Good, bad and horrid…

“There was a little girl,
And she had a little curl,
Right in the middle of her forehead.
When she was good
She was very, very good
And when she was bad she was horrid.”

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.

So the excerpt from a poem above is about a young girl called Jemima who misbehaves and in turn is spanked by her mother.

The line from the poem that has always stuck with me is the bit about when she was good, she was very, very good.

I relate to that.

When I am good, I am so awesomely amazing and wonderful that I see sunshine and rainbows and good things everywhere I turn.

I smile and laugh and enjoy all the good that there is in in life.

But when I’m feeling bad I’m horrid.

I become hard work and I understand that I’m not fun to be around.

I don’t really like being around me either.

And therein lays the problem.

I don’t want to bother you when I’m feeling at my crappiest. I don’t want to be a burden. I don’t want to suck the life out of you or come across as being all dark and down.

When I’m feeling horrid I hide it and hide the things I feel and do.

Although my extremely short hairstyle no longer offers me the option of a curl in the middle of my forehead most of the time lately I’ve been very, very good.

I know what makes me happy and I know when I need to switch off from reality and find something creative to do or bake.

I am so much better at staying away from the bad but there are still times when I’m horrid. xx

Eat more, don’t hate…

I had a lunch date today with the kinder mum who is my new friend.

She warned me not to eat much before hand which was excellent advice as she cooked me a huge chicken breast with mushroom sauce, steamed carrot, potatoes and broccoli and a Greek salad just to tip me over the edge.

I don’t eat big meals and I don’t like tomatoes but I had a big meal and I ate all the cherry tomatoes that kept being put on my plate.

This amazing beautiful woman was so happy to cook for me and have me in her home.

It’s a real honour to be the honoured guest.

Then she made me a Turkish coffee and gave me another drink of water after I accidentally ate all the grit at the end in a pitiful attempt at being polite.

She then made me a juice in the super juicer she bought from the home shopping channel and told me how it had changed her life.

This shy quiet lady lit up as she told me of all the yummy juices she can make now and how easy it is to clean.

And then her husband came home and offered to make over my kitchen.

(I might be a good teacher but I’m not sure that even I deserve a free kitchen.)

But the part that is sticking with me still is when this gorgeous, kind and generous woman told me how she has been visiting someone in hospital the night before and as her family was going up in the lift another family went to get in then saw her hijab and changed their minds.

She told me she turned to her husband and asked him if he noticed.

She told me she was so embarrassed.

I don’t even know what words to put here that explain how stupid it is to judge someone on their appearance.

To decide that you don’t want to ride in the lift with a family of 3 beautiful young girls just because the mother has her hair covered.

When did we stop seeing the people and believing the media?

What are people so damn scared of?

I told my friend that it was their problem, not hers and that she lives in a country that values freedom and choice as long as it’s the same choice as everyone else’s.

I am offended by ignorance and hate in the same way the ignorant and hateful are offended by people who choose to eat Halal foods.

(P.S Just a reminder that the more Muslims there are in the cafe you’re in the more bacon there is for you.)

It’s that easy.

Don’t be offended.

Don’t offend. x

Aches and pleasure…

Relax they all say.

But I can’t.

“They” are all the people who’ve ever touched my back, neck, arms, shoulders. The people who’ve taken blood or inserted needles.

I’m no gooda at the relaxa.

(Sorry just lapsed back into my traditional Italian there for a bit.)

My chiropractor who specialises in a type of Neuro Chiropractic stuff says that there’s something in my brain that makes my fight or flight mode constantly on and armed.

My muscles are always tense.

I also have a wonderful condition where spasmatic jerks can occur. Sometimes they’re triggered by lights, sometimes by touch and sometimes by stress.

So it was with a little trepidation today that I went and had a deep tissue massage.

I’ve been feeling sore and achey for days.

I took the day off work because I couldn’t comprehend having to spend another day talking.

And instead of waiting for an hour or more in a doctors waiting room I went for a massage.

The Chinese man wearing the English football club T-shirt told me to remove my top and my thing. I asked his if meant bra and he said yes.

So I did and lay down on the table with my boobs all squished.

He kept asking if I was happy with the pressure and I said yes.

(Even when I thought there was a chance he might dislocate my head from my neck.)

Oh and it was good. He didn’t ask me to relax. He was just rough. He pushed and pulled and got his elbows to make my back pop.

I could feel the knots or air or whatever it was being pushed to the sides like you do with air bubbles under contact when you’re covering a book.

He was a fairly heavy breather and I may have moaned.

Then I paid the man for providing the pleasure and we were all happy.

And even slightly relaxed. x

Slice of heaven…

After my last post I checked my stats and realised that I had some views from New Zealand.

Which I thought was kind of cool until I realised that the views were me. Because I’m in New Zealand.

Apparently if you want your blog to get more views overseas you can just go overseas and check your blog yourself.

I like New Zealand. We’ve been here for 5 nights.

We’ve had pancakes at the same cafe for 4 days in a row because we like to pretend to be regulars and the pancakes were really good.

After approximately 3 minutes of arriving somewhere I assimilate completely taking on the accent and sounding like a tourist with a speech problem.

I bought some seriously expensive shoes that have become part of the family.

I took the kids to visit my mums oldest friend who drove us around Wellington on a crazy adventure.

I have eaten the most amazing burger and chilli chips.

I drank some amazing chocolate milk that is so delicious that when they first started selling it shops were paying security guards to sit in the dairy section to stop people stealing it.

I bought 3 tea towels for $25 because if you can’t afford the new kitchen you want then it’s better than nothing.

I rode the cable car up the mountain and a trolley bus back to Cuba St.

I shared a bed with my 7 year old until he fell asleep because it’s a fact that my two boys will not fall asleep while sharing a bed.

I read the front page of the paper on Wednesday where the lead story was that a flight had forgotten to unload the passengers baggage and they had to wait a whole day before getting it back.

I’ve just eaten my body weight in salted caramel profiteroles at the airport lounge so it must be time to spend my few remaining Kiwi dollars on some duty free.

Holidays are good.

Adventures are fun.

But my own bed is calling me. x

Whatever you are…

If you can’t be the best then be the best you can be.

Or something like that.

I’m not the best at anything.

I’m competent at half a dozen things.

I can bluff my way through a few more but I’m not the best.

I want to be more.

You know that morose feeling you get when you try something and then you wonder why bother. Someone else has already done this or is currently doing this better than me.

Or worse there is someone out there doing something crazily original and outstanding that I couldn’t think of if my life depended on it.

I want to be creative and make a difference and save the world and be the next Mother Teresa.

Or not. But you know what I mean.

There are some seriously inspiring and brilliant people out there and I’m not one of them.

I have gotten to the stage where I am actually good and not being good at things.

Obviously not make sense is something I excel at.

Reversing into my driveway… so good at being bad at that.

But in reality I am good at being me.

Not perfect at anything but trying as hard as I can… when I have the energy.

I am the only mother my boys have, the only wife that my husband has (hopefully… he does travel a lot), the only daughter my parents have and the only sister my brother has.

These are the roles that only I fulfill so I guess by default I’m the best at them.

I’m also a good friend to a handful of people that I couldn’t live without and care for me so beautifully that I don’t have the words to thank them. x


Me and my sk8r boys…

It’s the school holidays here and being a teacher that means that I get to spend all of my annual leave in the very close proximity of my own children.

Last week my 7 year old was invited to a roller skating party. He had a blast so we went back there today.

Today was different. There were kids everywhere. And my 5 year tried to skate.

The poor kid has the least coordination of anyone I know.

He gets it from me.

(Last time I went skating 20 years ago I grabbed a girls arm as I fell and broke her arm… My bad.)

He simply could not get his balance.

But he did not give up. No. He spent 25 minutes crawling around the rink to complete one lap and then declared that he’d had enough.

The 7 year old though skated on. Although he hasn’t quite got the hang of gliding and seems to be skate walking.

He watched the speed skaters and returned to the rink running with his arms behind his back like they did.

There was an older Asian gentleman in white slacks and a check shirt wearing knee pads and a while helmet. He skated so gracefully doing twirls and skating on one leg.

There was the guy in his 30’s I reckon wearing black jeans, a black metal T-shirt with a long pony tail flowing down his back who skated so fast in his tight pants that I started to feel aroused by his bogan-ness.

There were couples skating holding hands.

There were kids falling over everywhere while singing lyrics to songs that probably aren’t appropriate.

These were not my people. They amused me. I felt welcome by their willingness to have not changed their fast food prices since the 80’s.

It’s always fun doing something new… says the girl who freaks and over analyses the faintest idea of something new.

I’m being adaptable and flexible.

While still acknowledging that I am not flexible enough to skate myself.

Living on the edge…

Thoughts from today.

A day of two halves and two lists.

Things that push me over the edge…

-Waiting at the doctors for an hour with 2 boys who are oblivious to the noise they are making or the fact that they are in everyone’s way.

-Husbands who travel so much that the one time they are home for bin night they put the wrong bins out… and then still leave for interstate.

-Neighbours with leaf blowers.

-Chocolate cake crumbs on a freshly mopped floor.

-Bringing the washing in naked and looking down to see a large orange spider on my boobs.

-Regretting the promise I made to take the kids roller skating tomorrow.

Things that bring me back from the edge…

-Reading a book in the bath with a candle burning.

-Eating a chocolate Easter bunny’s bum.

-Me time.

-Fresh air, sunshine and giggling children.

-Hot cross buns full of peel.

-Fresh sheets on the bed.

-Kind and thoughtful messages from friends.

-Getting back my perspective on life after a long day and realising that sometimes I let things get me down instead of laughing them off.

Fact: It’s going to be okay. I’m going to be okay. We’re all going to be okay. xx