Weight for me

I'm not one for New Year's Resolutions. I gave all that stuff a bash twenty odd years ago but these days I'm much too cynical to even contemplate such nonsense. But this year, as I look ahead at what will be an incredibly busy, exciting, wonderful and stressful twelve months, I feel like I have to re-assess myself a little to get through it all with sanity, sense of humour and all currently functioning relationships in place.


Weight is a reasonably important issue for me right now. I'm one of those people who isn't vastly obese but on the plump side, always have been, always will be. In the last few years I have come to accept that there is an approximately 5 kg weight range where I feel great at the bottom end and not so great at the top end. Six months ago I was at the bottom end, right now I'm at the top end.


Just feeling bloated and generally unhappy with myself is one thing, certainly an important thing, certainly enough for me to get motivated to do something about it. But there is an extra factor this year which means I have exactly 4 months from today to get to the bottom end of my weight range. That equals 1.25 kg per month I will need to shed. Doh!


On the 28th of May we'll be boarding a plane, a United Airlines plane (RHCP help us), to New York. A couple of weeks ago I purchased an Alannah Hill dress to wear to the special event we'll be attending (a dress which may, or may not, have cost the gross national product of a small African nation - including the Sale discount). It is a gorgeous dress and looks good on my, shall we say curvaceous? figure. But there isn't enough Spanx or baby oil in the world to squeeze me into that thing if I keep piling on the kgs. Not to mention that we'll have a full week of eating our way around NYC/Brooklyn before the big day (with a must-do stop at Carlo's Bakery in Hoboken, NJ where I'm sure numerous calories will be consumed - I'm starting with the Crumb Cake and working my way down).


Any old how, I have four months to get rid of 5 or slightly more kgs. Sounds easy but really isn't. The Green Coffee Big Jay and I loved last year has now been banned for containing some unlisted substance which increases your risk of heart attack and/or stroke (doesn't everything these days?). I know that with our busy schedule eating well is going to be a very major issue and one which I must stay on top of this year. I have been trying to decide whether I should join a weight loss "program" to help me. I did Weight Watchers about 12-15 years ago and found it predictable but a good support and motivation for me to lose weight. However, I simply don't think I can squeeze in even a single weekly meeting this year (and the on-line version just won't work for me because I really need that face to face accountability of a real life weigh in with a real life person giving me the hairy eyeball about my 200g weight gain).


Apart from trying to stick to a sensible diet (which is simply so difficult because I love to cook and bake) I am hoping to find a miracle pill/drink/toxin which will just put us off eating - just like the Green Coffee did. Any sensible suggestions will be gratefully accepted. I know - exercise would help - but apart from an early morning walk a few times each week I can't see what else I can squeeze in (and stick to).


The other thing I will need to be this year is get and stay organised. I am generally an organised person, more or less. I'm not super lazy or super disorganised but there is big room for improvement. I have never done the "pack the school bags the night before routine" but this year I will need to.

I will also need to find a fool proof way of getting little Miss M out of bed at a sensible time each morning (i.e. before 8:30 am). I have already had a stern conversation with her about being co-operative in the mornings and about giving me her breakfast order post haste each morning and sticking with it (as opposed to the usual morning routine which goes something like this: Miss M gets out of bed grumpy after numerous requests and threats, she may or may not get dressed, she may or may not tell me what she wants for breakfast, she may or may not eat what she asked for, she may or may not demand some other form of breakfast as we're about to walk out the door already late). The problem is she is just too heavy to carry out to the car if she's in the middle of a temper tantrum so sometimes I have to cave in to her ridiculous requests just to get us all into the car and heading to school and work. I hate doing it but what's the solution? Like diet advice any useful suggestions on raising a strong willed, too smart child would be gratefully, nay desperately, accepted.

Or failing that, if you know where to buy tranquiliser darts suitable for small children, please pass on the info. Thank you very much.

Let's start at the start

I like to think of the official start of the Crazy as the Tuesday night of Marianna's dance concert (but it was probably earlier than that, like the weekend we went to see True West, which was also the weekend of our Christmas adoptive families picnic - which ended up at our house because of rain).

Marianna's dance concert was on a Tuesday night which meant she had to be taken out of school early and delivered backstage to NIDA for three hours of rehearsal prior to the evening's show. Children's dance concerts are a peculiar event. The rehearsal looks like bedlam but somehow the show comes together into something resembling an evening of seemless entertainment.

Little Miss M was in three seperate dances and the finale, which meant three costumes and costume changes. Luckily the parents were only responsible for the first costume and hair and make up, everything else was up to the teachers (who must certainly wonder on concert night whether there are easier ways of making a living, for example bomb disposal expert in Afganistan).

Anyway, the evening was really fun and culminated in Princess Attitude being awarded a trophy, which was lovely. But we didn't get home until after 11 and it was all downhill from there. Late nights and school mornings are not a great combination and from that evening we rolled into two weeks of tired, cranky children and tired, cranky parents. Oh, the joy!

School days

The school year 2010 has begun and I now have two children at school. The baby days are over.

Will started last Thursday and he is now in Year 5. High school is breathing down our collective necks and is a subject which can not be ignored for much longer. Shit.

Nothing much to report on the Will front. He is happy with his teacher, Miss C, who he had in Year 3. He knows her, she knows him, she understands him (I think). So all is well.

Miss Marianna Grumblebum started Kindergarten on Monday. So two days down and 13 years minus two days to go. She is fine at school but, as anticipated, there are meltdowns happening before and after.

This morning we had a doozy, involving her iPod, her breakfast and a door with a broken knob. Which was shortly followed by a tripping and knee grazing incident on the walk to school. Overall not the best morning of my life and probably not her's either.

It must be hard to be four and have so much expectation on you. To have to adapt to new routines, new people. To try and deal maturely with all these new experiences. No wonder she cracks when she in the safety of her own home, her own family, her own mental and physical environment. Knowing all the shit doesn't make it any easier on me. I'm still the one who has to keep the balls in the air, keep the machine which is our family unit well oiled and running. As always it's all about me, isn't it. HA!

Suffice to say I'm buggered right now. But things could always be worse; I could have to earn a living skulking around on stage dressed in insect screen mesh to a background of creepy music. So, you know, look on the bright side, etc.

The other woman

Last night as Marianna was falling asleep she sat up and said "Mum, when will we visit Nury?".

She often talks and asks about her birthmum but this time it shook me up a little. There was something about her tone and expression which made me wobble. Usually I'm very cool and unemotional about these conversations. I've always thought I am comfortable with the idea of my children's birthmothers. They are part of our family, whichever way I want to emotionally deal with them.

But last night I felt an emotional tug I hadn't experienced before. I can't quite put my finger on it; what it was and why it turned up last night, unannounced.

Conversation with Marianna:

Me: "Marianna do you want lasagne for dinner?"

M: "NO!"

Me: "I can make you some eggs if you like."

M: "I want eggs!"

Me: "If you'd like me to cook you some eggs can you please say: "Mum, I'd like some eggs please." "

M: "Mum, I'd like eggs."

Me: "You need to say please. That's the polite thing to do."

M: "I can't."

Me: "You can't do what?"

M: "I can't say it." (Eyes welling up with tears.)

Me: "You can't say "please"?

M: Nods.

Me: "Why not?"

M: (Bursting into tears.) "Because it hurts my tongue."

Interesting. I think she must have the same condition as The Fonz. You know how he couldn't ever say "Sorry".

They were talking about raising teenagers on ABC702 just now. One lady rang up and said "when you have little children you often say they are so gorgeous you wish you could eat them up and when they grow into teenagers you wish that you had".

Regularly I have moments, like yesterday morning when Marianna had the mother [pun intended] of all tantrums because I wouldn't let her carry the box of jelly beans I had just bought her, when I understand why some animal species eat their young.

Never a dull moment.

Marianna and I were in Myer today, doing a little browsing while Will was at a birthday party watching Coraline. Nothing exciting, just a little pottering around in the kitchen section, searching for an oil container of some sort, something to house my macadamia nut oil which came in an almost unuseable container.

So one minute Marianna is next to me, the next minute she is gone. I really mean gone. Scary gone. Where the fuck has she gone, gone. Running around calling her name, getting terrified, gone. Calling security, panicking, gone. I'm not generally a worst case scenario type of girl but I was so bloody scared. Do you know where she was? Sitting quietly behind a dryer in the whitegoods section. That's where one of the saleswomen found her, just sitting quietly.

I'm not sure what happened really. I think she was hiding from me and then got scared herself. Tonight she told me she was very scared but she can't fully explain why.

It was one of those tiny moments in life when I could glimpse how someone's life can go from 0-100 km/hour shithouse in 5 short seconds.

My recent post answering a meme about motherhood provoked some thoughts on a related topic which often visits my thoughts: education. I find this is a subject which often comes up amongst friends with children. With Will having learning difficulties and developmental delay I have had education-related thoughts going on since he first joined our family.


The main question remains the same: which path is best to help him reach his potential (whatever that may be)? How long is a piece of string? A similar question and just as easy to answer. At the beginning I was fairly certain about what I thought he needed. As time has gone on I have found, as with everything in life, things are a lot more complex than they first appear.

We have followed some dead ends, started things which seemed helpful and worthwhile and have found them not to be, have found other things which are helpful and worthwhile and yet the effort needed to pursue them fully are beyond my capabilities. There is no approach which is perfect.

One thing which I find really amazing about other parents is a certain confident attitude towards education. Especially amongst those who choose private education for their children. They seem so certain that this is the "best" for their child. I've heard a recent interview with Alain de Botton where he states that his super wealthy parents didn't leave him any inheritance (??) but they did pay for the very best private school education which is the best thing any parent can do for their child. An old boyfriend of mine (a pathetic, spineless mummy's boy) was one of four sons, his mother (a hideous Mrs Bucket-type) worked a full-time job simply to put her four boys through a prestigious Sydney private school. At the time I knew him one brother was long-term unemployed, one drove a bottled water delivery truck, one was a fireman with the airforce (the nicest boy/man) and my dickhead boyfriend was a graphic designer with a degree from a third rate university. The question arises: was this educational money well spent? Was her labour and, presumably, sacrifice worthwhile in the broadest sense?

The only thing I've really learnt since I've been grappling with Will's educational needs is I am certain of less and less as the years go on. I am fairly sure there is no such thing as a "good school". Numerous friends have sent their children to such establishments only to be personally very disappointed for various reasons. I am learning that each child's educational experience is completely individual and can change from week to week and year to year. Teachers come and go, as do princpals. A teacher may work wonderfully for child A and clash horribly with child B; a right-on-the-money teacher in Year 1 may be replaced with a brain-dead time watcher in Year 2. A dynamic principal may be replaced with a facile bureaucrat. Such things are just as possible in a private school charging $12,000 per year as in the local public school.

As the mother of a child with extra educational needs I worry about what the future holds but I have no confidence that any school on the face of this planet has all the answers for him. Sure the school he attends is often lacking in specific areas which I could pinpoint but I am realistic enough to understand that they can not possibly deal with each individual child's needs. They teach somewhere to the average and make tokenistic gestures to show they care about the kids on the fringes. I don't blame them. What children like Will need is difficult to deliver. Schools and teachers are overloaded as it is.

In my roundabout way I am making the point that I truly think education, in the instituional sense, is overrated for some children. I think we hang a lot of hopes on education because we fear the potential difficulties of the life our children will face and we think education will be a guarantee of a successful future. But the hardest thing to accept is that there is no guarantee of anything, for tomorrow or next year and certainly not for 10 or 20 years down the track. We all want a rosy future for our children but nothing we can do now will make that a certainty. I wish that wasn't so.

Sometimes I think Will might struggle in life but Marianna probably won't. As soon as I think it I realise the folly of such a simplistic idea. Being intelligent is obviously an asset in life but again no guarantee of success. Life success is such a complex and mysterious chemistry. Two children can go through life with an identical upbriging and school experience and come out very diffirent individuals in adult life. Judging by their superficial intelligence at this point in their childhood I can not predict with even a small amount of certainty what the future will hold for my kids. Where they might succeed or fail, where life may pull the rug out from under them or hand them a bouquet of roses. Education is part of the equation but not enough a part of it to make me put any great faith in it.

Like with religion I sometimes wish I had faith because there is a part of me which craves certainty. I hate this post-modern nothingness which is my brain. There is nothing wrong with a little innocent delusion and I wouldn't mind some of that comfort when the vast abyss of the unknown future yawns in front of me.

My almost 90 year old grandmother moved into a retirement home a few weeks ago. It was inevitable and a couple of years overdue. I won't go into the boring family saga behind this move.

It has been interesting to watch Will's reaction to our visits to the home. Whereas before, when he was much younger and we would visit my other grandmother at the nursing home, he would simply be bored and uncomfortable. Now he is thinking about the meaning of this place; a place filled with old people. "Why are there so many old people here?" he constantly asks.

I can feel his brain working things out. He has asked if he'll be living in a place like this one day. As a parent it is difficult and confronting to discuss such things with a 9 year old. I believe in simple honesty with children. Not too much information but small facts and the truth about not knowing what the future holds.

I don't want to fear old age and death; they are a natural part of life. The alternative is dying young and that isn't any better. When I talk to Will about old age and sickness and death I want to give him a simple version of my beliefs without making it sound scary. Sometimes I feel the words weighing heavy as they leave my mouth and I wonder what he makes of them. But I am never tempted to shy away from the truth or to sugar coat it for him (too much).

Possibly believing in God and a Bible-inspired afterlife may make such conversations easier but I don't have that crutch to lean on. I don't wish for that support structure in my life (though I do have moments of envy for people who have it).

My dad said he admires that I take the children to visit my grandmother and talk to them about aging and death. He says when he was a child (and even when I was) adults kept such things away from children, afraid of superstitions and jinxes, tempting fate, etc. I simply can not see the point of shying away from what is an inescapable part of life, though I do see it would be easier for me not take the children to the old people's home, not to talk to them about such sad things. But happiness and sadness are all part of a rich life; like day and night and Summer and Winter.

I wonder whether us weird and wonderful human beings would treasure life quite so much if we were immortal, if the end point of death was not in the equation. I think not. I hope for my children a love of life, an enjoyment of the everyday and an acceptance of the brief and temporary nature of our individual existence.

Last night when I was telling Marianna off for cutting her colouring in paper into a zillion pieces of confetti which she left all around her bedroom she showed a little of what the future may hold.

Eyes flashing she stormed back into the lounge room after me.

"My other mummy Nuery is my MUMMY. And daddy is my DADDY. But you're not my MUMMY!" she yelled into my face.

If this is 3 1/2 what will 16 be?

Will has been using my MP3 player to listen to the "maths music" which I have downloaded for him (these are maths learning songs which are proving very useful in helping him to learn his times tables, etc). Now that he has grown comfortable with using the gadget he has started working his way through my music - namely the Leonard Cohen/I'm Your Man CD. It warms my cockles to hear him singing along to If it be your will and Everybody knows, the adult lyrics sounding both sweet and odd coming from his mouth.

Some of you may have noticed that the Cancer Council is using the original Everybody knows (sung by L. Cohen) for their latest super gruesome anti-smoking ad. I don't really want the kids watching the ugly images but it does crack me up when they both run to the tv and stand in front of it, somberly singing along.

Speaking of brainwashing your children to like your music, a few weeks ago we were driving along and a Red Hot Chili Peppers' song came on the radio. I said to Will "do you know who this is?" and he looked at me like I was an idiot and said "yeah, it's the Red Hot Chili Peppers... my favourite band". Oh how my heart soared at that moment. Are there any sweeter words a mother can hear?

Which makes me think of the future. Of the unavoidable fall which is sure to follow such wonderful highs. What musical trend or subculture will my children detour into as teenagers, once my parental influence is not only watered down but defiantly avoided? As my parents couldn't imagine the punk and skinhead world I would fall into, I cannot imagine what variation of Emo, Death Metal or (much, much worse) Missy Higgins my children will embrace.

One thing is guaranteed. No matter how open minded we, as parents, think we are our children will undoubtedly find ways of challenging us throughout their teens. Is it harder for children of "modern" parents (as opposed to more conservative ones) to achieve that shock factor - emotionally, musically, culturally? Will our kids have to push the envelope a lot further? After all my parents were shocked and revolted at my obsession with KISS, whereas I encourage that same obsession in my children. I want my kids to know the joys of singing [yelling] Detroit Rock City while driving with the windows down.

What will my children find to shock me? I know whatever it is is incubating out there somewhere, getting ready to hatch, as Will inches ever closer to his thirteenth birthday.

My life has become a minefield. The explosions can come at any time, any place and often when I least expect them. I am living in fear of Marianna (who will turn 3 on Monday). Just so I don't forget when this phase passes (I am nothing if not an optimist!) I want to list the reasons for her recent tantrums.

1) This morning she had a major meltdown because Will announced that his toothbrush was new (actually 2 days old). Marianna proceeded to scream for a full 20 minutes that she too wanted a new toothbrush (her's is 2 weeks old).

2) Yesterday she had a major meltdown when we got to day care because I wouldn't let her take in the iPod Shuffle (her birthday present) which she had been listening to during the drive.

3) Many mornings she has major meltdowns because she doesn't want to get dressed (has gone to the garage naked on numerous occasions), doesn't want to brush her teeth and/or doesn't want to brush her hair.

This tantrum business is exhausting and really soul destroying for me as a parent. I just want to logic my way through it but (obviously) I can't and it is driving me totally nuts. It is the intensity and ferocity of these tantrums which is so bewildering and frightening for me. I honestly feel like I'm walking on eggshells every morning, waiting anxiously to see what little request or action will set her off. Then when we seem to have gotten through the morning peacefully something unexpected happens just as we're heading out the door (see previous entry regarding Teddy) or when we arrive at day care (see iPod drama above). Will had a few minor running around at the supermarket tantrums when he was ultra tired but nothing even close to this so I am so unprepared for what is happening right now.

Recently overheard conversation (from the shower):

Marianna: "Look daddy, you have a willy and I have a willy."

Daddy: "No Marianna, you don't have a willy, you have a vagina. Girls have vaginas."

Marianna: "NOOOOO, I DON'T HAVE A GIANT! I HAVE A WILLY!"

I guess that's what happens when you have an older brother. She'll learn to deal with the harsh reality sooner or later.

Well, it's official.

I am the Worst Mother In The World!

This morning I forgot to strap Marianna into her baby seat. A few hundred metres down the road I had to brake reasonably hardly and she slid off her seat and luckily onto the cushy pile of crap I had wedged behind my seat - a large bag of Christmas presents I was taking to mail and two bags of work uniform pieces I've been meaning to drop of at the embroidery company.

The poor little thing cried and cried. She wasn't hurt but she did get a big fright.

Will said "that really freaked me out, mummy".

I felt lower than a pregnant snail. Believe me, my parenting confidence doesn't need to get any lower.

This is the face of a 2-and-a-half year old with attitude. I never really understood the "terrible twos" concept until now. Will never really went through it; short burst of shopping centre tantruming at around 4, but that was it.

Marianna is a whole new ball game. Today for example, she screamed and fought (I mean literally, physically fought) me over putting her nappy on, putting her pants on, putting her shoes on, brushing her teeth and whether or not she was allowed to take her baby in the stroller out for the day. Then she screamed when I tried to get her out of the car at the Post Office because I wouldn't let her take the box of sultanas, half of which were already all over the back of the car. This was all before 9:30 am.

I am fairly certain should we want to (and we don't) survey our immediate neighbours the majority would think our child was being routinely tortured. Her screaming and hysterics (complete with sobs and lots of tears) must be heard throughout the building.

As a seperate, funny kiddy-ism: Both the children call hair conditioner AIR conditioner. It's hilarious - especially for someone who has worked in the building automation industry for the past 17 years.

A belated congratulations to my lovely man Anthony Kiedis on becoming a dad to Everly Bear (?? I know... sheesh). Hope he has a better handle on this parenting caper than I do. It's much harder work than you'd think from the Kleenex ads.