Monday, January 31, 2011

Battening Down

We are bracing ourselves here for Tropical Cyclone Yasi. I am probably sending my kids out west with Mum, as for me we shall see. I might stay and protect what I can. But basically, we are up shit creek. I will probably be offline for a while, because the power is pretty much guaranteed to go out. Also? It's probably going to be a category four. Awesome. Last year we were hit with a two and that put the power out for four days. Again Shit creek! Ah well, thems the breaks when you live in the most beautiful tropical oasis on the planet. Over and out guys. See you on the other end.

Saturday, January 29, 2011

A mother's diamonds and pearls

This week has been hard for me. This week has been a week of firsts and fear. My eldest child, my first baby, started Year 1 this week. He loved the thought of being a part of the big school. I on the other hand had severe separation anxiety. To know that the next 12 years of his life will be filled by his education is the realization that this is the beginning of the end, and that try as I might, I cannot make time slow down for me. I fear that I have missed so much of my blessed child, that I do not want another second to pass. But I know that it will. To see him dressed in his uniform like one of the big kids, with his black polished shoes and his neat and tidy haircut, tears sprang to my eyes as my heart flew out of my chest. My baby was no longer a baby. To prove this point, time flew by too quickly again, and on Thursday we celebrated his sixth birthday. The birthdays of my kids are great for reflection, to remember who they were and how far they have come. To remember those feelings that washed over me.

The first time I laid eyes on my son was one of the hardest moments of my life. I knew that I should love this being, yet I felt nothing. That night while I held him close to my chest and felt his perfectness, still there was nothing. I knew the feelings I had were not the feelings I was supposed to have, but uttered not one word of it to anyone. I was ashamed. The first year of his life is difficult for me to recall, because of the depression I suffered, but I don’t really want to write about that. I want to remember those beautiful moments especially those around the time that I really began to love my son.

I remember that we lived in our little love nest flat, that was so small that Master Mushuu slept on the floor in the lounge room. Not much a cradle, but a cradle wouldn’t fit in the flat. I remember how intrigued and protective of him our little kitten was. Snuggling down not far from him and keeping a lazy eye on anything that might be a threat to his welfare. I remember the pride I saw in his father eyes as he bathed him on top of an old, chest of drawers that still sits in our home. I remember the way he would lay on his belly and curl his legs under himself, with his head resting on his arms, looking very much like a little frog. I remember having him in bath one night, and him taking aim, and peeing right in my face, and even a slightly smug look on his face.
I remember a first birthday party, when I finally loved my son the way a mother should. Watching him with his Grandma opening presents and not all that interested in anything around him. I remember his first few tentative steps and the look of surprise on his face when he succeeded. I remember him pulling himself up to the coffee table when his Daddy was eating tea, and slyly stealing food of his Daddy’s plate. I remember caging him in  a playpen with some toys, and him playing quietly while I went about my business. I remember him grabbing chips from my hand, and him falling asleep while eating his dinner. I remember him seeking out any pair of shoes that weren’t his own, and him trotting around the house, very proud that he had put his shoes on all by himself. I remember the fear I felt when he wouldn’t speak, and thinking that my beautiful baby may be deaf. I remember a slightly subdued second birthday, with cousins and friends.

I remember boarding a plane, and flying for 23 hours to see my Dad in Africa. I remember my son’s fear at new people. I remember him nearly springing into my arms when he saw not only a stranger, but one with black skin. I remember the way the he clung to me as though I was his a life boat in the middle of a vast ocean. I remember feeling that I would always be there for him to cling to me. I remember his precious little tears, spilling like diamonds when he had to say good bye to his Grandad, and get on the palne to come home. I remember the way his face lit up when he saw his Grandma waiting at the airport for us. I remember the way his Grandma’s face lit up as well. I remember he spoke for the first time and used his words carefully, as though he only had a certain number for his lifetime. I remember a timid little boy who would hide behind his Mummy, whenever new people were near. I remember telling him that he was to be a big brother, and how he tried to talk to the baby in my tummy. I remember he wanted a brother. I remember the intrigue, when he first laid eyes on his baby sister. I remember how he laid on the bed next to her and spoke to her, kissed and loved her form that very first moment. I remember realizing how lucky I was. I remember a third birthday party, where my shy little boy cried when everyone sang happy birthday to him.

I remember him making new friends at Kindy. I remember he wanted independence. He wanted to dress himself and put his own shoes on. I remember he was as excited as anyone else when his baby sister sat up herself. I remember him sitting with her and explaining how the world worked. I remember a little boy who was still shy and timid and would play for hours by himself. I remember stepping on cars in the middle of the night. I remember him laying on the mat lining his cars up over and over again in perfectly straight lines. I remember that amusing just about everyone in the vicinity. I remember a fourth birthday filled with water and fun. I remember a little boy sitting and chatting and laughing with friends as he ate birthday cake. A boy I didn’t recognize.

I remember a baby turning into a boy. Growing into arms and legs that were once to long for his body. I remember a little boy who started to fight with his little sister, but still loved her beyond anything else in his world. I remember a tired Mum and Dad breaking up yet another rough and tumble fight. I remember falls that left bumps and bruises and required kisses and cuddles to make them feel better. I remember a little boy who was happy for his sister to take the spotlight. I remember a little boy who was still quiet and timid and cried at almost anything. I remember giving lots of kisses and cuddles. I remember a birthday party by the river, and  I remember a little boy who slipped on a wet step and ended up with a scrape on the side of his face.

I remember a little a boy all dressed and ready for his first day of Prep. All smiles and sunshine, and ready for the big bright world. I remember how it tore my heart out to say good bye to him that morning, and I remember small sobs that escaped my throat on the long drive home. I remember picking up a little boy who I no longer recognized as my own. One who was slightly more confident in his ability to interact with other people, and made friends so easily. I remember a little boy who’s fights with his sister became more dramatic and violent, and a Mum who figured that they would work it out. I remember a little boy who didn’t need to hide behind me from the world anymore, and that hurt. I remember a little boy who still loved nothing more than to wrap his arms around his Mama’s neck and squeeze her as tight as he could. I remember a little boy who learned to read and write, and a Mum who realized that another milestone had been reached in the bat of an eye. I remember a little boy, who was no longer a little boy, now he was a boy.  I remember a little girl who worshipped the ground her brother walked on and wanted to be just like him. I remember replicas of the Eiffel tower in lego bricks strewn all over the floor. I remember wanting to stop the clock.

Now to those memories I can add the one of a sixth birthday with friends playing the wii and talking about stuff at school. I can add to those memories that tinge of sadness I felt when I sent him off with his new teacher, and his Daddy driving me back home. These little moments are the ones that I will hold to me so dearly. Ones that I have now been written down, so that they are never forgotten. Over the years I will add more memories, but these ones will always be the most precious, my diamonds locked safely in the vault of my mind. Where no one can ever take them from me. Happy Birthday to my Baby Boy. 

Thursday, January 20, 2011

Teenagers scare the living shit out of me

Today I am talking about teens. Strange topic I guess when one considers that I have two small children. I was going to have a normal bitch and moan (mostly about my laptop, which I want to punch in the face) but I was distracted by an assignment I am doing about teenagers at the moment. Now you are probably thinking 'What the shit would she know about teenagers' right? Sometimes, more than their own parents. I have worked with teenagers, basically since I joined the workforce.

Most people think that I have lost my mind. I have friends who teach primary, and everyone goes all gushy over the little kids. But let me tell you something, I have also worked in a primary school and primary kids are all whiny and 'I wanna go to the toilet' and 'Miss, he pulled my hair' and 'Miss I think I am going to ...*hurls all over my shoes*'. Teenagers have a decent amount of control over their bodily functions, that is the main reason that I like them.

Teenagers are a very misunderstood breed. I think that song, by that Emo band sums it up quite well 'Teenagers scare the living shit out of me'. Much of society has a very negative view of this particular age group. They are seen as lazy, no good mischief makers. Teens are hard, I get that. I had a lunch mate at a previous school whom we shall call Mr M. Now Mr M was your run of the mill average teacher who loved his job, loved his students and loved to join me across the road for lunch, a quick smoke and a chat. One day I went to school and Mr M met me at the shop as usual. On that day? A student threw a desk at him. Not a chair, a desk. The student was 15. About two weeks later, I went to meet Mr M for lunch and low and behold, no Mr M. I went back to my office and carried on my day. Next day, no Mr M. And again the next day. Lunches were getting to be a whole lot of boring for me. I finally figured I would find out what had happened to Mr. M. Turns out a 16 year old student lost it, grabbed a fence paling and belted the shit out Mr. M, until another teacher, whom we shall Mr S, pulled the student off. Now Mr M ended in hospital with some pretty horrible wounds. The student was suspended, pending expulsion. Then Mr M and Mr S were pulled up by the powers that be about their professional conduct, Mr M for having said something to the student and Mr S for man handling a student. In the end Mr M and Mr S retained their jobs, and the student went back to the school.

Now they are the horrific stories that we regularly hear about in schools, but I also want to share with you the tender moments that I have had with some of my students over the years. Some of the simple things that make me see that teenagers are a very misunderstood breed. I walked into the school admin building one day, only to find a student coming out. He proceeded to open the door for me, stood and held it open, let me go trough then proceeded out the door with a 'hello Miss' on his way out. Who says they aren't chivalrous. Also I have a story about a student that truly warms my heart. I walked into my office one lunch hour to find the regular eight or nine students who came down to see me at lunch. One, whom we shall call T, was sitting in my chair. I asked him to move so that I could sit down and eat my lunch, He flat out refused to a number of times (and I wanted to boot his ass out of my chair) and as I was about to lose my temper and give him a detention, another student, whom we shall call J, came to my aid. He told T that he was being disrespectful and that he had to move and give me back my chair number one because it was my office and I had asked him to move, and two because I was a lady. How sweet is that?

Now yes, I know that teenagers can scare the living shit out of anyone. They can appear standoffish, rude and at times dangerous. But we have them type cast by the few who are like that. My good stories? Outweigh my bad ones tenfold. Even more so when you consider that I see these young people away from their parents. They don't have to be nice to me, they don't have to treat me with respect. But mostly they do.

So next time you see that 15 year old, with her hair dies black, wearing black cut offs, and piercings in places you didn't think possible, remember this: they are expressing themselves. They are forming their own identity. They want to stand apart form the crowd as much as they want to fit in. She may sneer at you as you walk past, but think about this, she will probably open the door for you out of respect. Don't give teens a hard time. They are different to the teenagers that we were, but they are doing the same thing we did: blazing their own trail.

Tuesday, January 18, 2011

Space, like outer space only it's not about outer space

What a shitty day. Got up this morning and took Miss Mushuu off to kindy, which was a great start to the day. I love Kindy days. Then called Mister Mushuu about the houses that we have been looking at buying. So then he got all shitty and hang up on me. Then I rang work to see if they would be bringing back my contract for the coming school year. Apparently not. So I went all Schapelle Corby and crying like an imbecile. Then I call Mister Mushuu back to tell him about our stroke of bad luck because he was going to blow a gasket. We are cutting the cash pretty fine as it is. Then I called the old boss at the regional office and she said she might be able to find me some hours somewhere else, and that she was going to do something about the lack of my contract. So then I got Ninja revenge and called Mister Mushuu again to fill him in on the latest update, but he was all distant probably because he still had the shits with me. So now I am all hopeful about getting a job somewhere else in the department, but I am all ape shit on my old school for not getting their shit together.

Apparently, if you don't have an official piece of paper to say that you are competent in your job, people think your a moron. I am not officially qualified but I do know what I am doing. Also? I am studying to get the qualifications needed. So shut your holes.

The house hunt? Not so good. I have found the perfect house, although there are three houses that I would be happy with. Mister Mushuu? Wants to keep looking. Possibly because I am the one that has looked at 400 different houses, narrowed it down to these three and then made him come and look at them. In order of preferences: House number 1 is perfect. It has a massive big back deck and enough space upstairs for us to all have our own space. There is enough space downstairs for the old girl to have her space and there will be no issues with space. Did I mention it is really big? House number 2 is all polished timber and gorgeousness. Practically brand new and perfect. Downstairs is enough space for the old girl, but we would need to put is some doors and stuff. House number 3 is a little cramped upstairs, but manageable. Downstairs is perfect.

So what is Mister Mushuu's problem with it? He reckons the backyard is too small, in fact the conversation went something like this:

Madam: Ok why don't you like the house?
Mister: The backyard is too small
Madam: Too small for what?
Mister: to play cricket or kick the ball around
Madam: You don't do that now, what makes you think you will do it when we move?
Mister: There will be more space to do it there

Ummmmm.....what? Pretty sure he is just being a shit head now. Might have to get all domestic on him and kick the shit out of him. See how that goes.

Also? Master Mushuu hasn't moved off the couch all day today. Not at all. Not even a little bit.Move child, move. I should go prod him with a stick.

Changes had to be made

This blog has been set up because I needed some anonymity. I had another blog that was all sorts of awesomeness, but sadly it had to be removed to protect myself and my loved ones. It was all full of pictures and great stuff, but you won't see that here. All there is here is writing. You will not see me, so picture me as you wish.

If you know who I am then please don't be careless enough to reveal it here. It is vital for the security of my career and also the security of my family. This will all be day to day stuff, and may be able to guess who I am. I may even privately tell you who I am, but please don't let that out, otherwise my life will end up in tatters.

If you are jumping on to read this, then thank you. This blog will be imperfect and at times difficult to read, because I mostly write when I am tired.

Also, if you are feeling like being generous, then please drop me a line if you are able to jazz my blog up a bit. I would really appreciate it. I will even write a post about you awesomeness.

For now that is all