgement?

Right. Hot hat off. And just lastly, if you have been offended by this - I offer my hearty apologies. My intention is not to offend or divide further. I am merely seeking to give a voice to all those out there with hands tied, waiting in IVF clinics or otherwise simply unable to bear another child for their "only". I can safely bet they are grateful for the one they have, regardless of the choice that has been taken from them.

Dejectedly Yours...

Please congratulate me.

I feel like a true author.

I have my first proper, formal rejection in my hand. My first properly stamped, self-addressed envelope-returned submission to an agent. Boomerang, straight back at me.

The pages look barely turned (certainly not dog-eared in any way and I'd be forgiven for mistaking that they had actually read through all of it, even though it was way less than what they allowed).  It's a standard slip that has been hastily stuffed in with it. They're really not confident they could properly represent me at any publishers. Another agent may disagree. So I guess what they're saying is, "Good luck finding anyone to print that load of codswallop."

I understand everyone gets rejected. We all know the tale of J. K. Rowling and her famous rejection after rejection. I get that I could be doing this for years yet. And if I want to see my hard slog, sweat and tears (all quite literally) come into proper bound print, then I'd better get used to it. I know all this.

It's just blindingly frustrating to get close a couple of times and then... nothing comes of it. I feel further than I ever was. Even further, actually! Because at least, before, I had a couple of leads. Now those have fizzled into nothing.

And yet, still, I have some sort of following of readers who know a little of me (or a lot), a little of my story (or a lot) and are familiar with my writing. They all - you all - seem to want to read it. Everyone I speak to about my book is desperate for it to be "out" so they can "get their hands on it and read it and tell everyone they know to read it too."

I know it's pretty kick-ass. One reader even went so far - unprompted (yeah! I didn't even bribe her!) - as to tell me:

I enjoy all sorts of texts be they narrative or non-fiction. But it is with true life narratives that I am very good at detecting a "wanker" tone, if you know what I mean. Zealousy that borders on self-obsession and self-indulgence. I can honestly say I do NOT detect that tone in your extract :) An example of the tone I am talking about is in the book "Eat, Pray, Love"...

I love that feedback! I want that sort of feedback. Mind you, it hasn't all been rosy with my focus group readers. Some have said outright that they "don't do sad endings."

I'm not sure if you'd call mine sad or happy. I'd like to think it's happy! But I wouldn't want to exhaust a reader and make them feel like they've run an emotional marathon. So I have paced it quite well, I think, for that very reason.

I mean, yes, it has faults - what draft manuscript hasn't? But this thing is packed with realism, a true window into someone's private life on the journey to conceiving (and losing). The lessons I have learned on this journey are too universal for me not to share them with others. It's not going to be everyone's cup of tea. It's not a witty cynical look at death - those books are out there, they are in the market and they make a refreshing change and they have their own place on the shelf.

My book is not a piss-take. Sometimes, with the influx recently of these sorts of books (the ones that don't take themselves very seriously), I wonder if that's why I'll never get anywhere. I haven't turned Ella's death into a bit of a jolly laugh through the steps of grief. But then, that's just me being cynical. My book is not trying to be those books. But I know it's up against them, competing with agents who are reading these other submissions and, compared to them, I bet mine feels like an intense drag.

Real does that sometimes.

My book is a true "What I did to turn the massive juggernaut of death and self-woe around", because it's what everyone (who knew me Back Then) wanted to know: How the hell did I do it? How am I not only still standing, but actually thriving and supporting others, to boot?

It took me for-ev-er to stop hiding my light under the so-called bushel (and why is it so-called, by the way??). Now that I have gotten over that and spoken up and said, "Yeah, I guess I do have a story here and a useful, readable one at that", I have to line myself up to get my head lopped not once, or twice, but possibly a dozen or more times.

I don't know if I have enough in me to be bothered, frankly.

And then... I think of her. And I know I will do it all, over and again. And again. I must. For her.

My Boo.

But..... I can't help wondering if everyone isn't collectively just pissing in my pocket. I mean, really. There are soooooo many books flooding the marketplace. Everyone knows how hard it is to get a book published, every writer has read countless stories of people who "think they're writers". Am I one of them?

I am getting confused. I am flagging in my own faith. And I know that is one of the biggest no-no's in this game. If I falter in my self-belief, I'll not have a hope in flaming hell of finding an agent. Or a publisher. I couldn't be arsed looking into self-publishing just yet. I just have to suck it up and keep sending it out.

I'm just.... ahhh... flat about this cold-faced rejection. Let's face it, this kinda isn't what I needed to get my blogging/writing mojo back, now, is it??! Couldn't it have waited at least one business day after I returned?

So here I go again. Preparing some sample chapters to send out again. Wish me luck. Again?

I can be a judgemental hypocrite

I think there must be a hierarchy of judgement prevalent in the human condition. Or perhaps different levels of it, for I have been thinking about how I judge (consciously and unconsciously) and how it not only affects me but shapes the way I see the world.

There are times when I wonder if I'm not snarky enough, which renders me feeling inadequate because I don't join in. Or if I'm entirely too stabby and overblown about things, with some subjects that ignite me so much that they cause me to speak out. I usually these days keep to myself because if it's so important to me that I feel the need to state it, I sometimes then get protective of my opinions and can tend to be slightly defensive about them (and, therefore, don't want to be disagreed with).

And this is not even to mention the fact that I sympathised with someone just this morning at the shops who was assuming the position of authority on someone's personal business - by merely standing there and nodding with compassion, I was contributing, but my conscience told me at the time, "As long as you keep your mouth shut, you're not doing any harm." Fact is, I was doing harm. To me, if nobody else (but I know it wasn't just me my actions/inaction was affecting). I didn't do what I innately felt was the right thing (for me) to do, which was kindly but firmly steer the conversation away and not let the person keep going on about it. And why did I do that? I wanted the information, of course. I wanted to be privy to what the townsfolk are doing and saying, be kept in the loop, feel included, not look like a wet rag or that I can't have fun or that I don't like a joke, under the guise of it being "in whomever's or whatever's [in this case, the community's] best interests" because, oh, what a grand scapegoat "the others" are when they're all doing it too. You may as well join in, for if you can't beat 'em, isn't that what we've been programmed to do? And that fear of not being liked, of being seen - judged - as someone who takes everything seriously or has to put a dampener on things.... that's a big one that keeps luring me back in.

"Do as you would have done unto you" - I like this wisdom, for I would like to think if I keep my judgements to myself I'll not be judged as often (or unfairly). But I think I'm fooling myself, really, for although I hope for a world that makes judgement of others extinct, I know there will always be excuses made for the goodness and rightness of judgement - I allow myself to make them all the time, despite being wary and aware of the harm it can do! - and fair points they'd be, too, for who am I to judge?

There's not much that inflames me, not these days. It doesn't make for grand blog posts, that's for sure, because much of the time, by the time I've formulated arguments for/against whatever it is, I've reached the conclusion in my head that 'to each their own, judge not lest ye be judged' and so forth. Ultimately, I can't spare the energy to be so passionate about anything external to me and my experiences because it just seems to fall into the big Gossip or Judgement basket. I do not believe it is fair or just or correct to judge. And yes, I still do it all the time (even if only in my own mind) - I am working on curbing this, as a thought is as good as spoken in the energetic world. And that just contributes to nothing constructive or positive on the whole.

However..... you must have known there was one coming......

This morning, I read a post on Mama Mia's blog about toddlers having their eyebrows waxed, all in the name of a beauty pageant. I think we must surely be far past the oft-touted statements of the parents of these little girls (and boys) who claim their children love the the competitions and they have so much fun, when the parents begin inflicting quite a serious amount of pain on their child, all in aid of being judged for how they look. Wow. Way to perpetuate the crazy, often unattainable without an airbrushing, ideals of the magazine/celebrity industry. And involving such small, malleable minds too.

Far be it from me to judge, as I've spent the past few paragraphs saying, but seriously..... WHAT THE HELL???

This is not some far off country. This is happening here in Australia. I find this just wrong, wrong, wrong. Now, I have chosen to have my eyebrows waxed for nearly 20 years and it STILL hurts. I'm a grown woman who's given birth twice. I know pain!

Deliberately and systematically administering this pain on your own child is causing untold damage to so many areas of that child's life. These are the formative years. I shudder to think what harm it must cause emotionally. What a way to condition your child to submit to unnecessary, avoidable, pleading-to-make-it-not-happen pain at the hands of someone who loves them. The idea of a child having to endure that at the hands of her mother [well, her mother's chosen beauty therapist, but still] leaves me cold.

Perhaps these parents [I'm guessing it's only the mothers, though, who go this far, although shame on any fathers who allow it to happen, no matter what the excuse] ought to go through some sort of counselling to (re)discover their own self esteem issues before forcing their children into some perceived superficial ideal, for subjecting their children to this sort of idiocy has surely got to stem from something deep-seated in the parent??

At the least, this is short-sightedness at its very worst.

Right. Now that that's out of my system, I want to just address a brief tweet that happened to grab my attention as it swiftly moved down my timeline. Along the lines of Nicole Kidman and Keith Urban lacking priorities for leaving their brand new three week-old baby daughter (who knew?!) while they went to a party. I began to enter into it, citing a case of someone I knew who left their eight week-old so they could go on a two week romantic 'reconnecting' holiday, and implying this was surely worthy of some perspective - after all, the most amount of time that new parents could go to a party would only be a few hours - but then stepped back.

I was asking for judgement of the new parents to be suspended (no matter who they are, I couldn't give two hoots if it was a couple from up the street or the most famous, or rich, couple in the world). And yet, here I am just a few hours earlier, ready to rip shreds of someone else I've not met and know nothing about because she's beautifying her daughter.

They're hardly in the same league, I know - one is causing pain to a pleading, begging child and (to my mind) is abuse, and the other is a newborn who probably stayed asleep for the entire duration of her parents' attendance at that party, save for possibly a burp and bottle.... But I'm still being rather hyprocritical.

See? I'm bothered by it. By the waxing horror and by the fact that we can so freely and easily judge (with a cute Twitter hashtag to soften the blow sometimes) those we are likely never to even meet. I vow to continue looking at my own spoken/written words and conscious/unconscious thoughts with regards to how quick I am to judge or prejudge people and their decisions.

I think I'm starting to realise why my posts have been lacking of late. More and more, I am seeing that unless I can find a way to make it productive or upturn it to the positive, I don't want to be questioning the morals or actions or decisions of others because I'm just contributing to the group mentality that it's okay. In reality, other people's business is none of my business (unless they offer information directly and seek feedback/opinions) and pretty much no matter what the situation, there's always learning in there somewhere - the only part I have control and responsibility over, therefore, is my reaction to becoming privy to these situations.

Back to posts about picking on my cat for me, I think *sliding rock back over head*

She's onto the lot of you

This poor poorly poppet of ours, she is still working the lurgy through. I have been up since 5am listening to her cough to the point of the awful noise that heralds the necessity of a bucket beside the bed, just in case whatever you hear coming up actually... well, comes out. Poor darlin.

While I was lying next to her in an attempt to settle her so she wasn't alarmed by all the kerfuffle from her lungs, she asked me, still in a haze of delirium (for I don't think she was fully awake), "How will I know whose boots are mine?"

"What's that, sweetpea?"

"If someone else has the same boots as me with the flowers all on them.... how do we know which ones are my ones?"

Don't ask me how, but she knows you're all asking about the boots. She's onto the lot of you. But it's okay, we've got it all worked out. We're going to check the size. Because it's hardly likely that if anyone else has her boots, they're going to also have the same size. Sorted.

I wish she would get better, this is the extended cough that just won't simmer down. We're meant to be going to a 5th birthday party this afternoon. There is no WAY I am subjecting her friend, The Birthday Girl, or anyone else to this. So the news broke earlier. Party plan-dashing was declared at 6:16am EST. There was a moment of silence and we bowed our heads over the body. And then the LGBB's face crumpled as what she just heard actually registered in her brain. There would be no fairy dress-ups for her today, no cake, no present for The Birthday Girl.

But perhaps the hardest part of the "punishment" to swallow - ewwwww - is the fact that she caught this cold off another child who should have stayed home. It starts young. How many workplaces have you been in where people come in sick and don't go home and you spend the rest of your day avoiding them and then, when you start to feel that rasp in the back of your throat and your breath feels suddenly hotter in your mouth and then congestion begins, you curse them, don't you?
(Mind you, I think I've encountered more people who stay home at the slightest sniffle when they're hardly ill at all...)

I certainly feel UTTERLY wretched for doing this to my LGBB! It's the first party she's had to miss due to illness. But I'm certain The Birthday Girl's mother, plus the other party goers' parents, will thank me. Even if my child doesn't. 

Violet Day

This week, I find myself in a strange place. I'm in a pit. Of self-pity and past patterning, familiar to me yet so completely redundant that I feel quite ashamed I displayed it so obviously here on my blog.

On getting in to work this morning, it took only a few moments on the phone to a mentor to discover that what I am dealing with here is a sort of.... full circle energy. Something that needs to be completed. Passed over, if you will.

There have been a number of incidents here at home in the past week and, in no particular order of importance, they are:

• Steve quit his job, after 17 years (more on that in a later post, for I am ever so proud of him) - definitely a tying off of loose ends happening there, as he is being made to work out his 4 weeks' notice;
• The LGBB got into a punch-up last Friday, in a push circle with boys. I'm intrigued by this and am working with my own feelings about it (and hers - although she seems mostly unaffected, which is surprising to me as it turns out), coming to points of needing to clear energy surrounding that event as well. I was shocked, baffled, sad that she was in that situation, and then this has swiftly given way to looking on the situation as something she wanted to take on - the details around the fight, from Lolly herself, indicate that she decided to take matters into her own hands, so it looks like a clear-cut case of experimentation and mimicking (copying something she knows her father and I do not condone, so an exertion of independence, rebellion and a bit of stealth - none of them reported it to the teachers - going on as well);
• I had my birthday on Sunday. I am putting an end to another era - the era where a fuss is made over you on your birthday. Well.. not fuss, I suppose, but... focus? Something else, perhaps? Fryingpan-gate was merely a ruse, for the real issue I was dealing with, I discovered this morning, was the fact that my father - the only parent who is coherent and (apparently) in my life, has completely forgotten that he greeted me 35 years ago on Sunday. So, dealing with the last remaining "harumphs" over that (like a brattish teen).

At this point, I can see I am uncharacteristically lashing out and being quite insensitive - nay, actually, probably uber-sensitive is more to the point - with the people I share this house with. Over the past two nights combined, I have had barely 10 hours' sleep (Steve has another cold and is rattling like Darth Vader) and it is helping to impair my judgement somewhat. But it only dawned on me this morning that I am taking on whatever they are dealing with as well.

When a child goes to day care (long/short/occasional), they come home with a lot of group conscious conditioning. I have been remiss lately in helping the LGBB "de-sponge" herself and close down before going to sleep. The Monsters have been making their predictable appearance in tandem with that.

And with Steve and his workplace situation, I am being entirely neglectful - hurtful, even - in not throwing him a bone for the monumental death process he is stepping through. How insensitive of me. All I could bang on about (no pun intended) was frypans. Woe is me. Bloody 'ell.

So today, I am calling in to practice what I do know about this worldly process of energies - what is unseen but affects us and meddles occasionally in the equilibrium of a more peaceful life - and I am writing it here as testament to my commitment to get back on track with what I know I am supposed to be doing.

Some may read this and say I'm being too hard on myself. But the thing is, it is my responsibility to be true to myself and honour my space and place by keeping spiritually 'active' - I am a sensitive, I am affected by energies bouncing off others. I can ruddy well do something about it, instead of flailing into a pit of self-wallowing (and self-loathing for said wallowing, when all is said and done)! I keep forgetting that last part. Hnngh *pitiful Frank Spencer look to camera*

Without further ado, I'm off to do a clearing. Have a happy, productive day, peeps!

What the Fendi?

So much potential. So much anticipation! So much promise in a poster.....

SATC2. And I didn't get it. Wait......... nope, I don't have a penis, I just checked. So it's definitely not a gender thing. I am going to touch briefly on plot points in this post and I'd give you a spoiler alert but, really, there ain't no more spoilin' to be had. This one has definitely gone off the boil all on its own :(

I fear I may be kicked out of the sisterhood for saying this - way more danger than when I admitted this - but....... I went and saw the new SAT2 movie at the cinema last night (all two hours, 45 minutes of it) and it was awful! Awful, awful, awful.

The first movie took me a couple of watches (I made myself watch it again, just to be sure I wasn't disappointed and, as it turns out, I can watch that quite happily now). But I daresay I will not be watching SATC2 again.

I'm not so difficult to please, movie-wise. I sat through Intolerable Cruelty (and it was) and Twilight. Heck, I didn't even walk out during Iris. But this was just too bad to enjoy, no matter how very, very much I wanted to.

I went with a similarly unimpressed friend - we were BOTH very keen to sit back and immerse ourselves in our onscreen "friends'" latest. Two minutes in, already I could tell it would have to really work hard to convince me. And I'm afraid, it just didn't.

The acting seemed wrong, the characters were therefore different. They truly felt like they'd only just come back together, having read their scripts in different corners of the country, and turned up on set to film. I'm talking about the guys who play the husbands and partners as well. The only partner who was convincing this time was Smith (mostly because, probably, he was "on location" and only appeared in one scene on the phone to Samantha after their estrangement so stuntedness would have been expected). Oh, wait, I do apologise - Chris Noth was great. But he had plenty of scenes to prove his greatness in. Poor old Harry and Steve only got a split second look-in and it was a real car wreck to watch.

And do not even START me on Liza Minelli's cameo. Dear heavens above.

The plot was implausible - I can see how they may have thought it was, but they just threw in too much. Tooo, too much! I mean..... bringing back Aidan was a very good plan. Great move! Certainly had me a-twitter with anticipation to see what was going to happen. But the circumstances in which she came across him? Come ON! Noooooo! By this stage, I was already peeking out from behind my splayed fingers. By the time they blatantly tried to score some cinema-going "WOOT!"s from the mothers in the audience, using the Charlotte-Miranda "we're hard-working mothers" vehicle, I was almost in the foetal position. I wanted to align with them SO much, I truly did! But it was so bloody contrived! And Miranda is usually my favourite. By far.

Carrie was a brat. And she twirled in wonder at her surroundings FAR too much (even more than usual) for my liking. Samantha was tired and far too "done". Charlotte.... she did have a great scene or two, particularly when she was in the pantry crying (could have really put her on my shoulder and her given a comforting, sympathising back-pat there) and also in the closing panning scene in Carrie's apartment - this was my only real fave heart-soar moment in the entire looooong endurance. Miranda was .... nnngh. Again, I wanted to like her like I've always done. But the writing was not good enough. In saying that, she was the only one worth staying for if you ask me. I wanted to smack Carrie in the kisser and tell her to grow up, frankly. Sorry, SJP, but really. Really?

I'm sorry! I feel the need to pause here and apologise. To all the people who so enthused about the movie that I felt excited to go. To all the women who enjoyed it so much and are confused by my passionate dislike of it. Ok....

That out of the way, let me just say, they did get a couple of things right. Namely, the quick flashback moments:

But, overall, there were so many bads that the few goods were too outweighed to save it. Such as, the karaoke scene (below). I'm sooooo disappointed!!


This was NOT the thinking woman's fluff movie. I am a loyal fan of the series, I eventually enjoyed the first movie. But I think they ought to have stopped at one. This second one felt over-indulgent and more "let's make more" than "let's give the fans what they want". There was nothing clever in this.

Sorry sisters!

I can only afford this one over-easy, overdone egg....



Have YOU seen Sex And The City 2? What did you think of it? If you loved it, tell me why! If you didn't, quick... let's slink sheepishly away together and discuss our defection.