When You Know, You Know

Last night I had dinner out with a good friend who is in the beautiful, heady days of a new relationship. She is positively glowing from the inside out, and it's really wonderful to see just how sparkly she is. The way she spoke about her new partner was I'm sure the same way I spoke about to DH when I met him; with an almost incredulous aire that there could be someone who just fits so well. So she said things like..from their first date, it felt like they had been friends forever. Things like..although she has lived alone for a long time now, after having him over only a few times, the place suddenly felt very empty when he wasn't there. Things like...when he's hurting, she feels it, too. She then looked at me and said, "You know, what they say about these things is totally true. When you know, you know."

I could only smile at that one, especially since it's a line I've used many times before and she's always fobbed me off by retorting, "that's something only you 'smug marrieds' say!"

After she said it I started to think about how often in life that statement is true - there are so many things about which we know the answer, it just takes a while for us to acknowledge it. Or for us to come to terms with the fact that the answer is clear, we just might not like the answer! It occurs to me that it can apply to so many areas in our lives but also to those things which are positive and those which are not so positive. You might "know" that a relationship is ending long before it actually does - and that could apply personally as well as professionally. You might "know" that someone you've entrusted to do a job for you isn't doing the best they could or should be, but you'll hang onto them for a while. You might "know" that an opportunity seems to good to be true, but pursue it anyway. You might "know" that the seemingly inconsequential lump on your arm is something more sinister. You might just "know" that while everyone is fawning over the new girl, something you can't quite put your finger on is warning you that she's not quite what she seems. You might "know" that the house you just looked at is exactly the right one to buy.

When you know, you know. Intuition is such a wonderful gift, and yet how often we ignore it! Sometimes we listen to it, only to be influenced by other people - the ones who have enough influence to convince you to ignore that little inner voice. Sometimes we're unduly influenced by the strength of our intution - only to later on show that our intution was in fact dead wrong (rare, but it happens.) For my part, things happen to me all the time that cause me to then think, "You know, I KNEW this would be the outcome. I really shouldn't be surprised."  I suppose it's human nature which makes us carry on a course of action even though the little voice in our head is telling us not to. I'm pretty sure that's what made me pursue the business- I totally ignored the voice in my head telling me I was just a tiny bit insane to be attempting it.

Maybe the key is to work out when the little voice is inuition, and when the little voice is self-doubt - because I imagine there are times when they sound exactly the same, and times when either would send you into a course of action which then later turns out to be a bad idea.

I've clearly got a lot more thinking to do on this topic - but for now let me just say that hearing my friend use that expression strengthened my faith in intuition just that tiny bit...because, when it comes to matters of the heart, I totally believe that when you know, you know.

On Spirituality

I've recently returned from a trip to LA, and while there I took a short jaunt to my Dad's house in Mexico. I call it "my Dad's house" because it really was HIS - although owned by my Mom, too. He just adored that house, and could spend weeks and weeks tinkering with things both inside and out. In as much as it's possible to do so my Dad carried on one hell of a love affair with that house; none of her needs were too small or great, and by the time Thursdays would roll around he would hear her calling to him like the siren's song. Money was no object when it came to her demands, and he'd shower her with all sorts of gifts whether she needed them or not. The gift she gave him in return was singular - peace and quiet. He often said that in Mexico (as a whole) and in that house (in specific) it's the only place he ever felt totally relaxed.

My Dad's life was relatively high-stress - he owned his own business, and worked insane hours. In Mexico there was the opportunity to just let all of that stress go. He loved nothing more than sitting outside on the beach recliner, gazing out to sea - or even just laying in bed, doing the same thing. He called it being "bitten by the Baja bug," in so far as you might get there all wound up, but within an hour you suddenly found your bones had turned to mush and whole days could disappear without you really noticing. He'd also spend HOURS tinkering with things, as beach houses are constantly fighting the war against rust and deterioration thanks to all that (beautiful but destructive) salt air. It was, in short, his haven - and he even named it Casa de Mis Suenos (House of my Dreams).

Usually, I don't like going to his house when I am back in the States. I just find it all too painful and horribly claustrophobic. Every square inch of that house is teeming with memories, and they have a habit of creeping up on you when you least expect it. You might find a half-empty bottle of his cologne in the back of a cupboard, or a piece of paper with his writing on it, or come across an ornament I remember buying with him. There are times in that house where I literally feel like I cannot breathe because he is looking over my shoulder. In short, spending time in that house is like living with a ghost and I find it very hard to be there.While I, too, get taken in by the beauty of the sea and time becomes rather fluid, I also find it terribly unsettling and therefore not at all peaceful to spend time there.

The concept of inner peace, or the broader idea of spirituality, is not one I grew up with AT ALL. The most spiritual we got was the feeling of euphoria when you ripped into a giant block of Toblerone. We were also not a religious family, although we were mired in the culture of our religion. God was just not a topic of conversation. Whether you believed or didn't believe was never an issue because frankly, nobody really gave a shit what your thoughts were. We were just practising the culture of our religion, and going through all the motions, because that's what we did. I can't ever recall having a single conversation - even as an adult- about religion or spirituality or faith or...well, anything one might describe as 'woo woo.' My family experience was that we were all about the importance of the tachlis - or the 'brass tacks' - of life. We had neither interest nor time to discover anything outside of that realm. That being said, I probably still count as the most liberal of my family members in so far as I've always thought that there could be more to life than just, well, life. I just never really bothered to find out much about life beyond the tachlis of it.

It is only in fairly recent time that I've started to educate myself in the more spiritual realms, by dipping my toe in a few different waters like meditation, and learning about the idea of "the Universe" and so on. I suppose the older I've gotten (and the different people I've come across), I've started to wonder more about my own purpose and meaning in life, think about concepts beyond the everyday, and consider that there is a lot more to a person and their experiences than just the tachlis.  In many ways just thinking about things which are 'woo woo' makes me uncomfortable because it forces me to acknowledge that could be other forces at work here. I've got to let go of my belief that I am the ONLY person in control here, and I've got to totally suspend my belief that the only things worth my attention are things which are tangible. I'd say at this point in my life I've not necessarily accepted or taken on board all the things I've either learned or been taught, but I am certainly willing to learn and be taught - and that's saying quite a bit. It is, as the cliche goes,  a voyage of discovery.

So that's how I found myself in Mexico, laying in a beach lounger, staring out at the ocean and thinking to myself, "Dad's energy is just ALL OVER this place, it's like he's practically breathing down my neck," and then thinking to myself, "Dad's ENERGY? Seriously? If he heard me say that he's laugh his ass off and call it "energy, shmenergy bullshit!" and then shake his head at me."

I stared out at the ocean some more. I thought about my Dad some more. I started to feel that crispy-at-the-edges feeling you get when you just know that your European white girl skin is slowly but surely burning. I just kept staring at that ocean, letting my mind wander and my muscles relax in the sunshine...and all of sudden, I got it. I understood. My Dad's version of spirituality was right there, in Mexico - he would just never in a million years call it spirituality, or meditation, or finding God, or having inner peace. He would just call it "getting some peace and quiet," or being "bitten by the Baja bug," or "the only place in the world where I feel relaxed."

So that's how I found myself in Mexico, laying on a beach lounger, staring out at the ocean and thinking to myself something entirely different, which was, "Dad, I get it. I really do. We all find our peace somewhere, and this is where you found yours. In your own way, you were a spiritual person, too, you just called it something different."

Suddenly that house did not seem as claustrophobic anymore. I was right in thinking that my Dad's energy resides there, and that he is looking over my shoulder while I spend time there. I like to think of my Dad's spirit being there because that's the only place his physical body ever felt peace, so it's fitting that his spiritual self found peace there, too. I suppose it's not surprising then that having accepted that, it gives ME peace, too - and that, too, is a gift given to me by a house in Mexico.

GingerBears be Gone

A couple of months ago a new cafe opened up a few doors down from my shop. There are no cafes on this side of the local shopping strip, so all of us were really excited to see something new 'come to town.' Frankly, there is only so much Subway and Indian food one can take, so I think we were all hoping for something really yummy to add to our lunchtime repertoire.

I popped my head into the new cafe a couple of days before they opened, just to be neighbourly, and do some local snooping. The owner was a big, burly guy - who among other things was WAY too overbearing, spoke so loud I felt like asking if he thought I was deaf, and basically was one of those people who I find irritating on sight. No matter, I don't need to marry him, right? He asked if we can produce products for the cafe, and while it's not something we normally do, it's seemed like a good opportunity. He gets great product, we get a way to show the locals what we do, without them needing to buy an entire cake.

On their opening day, I took some themed (themed to the name of the cafe) cupcakes and a variety of cookies over there, as a welcome gesture but also as a way of hopefully convincing them to place a regular order with us.

Ever after, every single time Overbearing Cafe Owner saw me in the area, he'd shout at me. "I'm gonna come in and order, emzee, I really AM!" he would boom at me. "I'm coming in RIGHT NOW to order up big, emzee!" "I'll be 'round any minute now, emzee!" and so on - but of course he never showed. Frankly, it got embarrassing and intensely irritating enough that I'd actually cross the street if I saw him coming and I started to fervently pray that he would not make good on his promise to drop in.

A few weeks back he did in fact come in to the shop to order some gingerbread cookies (in bear shapes, hence the title of the blog.) He was totally unable to tell me how many he wanted, how much he had budgeted for the creation of these, how often he might order, how many the cafe might use in a day or week, what decoration he wanted, if the biscuits he currently offers sell well, or what storage space he had available to keep stock on hand.

I'm not saying I'm an expert at running a cafe - but surely after several months in business, you know if you are selling biscuits in the first place, right? You should know that you're selling on average 10 a day, versus, say 100. Enough to be able to make an estimate as to how many you should order, surely? He literally had NO idea. None. "Um, I don't know, just give me lots." Couldn't even tell me what he wanted to spend on these, "Oh, you know that better than I would, emzee!" He got very tired of my questions (which, hey, I'm thinking are kinda important if you're trying to set up a supply chain, but what do I know about being in a food business? ;) ). He got SO tired in fact that, mid-question, he stood up and shouted, "Look, you know what you're doing here. I've got an appointment for a massage. Just go and fill up the jars. Bye!" and literally ran out my door.

So that's how I found myself wandering down the road to grab empty (dirty!) biscuit jars, so that *I* could work out how many, how often, what size, what decoration was needed. Because, you know, I know all about running this man's cafe.

I ended up making a stack of gingerbreads (enough to fill the jars plus a few for top-ups) and charged an entirely appropriate price considering his total lack of information plus his making me go rescue the damn jars.

I got a phone call from Overbearing (and now Irate) Cafe Owner about ten minutes after we delivered them. "Listen emzee, we have a problem."

Yes. The problem would be that you have NO CLUE how to operate a money making cafe. Or ANY cafe at all really - but carry on. Problem?

"The problem," it seems, is that I charged him too much. Note, I ASKED what he wanted to pay and he left it up to me. We provided him with an ocean load of cookies to sell, and the grand total of his invoice was $100. "Emzee!" yells the soon-to-be-bankrupt cafe owner, "That's a RIDICULOUS amount of money to pay for some biscuits!" and then he shouted at me all the reasons why my prices were insane:

• $100 at $20 an hour means it took me 5 hours to make those biscuits and it most certainly did NOT take me five hours so HOW can I justify that? (the logic on this is so fucked, I won't even begin to explain it.)
• He currently charges $4 for a Texas-sized savoury muffin with cheese and nuts in it, how on earth can he charge $4 for a biscuit as well? (because you're losing money on that muffin, moron. Try learning how to cost out muffins before you worry about my biscuits.)
• He didn't want to pay more than $1 per biscuit, and even that is ridiculous but he thought he would be nice and generous by paying that (and that would be why I asked you what price you could pay...because had you said $1, I'd have laughed in your face.)
• He really wants to support me and help me out by giving me his order and he thought HE was doing ME a favour (remind me again why my well established business needs a moron like you to do it a favour...)
• ...and so on. He carried on for quite a while. I'll spare you. I eventually hung up. 

Word among the local traders is that he never charges the same thing twice, there does not appear to be an actual menu of sorts which they adhere to, he gives stuff away fairly often - because all of those are great ways to run a business, yes? There are quite a few fairly miserable online reviews of this cafe, most of which talk about how overbearing and annoying this man is (I checked. Of course I did.) 

For my part, I'm bloody grateful that I never need to supply this man's business ever again, and grateful that he is so clueless the chances are he will be out of business within a few months.

That being said, I've suddenly reaffirmed my fondness for Subway and Indian take aways (because after all, you can't order lunch from a cafe which does not have an actual menu, can you?)  My reliable sources tell me the gingerbreads sold really well and were well received by the locals.

Final tally in the Gingerbears Fight:

emzee: 1
Overbearing cafe owner: -1 (because he's losing money. To score him at 0 would imply he's breaking even.)

YOLO

I recently spent some time with the only kids who compete with my own for title of, "Kids I Tolerate Best," - namely my sister's three. The two older ones are fabulously well-adjusted teenagers and they are very good at educating me in the ways of the teenage world. It's because of them that I have an entirely crap-tastic hold of the English language but can now ROFLMAO with the best of them. This recent visit, my nephew taught me a new acronym - YOLO. It stands for "You Only Live Once," and apparently it's origins lie in some sort of rap song. So you can smoke them bongs, screw them bitches, ride in your low rider, and get all up in some ho's face and none of it will matter because, you know, YOLO.

I'm sure you all have figured out just how much this expression is RIGHT up my alley. Word on the teenage street is that this expression has now made it into daily (okay, facebook) usage but it's often used to explain away doing totally stupid things. Like... "I just failed my fourth math test, but YOLO." "I'm thirteen and pregnant with the child of my married history teacher, but hey, YOLO!"

Ever since I've learned this expression, the number of times I've either thought (or said out loud), "YOLO!" is ..well, probably too many for a self-respecting adult such as myself. The beauty of this expression is of course that it instantly makes any problem in the world seem very, very small and turns even the worst situation into something worth celebrating.

Untrue but funny as hell examples of how this works:

We can't pay the mortgage this month, but the bank will totally understand, because YOLO!
The children have run off to join the circus (eg the Church of Scientology). Good on them. YOLO!
Husband's penis has grown 6 inches and is now answering back when I talk to it, that's so awesome, YOLO!

You get the idea.

YOLO is the noughties version of "What- EVAH" but it's way, way WAY more fun to use. Try it.

1) Complain about something. Anything at all.
2) Either yell YOLO out loud or in your head. I'm not sure why it requires yelling but it does. Either use the expression with enthusiasm or don't bother.
3) Enjoy the instant happiness.

Bonus points to ANYONE brave enough to post a sentence (real or fake) which is somehow improved simply by adding a good ol' YOLO to the end of it.

A Wiggle and A Giggle

A couple of weeks ago I was feeling really, really miserable - it was yet another freezing Melbourne day where I felt I'd never get that ice water feeling out of my bones, I had a horrendous back ache, and things at work were conspiring to irritate the shit out of me. I can't say for sure, but chances are that the kids were being irritating and for good measure DH was, too. (It's possible they were angels the whole lot of them, but I'm trying to set a scene here, okay?)

Feeling miserable, I tried to come up with a plan for mood improvement which did not involve chocolate and/or drugs of any kind (and I am of course referring to anti-inflammatories. Of course. *wink*). I then had the most brilliant idea EVER. Quite close to home a brand new whizz-bang aquatic centre has opened, and this facility has an ENORMOUS spa in it. When I say "enormous" I mean that you, me, AND the local footy team would all fit in there together. (More on WHY I know a footy team would fit in there in a moment.) My brilliant idea was to abandon my family for a few precious hours and go and sit in said enormous spa. This brilliant idea seemed to solve ALL my problems in one go. First, I'd be WARM. Really warm. Second, I'd be relieving some of my back ache, and third I'd be far away from any humans who would want to talk to me - so I could effectively sit in warm, muscle relaxing comfort without having to even pretend like I enjoy the company of other humans.

I figured a good hour long soak in a quiet hot tub was EXACTLY what Dr Google would order, had I asked him.

Brilliant plan, no?

Brilliant until I realised that the local aqua-plex does not in fact ban other humans from going there. I get to the spa only to discover that it was in fact full of the members of the local footy team. Apparently they relax after an aquatic training session by hanging out and acting like morons in my peaceful bath of tranquility, thus rendering it not tranquil at all. Sure, it improved the view (well, helllllooo there, hot boys!)...but...meh. Then this aquatic and fitness centre has the audacity to run aqua aerobics classes in the hydrotherapy pool located right next to the spa. Yes, because what my moment of serenity really needed was a bunch of old women with bat wing arms enthusiastically swishing about to the beat of Paula Abdul songs reverberating off the tiles.

By now I was absolutely determined to make this whole calm/peace/quiet thing work, regardless of the footy team and the old ladies and even Paula Abdul...until, of course, the straw arrived by sidling up to me in the warm water. The straw being of course an ancient guy who was overly friendly and felt the need to start a conversation. I don't need to tell you that the spa was pretty crowded, and so there was not much opportunity to move away from him  (but of course I tried! I really did.) We'll call him Con, shall we? Con the overly-friendly Greek geriatric who decided I was worth chatting up. So there I sit, in my warm cocoon of loveliness...learning all about Con's life story and feeling utterly trapped. Con's entire life story tumbled right out of his mouth, with nary a stop to take a breath (retired butcher, 3 kids, lives across the road, does not approve of tattoos or piercings, comes to the spa three times a week, his wife drives him mad, he is just working out this whole internet thing.)

*sigh*

By now I'd pretty much given up all hope of achieving my dream of an hour of warm, peaceful, muscle relaxing enjoyment. I certainly was warm, but probably more from the collective pee in there rather than what the thermostat was set to. Yes, I just went there. I was miserable, okay? I found myself FAR more grumpy on the way OUT of the spa than on the way in - thus defeating the entire purpose of my trip there.

I was NOT happy.

Except...this story needs a happy ending, doesn't it?

A couple minutes before I gave up and finally decided to completely blow this over-crowded and noisy taco stand, old Con decided to make his exit, too. He bid me adieu and floated his way across to the other side. I should explain that you can exit the spa either via the stairs, or simply by climbing out over the short wall at the other side. Con was of the one-leg-over exit strategy...which afforded me a full frontal view of his wrinkled dingle-dangly bits, because old Con was sporting fully transparent white bathing shorts. Con, being the overly friendly sort, stopped mid-clamber to face me fully and wave goodbye enthusiastically, which of course made little Con wave enthusiastically, too.

My bad mood? Gone in a wiggle..and a giggle.

Temper Tantrum Par Excellence

This past Monday morning I had the mother of all temper tantrums. In Australian slang terms, I lost the plot spectacularly. I'm not talking the type of tantrum where you stamp your foot and yell until you get what you want. I'm talking about the kind of tantrum where you call your husband in big fat gulping hysterical tears and you tell him things like, "I've completely fucked this entire thing up, I've ruined people's lives, and I just don't know what to DDDDOOOOOOOO!!" and then you start saying a whole lot of the-world-is-ending stuff. While I'm a hugely emotive person (when I love you, you REALLY know it, and when I hate you, it's best to move out of the country entirely) but I am not one for tantrums of this sort. I'm much more of the "Houston, we have a problem!" pronouncement followed by a whole lot of PLANS and ACTION to make stuff happen. None of this resting on my laurels business, nope. Not for me, the 'sit and complain and do nothing' concept.

I'm not going to talk about what brought on the tantrum. Instead I'm going to talk about how stupid it was to have a tantrum in the first place - but how utterly necessary it was, too. Stupid to have it because even in the throes of it, I realised it was pointless, indulgent, and frankly a waste of my time. Stupid because I KNOW I'm a 'fixer,' and I knew I'd be able to figure it all out eventually - and if I couldn't, I certainly know a lot of clever people who might be able to help. Stupid because I'm not an attractive crier - and that day I was wearing an entirely cute outfit which would be utterly ruined by puffy eyes.  Sure, the ONE day I'm not wearing jeans and a t-shirt and THAT is the day I decide to look like shit, all runny nose and red eyes? Not a good look.

So if having this tantrum was stupid - why was it so necessary, and why am I in fact GLAD I had it in the first place? It was necessary because it reminded me - and I think sometimes I forget - that I am in fact, human. I make stupid decisions. I miscalculate things. I forget to plan, or plan poorly. While I would not say that I'm someone who thinks she is "all that AND a cupcake"...I certainly like to think I have it together, for the most part. I like to think that I do in fact have my business, my triplets and my wasitline under control all at the same time. To be reminded that maybe, just maybe it isn't always wine and roses - well, that was a useful (albeit painful) thing. It was uncomfortable. It was unpleasant. I really DID believe (and somewhere in the back of my mind lives the niggling bit of self-doubt, doesn't it?) that I'd royally messed things up and that all that I hold dear was coming crashing down. The idea of failure for me is ... almost unthinkable...and so to even be entertaining the thought, well, let me tell you. I really wished in that moment that I was a drinker.

That same day I'd planned to have lunch with a friend of mine, who in addition to being a friend is a fantastic mentor who does not allow pity parties or wallowing. She'll love you to death, hug you, pat you on the back - but she'll never say, "It will all be okay," because the fact is, she has NO idea if it will be and she's not inclined to bullshit you. When I finally finished crying to DH, he told me to pull myself together, wash my face, and go to lunch - and in the absence of any other plan, that's exactly what I did.

When she came to the door, she didn't look her usual self - she looked well and healthy, but something was off.  Turns out she'd recently heard about the unexpected passing of a good friend's husband - and as I'd rung the doorbell, she was on the phone to her friend.

I'm pretty sure that was the Universe smacking me in the head and saying, "Stop your crying. NOW." It seems like every time I want to wallow in self-pity, flagellate myself for doing something dumb, or in general engage in a bunch of "woe is me" thinking...it smacks me and reminds me that I'm not the centre of the Universe, and whatever it is I'm dealing with isn't a patch on what everyone else has going on. This does not mean my problems are any less important or any less real than they were an hour ago - they did not get magically erased, I don't magically feel any better about them, and I've still got to face the music in coming up with a way to turn the situation around. It just serves as a reminder to re-evaluate my own situation.

Lunch with my friend, while tinged with a bit of sadness, was the BEST possible antidote to the mother of all tantrums. I left her home feeling a hell of a lot better, filled with a resolve to deal with things rather than cry over things, and in fact a feeling of gratitude that I'd had my tantrum in the first place. Tantrums, I've decided, are nature's way of telling us to take stock. Nature's way of telling us we're just human, and that sometimes we will screw up and then feel like shit about it. Tantrums are also nature's way of giving us a means to let go of the bad stuff and make room for the good stuff - and while I'm sincerely hoping my next one is very, very far away (or maybe won't happen at all), I'm quite grateful for the one I had this week.

Besides which, I've discovered that a cute pink outfit and pink eyes do, in fact, look kinda okay together.

Just Calm The Fuck Down Part Two

This past weekend I went to an "Introduction to Meditation" course. A number of people in my life are meditators, and I've been reading for some time about the benefits of regular meditation practice, so I was pretty keen to give it a try.  Those who have read this blog for a while know that meditation was also recommended to me by the neuro guy, whose official diagnosis was that I was suffering from DTMSS: Doing Too Much Shit Syndrome and that the only cure is to Calm The Fuck Down. I was also keen to find out of I could "Ommmm" with the best of them, and to find out if I was even capable of sitting cross-legged for any length of time. I'm pretty sure the last time I sat cross-legged anywhere I was about 5 years old and even then I was probably complaining about my aching hips.

The good news is, I'm really good at "Ommm"-ing off key but there is no need to do it. The even BETTER news is, meditation does not require actually sitting on the floor unless you really, really want to or you are some sort of over-achieving hippie sort.

3 hours (and okay, some sleeping....sorry, meditating) later, and while I'm no expert, I certainly understand a bit more about what's involved. The basic principle is pretty easy to understand: Calm Body = Calm Mind = Calm Body = Calm Mind. In other words, if your mind is calm then your body can be too, and vice versa. Of course it's getting the mind or body to calm the fuck down which is the hard part. If your mind is all worked up, your body probably is too - so if you can relax your body, your mind will follow and vice versa.

The instructor went through a number of techniques - some physical, some mental - to basically calm one or another of those, or rather really just to 'free' one of those. Some of the physical meditations actually had the end result of making me feel much more alert - not in any distress, and not specifically calm - just more awake I suppose. It was fascinating stuff, really - the way I felt after trying one technique versus another one was very different. I found myself really quite surprised at the entire thing and I enjoyed it. Best of all was discovering that there is no need to actually turn off the endless chatter in your head because guess what? That's actually impossible to do. You can't turn it off even if you WANT to, not matter how hard you try - it's just not possible to have an entirely empty mind (although I can think of some people who certainly try to very hard to disprove this.) I have to say that he managed to shatter pretty much all of the pre-conceived notions I had about meditation, including the bit about the Ommmm and the sitting cross-legged bit.

The night of the course I decided to give meditating a go right before bed. I've not been sleeping very well these past few weeks (and meditation can apparently help with that) so I thought I'd put to use some of the techniques I learned. It was harder than it was in class, especially as there was no gorgeous hottie with a mellifluous voice to lead me straight into the arms of Morpheus, but I still managed to have a good ol' try at it. It's going to take some practice, and a heck of a lot more focus, and some real commitment to it, but I'm interested to see where this might lead (to sleep, I'm hoping.)  I was proud of myself for going along to the course in the first place, and for really remaining open minded about it. I can absolutely see (even just in that one short introduction to it) that it would have very obvious benefits for someone as highly strung as I am.

Now of course I just need to convince myself that there are no prizes for being the Bestest Ever Meditation Student, so there is no need to go all over-achiever on this one and suddenly start finding myself a guru and attending workshops while wearing hemp shirts and growing dreadlocks. I also need to resist the urge to book in to see the physio so I'm actually ABLE to sit cross-legged on the floor. I'm not sure if I'm capable of that though.

Hmm.

Or rather,

Ommm.

Mother Pie

When I was a teenager (last week perhaps) I read a novel where the main character talks about her "Mother Pie" - basically an amalgamation of people who in various ways take on the role of her mother. Included in the character's Mother Pie are her actual mother but also a whole host of other people - various friends of hers, friends of her parents, older siblings, cousins, etc. In her case they were all females who influenced or nurtured her in some way - from people who imparted their wisdom to people who would cook for her when she needed a helping hand.  The basic premise is that each of us has a Mother Pie, the group of people who collectively mother us in all the various ways we need mothering.

This isn't to say your own mother isn't doing her job or doing a good job at it, it's just recognizing that for most of us, our parenting doesn't always come entirely from our parents. I suppose it's really just another way of expressing the whole "it takes a village" concept. Certainly that's something I've seen unfold in my own house, where it seems like it takes an entire metropolis to raise triplets. It's certainly something DH and I could not have managed on our own.

This week I've been thinking a lot about my Mom, and that led me to thoughts about my own Mother Pie and who it's comprised of.  For me it's not all made up of wonderful women (although there are plenty), it's made up of all the various people who guide me through my life - so that includes a couple of 'menfolk' as well. When you really stop and think about it, there are just so MANY people who influence our growth, who inspire us and nurture us. I'd even venture to say there may be people in your Mother Pie who you've never (and may never) meet - in my case I can think of a few people who I've either met online or whose blogs I read who I think would get a slice of the pie, too.   What gives them inclusion into this group is their influence - what they've taught me, what they represent, which of their qualities give me strength or inspire me to become a better version of what I am. I don't need to meet them in real life for them to have an impact. They'll never know - unless I tell them - that they are part of my Mother Pie.

I have a ridiculously awesome inner circle of hugely amazing people from whom I draw an enormous amount of knowledge and comfort. I have one seriously kick-ass Mother Pie. Do you?

The Tough Questions

In the last couple of weeks I've spent a bit of one-on-one time with my youngest daughter (youngest by 30 seconds...).  I tend to ask her about school or dance or just life in general - which normally she tolerates pretty well. She is however a pre-teen, so a bunch of my recent queries have been met with an eye roll and a "Mum, seriously! Boooo-ring!" I promptly told her that if she could come up with something more interesting to talk about, I'd gladly answer. Apple doesn't fall far from the tree, so with her usual flair for the dramatic and stubborn streak, now every time we are on our own she comes up with conversation starters for us. None of them are easy to answer, all of them force me to think hard, and ultimately she's right - what she asks is WAY more interesting than, "So, how's your math homework coming along?"

The challenge for me as a parent is to answer her with honesty, give the question the true consideration it deserves, but keep the answer child appropriate. Plus she's both impatient and demanding, so I often get about a 1 minute leeway before her asking me something and then her wanting to know my reply.

Some of her recent questions have been -

- If money were no object, what ONE thing would you do which would benefit ONLY you? (and then she asked the same question, but the benefits were to our family, then Australia, then the World.) The catch here was that it could only be ONE thing, and it had to actually be reasonably achievable.

- If you could change any TWO things about your current life (your appearance, your room, your whatever - no limits) what would you change?

- What one thing do you think you do really well? What one thing do you WISH you did really well?

- If you weren't doing what you're doing (for a living), what would you do?

...and so on and so forth, she seems to have an endless supply of moral/financial/social conundrums for me to solve. She's been asking some really tough questions (that first one in particular is not easy to answer!) The silver lining in all of this is that, in answering her, I get to share what my true values are. The ensuing discussion (because she always wants to prove she can answer these better than I can) brings up some great conversation, and also gives me the opportunity to teach her stuff which otherwise might not come up as easily. I think being able to talk to your kids openly and honestly is a great gift - and I hope it means that when she does bloom into full-fledged teenager-hood, she still feels able to come to me with her issues.

I'm guessing that DH feels the same way about this, which is why a little while ago I overheard a snippet of conversation between him and the girls which went something like this: "If you're stupid enough to get pregnant when you're 16, I sincerely hope that you come to Mum and I to help you out with the situation. Oh, don't worry, we'll be MAD AS HELL at you, but we'll also work together to deal with it. Actually, this applies to any situation, not just getting pregnant. But don't get pregnant, okay?"

To which DD2 replied, "OH MY GOD. As if! DAAADD! Seriously!"

Well, glad we got that issue cleared up. 

Lies About Parenthood #588

Parenthood Lie: Playdates are fun opportunities for your children to socialise with other children their age while giving you a break from entertaining them.

Parenthood Truth: Playdates suck, other people's kids suck, and playdates are boring and annoying. They're boring because your kids are not available for you to play with, so you have to do grown up shit like laundry and dishes. Playdates also require you to run interference and play referee when things don't go as planned, have enough patience and food to feed yet another mouth (why are other people's children hungry the MINUTE they cross my threshold? And why are said kids so damn picky? Just scrape the mold off, damn you!). All of that, and for those couple of hours you need to pretend like you're June-freakin'-Cleaver so the kid does not go home and tell their Mum that you fed them 2 minute noodles topped with sugar-laden cereal right before you encouraged them to go out and play with cars on a busy road.

Playdates are a miserable way to spend an afternoon. They're awful but nobody tells you that because they're so damn relieved to get rid of their kids for a couple of hours, it's in their best interest to perpetuate the lie. Now aren't you glad I'm here to clear up any confusion? Playdates are parents' way of torturing other parents. 

On Families

This afternoon I had lunch with a girlfriend and we got to talking about families. For various reasons I started to talk about my immediate family (the one I grew up in, not the one I'm raising), and how some days I am in total disbelief about what has happened to it over the last 3 years.

My family has imploded. Spectacularly. 

Here's the background story:

I grew up in a very close family - my parents, my siblings and I used to spend ridiculous amounts of time together. I very clearly remember my Mom sitting me down (around the time I was 13 or so) and having a heart to heart with me about how I needed to go out and make more friends, because I couldn't just spend all my time hanging out with my parents. She then tried to force me to make more friends, by insisting I join a quasi-militaristic youth group, but that's a story for another day (guess what? I lasted about 3 sessions before I staged a quasi-militaristic revolt and refused to go back to that ridiculous endeavor.) The fact is, I LIKED my parents and I wanted to hang out with them, plus I've always been a bit of a homebody so I felt no real need to have some sort of all-hours social life. My siblings were much the same, and so as a result we grew up in a pretty tightly-knit family. We traveled together heaps (my Dad had a thing about road trips), we hung out together, we had dinner together pretty much every single night of the week and in general we lived in one another's pockets. 

That being said, I've always been fiercely independent - did my own thing when, how, and as I wanted to. It irritated my sister no end that the same rules which applied to her never applied to me, but then I think that's always true for second children - parents relax after they manage to keep the first one alive for a reasonable amount of time. There is a big age gap between my sibs (my sis is 7 years older, my brother 5 years younger) and so each of us got to live a fairly independent-ish existence (except my sister, who had that whole eldest child/responsibility thing). Me, I always did things differently to my sibs - frankly, while I never went out partying and carrying on, I was one seriously massive pain in the ass. Stubborn, head strong, opinionated - whatever verbs you want to attach to it, I've always done my own thing and forged my own path. It's mostly a good trait. 

No matter how independent I was then or am now, I always knew I had the safety net of my family to go back to. I always knew that no matter how far away I lived, there was always an invisible thread connecting me to them. Several threads, actually. My entire life could go to hell in a hand basket at any given moment but I always had the protection of a family to go back to. My family was like a warm security blanket you tucked in the back of the cupboard - not always in front of you every single moment of your life, but always there waiting for you when you needed or wanted it. 

Someone pulled the blanket out of my closet. 

That someone was my Dad. 

Three years ago in August, my Dad passed away unexpectedly.  What I don't think I appreciated then (and really am only starting to appreciate now) is how he was the linchpin of our family. Now that he's gone, the family is, too. Which is a little funny because I'd never have predicted that outcome, but seeing the immense impact his loss has had on us, it almost seems a foregone conclusion. The long and short of it is, two of the remaining four of us have gone off the rails entirely.  My sister and I are holding it ("it" - meaning our sanity) together as best we can, working as a team to salvage what there is left of this family. I believed (and on some level, still harbour hope) that losing my Dad would draw us all closer together still. 

Instead it exploded us apart.

In the three years since my Dad passed away, I've lost my brother, and now I'm losing my Mom, too. (To be clear we are all still alive. I use the word "lost" metaphorically.) Lately I find myself feeling extremely sad about all of this - and today, in chatting to my girlfriend, I worked out why that is. I'm in mourning. Mourning for the family that was, for the brother I've lost, for the Mom I'm losing, and for the family which so much defined my life and my identity. In dying, my Dad took the security blanket out of my cupboard and I am not happy about that AT ALL. By the way, this is also the man who broke me of the habit of drinking out of baby bottles by sitting me in front of a trash compactor, throwing all my bottles in there, and turning it on (true story.) I'm not sure which of those incidents I am more inclined to forgive - but bets are, it'll be the bottles.

In chatting to my girlfriend, I expressed one of my most terrifying thoughts - that the family I'm raising could also, someday, be so easily broken apart. Because here's the thing - DH and I are raising a family not dissimilar to the one I grew up in, in so far as we are all very tightly knit, we spend an inordinate amount of time together, we're all homebodies, and I can imagine someday soon I might feel I need to convince my kids to find friends other than each other and their parents.  I would even go so far as to say that DH and I are cultivating a close family unit - he and I are so enmeshed that of course our kids are an extension of that. 

That this family could be so easily destroyed makes me feel ...just...awful. 

While I would not say that I'm actively worrying about this happening - I will say that the very idea that it's even possible scares the hell out of me. We're working SO hard to create this amazing family, and yet all it would take is one seemingly random act and it could all just fall apart.  It was my girlfriend who pointed out to me that my Dad really was the anchoring point for my other family members (not as much for me, thanks to that independence thing). She pointed out that once the anchor was lost, of course those connected to it would be set adrift. She also pointed out that in the family I'm raising, there is no single anchoring point. DH and I share the parenting responsibilities, and we each have different sets of skills we bring to the family as a whole. Neither of us is totally dependent on the other - or if we are, it goes in both directions. So, she concluded, the chances of that kind of thing happening are pretty slim to none. We're different to our parents, it's a different world now, DH and I certainly have a very different relationship to the one my parents had, and there is no real reason to believe that just because it happened in that case, it would happen in this case.

I'm not convinced - mostly because I never, ever would have even thought this outcome was even possible. That I'd be looking back a few years and see a happy, connected family - and now be left with just my sister and I, holding onto one another for dear life...well, no. Not even for one single solitary second. Make no mistake, my sister is amazing, and I'm grateful as hell that it's her I've got to hold on to - but, NO WAY did I ever think it would come to this.

I want my blanket back. Not my Dad. I'm well past that. I just want the blanket which was my FAMILY back again. 

I keep wanting to open the cupboard door and just check if it somehow magically reappeared, even though I know it hasn't. 

I guess the invisible threads are still there. 

Sunshine

My default mood setting is programmed to 'happy' and I find it quite uncomfortable to be grumpy for any extended period of time. The past six or so weeks, my happy-o-meter has been sorely tested. I'm very grumpy. Not in the "look at you, you've got a face like thunder," sort of grumpy, but in the, "please don't talk to me while I am under my doona, hibernating in my bed." sort of way - except that I never actually want to get out from under my doona in the first place.  When I DO venture out into the real world, I'm okay - going to the gym, going to work, feeding my family and in general being the very capable woman everyone has grown to love. I'm going about my day, capably doing all sorts of things, it's just that while I'm DOING all of those things, my head is under my doona, and I'm finding it a little hard to breathe under there. 

In no particular order, things which have made me grumpy these past few weeks:

- Business. Hard to believe but the cake business is seasonal (even for birthdays, people just don't have events as often in winter, which sucks for you winter babies out there), and while I know that, I failed to plan for it adequately. This which left me feeling annoyed and irritated and a little bit, "please would the damn sun shine on this business SOON," even though I know everything will be fine and winter eventually ends. However, when business is quieter or less chaotic than normal, this leaves me with 'free' time in which to dwell on both it and other things which are irritating me.

- Weather. It's been a very hard winter here in Melbourne, far colder than I've ever experienced here. Reminds me a lot of the winters I spent in Denver, actually, where its so cold it hurts your chest just to breathe in, and you're wearing so many layers you are a distant relation to the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man. I'm generally cold anyway, so to feel like my bones have ice water in them makes me...well, a little less than friendly. I just wanted ask the sky, "Please would the damn sun shine on this fair city of ours SOON?"

- Family. My Mom is not doing too well at the moment, a situation which has been going on for a number of months. I'm saddened by it, frustrated by it, and I really just want her to start on the road to getting a bit better. Please, would the damn sun shine on my Mom soon? because I'm not really sure how much more of it she, and our family as a whole, can take.

- Friends. I've got some friends going through some pretty tough life moments (I've blogged about this before). I can't help it, I'm a bleeding heart - and so I feel sad for them, and I have no idea how to help.While their situations are all about them and not at all about me, I feel it. I can't help it. I want the sun to shine on my friends as well.

- Money. OMG, don't get me started, but suffice to say if the sun shone on my money tree right about now, I'd be feeling a little calmer.

The above things plus some other random bits (hello, winter kilos, how I hate thee) have conspired to make emzee a very grumpy girl. Not that most people can tell, but *I* can tell and it had started to really annoy me. Because, you know, not bad enough I'm in a shit mood but berating myself ABOUT being in a shit mood is a good idea, right?

I decided that it was in fact the lack of sunshine - both literal AND figurative - which was, while not causing the situation, not exactly helpful to the situation. So I went about finding myself some sunshine. I started to walk to work most days of the week (not difficult. It's a 6 minute walk.)  Those few minutes in the morning and few in the afternoon are giving me sunshine in the literal sense (although that would be arctic sunshine, it's still Vitamin D) and sunshine in the figurative sense in so far as I just like to be out and about, and those few minutes are mine to think about ..well, nothing at all. For 12 minutes every day, my mind is quiet. Well, quiet-ER.

I forced myself out of the house even when I didn't want to go. I had some adventures with the kids. I had dinner out with my DH, movies with a friend - etc. NONE of which I wanted to do, ALL of which I needed to do. I signed up for a course I've been meaning to do for a while. I finally worked out the secret combination of shirts/jumpers/socks which keep me, while not warm, certainly not feeling like the Ice Queen. I rediscovered the joy which is an enormous mug of milky tea. I watched entire seasons of Glee with my DH, both of us grinning like idiots at the screen and then at each other (it's very very difficult to be grumpy while you are perving on either Britney S. Pierce or Puckerman.)

Basically I treated my horrid mood like a project which needed managing, and this week I've finally felt like the sun is shining once again. Not much has changed with the things which are upsetting me. I just realised (again) that when you can do nothing about the situation, then you've got to something about how you DEAL with the situation. My horrible mood is because I was powerless over those situations - but I'm certainly not powerless over ME, am I?  I'm not going to lie, I didn't  mind the hibernation all that much. I think I needed it on some level (and frankly, it's WARM in my bed and warmth=happiness for me.) However now that I've come out of the cave and into the sunshine, I'm far less grumpy and far happier within myself...which for all of you (especially you, my IBFF) should mean I'll be back to blogging. I've missed it.

Life Lessons from the Melbourne Demons

Early on in our dating life, DH took me along to see an Australian Rules football game. It's nothing at all like American football - mostly because these guys don't wear any padding (unless they are padding their shorts, but perhaps that's another story altogether). It's literally a bunch of sweaty guys running a whole lot across a really, really big oval and kicking a ball from end to end.  They're also trying to play a huge game of 'keep away' at the same time, while wearing nothing but shorts, a sleeveless top, and shoes/socks. DH has loved the game (and his team) since he was a child, and so I really had no choice but to get to know the game and get to love the team (neither which are terribly hard to do.) The good news is he isn't much of a cricket fan, so at least I did not need to work out the rules of that game - which are pretty much like reading a Chinese instruction manual when you're only fluent in Klingon, but I digress.

While I won't claim to be a massive fan of footy (or any other) sport, I do enjoy going with him to the games, and besides it would be terribly un-Australian of me not to go. Australians as a whole (and Victorians in particular) are sport-hysterical. It's a religion, it's a way of life, it's a "if you don't like sport we will burn you at the stake" sort of situation. Sport in general and football in specific are as much a part of the culture here as the kangaroos and the Vegemite. It's just how it is, so in the spirit of "if you can't beat 'em, join 'em," I tend to go along  with DH for the ride.

Now that the kids are older (and no, they didn't get a choice of which team to support, either) they come along with DH and I and it becomes a whole family outing. This past weekend we went to a game together, and as I was sitting there in the stands (alternating between getting a sunburn and getting frostbite -- another distinctly Melbourne thing) I started to think about how footy, and being a footy fan, is teaching my kids some invaluable life lessons:

1) It's not over until it's over, so don't give up so easily: Victorians have a habit of leaving a game in the last quarter (before the game is over) if they think the outcome is predictable. Or even if it's not, they just want to get the hell out of the car park. Look at the stands about 10 minutes into the 4th quarter and it's like some sort of mass exodus. DH's rule is that you have to stay to the bitter end. It's not over until that final siren goes, and let me tell you - plenty of games have changed dramatically in the final seconds of a game. Life lesson here is obvious: don't give up until they've blown the final siren, you never know what might happen.

2) Loyalty. When I met DH, our team wasn't doing so well. When I was pregnant with the triplets, I took them (in utero) to their first football game, which was a Grand Final. These days, our team is back to pretty sad form (although working on it) - but it makes no difference to us. You've got to support them through winning, through losing, and through everything in between. I think the same is true for many aspects of life, you can't just run with the cool kids all the time because the cool kids won't be cool all the time. There is a lot to be said just for sticking by through the thick and thin.

3) Nothing stays the same: Like in #1, the entire outcome of a game can change in seconds. Shit happens. Sometimes good shit, sometimes bad shit - but expect the unexpected (hello,St Kilda with that 2nd go at the Grand Final.....) and learn to deal with it. Nothing ever stays the same.

4) You can be passionate without being a dickhead - I'm sometimes appalled at the behaviour of people in the stands at football games. I get it that you're passionate, I get it that your team sucks or is awesome, I get it that you hate everyone on the field except the guy with the ball - but seriously? No need to be a jerk. Really. Same is true on any other playing field - in love, in life, in business. Kindness matters.

5) Sometimes we do things in life just because other people want us to: At least 2 of my kids are not footy fans at all. They're bored, they're tired, they don't understand the rules, they would rather be anywhere but sitting in those cold bleachers. I drag them along anyway. Sometimes we just do things which make other people happy - which frankly, is just called being a nice person.

6) If all else fails, go for the food. I swear to god, I love living in this country just for the taste experience of being at the football with 50,000+ other people, and eating a hot meat pie drowning in tomato sauce (and I won't even call it ketchup.) I gave up vegetarianism the very day I hit Australian shores (true story) and there is not a single moment I regret it, especially at footy games.

...and lastly....one of the best things one can do when one is thrust into the culture which is not their own can be summed up in this one phrase, which is: "When in Rome..." That's why you'll see me in the stands, beanie and scarf on, pie in hand, yelling Australian expressions which I don't entirely understand but I THINK mean something good and inspirational for our team.

So much in life can be learned from a good (or even bad, how would I know?) game of Aussie Rules.
Go the Dees!

Epic Networking Fail - Again!

Side note: Yes, I know, all the posts lately are either a wee bit sad, or a wee bit "life is annoying" or all about business. At the moment, I've got nothing funny to share - but since I never promised you a stand up routine on this blog, you'll just need to roll with it. Or maybe go read the whole guinea pig thing again - because let's face it, a fat chick chasing down a scared guinea pig is pretty damn funny.

So.

Yesterday morning I went along to a networking breakfast thing with a friend of mine - and shock of all shocks, I was quite keen to go. The speaker is someone who I have heard about for a long time and I was interested to see him 'up close and personal' so I didn't hesitate to accept the invitation.

I make no secret of the fact that for me networking is akin to shoving hot pokers in my eyes. I hate it. HATE IT. Which when you think about it is kinda funny for someone who can converse rather animatedly with a brick wall, but there you go. It probably goes back to my inherent hatred of sales guys, I just can't stand knowing that these people are being nice to me because they want to sell me something. Sure, some of them are just being nice because they are nice people ...but ...ehh, I just don't like the whole networking thing. Or rather, I'm no fan of formal networking - the people who know me in real life would probably say I'm an ace networker when it comes to walking into a room with a bunch of strangers and walking out with them all being my best friend.

So - I agreed because I was excited about hearing the speaker and he was in fact interesting to listen to (if a little manic, OMG did that man have ten coffees before his talk or what? I was literally exhausted after just listening to him for an hour.) I wouldn't say he had any earth shattering information to share, but then that wasn't really the point anyway (although there were plenty of people taking copious notes. Which I don't know how they did that, because he was talking so damn fast that by the time you wrote anything down, you had missed half his talk.)

ANYWAY the interesting part about this (this post is running away from me...must...stop...waffling!) is that I managed to go along to this thing and basically miss the whole networking bit of it. There were something like 440 people there (!) and I managed to say hello to my friend on my left, and thanks to her introduction I nodded politely to the guy on my right. That was about it (but I did, after much digging around and faffing about) give the guy on my right a business card, and he has like a hundred kids (ok, four of them) and they all need cake right this very second. So that was good....but...yeah. I must be the only person in the world capable of going along to a super mega huge massive networking event and not network. Actually I've got a vague idea I've blogged about this superpower before - Oh look! I did! Twice! Yup, that's me, the networking loser.


Guru Guy would tell me that being an effective networker is all about practice - personally, I think being an effective networker is all about taking anti-anxiety drugs ahead of time, but what would I know? I'm too busy hiding in the corner to find out.