tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-262219672024-03-08T11:36:12.827+11:00emzeegee and the hungry threeTake one thirty-something mother of triplets and ask her to pipe "Happy 40th Birthday Megan P. Jones" on a cake. Then get her to blog about it. This is the result.emzeegee & the hungry threehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05157103839748631293noreply@blogger.comBlogger839125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26221967.post-42360182904553554712013-08-22T15:46:00.000+10:002013-08-22T15:46:00.088+10:00Ignorance is SurvivalI recently had a chat to a client which was so remarkable I think it's well worth blogging about.<br />
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She's a good client, I see her at least twice a year for her sons's birthdays. She's my age but her kids are young (6 and 8). This past week when I saw her she apologised to me for being tired and looking crappy - to which I laughed and said the beauty of ordering cake is that nobody cares what you look like! It's not the kind of place where how you look has anything to do with how you're treated. She then commented that since the last time I'd seen her (about 10 weeks ago), she'd been kinda tired and struggling to stay on top of things.<br />
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Ten weeks ago I made her son's birthday cake.<br />
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The day after that party, she had a mastectomy and some lymph nodes removed.<br />
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Ten days before I saw her this time, she'd had a breast reconstruction.<br />
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This woman planned these surgeries so that both would not get in the way of her kids' celebrations. The first one she planned to be immediately after her first son's birthday, and the second one she planned far enough ahead of the second son's birthday so that she could recover in time.<br />
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It turns out that she has been battling breast cancer for the last two years. I've seen her at least twice a year in those two years and there is no way on earth I would have told you that she was someone going through that ordeal.<br />
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She started to tell me about the experience - from finding the lump to being diagnosed and then going through treatment and getting the all clear. I told her I had no idea she'd gone through this, and I asked her if she was deliberately keeping it a secret. Apparently - her words - she dealt with the whole thing by remaining in total ignorance about it.<br />
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Early on in her diagnosis she was told that they had caught it early enough, and that she would survive, and that she'd have chemo and that should resolve it. She took everything her doctors said at face value - didn't go Googling things, didn't ask a whole lot of questions, just went along with the treatment plan. After her courses of chemo, her doctor felt the lump and said, "That's great, the mass is smaller, the chemo is working!" to which my client said, "What do you mean? Doesn't chemo work for everyone?"<br />
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She literally had NO IDEA that chemo had a chance of not working.<br />
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Ignorance is bliss, indeed. She did admit to having some bad days when she thought about the worst...but she'd always come back to what the doctor said about her surviving and so she was reassured that it would all be fine.<br />
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It reminds me a little of those "what would you do if you did not know you cold fail?" questions...this woman survived cancer in part because her attitude was about survival being the ONLY possible outcome.<br />
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I was humbled - and awed - by her story and I'm sharing it here because it served to remind me (again) that sometimes attitude really is everything. Like the cliche says, it's not so much about what happens to you but about how you deal with it.<br />
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<br />emzeegee & the hungry threehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05157103839748631293noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26221967.post-15626193760367187762013-08-20T15:23:00.001+10:002013-08-20T15:23:17.308+10:00The OverweightI've been overweight for my whole life. I'm pretty sure I came out of the womb a chubby baby and just never really got much smaller. For obvious reasons this was an issue of concern for my parents, and I endured plenty of discussion and attempts to remedy it. Hell, they even sent me to fat camp...twice! (...which by the way was more fun than you would think.) Both my parents were overweight themselves, so they knew first hand what it was like to live in a body bigger than you needed or wanted. My Mom in particular tried to talk to me about the situation - and talking to her was always sort of amusing because English is not her first language. While her English is pretty near perfect, she has some very funny (to me) expressions which she uses - in this case, she used to call my being fat "The Overweight" - although I think she meant "<i>being </i>overweight" she always put the "The" there. I put the caps there because, as a kid (and young adult), it was as though she was talking about some sort of creature which kinda just hung around. The Overweight developed it's own personality and in my head I used to think of it as some sort of entity all it's own.<br />
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So her conversations would sound like this: "You know, it's because of The Overweight that you don't enjoy clothes shopping...," or "if only you got rid of The Overweight, you might have more friends," or "The Overweight makes me so worried about you," and so on. She definitely meant well, but I grew up thinking of The Overweight as a this creature outside of myself. People who battle with depression often call it "the black dog" which follows you around, lurks in corners, and makes a nuisance of himself...and I'd venture to say The Overweight is much the same sort of beast. <br />
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In recent years, I've gotten rid of a fairly large portion of the excess weight I was carrying around. Amazingly (to me), even with all that effort, The Overweight is still hanging around! (bastard!) The Overweight is why I eat if I'm bored or grumpy, The Overweight is why I'm not comfortable walking into "normal" clothing stores even though I easily fit into their clothes, The Overweight is what makes me socially awkward. The fact is, it's probably TRUE that being overweight is a symptom of all those things - but in reality it's the <i>mental </i>part of being overweight, not the ACTUAL weight, which makes those things happen in the first place. In other words it's not the weight you've got hanging on you, it's The Overweight you've got which is the problem. <br />
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One of my employees is actively in weight-loss mode at the moment, and so it's her ongoing topic of conversation. No pun intended, but the weight loss efforts totally consume her. Surprisingly (or maybe not), the topic of conversation is not the exercise and food (although that's definitely there), but the emotional experience of dealing with The Overweight. How awful she feels when she misses a day of exercise, how hard it is to resist the treats which are around when she is out with friends, how much she'd rather be a hermit during this stage just so she doesn't have to deal with the commentary she inevitably gets. Like a lot of people dealing with some sort of monkey on their back, she believes that once she loses the weight the rest of her life will magically fall into place. She'll find a partner, be a happier person, be better able to handle social situations, won't be embarrassed to learn to surf, etc. <br />
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Having been there and done that - I just want so much to tell her that while the excess weight does in fact curtail your life, it doesn't DEFINE your life by any means. You can be thinner and still feel shitty about missing a day of exercise. You can be thinner and still be unhappy sometimes. You can be thinner and still be socially awkward. Just like there is no magic pill for weight loss, there is no magic pill for life satisfaction.<br />
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Ultimately, I don't have the heart to tell her that even when you lose the weight, you're still stuck with The Overweight.<br />
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<br />emzeegee & the hungry threehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05157103839748631293noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26221967.post-45267952938080229862013-08-19T16:42:00.002+10:002013-08-19T16:42:54.793+10:00Happy For A WeekA couple of months ago I was driving down the road with the kids in the car when DD2 said, "Hey! Mum! Check that out! I just saw something which is going to make me happy for a week!" It turns out that what she had seen was one of those giant fit balls - a bright blue one - stuck in the top of a 2 story tree. There was a small apartment building with a tree in it's front yard, and wedged within it's branches was a bright blue enormous fit ball. It was just sort of ...there. It even looked as though it had been there for a while.<br />
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You know, she was right about that sight making her (and me) happy for a week. It was so ridiculous, so unexpected, so...smile-worthy, that even now when I think about that ball I smile to myself. How did that ball get there? Why wasn't anyone trying to get it down? Would it just blow out during the next storm? Who knows? All I know is that a giant ball stuck in a tree is going to make me smile for a week. Since then, the concept of seeing something which makes you "smile for a week" has become a bit of a family thing.<br />
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DH came home a few weeks ago and said he saw something which would make him smile for a week - it was a little patch of rainbow in the sky. Not a double rainbow or a full arc or even a half arc - just a little patch, to the eye maybe only 3 inches long, hanging out there in the sky in all it's rainbow glory.<br />
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Last week, I was driving home in a torrential downpour. I stopped at a traffic light and a man crossed in front of my car. He was a really, really tall man - I'd venture easily 6'3" or more - and the umbrella he was using was a teeny tiny bright yellow kids' umbrella, which pretty much just covered his head (and not his shoulders). He crossed the street in the pouring rain holding up this little ray of sunshine...and looking as though he didn't much care that he was getting soaked through.<br />
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A few days ago, we were in the car and DD2 looked out her window, and saw a 10 person van filled with elderly people who were all dressed to the nines. I have no idea where they were going, perhaps the theatre or maybe just out to the shops - but all of them were sitting up nice and tall and all of them were dressed beautifully. A van full of beautiful oldies can make you smile for a week, they really can. <br />
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I love that my kids notice these things, and that they recognise the great feeling which comes from seeing them. The ridiculous, the absurd, or just the every day things which occur around us that we often are too busy or to preoccupied to notice - those are the things which make us smile for a week.<br />
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When I say my children teach me things all the time, I'm talking about these sorts of things. They remind me to notice, to acknowledge...and then to actually smile for a week about those kinds of things. When's the last time you saw something absurd and let it just...sink in?<br />
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Last week, I went out of my way to check on the fit ball in the tree.<br />
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It's still there...hopefully making someone else smile, too. emzeegee & the hungry threehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05157103839748631293noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26221967.post-30917631957137387442013-07-04T13:29:00.005+10:002013-07-04T13:29:51.593+10:00BlissAs I type this, it's one o'clock in the afternoon on a Thursday and I'm still in my pyjamas. I'm sitting up in the squishiest of beds, under 2 down comforters, with my back leaning against three fluffy pillows. Outside, the Victorian winter blows one hell of a gale, with the trees managing not to romantically, softly blow in the wind but rather make a heck of a lot of defiant noise. I'm not sick or unwell or bored or stuck in the middle of nowhere against my will. I'm exactly where I need to be, in this exact moment, in perfect health and of sound mind (although some might debate that last bit.)<br />
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Thanks to the generosity of a friend, and the Universe lining all the cosmos up, I find myself on a 4 day long "Mummy Holiday" devoid of friends, family, obligation or guilt. The kids got packed off to camp, DH has work commitments, and I'm blessed with employees who understand that even the Boss Lady deserves a moment or two to herself. I packed up some clothes, more books than I could possibly get through, some videos and some food and headed off to a beautiful beach house only metres from the Southern Victorian coastline. For the past two and a half days, I've done a whole lot of nothing. Actually, that's not entirely true. I've slept. Read. Eaten. Gone for a lot of very long cliff top walks. Watched surfers paddle out and ride in. Looked up at a very tall lighthouse. Took a long drive yesterday and wandered in and out of a few picturesque seaside towns. Watched a movie. Played a lot of Words with Friends. Thought a bit about some stuff (like work and friends and life) but only enough to smile about those things rather than be stressed by those things. Looking at that list, I've been a very busy girl.<br />
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Here's what I didn't do: I didn't look at my watch. Didn't worry about the calories I was eating. Didn't think too hard about anything in particular. I didn't feel guilty about doing what I wanted, when I wanted it. Didn't feel like I should, could, need, have to do anything AT ALL other than just...be.<br />
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For someone like me, who operates at what my friends call "very high revs" - embarking on this experience in the first place was a little scary. I've never been on holiday by myself, and certainly never had the days stretching out before me with no obligations. I mean, what if I got BORED or something? (For me, boredome often means self desctruction of the calorific kind.) So in my usual high achiever self, I made a list of what I would do while I was away. Brainstorm work ideas, work on my vision journal, blog on my various blogs (I have 3), email old friends, review some work documents I've been avoiding, take a walk of at least an hour every day, read an entire book a day, make my way through no less than 6 magazines, etc. Sounds a whole lot like WORK, doesn't it? And the point of all this time was just to NOT work for a while...! Believe me when I say I was rather nervous and worked up about this holiday of mine. The very idea of it thrilled me and freaked me out in equal measure. 4 days - with nobody but ME for company? And no specific plans? That's just...so far out of my comfort zone.<br />
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In truth, it took a good day and a bit for me to actually relax fully into the experience. It took a bit of time for my breathing to slow down, for the endless chatter in my head to tone down to a dull roar, for the euphoric realisation that I REALLY HAD NO OBLIGATIONS (to me, to anyone else, to my business) to sink in. I found myself thinking, "Ok, I'll go for a walk, then I'll shower, then dress, then make lunch, then do this then do that then do the other..." ad infinitum. Then I realised I in fact could choose to DO or NOT DO entirely on a whim. It took a bit for me to realise that, but once I did then the bliss set in.<br />
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So that's why it's taken until the middle of Day Three for me to be sitting up, in bed, blogging in my pyjamas while the trees outside threaten to blow right down. This is exactly where I want to be, exactly right now. It's been a very long time since I've felt as calm, relaxed, and totally
free as I do right now. I found myself waking up in the middle of
the night last night with a huge grin on my face...and for the life of
me, I can't tell you why. I've smiled more in the past two and a half days than I probably have in the last six months and there wasn't even anyone here to see it! <br />
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All that worrying about what I was going to do and how I was going to do it and what happens if I get bored...really? I should have remembered my own advice to others, which is this:<br />
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Just. Show. Up. <br />
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In recent months, I've learned the showing up part is way more important than anything which might happen once you get there. Showing up is no guarantee of success, of peace, of not being bored - it's not guarantee of anything other than knowing that at the very least, you showed up. Things have a way of working themselves out as long as you make the effort to show up in the first place.<br />
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Now, if you'll excuse me - I showed up to blog because I wanted to share this experience - but just at the moment, I think it might be time for lunch. Or not. Who knows? I'll show up in the kitchen and see what happens.<br />
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Bliss.<br />
<br />emzeegee & the hungry threehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05157103839748631293noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26221967.post-87779822028629547372013-05-19T21:41:00.002+10:002013-05-19T21:41:21.068+10:00Twelve.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I have a rule when it comes to taking photos of the kids. They don't like it when I take their pictures and so I had to institute this rule in order to make my life a little easier and get some cooperation out of them (sadly begging and promising M n' M's no longer works.) The deal is that for every "nice" photo I insist on taking of them, they get to stage a silly photo. The irony of this, of course, is that when I go to collate all the photos I want to use for the birthday post, it's the silly ones I like WAY more than the "normal" ones. Those silly photos just reflect so much more of their personalities than the formal ones do - and as much as it's nice to see my son with his hair actually brushed and my daughters with a beautific smile on their faces, it's not at all a reflection of what happens in real life. </div>
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For example, this is their official birthday portrait taken on the morning they turned 11:</div>
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<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3v8lz9Ec5T2GVqklhINxsH_QvFas3TCydOvnAhyphenhyphenkBgCH0C7AkxtXsy0HUA9kufFcBRDeY8BR7DlFsI_JcW64uSgAhTne76ZZzskwbCaiKYl-2qPrPQKKBJt8O2TZ1x0yk43ii/s1600/2012-05-17+07.43.34.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></div>
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And this is their official portrait taken on the day they started Grade Six: <br />
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And this is the official "We got our first bank account" portrait:<br />
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<img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLW6meQznzbs-ot2MhCCh3cBGvg8gqUMRSDSsQAFgBqKI99XPIVjRZ_8wGGpNOBBjXcqQ0Xxhe4qJktaicclZhXyNXupLKKqeSMsC5AmwIkXNh4ZvYqi-xmaxEWB8mcuomvRL3/s1600/2012-08-31+17.01.30.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></div>
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Like I said, those photos are way funnier - and much more true to life - than the, "Seriously?! Would it KILL you to smile decently for once?" type of photos.<br />
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This past year has been such fun with the kids - I'm still waiting on that sullen, irritable and annoying teenage hormones bomb to hit, I guess. These three kids have managed to make my life one hilariously funny adventure and if I had to sum up this past year in one word that would be it: <u>funny</u>.<br />
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It's funny how they claim to drive each other mad, annoy one another, get in each other's way, and Claire often half-seriously says she wishes she was an only child...and yet when you ask them to take a group photo, the love they have for one another is very evident: <br />
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It's funny how, when you're meant to be the mature one, they do their best to remind you that maturity can be so boring sometimes. And it's funny how when you think, "I was nothing like that when I was a kid!" you realise that their presence in your life actually gives you the freedom to BE a kid once in a while:<br />
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Funnier still is when you look at their official "nice" 12th birthday morning portrait and you think, "You know, I like it better when his hair is messy," even though the five minutes before this photo you spent begging him to squish it down and make it look, "at least halfway decent." (And this realisation will not stop you from obsessively squishing his hair down at every given opportunity.)<br />
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Funny too when you look at them and think, "WHEN THE HELL DID I GRANT YOU PERMISSION TO GROW UP?!" and you realise that all those cliches are not cliches at all. You really will find that time passes a lot faster than you want it to, that their childhood will disappear in the blink of an eye, that time goes faster the older they (and you) get, and that children have a funny habit of growing up when you're not paying attention. <br />
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Perhaps the funniest thing of all about raising pre-teen triplets is, in fact, just how FUNNY it really is. These kids are just hilarious sometimes. They make me laugh with their insane stories about the other kids at school, they can make me laugh with the great expressions on their faces, funny turns of phrase, funny habits and funny quirks which make them uniquely individuals and yet uniquely attached to one another. This year my kids came into their own and it's so easy to see the traits which are so clearly "Claire-ish" or "Julz-like" or "Alexis-y." Traits which, when I think about it, they had as tiny babies but expressed in different ways.<br />
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My gorgeous super- mature Claire - from the time she was tiny she was an early riser. Now, at age 12, she's exactly the same -early to bed and early to rise and totally obsessed with being on time, organised, and having everything in it's rightful place (including the rest of us. If it weren't for Claire, sometimes I think we'd never get our act together as a family.) She has always been the most 'grown up' of the three ...but also the most adoring of of all things cuddly and squishy and cute. She keeps me on my toes, this one - because as soon as you accept that she is demanding, independent, wise, and extremely self sufficient, you realise that beneath all those things lies a little girl who really just needs a good hug more often than she admits. (And if you're wondering, no way did I buy her those insane heels! But she had a hell of a good time trying them all on.) Claire is most like me in personality, which is going to make her teenage years interesting to say the least - but then I suspect she will still manage to teach me a thing or two. For a long time Claire struggled with being bossy to the point of alienation from other kids. Her confidence and academic skill seemed to give her permission to not only be Queen Bee but also loudly announce it to anyone who would listen. This past year I've really worked with her on the concept of kindness, gratitude and humility, and understanding that not everyone can be as awesome as you might be. Much to my surprise she has taken all of that on board and is growing into a helpful, sweet kid who listens when people talk (mostly. Although she can still talk the paint off the walls.) Claire, if you're reading this (and I'm pretty sure you are, there are no secrets when you are around) - I want you to keep remembering that being smart will get you VERY far in life, but that being smart AND kind will get you further still. I adore you - you clever, cuddly, hair-obsessed beautiful girl. <br />
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If ever there was a person who wrote the book on love and affection, I'm pretty sure my son Julian would be it. A gentle giant, Julian is the child who teaches me how to love unconditionally, how to love others without judgement, and how to love even when you are not feeling in a loving mood at all. This is my sensitive soul - the one who cries at the drop of a hat (literally), who reads a book with a sad ending and will feel real, true desolation about it. His emotional side does not always serve him well - because frankly there are times I think he needs to stop the crying and just take action on things - but it always reminds me (when I see those big tears about to fall) that it's ME who needs to take action, give him a hug and help him to move forward. He might be the height of an adult, but a bit like his sister, underneath it all likes a boy who just needs a hug. At his recent parent teacher interview, his teachers all told me the same two things - 1) that he catches onto concepts very quickly, and 2) that his perfectionist streak and dedication to a specific process drives them all a little crazy. I had to laugh at both of those only because they could have been talking about his Dad! Like father, like son - they both love without limit, get stuck on the details, and are the smartest people I know. Julian, I know you're reading this (because you can't stand to be left out), I want you to know that sometimes there is more than one way to do things. Rule following is important - but the fun comes when you stop following the rules so much! Thank you, boychick, for all the love you give me and your hilarious wit. I'm pretty sure the Universe could not have gifted me a better son than you if for nothing than those gifts alone. <br />
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Oh...Alexis! These two photos represent you SO well. Those many moments of your life when you are full of laughter and joy and those moments when you are loving us all with such fierce loyalty. I look at you and your eyes always seem to have a little twinkle of mischief to them, as though you know some great cosmic joke that the rest of us don't. You are the MOST determined person I've ever met - determined not only to achieve the things you set out to, but also determined to live your life with a sense of fun. You just BOUNCE your way through life, sometimes literally. This year you were so worried about the demands of Year Six, and yet a few weeks ago when I commented on how well you're coping, you said, "Well, it's really not as hard as I thought it would be!" Your determination is quite simply amazing. You have always had to fight harder to achieve things - my little "away with the fairies" child needs to work twice as hard as the others do - but you've never once let that stop you. Your teachers ALL comment that they've never met a child with such a strong work ethic and such a belief in her ability to improve and learn and grow. Your Dad especially has learned how to get you through the rough moments when you forget just how capable you really are - and his love and determination has paid off in dividends this year. You've become so independent this year, too - a Patrol Leader at Girl Guides, travelling interstate to go camping, learning to be a girl who stands up for what she believes in and being someone who always puts her own special spin on things. Your endless notes and funny drawings always seem to appear when I need them most. Alexis, since I'm sure you're reading this too - thank you. For being exactly who you are, which is my funny, sunny, determined Lola girl. You make the sun shine just that little bit brighter with the light you have glowing from within. <br />
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It's been a wonderful year for the kids, it really has. I tried desperately to think of something throughout this year- anything - which would somehow not be quite as sappy and lovey-dovey but I couldn't come up with anything. Sure, we have our moments when it's not all unicorns and rainbows...but on balance, it's been a pretty damn good year parenting these kids. After all that thinking, I realised why I found no glaring instance of them being challenging. The past year of my children's lives has been a very difficult one for ME - business was difficult, family matters were difficult, finances were difficult - I've just spent this past year being in a bit of a mess, honestly. You know what WASN'T a mess through all of that? My amazing kids. They have been the one constant thing which has saved my sanity these past 12 months. They made me laugh, they wiped my tears away (quite literally), they offered hugs and encouragement and JOY. Ridiculous moments of sheer, unbridled joy at a time when I needed it so very, very much. <br />
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I had a really fabulous Mother's Day with the kids and David about 10 days ago. At the end of the day, I turned to David and I said, "You know what? We might not be perfect parents. I'm sure we stuff things up. But you know, on the whole, I think we're doing a damn fine job of raising them. We really are."<br />
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In true David fashion, he smiled, looked as though he was going to cry, gave me an enormous hug and said, "Yup. We sure are."<br />
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You know what? It's funny just how wrong we are about that.<br />
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The three of you are doing a damn fine job of raising US. <br />
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<br />emzeegee & the hungry threehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05157103839748631293noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26221967.post-28287359482500578462013-04-09T21:48:00.002+10:002013-04-09T21:48:20.154+10:00For The Powers of Good Not EvilMy whole life I've been told I have a big mouth. Big girl, big voice, big opinions, big mouth. I can assure you that nobody who ever told me that was giving me a compliment. I've blogged about how having a big mouth gets me in trouble more often that not, that I lack a filter, and that there are even times when I wish I talked less and listened more.<br />
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It's fair to say that I'm not terribly proud of having said big mouth -again, mostly because those who have pointed it out to me have done so in a less than positive way. I don't think it's one of those traits we think are positive. I mean you never hear someone say, "She has beautiful skin, is gentle and kind, unfailingly polite, has mesmerising eyes and ....the biggest mouth you ever heard." I've got a close friend who feels the need to tell me (every time I see her) that I share too much on facebook, that I "put it all out there," far too often and that I'm an "over communicator." Which of course I find funny because I do my best in that forum to keep my opinions to myself, to not share much about what I'm doing, and to just be a little less of a big mouth than I am in real life. Either it's not working, OR she's just someone who herself is uncomfortable as a communicator and hence she finds my level of chatter a little confronting. (In the name of research, I checked with some others. Apparently it's her, not me. Not that it matters.)<br />
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Over the last several months I finally realised the positive side to being a big mouth. It makes you approachable, it makes you authentic, it makes you the person people go to when they need someone to hold their hand, look into their eyes, and tell it like it is. I've been amazed at the calls and texts I've gotten from friends and some just acquaintances asking to make use of my big mouth skills. People asking if I can make the time to talk to them about business, about my experiences with IVF, about how to find jobs in the hospitality industry, about losing a parent, about changing careers, and so on. All things which I have lived through and have experience in, but more importantly all things I've been vocal about. Things which I may not have flaunted (especially the IVF bit) but certainly things which I've been open and honest about from the get-go. Things I have never been afraid to talk about. Things which lots of people go through every single day, but also things which make people feel alone, and scared, and hopeless, and...curious. When they go through their mental catalogue of people they know who have been through those things, they remember me. Why? Because I'm a loud mouth. And being a loud mouth is less about what you say and more about being memorable. It's just my good fortune that people remember this about me when they need a friend. I'm pretty sure the shy and retiring among us (while lovely people) are probably not getting these phone calls. <br />
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So maybe I am an over-communicating big mouth, and maybe I really should learn to talk less and listen more, and maybe not everyone wants to hear my opinion on things ... but if all of those negative things about me translate into one big positive of helping people, I'm all for it.<br />
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Truth be told, I'm actually honoured and almost a little embarrassed that these wonderful people want MY time. There is nothing special about me other than the fact that I'm willing to open my mouth and say what I'm thinking, or share what I'm living. On second thought, maybe it's my <i>willingness </i>which is the special bit. <br />
emzeegee & the hungry threehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05157103839748631293noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26221967.post-62140942926925830052013-03-13T21:27:00.001+11:002013-03-13T21:27:07.796+11:00You're Not CrazyThe only sentence any new mother wants to hear is, "You're not crazy."<br />
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It's the sentence she wants to hear when she tells a friend she isn't coping very well.<br />
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The sentence she wants to hear when she takes her kid to the doctor.<br />
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The sentence she wants to hear when she tells her Mom that her baby isn't sleeping and is unsettled all the time.<br />
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The sentence she wants to hear ANY time she doubts her ability to handle this whole parenthood thing.<br />
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It's not that we spend all our time thinking we're crazy. It's that - for as many billions of mothers came before us and billions of mothers who will follow us - we all want validation that <u>we are doing okay</u>.<br />
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Being a mother is a lonely business - everyone around you seems to be coping just fine, the women in those ads all look so remarkably well put together, your in-laws are expecting a clean house AND a warm meal for their son every night, you think strangers are judging you when your baby cries in aisle five, and the women in your mother's group all seem to have remembered to wear matching outfits not only for themselves but for their children as well.<br />
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Being a parent of multiples - you can just amp that loneliness up a notch (or three). Suddenly you have no mother's group because your nurse never assigned you one - she decided it would all be too hard for you to get there. Strangers not only judge you, but they want a piece of you and think it's okay to ask highly personal, somewhat offensive questions all the time - or worse still, that it's okay to touch or pick up your babies without asking. People assume you need lots of help (which you might, or you might not) and so either they show up in droves or they stay away because it's all too much for them to confront. Women in playgrounds ignore you because of how inadequate you make them feel - you made it to the park with two or three kids while they barely managed one.. Everyone labels you "the twin Mum" or "the triplet Mum" and suddenly you cease to be anything but that person everyone is in awe of...and not always in a nice way.<br />
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Luckily enough for me, early on I found out about my local multiple birth association. They had a library full of books. A newsletter with "been there, done that" articles and classified ads which meant I could outfit a triplet nursery for less than the GNP of a small country. Outings for kids of all ages. Speakers I could listen to. Recipes which can feed a crowd. Online forums. Names of local doctors, dentists, and professionals who had experience with multiples. My local MBA had just about everything a mother of multiples could want but the ONE thing they had which was invaluable to me was this: they had OTHER multiple birth parents. <br />
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You have no idea just how life saving and faith affirming it is to hear someone say, "You're not crazy," when you've been up all night rocking one child while the other one screams and a third one sleeps through it, oblivious to the chaos. No idea how good it feels to have someone say, "You're not crazy," when you think going back to full time work would somehow seem easier than raising these kids. No idea how good it feels to have someone say, "You're not crazy," when you complain that the last time you saw your husband was...oh..wait. When did I see him last? I'm not sure. Possibly he was the guy carrying in the 100-count box of diapers, but I can't really be sure because I'm JUST. SO. TIRED.<br />
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From the time I saw those three flickering lights on the ultrasound to the time my kids were becoming independent enough that it made me cry (what do you mean, "I do it myself Mummy!!"...?) my local multiple birth association was the single best resource I had when it came to raising those kids. It's true what they say, that it takes a village to raise a child. In my case, it took a village where the children outnumber the mothers on a two-to-one ratio (at the very least.)<br />
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Happy Multiple Birth Awareness Week - and no, I'm not crazy for being very, very, very glad I had my kids all at once instead of one at a time.<br />
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<br />emzeegee & the hungry threehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05157103839748631293noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26221967.post-9872130439903442672013-02-17T21:46:00.000+11:002013-02-17T21:46:00.218+11:00Maybe Crazy but not LonelyA little while ago I decided I needed to "see someone" about the fact that I've had an emotional few months (where emotional = falling to bits). My GP had a few recommendations which didn't suit me, so I turned to my facebook buddies to ask if anyone could recommend anyone.<br />
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I was left mouth agape at the outpouring of love and referrals...which can only mean one thing. I'm not the only crazy one around here. Maybe we can get a group discount? emzeegee & the hungry threehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05157103839748631293noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26221967.post-13008835690090969782013-02-16T21:44:00.002+11:002013-02-16T21:44:55.538+11:00Just Suck It UpOne of the questions I get most often about the kids is, "Do they get along?" I'm pretty sure it's one of those unique triplet questions - because I can't remember anyone ever asking my Mom is my siblings and I got along. The answer I usually give is, "Depends which moment of the day it is," because like most siblings, my kids adore one another and drive one another crazy, often in equal measure but with changing tides.<br />
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Side story -when I was pregnant, my Mom and I went to an outdoor market. The grumpy looking bookseller noticed I was pregnant and asked me how far along I was. My Mom interrupted my answer to say, "She's having triplets!" to which the grumpy bookseller replied, "Well, that's unlucky." Knowing there had to be a back story, I asked the grumpy bookseller what about having multiples would be considered unlucky. "I'm a twin and I can't stand my sister. We barely speak to one another, I pretty much hate her."<br />
<br />
Yeah. Way to make me feel really good. Thanks for that, grumpy bookseller. The point she was making is that just because they have shared nearly every moment of their lives - this does not mean they will necessarily like each other. Hell, I know parents who love -but don't like- their own kids. I know siblings who also love -but don't like - one another. I also know plenty of people who are entirely indifferent to their relatives. Being born to the same family doesn't immediately mean you'll all get along. Most of the time, it doesn't bother me too much that the kids might fight or pick on one another or frankly be downright mean to each other. They're siblings, shit happens. Every once in a while, their picking at one another will get under my skin - and that happened just a couple of nights ago. We'd sent them upstairs to get ready for bed, and while I'm sure there was a bit of that going on, there was also rather a lot of "leave me alone!" and "give it back!" and "get off my bed!" and so on.<br />
<br />
So I did what any self respecting mother would do, and I yelled at DH to go upstairs and sort it out. I was very, very busy on facebook and did not have the patience to play referee. Of course, I then did what any self respecting wife would do, and I got up off the couch (insert dramatic sigh) and went to sort it out better than he would.<br />
<br />
I bounded (yeah, like a freakin' gazelle) up the stairs and used my "your ass is in trouble" voice to gather the trio together. I then proceeded to lecture them, peppered with a few curse words (I know, I know...I'm working on it...) about how they needed to practice kindness (oh the irony!)and eventually this is how low I stooped:<br />
<br />
"Listen you three. I know you don't always like being triplets. I know you didn't ask for it to be that way. I know you spend a heck of a lot of time together, and I know you occassionally irritate the shit out of one another. I even know that sometimes you wish you were an only child. Here's a newsflash for you - I can't do A DAMN THING about it. You're stuck. So either learn to live with one another, or learn to suck it up."<br />
<br />
Okay, maybe it wasn't the most elegant telling off, but it sure as hell worked. Been nothing but wine and roses around here between them ever since. I expect that to last....oh, about another ten minutes. Or until someone touches someone, some takes something which is not theirs, sits on someone else's bed....<br />
<br />emzeegee & the hungry threehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05157103839748631293noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26221967.post-25207164022887411662013-01-29T21:03:00.000+11:002013-01-29T21:03:00.106+11:00GeoNerds On The LooseSome years ago I learned about geocaching - which is basically a nerdy "sport" which means,"finding stuff via GPS," and I thought it would make a great family activity. At the time I did a bit of research into it and what was involved, but the website itself was so confusing that I dismissed the idea as too nerdy for us (which, given our nerd factor is pretty high, is saying something.) Some new friends recently came into our lives, and mentioned in passing that they are into geocaching...and so, the emzee family got sucked right into that world along with them.<br />
<br />
Yes, geocaching. *sigh* It all seemed like so much fun! And healthy! And something smart people would do! Like a real life treasure hunt! Yippee! Let's all run into the woods with GPS in hand!<br />
<br />
Beware of Muggles! (Yep. Non-cachers who are around the places where you are looking are referred to as Muggles. It's just that cool of a sport. Sorry, "sport.")<br />
<br />
We've now done it 3-4 times and the good news is, it actually can be a lot of fun. It certainly meets my aims of having some family time spent together outdoors, giving us something all ages can have an interest in, and helping us discover bits of Melbourne we've never seen before. From an exercise point of view it's also good as it gets all of us moving around and being active rather than being weekend couch sloths (although we still manage a bit of that...come on now, people. I'm fabulous but not entirely virtuous.) <br />
<br />
Of course there is one small part of our new found nerd activity which I can't stand. You see, in all my enthusiam for a new activity which combined fun, fitness and nerdiness...I'd forgotten just how competetive and goal-oriented I am. This of course means that if we go looking for a cache and can't find it...well, I'm none too impressed. In fact it irritates the HELL out of me if we can't find what we're looking for, and especially if the logs say someone has found it the day before, or if several previous logs say it's an, "easy find." Sure, yeah, easy for YOU, you clever geo-nerd shmucks.<br />
<br />
Even more irritating about not finding something is the parental need to be all up-beat and pretend like I don't care that we haven't found it and that it's about winning. What utter bullshit that is. It's TOTALLY about the finding of stuff, for cripes' sake it's not called "geolooking!" I find myself saying all the cliches of, "It's all about getting there, not about the reward," and "We can come back and give it another go another time," and, "Let's just keeping looking a little longer, maybe we missed it," and "Come on, kiddos,this is meant to be FUN!" You get the idea. I hate the idea of finishing an afternoon of searching having not found something (oh, the crushing disappointment!) and so I have been known to gee everyone up into finding "just one more before it gets dark," in the vain hope that the next one will practically have a sign on it which says, "I'M RIGHT HERE!!!"<br />
<br />
Geocaching. It's meant to be a fun, family, nerdy, recreational activity - not a competetive, irritating, testing my parenting skills sort of thing. Shit. I think I missed the memo on that one. <br />
<br />
<br />emzeegee & the hungry threehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05157103839748631293noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26221967.post-17361257256409209282013-01-28T20:58:00.000+11:002013-01-28T20:58:00.771+11:00Kindness or ComplacencyThe last 9 months or so have been pretty crappy for me. Various dramas with family, health, business and life have conspired to give me some very challenging months. Throughout all of it, I've managed to maintain my weight by maintaining my fitness -which means I've been eating pretty terribly, but exercising plenty - so the end result is that I've maintained the status quo on the scales. While I'm none too proud of the almost daily Slurpee-and-meat-pie habit, I am immensely proud that I've kept things in balance enough that I'm not sitting here all these months later crying into my giant jar of Nutella.<br />
<br />
The last few weeks, I've not been exercising as much as I'd like to be - still gym going as usual but not getting in any of my usual additional activities. I haven't beat myself up about it too much because frankly, I'm not in such a happy place and on some mornings, I've just needed the sleep more than I needed the 30 minutes of cardio. On quite a few occassions I've made the choice to just be kind to myself and have that lie in. In part it's because it has been such a rough few months, and in part because I am by far harsher on myself than anyone else is and (along with my word of the year) I'm working on celebrating my wins rather than berating myself for my losses. I've chosen kindness, and I'd venture to say that I'm at least a little bit better off for it.<br />
<br />
Here's the question though - at what point (if any) does being kind to oneself actually morph into letting oneself become complacent? Suppose I let myself have that lie in a couple of times a week. I'm tired, I'm stressed, life is hard, I deserve it, yadda yadda. But then - that's a couple of times a week when I'm not getting any exercise and I'm not doing myself any favours on the health front. Instead of being kind to myself, I'm letting that kindness be an excuse for not getting enough exercise. Or not eating better (I'm so stressed, I will totally feel better if I eat that chocolate...). You get the idea. You can use "being kind to yourself" as a justification for almost any behaviour, can't you? Buying a new pair of shoes more often than you can afford, drinking a few extra bottles, delaying the "boring but important" paperwork on your desk. Whatever. It's just so easy to say, "I deserve this," isn't it?<br />
<br />
Hmmm. I'm pretty certain I've not reached that stage (and that I'm thinking about it implies I probably never will...) but it's an interesting idea. Modern life being what it is, we're often told we should pamper ourselves, not work so hard, let the house be messy, whatever... but I'm not entirely convinced that we are not in fact, on some level anyway, killing ourselves with all that kindness. <br />
<br />
<br />emzeegee & the hungry threehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05157103839748631293noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26221967.post-57280551117236456982013-01-27T20:45:00.002+11:002013-01-27T20:45:41.275+11:00The Story Of Beautiful Tropical HelluatuI was going to write a really long whingy post about our experiences on our recent vacation, but I decided that there was no point in dredging it all up again. Besides, I had a mighty good time doing that on Trip Advisor, so at the very least I got it all out of my system. Plus, DH and I are immensely loved and blessed to have even been able to go on that vacation in the first place, and I am nothing if not grateful for the experience. First, because it meant that DH and I did in fact get the opportunity to do nothing for several days - which as you will recall was the whole point of the exercise. We really did spend days and days doing very little. The suitcase we packed with just our books and reading materials was something like 8 kilos in weight and we managed to get through all of it with no trouble (I finished 3 novels in a single day.) The second reason I'm grateful is because it's given me some wonderful stories to share with friends, a trip I'm not likely to forget anytime soon, and yet another experience which I can look back on and laugh about. Life is about experiences - both good and bad - and this trip was absolutely an experience. It wasn't all bad, it really wasn't...and I've come away with two vital life lessons. One, never travel without anti-bacterial wipes. Two, just because you have run away from home, it does not mean that where you go it will be all rainbows and running water.<br />
<br />
Above all, I love that my life is one colourful, entertaining story. Okay, yeah, so the pontoon sank, DH got sick, the taps fell off the sinks, the humidity was horrid, and the food was pretty average...but imagine what a boring blog entry it might have been if it was in fact all rainbows and running water?! <br />
<br />
I might have to run away from home more often just because it makes for a good story.<br />
<br />
<br />emzeegee & the hungry threehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05157103839748631293noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26221967.post-77334815164120671032013-01-13T14:16:00.002+11:002013-01-13T14:16:53.367+11:00HomeI love to travel.<br />
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I love everything about it. Getting new clothes, buying lollies at the last minute, picking up $35 worth of trashy magazines at the airport, not sleeping well the night before, filling in the little green departure cards (why are they always green?)...I just love everything about travel. Even airplane food with it's cute compartments and itty bitty sachets of salt.<br />
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What I love most about travel - is coming home to my own bed and especially my own shower.<br />
<br />
Never was this more true than after a week of being stuck on a tropical island which has no running water for 3 days.<br />
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Oh, yes. There is a reason why I now lovingly refer to it as "our week in Helluatu."<br />
<br />
Not the vacation I dreamed about...but definitely the vacation worth blogging about.<br />
<br />
More soon.emzeegee & the hungry threehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05157103839748631293noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26221967.post-82583450758141516552012-12-14T21:34:00.000+11:002012-12-14T21:34:09.662+11:00Some People Are Just JerksMy company recently hosted a cake decorator from another country. I invited him to come and teach some courses for us and this involved an enormous amount of logistical planning, effort and money over about 18 months. It's a very, very, vvveeerrryyyy long story but suffice it to say that he managed to take those 18 months worth of work, effort, love and good will and destroy it in about 20 minutes of verbally abusing me. In the aftermath of his destructive, unprofessional and entirely uncalled for 20 minutes, I found myself talking to DH and on the phone and asking him, "What on earth did I do to deserve this?" The answer: "Not a damn thing. Some people are just jerks." (I suspect his answer was based on more than the 20 minutes. It had been a very long three weeks...)<br />
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From my point of view, I'd done everything I could to make his experience here - with me, with my business, within the city - as good as it could possibly be. No matter how many times I went over it in my head, I could not work out what I could have done which might have made his trip here any better for him. In fact, he and his wife told me repeatedly what an amazing job I did, how they were amazed at my organisation of it all, and how if he decided to teach again the only country he would consider coming back to is Australia...and yet a mere few days later, I'm listening to this man tell me I'm selfish, judgemental, made him feel bad for two days, care only about myself and my feelings... and don't give a shit about anyone else. Funny, that. Because there I was thinking all I gave a shit about for the past three weeks was him and his wife.<br />
<br />
Makes you shake your head, doesn't it?<br />
<br />
So here's the backstory. I invited them to a BBQ at my home. First, to spend some non-work time with them, and also to give them the chance to say goodbye to me, my family, and my employees. Because of a number of different things (including them telling me it was 'not BBQ weather'), I asked if we could change the event to the following evening, and they flat out refused. Why? Because he and his wife wanted 'couple time.' Never mind that they were leaving here and heading off on a 3 day 'couple time' vacation, or that I was just asking for a few hours of their time (when I hadn't asked for any until then), or that they wanted the chance to say goodbye to everyone as well, or that (according to them) this was a work trip and they had had no time alone (really? I counted 10 working days out of 21 spent here in Melbourne.) For whatever reason, the decision had been made and they would not attend the event - an event held especially for them. Okay. I don't understand it, but *shrug*, their loss. There were 15 of us keen to have dinner, and 2 of them - so we decided just to have the BBQ anyway. They then spent the better part a good day texting and emailing me and asking me if I was angry with them.<br />
<br />
<br />
Oh, dear reader, I'm guessing you know the answer to this, don't you? You who may not even know me in real life know that I generally can't be bothered with an emotion as pointless as anger, and that if someone needs to ask a question like that in the first place...well, chances are they already know me well enough to work out the answer anyway.<br />
<br />
Here's a cheat sheet to help just in case:<br />
<br />
Your first clue - that someone needed to repeatedly ASK me if I'm angry means they already know the answer, doesn't it? Keep asking and eventually you're going to hear a truth which you'd rather not hear. Second clue - I actually finally broke down and admitted that yes, I was disappointed that they didn't show up to dinner but that by then I was well past caring about it. Their response was to blame me for cancelling the event. Third clue - I've worked my ass off for them, I PAID for them to be here, and my biggest crime was asking them to move dinner to another night. Fourth clue - they felt bad about not coming. I didn't magically put that emotion onto them. They felt bad because they TOTALLY KNEW they did the wrong thing and that they should have come to the BBQ.<br />
<br />
So - my changing the night of dinner was the reason for the rant in the car. 18 MONTHS of hard work and he made it all disappear in 20 minutes. Sure, intellectually I know I did not deserve the verbal abuse. I even know that the rant was because, in his heart of hearts, he knew he should have been at that dinner. My admitting I was disappointed in their lack of attendance probably only added fuel to the fire. <br />
<br />
What I can't fathom is how this man thought his actions were justifiable - that he thinks it's okay in a professional relationship to spout abuse like that is just totally beyond me. Needless to say, it's taken me several days to exhale from all of this. It's really, really unpleasant to have a grown man shouting at you. A little scary, too - considering I was in peak hour traffic on the freeway and all I could think about was finding a place to pull over and kick his ass to the curb. (I didn't do it in the end. *I* was going to walk away with my integrity intact even if it meant I had a heart attack in the damn car.)<br />
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So where does this leave me now? You remember I said that I lived through this experience and learned a heap of lessons? Without doubt, the single best lesson this thin-skinned, emotional woman learned is this: some people are just jerks. <br />
emzeegee & the hungry threehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05157103839748631293noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26221967.post-25789815434582612072012-11-27T21:31:00.000+11:002012-11-27T21:31:00.547+11:00Wordy Time Of YearTwo years ago I stumbled across the concept of picking a <a href="http://emzeegee.blogspot.com/2010/12/word-of-year.html">Word of The Year</a> - the word which would serve as your internal reminder of what you were working towards, the word which could serve as inspiration if you ever found yourself in need of some. I suppose the word of the year could also act as a bit of a mantra. Two years ago I picked the word "progress," and in that year I made enormous leaps both professionally and personally. ENORMOUS. I would actually say that the year of the word of progress was a seminal year for me - it was the year everything changed and I started to look at the world through entirely different eyes.<br />
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Last year, I really <a href="http://emzeegee.blogspot.com.au/2011/11/its-that-time-of-year.html">struggled to find a word</a> that 'spoke' to me. I never did settle on one properly - 'progress' still really loomed large on my landscape - and so I ended up not choosing a word of the year at all (or at least not for any lasting amount of time). There is NO way I'd blame the very stressful year I've had based on my lack of a word (I'm a wee bit more spiritual these days, but come on now. I'm still firmly in Camp Sane). Still, I found myself missing having a word, and I actually thought about it quite a few times but could never bring myself to commit to anything for very long.<br />
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Given that I've been bereft because of my lack of a word, I've already started to consider what my 2013 word might be. I'm leaning towards 'reflection.' Because I am SO thin skinned, and emotional, and move at warp speed - I rarely (if ever) stop and think about what I've achieved. I rarely stop and think about just how damn good I have it (although I am grateful for it, I don't think I'm going at mindful appreciation). I think using the word reflection also implies a certain slowing down - in order to reflect, you must STOP and engage in thought which is not chaotic.<br />
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Having made such enormous progress, it's high time I reflected on it - "it" being how much I have, how far I've come, thinking about what I'd like to achieve, and focussing on all the awesome things rather than the one or two crappy things. I think too that starting my year by staring out into the ocean is a damn fine way to be reflective, don't you?<br />
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Here's your opportunity to join me in reflection. Did you have a word last year? Did it act as your guide, or did you forget it minutes after reading my blog telling you to find one? If you want one this year, what's your word going to be?emzeegee & the hungry threehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05157103839748631293noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26221967.post-37851742960662396322012-11-26T21:30:00.003+11:002012-11-26T21:30:58.631+11:00Holiday PlanningIn the new year, all the planets in my life are going to align. Each of the kids is headed off on a different adventure, the business is going to be officially closed for holidays, and DH is able to take a few days off. With all those things lined up, I decided that DH and I needed to take off on a holiday. Of course, we're skint - and with our kids scattered all over the country I was a little worried about taking off to lands far and wide. However, the opportunity to get some quiet time and NOT have to worry about ANY of my five babies (3 kids, 1 dog, 1 business) was too good an opportunity to pass up. DH and I started to research our holiday options. I wouldn't say I'm picky, bbbbuuuutttt......<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>There had to be a hammock involved</li>
<li>All meals had to be cooked AND cleaned up by someone else</li>
<li>There had to be sunshine</li>
<li>No humidity to speak of</li>
<li>No TV, radio, internet or smart phones</li>
<li>It couldn't cost the earth (not even a very small continent) </li>
<li>Wherever possible, I'd prefer it if other humans (other than DH) were not within eyesight on a daily basis</li>
<li>There needed to be a warm body of water, either pool or ocean but the key word here is warm</li>
<li>It had to have as few or as many activities as I like, with no obligation to ever get up from the hammock if I didn't want to </li>
<li>Not so far that it took an entire day to get there</li>
</ul>
<br />
My first choice was the Cook Islands, but it failed the last one on that list with a 14 hour travel time. Second choice was Lord Howe Island, but that had limitations on the days/times you could get there and the accommodation did not scream 'relaxing holiday.' All the usual cheap Aussie holiday locations (Bali, Fiji, etc...) were going to be humid at that time of year. With the end of the year getting closer and closer, and the options getting narrower and narrower, we were getting dangerously close to a staycation, which would definitely not have hit any of the above points other than perhaps the one about the other humans.<br />
<br />
Several nights ago, I was half asleep with DH next to me tappity-tap-tapping on his laptop. "Hey, emzee? You awake?" "Um, kinda..." "Okay, just stay awake long enough to listen to this, okay?"<br />
<br />
This is what I heard:<br />
"mumble mumble mumble hammock mumble mumble no tv mumble mumble average water temp is 28 degrees mumble mumble secluded mumble mumble breakfast included mumble mumble hideaway island mumble mumble." Wherever this place was, it sure sounded good...but I heard enough to think he must be talking about a place which didn't actually exist, so I asked the deal breaker question. "Exactly how far away is this shangri-la?"<br />
<br />
"Put it this way. Leave the airport at 7am, be sitting with a drink in hand staring out at the ocean by 2:30 that afternoon."<br />
<br />
I suddenly found myself very much awake.<br />
<br />
"Book it, babe. BOOK IT."<br />
<br />
So that's how, in a mere 5 weeks, DH and I are going to find ourselves on an grown up holiday, doing a whole lot of not much, hanging in the hammock (yep, even that), revelling in the blissful silence of no electronic devices and as few humans around as possible. DH and I haven't been on a holiday of longer than a weekend in...15 years. In all those years, we managed a few weekends away together but that's pretty much it.<br />
<br />
The irony of all this? I'm so overwhelmed by the possibility of sheer, uninterrupted quiet and indulgent luxury that every time I stop to think about it for even a minute, I start to cry.<br />
<br />
Hmmm.<br />
<br />
Stressed much?<br />
<br />
Now here's hoping I can learn to quieten my internal chaos long enough to actually milk every moment of that quiet for what it's worth.<br />
<br />emzeegee & the hungry threehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05157103839748631293noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26221967.post-17689478443420862552012-11-22T21:43:00.000+11:002012-11-22T21:43:00.482+11:00ThanksgivingOne of the MOST vital exercises I did under the guidance of Guru Guy was working out why I'm in business in the first place. It sounds so simple, doesn't it? What a basic question. Why on earth am I in business in the first place? I'll tell you what I told him when he asked: the business began in a somewhat organic way (as I think most businesses do). Some friends got together and bought me an "Buttercream Level One" class after I'd been messing about with cake decorating as a hobby (my first official cake was when I was 16 years old.) I was reminded of how much I enjoyed it and so I just started messing about with cake a little more seriously- and eventually word got around, and people I didn't know started to ask for my cakes. Some el cheapo business cards from Vista Print later and suddenly I found myself in business.<br />
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As time went on, and I made bigger business decisions, things just started to kind of...happen. So my second lot of business cards were a little nicer, I started to look around for a commercial kitchen, I began to buy more cake tools, and things just grew organically from there. I never stopped for a second to consider why I was doing any of it, I just did it. Natural progression and a complete belief in myself (even if I didn't know it at the time) just kept propelling me forward. It was only when Guru Guy asked the question that it occurred to me to even think about it in the first place.<br />
<br />
Working out the answer was a bit of a process, but the end result was pretty simple - I am in the business of cake for reasons which have nothing to do with cake at all. I'm in the business of happiness - my own happiness and the happiness of my clients, and the two are of course intermingled. By making my <i>clients</i> happy, *I* am therefore happy and fulfilled - and the business earning money makes <i>me</i> happy because it means I can provide for my family, and use that money to give what I can to the people I love to make <i>them</i> happy (eg SSOTH fees!). I'm actually simplifying it here quite a bit but you get the gist of it - as much as I love the actual art and science of cake decorating, ultimately it's not about the actual cake at all.<br />
<br />
Because I know it's not just about the cake - and I am not quiet about that fact - over the past couple of years I've had other business owners (cake or not) ask me for advice about their own ventures. A few have asked for a formal mentoring relationship, some have asked a question or two and that was it, a few come in and out of my life as needed. Whatever the circumstance, I'm generally pretty happy to share my knowledge and experience, with the proviso that I don't know it all and that different people have different takes on things.<br />
<br />
Why do I share my advice? Because my business and my life is not about cake, and if I'm honest, it was probably only really about actual cake in those very early days.<br />
<br />
A few nights ago I was mighty upset about that client who emailed me a nasty-gram (read back two blogs to read about that situation). I spent a good part of the next day being quite crumpled about it all, mostly because it's so hard to keep the motivation for working so hard when you get knocked down. I was still carrying around some of that annoyance when I got an email on facebook from another business owner, asking my opinion about a business situation. I replied the only way I know how - with frank honesty and with a decidedly emzee spin on things (I pulled no punches!).<br />
<br />
This is the reply I got from her (a few bits edited out for blog purposes):<br />
<br />
emzeegee,<br /> THANK YOU so much for your honest and prompt response. I just wanted
to say that you have been a huge inspiration to me in my career. The
very obvious love of the job, care and tremendous effort put into all
your cakes is so easily seen. I followed you as you moved your business
from your home to it's current location with great interest as I am a
mother of 2 young children and desperately wanted to take that next step
but thought 'it's just a hobby - no one will be interested in my
cakes'. But seeing what you've achieved and you've obviously found the
balance between your work/home life, I've recently just completed the
fit out of my gorgeous new XYZ business. But I just wanted to thank you
for being such an inspiration to the up and coming cake decorators of
tomorrow.<br /> Kindest regards,<br /> Facebooker Fan xxx<br />
<br />
Clearly, she has a rosy view of my life, based on what she's read/seen - but If I ever needed any more clear cut message that this business - and my life - are NOT AT ALL about cake, this was it. Right there. In black and white.<br />
<br />
And so today, on the eve of American Thankgiving, here is my bit of gratitude and thanks - to Guru Guy for asking the question, and to this business owner for reminding me of the importance of the answer <i>exactly</i> when I needed to hear it.<br />
emzeegee & the hungry threehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05157103839748631293noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26221967.post-43782735481511177532012-11-21T19:17:00.000+11:002012-11-21T19:17:00.306+11:00In Your Own BackyardMy business recently provided a whole lot of beautiful biscuits for the anniversary dinner of our synagogue. In organising these to be made, the marketing person called and asked me if I could email her our logo for use in the event's press. She offered to print it in the booklet, announce it out loud, and basically make a big deal over my company because we provided these treats.<br />
<br />
While I appreciated the offer, I flat out refused to have ANY mention of my company at all - and even went so far as to not label the biscuits themselves as we normally would. I think the marketing lady was a little surprised about this. After all, what company does not want some publicity and attention? <br />
<br />
Here's the thing - the people who attended this event are NOT my target market, and they know me personally. Knowing me personally means they would not hesitate to call me and either ask for a favour or ask for a discount. Why? Because they know me personally, of course. Then if I didn't provide either the favour or the discount, word will get around that I'm less than generous - and while I don't much care what "gets around," I'd rather it was NO word than a bad one.<br />
<br />
Does this mean I don't want to give my friends and acquantainces a discount or do them a favour?<br />
<br />
Nope.<br />
<br />
It just means I'd rather do it on a personal level, not a professional one. The very last thing I need is people calling me and wanting something for nothing simply because they know that I have a life outside the business. Yet again the "don't shit where you sleep" adage suits this situation well. YES, I wanted to support my community, but NO that doesn't mean I needed to crow about it.<br />
<br />
Second reason I didn't want the advertising? I wanted to avoid the Rock Star Effect. I knew if my business name was plastered all over the place, I'd get attention at the event and we all know how far I will go to avoid that sort of stuff.<br />
<br />
Take home lesson here? Not all publicity is good publicity. <br />
emzeegee & the hungry threehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05157103839748631293noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26221967.post-89685495256675327522012-11-20T19:05:00.002+11:002012-11-21T23:12:24.448+11:00Thin Skinned(Ed's note: Yes, I know. I missed two days of blogging, thus rendering me not technically qualified for NaBloPoMo. A bit like when you've snuck a bar of chocolate when you've been on a diet, the important thing is to go back to eating healthily rather than beat yourself up about the Cadbury Fruit & Nut Bar. This is me eating healthily, from a blogging POV.)<br />
<br />
I got a nasty gram from a client today. We made and delivered a dozen gorgeous cupcakes to her daughter on her birthday. The client failed to request any special decorations, so we just made them beautifully birthday-esque and sent them out. I got ripped to shreds in this email, because she didn't complete the order with any special requests and so we didn't put ladybugs on the cupcakes.There were no ladybugs on them because she never asked for them, but this was somehow MY fault. <br />
<br />
Her daughter got a beautiful, heartfelt gift. Sent with love by her Mum, created and delivered with love by us. <br />
<br />
I don't see the problem here, do you?<br />
<br />
The fact is, there is bound to be some sort of back story here. Her ungrateful daughter did not thank her Mum properly. The Mum feels guilty for not doing the order right and is looking for someone to blame. The Mum is just having a bad day. The daughter cried about her cupcakes. Who knows? All I know is, I was the recipient of an email telling me I was unreliable, my service was crap, the cupcakes were a rip off, that she could have used any cupcake company in Melbourne, that she did not have faith we would deliver in the first place, and that she won't use my service again or recommend the business to anyone.<br />
<br />
Oh, how I would love to tell you that knowing her reaction has nothing to do with me means that I shrugged it off.<br />
<br />
(...but how boring this post would be if that was the case!)<br />
<br />
I did shrug it off ... eventually. But not before feeling particularly irritated about it, wondering why this woman felt I needed to be her target and basically being fairly crumpled about it. I suppose I've got a very thin skin - I take these things personally even when I know I shouldn't and even when I know I could not or would not have done things any differently.<br />
<br />
People talk about growing a thicker skin as they meander their way through life's challenges, but I kinda hope I never do. On the one hand, it's really NOT fun letting those sorts of things get to you, but on the other it just means that I love and care enough about these things that it hurts when someone tells me I've disappointed them. <br />
<br />
I think there are worse things than being someone who loves and cares too much, don't you?<br />
<br />
Of course, the real loser in this situation is not me, and not the birthday girl. It's the Mum who cannot see that she did something lovely for someone and that is surely worth celebrating. What a terrible loss of time, energy, and emotion that is. I'm guessing I got over my irritation long before she got over hers.<br />
<br />
Yes, I think I'll keep my thin skin. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />emzeegee & the hungry threehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05157103839748631293noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26221967.post-81164012165507086212012-11-17T20:19:00.001+11:002012-11-17T20:19:10.945+11:00WearySomewhere in my head there is a blog post desperate to be written - but at this point I must tell you I'm exhausted (physically) because I spent my day cutting, baking, decorating and wrapping something like 1340 gingerbread pieces and just finding the arm strength to type this is an effort.<br />
<br />
I couldn't bear to miss a day so this is a bit of a cheater post, in so far as rather than be witty and thought-provoking, I'm just going to tell you all I'm exhausted and then bid you adieu.<br />
<br />
<br />
*yawn*<br />
*fall over in a heap*<br />
<br />
Until tomorrow (when hopefully I can engage my brain a bit!). emzeegee & the hungry threehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05157103839748631293noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26221967.post-63724769046585068252012-11-16T22:24:00.000+11:002012-11-16T22:24:00.686+11:00HalfwayYippee, I made it to the halfway point of NaBloPoMo...and I'm exhausted. Not from the blogging (like every year, I find it much easier to find the time than I thought) but just from all that is happening in my mad, sweet world. Most of it good, some of it challenging - not enough the washing machine lost it's mojo but last night the sewerage pipe decided to clog up leaving us without water or toilets. I've always maintained that my life is one great adventure, it's just that some weeks it's more adventurous than others!<br />
<br />
I chatted to my sister on the phone today and I was telling her about an exciting job opportunity DH has on the horizon. DH has been chasing this opportunity for a long time, and
he's excited about it - emotionally and intellectually it presents a
challenge he would love to take on. Am I worried about it? No. Not
really. Yes, a few things about it make me feel a little apprehensive,
and yes a new change like this is always a little hard to cope with at
first - but in the main I'm thrilled for him. As someone who spends most
of her life taking leaps and worry about the "can I do this?" type of
questions later, it would hardly be fair if I didn't let him take his own
series of leaps. <br />
<br />
Her immediate reaction was not one of celebration, it was one of caution. I can't say I blame her, my DH has had a rather chequered work history since we've been married. I still found myself a little disappointed in her reaction, even though I know it came from a place of love and wanting to protect her little sister from history repeating itself. My disappointment comes not because she is by nature a cautious person, and not because I would have rather she be joyous for us (although of course I would have) - it comes because I found myself wondering if she has actually learned the lessons our Dad's death taught us: that nothing in life is a certainty, that there is no way to predict the future, and that a better trait to cuiltivate than caution is resilience. My immediate, knee-jerk reaction was one of slight irritation - of the, "Why can't she just be happy for me?" sort. <br />
<br />
However.<br />
<br />
Whenever I'm dealing with tough stuff (and tough does not always mean negative) I've got a friend who reminds me to stop my stressing out and instead ask myself, "What's the lesson I'm meant to learn from this?" Sometimes that's the last thing I want to hear (I'd much rather hear, "poor you, now here's some chocolate to make it easier...") but there is no denying that it has completely re-shaped the way I think about so many things in life. So when my sister was less than thrilled about something which I think is a great, exciting (and yes, a little stressful) opportunity...rather than get more irritated at her, I just thought, "What's the lesson I'm meant to learn from this?" The lesson is a pretty simple one - it was a reminder that I'm loved. Her reaction was more about her worry and love for me than it was about anything else. I have no idea if she has learned the same lessons I've learned from our shared experience of loss - but does it really matter? <br />
<br />
Yesterday, when I was staring into a sink filled with grey, disgusting, stuff-floating-in-it water, I wanted to cry. I really did. My life is bursting at the seams at the moment and I don't have time for another domestic drama. Since I'm pretty good at self-talk, I looked into that nasty sink and thought, "so what can possibly be the lesson meant to be learned from this mess?" (admittedly I was not looking for a terribly spiritual answer. It was said with a whole heap of mental sarcasm than anything else.) While I was contemplating the sink situation and the secret lessons held within it's murky depths, DD1 yelled from upstairs, "MUM! There's something wrong with the toilets and I've gotta GO!!!!"<br />
<br />
Lesson to be learned?<br />
<br />
Shit happens.<br />
<br />
And sometimes it happens so much it gets your pipes blocked. <br />
<br />
<br />
emzeegee & the hungry threehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05157103839748631293noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26221967.post-31934758332179124562012-11-15T18:14:00.000+11:002012-11-15T18:14:00.407+11:00The Lies We Tell OurselvesEarlier in Spring I decided that I needed to get out of the rut I'd been in all winter. Thanks to some work and family drama, it was a bit of a long, miserable winter for me and I was feeling decidedly blah. Thanks to my penchant for emotional eating, I'd also put on about 3 kilos - so I was feeling out of sorts and out of shape. Since I know that exercise for me is the equivalent of therapy, I took a friend's advice and signed up with a personal trainer for an eight week stint. I figured her pushing me would not only lead to emotional results but also help me shed those kilos and just give me a good kick start into summer, when I tend to be more active anyway. I was still going to the gym three times a week, and walking with my son twice, but I really felt I needed a bit of a jolt of energy. To say that hiring her was a luxury is an understatement as it took me several weeks to save up the money for her sessions.<br />
<br />
Sadly to say, somewhere around week four it all went a little bit pear shaped. The usual trainer got replaced with someone else, there was no accountability (eg they never tested, weighed, or measured me again), they changed the time of my session (which was determined by my work schedule so not really negotiable) and the new trainer didn't so much push me as she just annoyed the heck out of me. A personal training relationship is an intensely personal one, in so far as you need to both respect them enough to listen to their instructions, and like them enough to want to listen in the first place. I wasn't terribly happy with the whole thing, but having committed the time and money I was loathe to just give up (in hindsight, this was stupid - I totally should have spoken up.)<br />
<br />
Around week six I decided to jump on the scales and see if at least the needle was moving in the right direction. It hadn't. I jokingly commented to the (new and crappy) trainer, "I must have gained and lost the same three kilos every week for the past six weeks!"<br />
<br />
Her reply?<br />
<br />
A look of disdain, bitchy tone of voice, and, "It's amazing the lies we tell ourselves, isn't it?"<br />
<br />
I was left speechless. Literally stood there with my mouth hanging agape. I didn't have a witty reply and so I just turned on my heel and left. I then fumed the entire way home and for most of that day because her comment got under my skin in a big way. Clearly, that I was going to personal training should have been an indication that I was in fact facing up to the truth of my weight gain? That it was her job to help with my weight loss endeavour (and it wasn't working so I commented on it) should have been an indication to her that we needed to step it up a notch. So many things about her remark were hurtful and upsetting.<br />
<br />
I eventually chalked it up to her not knowing me, and not knowing my story and how hard I've worked in the past three years (and continue to work). Often we make judgements when we don't know the back story, and I wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt. That being said, she's there to motivate, and her comment was hardly motivating - so I decided to call her on it. Tell her my story. Explain that in an effort to lose AND KEEP OFF close to 70 kilos, a 3 kilo bounce is almost nothing. Explain that I was feeling physically and emotionally crap, hence why I started this program. Explain that I'd worked hard (literally) to afford this, and it was important to me that each session count.<br />
<br />
You know, basically say - I didn't appreciate your comment, you're a personal trainer, and the key word here is <i>personal</i> so I'm going to tell you this so that you can get better at what you do.<br />
<br />
I walked into my next lesson, and before getting on the treadmill, I said, "Listen, I just wanted to let you know that the comment you made last week was really hurtful. I'm not sure if you thought it would be motivating, but it ended up upsetting me. I'm not sure you know my story, but I've worked really hard to get here and this 8 week venture was meant as a pick-me-up. Comments like that just drag me down."<br />
<br />
She looked at me, bitchy sneer and all, and said, "Oh I KNOW your story, you've lost a heap of weight, supposedly you go to the gym a bit, yeah, I've heard. I still think the lies we tell ourselves are amazing." She then turned and walked away. I didn't have the best workout ever, as I wasted most of my energy on fuming and gnashing my teeth.<br />
<br />
Needless to say I don't think we are going to become besties any time soon, but even so I can't help but agree with her on some level. We DO tell ourselves very convincing lies, about all sorts of things. The sausage roll we had for lunch isn't as bad as the burger and chips we might have had. The exercise I was going to do today (but it was too cold to do it) I'll do tomorrow. The boyfriend who treats you terribly is going to change, he really is. I can eat anything I like as long as I exercise like a crazy lady. If only I could X, then Y will happen. You get the idea. Us humans are mighty talented at feeding ourselves a whole lot of mental rubbish which we then believe - because we know exactly how to frame it in the right words so it's very convincing.<br />
<br />
Even if I agree with her in principle, in this specific case I wasn't lying to myself. I KNOW I need to lose those kilos, I KNOW it's my lack of effort that means they're still hanging around, and I even know what I (really and truly) need to do to get rid of them. However, the lie I'm telling myself is that engaging her services continued to be a good idea several weeks after I knew it wasn't going to work for me.<br />
<br />
The lie she's telling herself is that she's a good personal trainer who motivates her clients with bitchy looks and cutting remarks.<br />
<br />
No prizes for working out which one of us might have an easier time of dealing with the lies we tell ourselves.emzeegee & the hungry threehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05157103839748631293noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26221967.post-89983362059254087722012-11-14T21:27:00.000+11:002012-11-14T21:27:00.458+11:00Love NotesI'm a member of a parenting-of-HOM group on facebook (for the uninitiated, HOM = Higher Order Multiples, a fancy word for multiple births that are triplets, quads or more because clearly that sort of parenting is a higher order of insanity.) It's a fascinating group because it has everyone from all stages of parenting HOM's - the ones who are still pregnant all the way to ones with adult children. Recently one of the mothers (of fairly young triplets) posted a photo of a note she wrote to her husband, captioned, "Can you tell I was pissed off?"<br />
<br />
I won't post it word for word here, but it basically was full of curse words and things like, "just because you work all day does not give you permission to come home and sit on your backside" and "I work all day too you know, they are your children too!" and so on. It was one of the most angry notes I've ever read and clearly she was having a pretty crappy day. Not every day with baby triplets (or baby, singular) is a picnic and she was obviously having one of <i>those </i>days.<br />
<br />
In all the times when I've wanted to throttle DH, I can honestly say I've never wanted to do it in print like that. Yes, of course, there are times when I've torn shreds off of him (verbally) because I too had one of <i>those </i>days, and I was really just taking out my frustration on the nearest target. Even in my angriest moments, I can't imagine putting pen to paper like that - which is surprising given that I'd almost always rather write my thoughts than speak them. I suppose this woman's version of communication was on paper - but I was really struck by that note and how indelible it's mark now is. (I won't even begin to analyse her need to post it on facebook...)<br />
<br />
While I believe that you cannot take back words that have been said, I think words that are on paper are almost worse in a way. Seeing something in black and white like that is somehow more hurtful than words which are said ... I suppose because we all blurt out things we do not mean when we are angry, but taking the time to write them down implies (to me) a certain amount of thought and effort beyond what you might blurt in a moment of weakness.<br />
<br />This is probably a reflection on my communication style in general though - I don't write anything (not a blog post, not an email, not a birthday card, not even a text messsage) without either editing it first, OR going back afterwards and reading it again and then sending a second missive to explain myself better. With blogging I try very hard NOT to edit (because I find I express myself better when I don't force it too hard) but I still consider my words carefully as I write them, and I will re-read my posts many times after I've already hit the publish button. I don't know - there's just something very real about words which are written down. I just think they somehow carry much more weight than spoken words do.<br />
<br />
What do you think? Which is more powerful? The spoken word, or the written word? emzeegee & the hungry threehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05157103839748631293noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26221967.post-81451892055109186772012-11-13T21:25:00.000+11:002012-11-13T21:25:01.409+11:00Yeah, My Kids RockToday I went to SSOTH* to volunteer for a couple of hours in the kitchen part of their kitchen garden program. I have been promising the kids that I would come and help since they started the program *cough* two years ago *cough*. A couple of weeks ago DS came home in a state of hysteria to tell me that they were down to their very last few lessons and that it was now or never. I managed to get myself organised and so far I've been to one lesson for DD2, today was DS's lesson and in two weeks I've got to go again for DD1's class. Remind me again why I put them in separate classes...?<br />
<br />
(Warning: parental brag follows)<br />
<br />
One of the things which struck me about these volunteering experiences is just how my my kids seem to have their act together so much more than other kids do. Both times I volunteered I was really surprised by how much parental guidance these kids needed. They've been working in the kitchen for TWO years now so you would think they would have some idea what they were doing. Yes, my kids have had more exposure to different sorts of food and food preparation than most of their peers - but honestly, some of the blatant clueless-ness shocked me. The first time I was there, I was in charge of 3 kids working on a cauliflower salad. My DD was charged with cutting up the head of cauliflower while two other boys had to make the dressing. I gave them the recipe, read through it with them, and told them to get to it. All the ingredients and tools were lined up, so it was a matter of just measuring it all into the bowl and whisking it up.<br />
<br />
"emzee? It says to measure one tablespoon of olive oil. How do I do that?"<br />
<br />
With the tablespoon measure right there on the table.<br />
<br />
"emzee? Now it says to measure a tablespoon of tahini paste, but the spoon is dirty with the olive oil. What do I do?"<br />
<br />
Either get another one, or wash that one.<br />
<br />
"emzee? It says to measure a tablespoon of sweet chili sauce but the spoon is dirty with the tahini paste. What do I do?"<br />
<br />
Are you getting the picture here? These are educated, capable kids - for whom everything was provided, and yet they still could not work it out.<br />
<br />
Today's lesson wasn't too much better. DS asked me for a demo on how to chop silverbeet, and then went on his merry way. The other kids? Useless. Even after I'd explained and provided a visual. I got the distinct impression they wanted me to just do it for them, even though the kitchen lessons are considered the most fun part of their week and they all seem to love it. At both lessons a vast majority of the kids bolted once the cooking was done, leaving the washing and organising to the parent helpers. That part wasn't so surprising, after all most kids leave messes for adults to clean up...but what was surprising? All the other parents who made a point of coming up to me and saying, "Your kids are SO wonderful, they always help with the cleaning and sorting out, they always ask to do more jobs, they're so keen to help and work in the kitchen often without needing to be asked." I promise it's not a mother-exaggeration to say I heard that no less than a half dozen times, from parents and teachers. I'll admit to feeling my chest puff up with pride just a little bit. <br />
<br />
So here's my question to my fellow parents - what the HECK are you doing with your kids that they are not doing exactly the same thing? If you see my kids behaving in a way you wish your kids did - newsflash - you can actually DO something about that, you really can. I'm not the best parent (hell, it took me two years to find the time to volunteer, didn't it?) My kids are far from perfect. They make messes they expect me to clean up, they ask stupid questions, they are basically just garden variety kids... but make no mistake, they are not at all like their peers. They understand the concept of community - that a kitchen, like a family or a temple or a school - is a community, and it's only by working together that jobs get done. They do their bit to help when they are expected to and even when they're not. In short my kids just seem to have their act together a lot more than their friends seem to. If other parents are noticing it enough to take the time to comment to me, then those other parents need to spend some time instilling those skills and values in their own kids. My kids are not amazing in any respect other than I've taught them to be responsible for themselves and for their community. They've watched as DH and I volunteered for a number of organisations, they've learned that they are a part of our family life as much as anyone else is - in short, we modelled this community spirit for them and so they know no different.<br />
<br />
<br />
Today (after nearly throttling a kid who asked me if he really HAD to wash the lettuce he had just picked out of the garden which came with a half kilo of dirt stuck to it) I found myself wondering why exactly my kids are so great. Is it because they've only ever known how to live - and therefore work - as part of a team? Is it because DH and I are just fabulous parents? Is it because they are more mature than their peers? Is it because we have given them responsibilities since they were very young? Is it just because they are inherently wonderful people?<br />
<br />
Truly, it's probably a bit of all of that. Regardless of the reason, I really did feel a great sense of pride today when I watched my son just get on with what he needed to get done - while the other kids swanned around looking a little clueless. Best of all was the enormous hug he gave me when he saw me waiting in the kitchen AND the enormous hug of thanks I got when he left, neither of which he was embarassed to do in front of all his school mates. <br />
<br />
When I got home today, there was a heart shaped card sitting on the front hall table. It was a card from my son with this quote on it: "I would thank you from the bottom of my heart, but for you my heart has no bottom."<br />
<br />
So it would seem that my kids are "all that" and grateful, too.<br />
<br />
I think DH and I, even with all our imperfections as parents (of which there are many) are doing a pretty good job with these kids - so my pride isn't just for them, it's for us. <br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">*SSOTH = Shmancy School On The Hill, or the private school I send all my hard earned cash to, by choice. Yeah, yeah, I know, I know...</span>emzeegee & the hungry threehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05157103839748631293noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26221967.post-29671889385200762902012-11-12T22:16:00.000+11:002012-11-12T22:16:00.215+11:00Rock Star
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I once read an
interview with the owner of Australia's best known cake shop, in
which the owner said her favourite part of being in the cake world
was the “rockstar moment.” She is someone who does a lot of
society weddings and it's not unusual for her to be an invited guest
at the event where her company's cake is a feature. She attends the
events and gets to revel in the rockstar status of being the one who
made the cake. All night when people comment about the (fabulous of
course) cake, she gets to bask in the glory of being the person
responsible for it. Never mind that she probably didn't have much to
do with the actual creation of it, the fact is she gets to share the
spotlight with it and for her, that's the important bit. The
attention. The short lived fame.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
We were talking about
this at work a while back, and all my lovely employees agreed that
they, too love the rockstar moment of being an invited guest at an
event which features one of their creations Me? I can think of
nothing worse. Not only do I not want to be the rockstar, I don't
want to be at the event at all if I can help it, and if I can't help
it – I want to be the one in the corner who doesn't own up to the
fact that she was involved in the cake. This has nothing at all to
do with confidence or pride in my skill, and everything to do with
the longevity of my rock and roll cake career.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I am not, by nature, an
attention seeker in that way – and while it's true that I am loud,
extroverted, and can talk the paint off the walls – I don't much
enjoy being in the spotlight per se. When it comes to cake, the whole
reason I do it is because I love that it makes people happy and
brings them joy at THEIR event. When you are in a room full of people
and they are fawning over both the cake maker and (not just) the
birthday girl – well, I can't help but be a bit embarrassed by
that. I don't want the rockstar moment at the event, because the
event is not about me. It's the person celebrating who deserves to
have the screaming fans and the undies thrown on stage (which of
course only happens at the best parties.)</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I want my rockstar
moment well after the guests have gone, the balloons have floated
gracefully to the floor, and the wine stains have come out of the
tablecloths. Then, when the client has time to reflect on their
event, I want the phone call or email to tell me that I am, in fact,
a rock star. I want them to tell me they appreciated my effort and
skill, took loads of photos of the creation, and feel that the cake
truly was an important part of the success of their event and that
they got joy out of it.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
If the phone call never
comes, or the email never gets sent – I'm content knowing that I'm
a rock star nonetheless – because I will have given them the best I
could give, which is a little part of my heart and my skill sitting
right there front and centre at their event.</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Rock stars' faces might
sag, their voices might become gravelly, their hair thin, guitars go
out of tune, but the memories you have of their concerts stay with
you for a long time after the event. That's MY kind of rock star
moment.</div>
emzeegee & the hungry threehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05157103839748631293noreply@blogger.com0