We’ll meet again…

Tomorrow is one of my most favourite days of the year.

It will be ANZAC Day and because according to my stats thingy someone from Panama once read this blog I will just expand on the fact that tomorrow is the day we remember the sacrifice of the Australian and New Zealand soldiers across all wars.

It is one of my favourite days because of its traditions. Although they too are starting to change.

Tomorrow is about my Mum and I. It is a day when I remember how alike we are.

We used to go and watch my Mum’s Dad march every year. We would stand in the same place on St Kilda Road outside the Arts Centre.

We would wait for Grandpa and his unit to come. We would wait for the banner with the lightening strike on it and say “I think that’s it”.

He would be leading his unit. He would not smile and wave at us like some of the other Diggers would.

He was marching when the others were walking and talking. He would look straight ahead because he had a job to do.

Then he would pass us and we would walk to queue up for the football.

And as we were walking through the gardens I would hear a school band playing “It’s a long way to Tipperary” or “We’ll meet again” and I would sob. So would mum. We would walk along together with tears running down our faces because of these 2 songs.

But about 5 years ago Grandpa got too old to march.

His Alzheimer’s was too bad.

He stayed at the nursing home and Mum and I went to the march and cried because he was not there.

Where he belonged.

When he passed away 2 years ago we played those songs at his funeral and there was a sepia photo of him in his Army uniform as a handsome young soldier with his life ahead of him.

Staring straight ahead without smiling.

He was an exceptional man. Someone who let me know that he loved me very much. Someone who I miss.

Someone that I remember fondly and often but especially tomorrow.

Same, same but not different.

Do you ever look at your life and wonder what makes you special? What makes you different? What sets you apart from the person next door? (Apart from having a different house number obviously.)

I can’t think of anything right now. I can’t pin point one specific thing that makes me unique.

Yeah I’m a mum and that’s a special thing but there are a lot of ladies with kids in the world. There are a lot of ladies without kids. I don’t want the fact that I’m a mum to define me for the rest of my life.

I don’t want to be just a wife either. I’m still me. Maybe less of me than I used to be though.

I’m also a teacher. A shop assistant. A drinker of coffee. A lover of baths. A football fan.

I lust after smooth cakes that melt on your tongue and make you feel full in an unpleasant way.

I want to own nice things.

I’d like to get lost… and not just in industrial estates like I usually do but really lost. Or just lost in a book.

I want to study life drawing. I want to enrol in the croquembouche class at the CAE.

I want to make a difference. I want to feel different. I want to know how to use the word differential properly in a sentence.

I think I went off topic somewhere.

Maybe I’m not different from you? Maybe we’re all different? Maybe that’s why we feel the same?

Maybe you don’t feel the same.

Maybe you are unique…

But I don’t think I am.

An open letter to the sleep fairy…

Dear Sleep Fairy,

“I’m over here” shouts the voice in my head while doing cart wheels and waving Pom-poms wildly while wearing a blue sequined crop top and small white hot pants.

(In real life my head is wearing a sleeping mask with a picture of the Eiffel Tower on it and I have ear plugs in.)

“Shut the hell up” says my brain. “She’s trying to get to sleep.”

“Close your eyes really tightly and try to make it all go black” says the voice back to the brain.

“What if that is actually just a little bit like dying and I don’t wake up” says a random voice that has obviously been disproven every time yet still seems to be considered a reliable source of information by some.

“All of you please just be really quiet and try to think of nothing” says the brain.

“Oooooooh nothing! I can do that. Nothing and unicorns. Nothing and rainbows. Nothing and ….”

“What was that noise?”

“How long until payday?”

“Do I really have an intolerance to marshmallows? Does that make me soft?”

“What time does she have to get up?”

“What time is it now?”

“In 3 hours?”

“That’s not enough”

“Why is she crying?”

“She’s just tired”

“Oh… She should try and get some sleep”

So in closing…

I’m on some new medication that lists insomnia as a possible side effect. And while I would obviously prefer that to liver disease which is also mentioned as a possible side effect I’m actually a little bit over this and would like to sleep now.

Lots of love,

From Me (and my brain and the voices in my head who are not in the least bit tired).

*please feel free to correct my spelling and grammar in your own brain, mine is busy dancing to Beyonce*