The sorry…

I’ve been dwelling on the negatives a bit this week.

It was the last week of the school term. My boys are tired and my husband has been away. Blah, blah, blah.

I’ve also had a bit of foot in mouth disease. Which I’ve had to self diagnose because my super lovely (and by lovely I mean damn sexy) GP has left the local doctors practice and disappeared somewhere.

Anyway back to me and putting my foot in it.

Things that sound funny in my head seem to be coming out wrong!

Things that should make people laugh sound hurtful. I don’t want that. I don’t want to be a hormonally challenged psycho cow but I’ve been a little bit like that.

I guess that the alternative is to not speak at all. But if I do that for a while now then I might forget how to communicate again later.

So a blanket apology is being issued.

I’m sorry that things are coming out wrong. I’m sorry if I’m being mean. It’s not my intention.

I’ve worrying about this a lot and then the other day I read something on Instagram that inspired me to stop.

“Be a warrior not a worrier”.

I could do that. Maybe not the warrior bit because my arms a little bit too flabby to get about in full gladiator gear in public and it’s winter and I’d catch a chill.

But a little more don’t worry, be happy and speaking with kindness is the goal.

x

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Train of thought…

I haven’t caught the train for a while.

Today I put my head phones in and listened to some beautiful music by Zbigniew Preisner (Google him) and watched the world whoosh past.

I saw people outside lifting heavy equipment
in the name of Saturday morning exercise.

I sat opposite a lady eating a banana in slow motion with her mouth open.

Next to me was a lady with a bible open checking her Facebook on a very large tablet device.

I saw people inside their homes sitting and eating looking back at me.

We didn’t stop at East Richmond. We never do.

My boys dropped me off at the station waving and blowing me kisses.

I chose not to sit in the same carriage as the lady with the huge shrub like bunch of sticks. She looked funky and feisty but wasn’t sure it was safe without safety glasses.

I have been raised by a train spotter to know that the Metro trains aren’t anything special to look out but it was so lovely to sit and watch the world doing it’s thing.

Solitude is such a rare and special thing in my day and to achieve a state of peacefulness on the 9:05 to Flinders St train was a joy.

A rose by any other name…

Hello everyone. I had a good day today.

I’m a little tired though. My husband has started traveling a lot more for work. My children are exhausted and grumpy.

But neither of them cried when I won Uno. We played on the floor eating chips from a bowl.

I had coffee after kinder pick up today with one of my sons friends and his mum. She was perfect. She is gorgeous and said so many lovely things.

I shared my whole horrible year with her and she understood without pity.

She’s incredibly pretty in a hippy kind of way.

We sat and chatted for an hour which considering there were 2 four year olds involved was a minor miracle.

She had a latte in a mug. Some people like that kind of thing. I can work with that.

She said that next time she will invite us to her house and make coffee. That’s a nice offer. That means that she wants to hang out with me again. That there will be a next time.

A new friend.

But oh god, I’ve left it too late now to ask her name!

I can’t keep referring to her by referencing her child.

We shared some very lovely heartfelt thoughts today and I don’t know her name.

In my defense I have to learn a lot of names for work. I know all the names of the children I teach and their families and most of the names of the kids in the other groups that attend the centre. That’s over 100 names that I have to learn each year.

I asked my son what her name was but he said her name was “Ran” which sounds like something a small boy who just wants a very large biscuit would say.

I will track down her name and we will never speak of this issue. Except that’s not true. Because if there’s even a slight chance that I can make something good turn awkward I will do that.

Maybe I’ll just go through her mail when we go to her house…

Nobody puts baby in the corner…

I have a small but solid group of people in my corner.

People who look out for me and love me just the way I am. (And it’s reciprocated with my whole heart.)

People who shower me with kindness when I need it most and make gentle and sarcastic digs at me when they know I can take it enough to dish it back out.

The people in my corner sometimes change roles.

If this was a true boxing analogy (and not a Dirty Dancing one as the title suggests) these people would take turns holding the bucket and towel inside the ring after each round.

Sometimes someone inside the ring might go from being in the inner sanctum and a key part of my team to being one of the people sitting in the front row cheering me on. Trying to avoid the blood and gristle that comes flying out of the ring from time to time.

And sometimes I have a friend who might play the role of the girl in the skimpy bikini, suggestively shaking their hips as they signify that another round is about to begin.

(Oh yes, you know who you are.)

Sometimes I feel like I’ve been knocked out in the first round.

Other times I feel like I could “dance like a butterfly and sting like a bee”.

And sometimes I’m just a girl who carried a watermelon.

Night waking…

So for the past few nights I’ve woken up at 3am. Just randomly.

There are no screaming children.

No loud noises outside.

No phone calls.

(Just the usual snoring husband.)

And yet here I am finding myself waking at 3am. Wide awake.

Splitting my peaceful dreaming and sleeping into 2 parts.

I remember clearly the dreams I had before and after 3am last night.

Before 3am I was dreaming about living in a caravan park and sleeping on a mattress on the floor that wasn’t big enough. (There may have been spiders in the bedding which had me alert but not alarmed.) In the dream everyone was awake and being loud in the middle of the night. Kicking footballs and partying.

In my dream after my 3am period of wakefulness I was being chased in a sexy detective way through caves. I looked great. (Hello! It was my dream so I’m hardly gonna look uggers am I?) I was wearing a large wide brimmed hat and a black one piece swimming costume. Kind of like a pasty pale Bond girl. (I think there was a pool. I hope there was a pool. It would be weird of me to being a swimsuit otherwise.)

I wonder if it will happen again tonight? Will I be awoken for no reason and lie in the dark and the cold longing for sleep to come and tuck me in tightly.

I think it’s making me tired. But I’m asleep by 8:30 most nights so maybe I’m getting too much sleep?

Last year when everything was going to hell in an express elevator I would often wake in the night and sob to myself as I worried about all the hard things that the next day would bring and the unrelenting responsibilities that would be thrust upon me from the moment I woke up.

Now I just lie awake hoping that I don’t start to think about needing to pee. Because as well all know once you think about needing to pee you will only feel better once you have gotten up and dealt with nature.

But anyway back to me. I am not scared about 3am.

I am however petrified that my children will wake up at 5:30am on the weekend and pull all their clothes out of their wardrobes in an elaborate game of dress ups… again!

Super Freak(y)…

Have I mentioned before how I’m slightly obsessed with being someone else.

Some people watch the remake of Freaky Friday starring Jamie Lee Curtis and Lindsay Lohan and think “Ah, that was a crap movie, nowhere near as good as the original”.

But not me.

I think about it often. Obsessively (as I mentioned in my opening stanza).

I look at strangers and wonder what it would be like to be them.

What would it be like to be someone else for a day or a week or a little while?

Ultimately given the choice I think I’d hijack a highlight of someone elses.

Someone falling in love for the first time with those ridiculous butterflies and that smile on your face and kissing. All that kissing.

Or someone holding their child for the first time. Not the labour bit. Actually I might swap with a dad and see how that feels. Take the opportunity to see what it is like to see your partner go through all that and hold this tiny new person that you helped create.

Or kick the winning goal in the Grand Final.

Or have a day of being ridiculously rich and just shopping without thinking.

Or maybe I would do the opposite.

Maybe I could be a person on the streets doing it ridiculously hard and reminding me for the rest of my life to take nothing for granted.

Or maybe I could organise a group of people to take turns of being someone else who is grieving. Instead of bringing dinners to freeze we could all share the load a bit. Give them some respite from their despair.

I would love to have a go in someone else’s brain.

And body. But not like that. Maybe a little bit like that. It would be fun seeing which bit wobble in a a different body and how I felt about it. Whether I could convince the owner of the body that they are beautiful no matter what.

How fun would it be to be randomly kind to people? And reconcile with people and forgive for others. Do that awful hard stuff while being emotionally unattached.

What’s that? They’re not doing another remake of Freaky Friday based on me and my musings?

That’s okay. But maybe that’s what it’s like to put yourself in someone else’s shoes and see life through their eyes and forgive them their struggles.

The whole hitch is that in the movie 2 people had to want to swap lives at exactly the same time.

So who wants to be me for a day?

If you like Piña Coladas…

So the Piña Colada song has got me thinking. Who is the “old lady” in the song?

And just in case you were wondering if it might be me I thought I’d clarify some things.

My personal view on Piña Coladas is that I don’t have one. I have never tried one. They look quite sweet though so I probably would like them.

I DO like getting caught in the rain but only if I can have a hot shower and wash my hair afterwards. Also a hair dryer and some moisturiser wouldn’t go astray. (High maintenance much?)

I like the idea of yoga. I like the idea of wearing yoga pants and a singlet and stretching my body into awkward yet somehow healing positions. I love the bit at the end when you lay down under a blanket and pretend to sleep for a bit but the actual yoga part I’m not so good at. So in summary, actually am not into yoga.

Do I have half a brain? Do I have half a brain? Hang on. I was being rhetorical with myself so I’ll let you decide the answer to that one.

Would I like to make love at midnight in the dunes on the Cape? Why yes. Yes I would. But most nights I’m in bed by 8:30 and asleep by 9:00. Also man in the song your pronounce dunes as doons and that kind of is a turn off so yes, I would, but not with you.

Also living in Australia we would need to clarify which Cape you are talking about. Cape Schanck is lovely but would be mighty chilly at midnight at this time of the year so our planned love making may require thermal underwear and hot water bottles. Now who is turning who off?

But at the end of the song when he goes to meet the mysterious lady of intrigue and it’s his “own lovely lady” this makes me happy.

I’m happy because she’s not his “old lady” anymore but she is back to being his “lovely lady”.

Stay lovely peeps.