About linamay

The fact that I'm sitting here trying to think up something interesting about myself kind of sums me up.

Do not reply to this message… unless you want to.


I’ve not blogged for a long time now.

I’ve not wanted to be heard and replied to. Does that make sense? Social media feels like you’re putting something out there because you want to be heard and acknowledged and sometime I just want to be really quiet and ignored.

Usually when I’m quiet and trying to be ignored I get upset that people are ignoring me but that’s another story. Us humans are a complicated bunch.

A few months ago I went on a big trip overseas with my husband and two sons. I shared lots of pics on Instagram and a few update posts on Facebook.

Which was lovely and of course a great way to share things with family and friends.

Except that when I got back people kept telling me that they liked what I wrote and wanted to talk about swivel chairs and husky rides and The Blue Lagoon in Iceland and I didn’t really want to talk about it anymore.

I know I can be rather funny when I want to be but sometimes my brain doesn’t want to be funny it wants to be alone.

I follow some lovely people on social media and I’ve even reached out and contacted some when I think of them in my real life.

I like reaching out and looking after others. I’m a little uncomfortable when it happens the other way. Perhaps I’m worried that I won’t be able to return the favour or do enough to say thanks. (Deleted the bit where I was worried that I wasn’t worth it.)

I’ve got a new friend at my preschool. A grandma who seeks me out and hugs me and calls me her princess in such a way that you have to believe her. I was invited to her home on Tuesday and she sat next to me on the couch practically force feeding me three different types of baklava, pistachios, Turkish coffee and sparkling water. All while holding my hand and looking at me. Who knew that sometimes you just need the love of an Albanian grandmother to put things right?

She told me she loves me many times. She told me to come back with my husband and my boys. She told me to come again. To eat more. To sleep if I wanted to. She checked several times if I needed to go to the toilet before driving home. I didn’t.

Love, kindness, compassion, friendship and all the other good things are out there in the world. They’re in people that you do know, the people that you don’t know and the people that you might not have time for.

Life is lonely sometimes. Especially when you’re surrounded by people asking you to do things and expecting you to deliver. Look for the people who are grateful when you help them.

And help yourself too.

Right O! Obviously I’m channeling Oprah circa 1998.

But hey I just finally felt ready to say hello and not be scared of a reply.



Change happens…

Hello! Remember me?

Sometimes I don’t.

Sometimes I look at who I am today and wonder what happened to the old me.

The old me used to love reality tv. I watched and voted for strangers on tv programs. I even went to an Australian Idol live filming once. Strangely enough it was the final 3 voting show and one of the contestants dropped out so it was the only episode ever where nobody actually sang.

I can’t stand reality tv now. Not because it’s junk but because I don’t want to care about strangers on tv anymore. I don’t want the crazy scripted stories and all the nastiness.

I used to be a chocoholic. Until one day 14 months ago after eating a delicious chocolate brownie the night before I woke up and discovered I’d lost the taste for chocolate.

I got 20 boxes of chocolate from my students at the end of last year. I was so excited to get several large boxes of Roses chocolates in the hope that I might start liking chocolate again but it seems it’s not to be. My husband however is reaping the rewards of my taste change.

Things change.

I used to be scared of some things that I’m not scared of anymore.

And I’m scared of things now that never frightened me in the past.

I guess the fact that things change gives us all hope that the bad things will change too.

Nothing that is too hard now will be too hard forever. At least that’s the hope isn’t it?

I have a couple of beautiful friends whose brains play awful tricks on them sometimes and make their days so sad and empty.

Mental illness is such a wicked thing to grapple with.

It doesn’t fight fair and it doesn’t care who it hurts.

But things change.

Things get better.

As a preschool teacher I have daily moments of silly laughter at the things the kids say. I am so lucky to have that.

Last week a child came and asked me for a smoke. I was surprised until I worked out she meant smock. She was asking for an art smock.

After talking about tadpoles turning into frogs and caterpillars turning into butterflies a child asked me if I was going to turn into a dog.

I took my glasses off for a moment and one girl yelled out “it’s still you”.

These little people make me laugh with their easy going attitudes and their ability to make friends based on a mutual favourite colour.

So yes, things change. I used to like chocolate and reality tv and now I don’t.

You might change too from time to time.

Change can be as good as a holiday or it can be a blooming nuisance.

So please try to find time for a laugh or a moment of respite from the bad changes.

Or if you must… eat a box of Roses chocolates while watching reality tv if that helps.


Day 3…

Soooo… it’s the third day of the new year and so far it’s not too dissimilar from the old year.

I am on holidays because I am a teacher and it’s summer in Australia. I am also sharing my holidays with my children which makes them significantly less relaxing and lot more sticky.

My kids are older though now so I get to sleep in while they are playing games (that I’m not adequately supervising) on their iPads.

Today we went to visit a friend and her 11 month old baby. In another world that baby would have been my boys half brother but the egg transfer didn’t work and that’s okay because we’re still friends and she’s a wonderful mum.

On New Years Day I asked my family if they had made any New Years resolutions. My husband hadn’t and my kids didn’t know what there were.

I told my boys that their goal for 2018 is to clean up after themselves better.

I told my husband to learn to cook more dishes than just reheating bolognese sauce and boiling pasta.

My resolution was obviously to be less controlling of my family.

Oh well.

The other day my husband asked me why I was having a nap during the day and said he thought that I sleep too much.

I would have walked out the door and left him for good except for the fact that I was in my pj’s and was still very tired.

Instead we had a lovely polite discussion about not judging people in their own home.

The last 2 days though I’ve had an upset stomach and nausea. And no it’s not a raging hangover from New Years Eve because a) I don’t drink and b) I was in bed by 8pm on December 31.

I’ve worked out that I may have taken too much milk thistle. My amazingly beautiful and kind sister in law is a Kinesiologist and suggested I take milk thistle.

I think I may have had too much though and as a result saw in the New Year with a milk thistle overdose.

Things that they don’t warn you about in the health food shop hey and yes for those wondering I did try some kombulcha stuff but that didn’t work either.

And now it’s the evening on the 3rd of the year and I’m finally feeling better.

I’ve had fresh air, my bare feet on green grass and I seem to be on streak when it comes to correct coffee bean grinding and tamping.

I am well.

I hope you are too.


No words… (I wish)

Recently I find myself without a filter.

Like seriously #nofilter

I think there’s something wrong with me. I cannot blooming stop the oversharing.

I seem to have lost my boundaries.

Maybe I need a lovely new shiny electric fence around my mouth that zaps me when I’m talking too much.

After my sons basketball game last night my friend told me to follow her and not talk to anyone.

I say the most inappropriate things at the silliest times.

Which is why it’s probably good that I’m a preschool teacher and my class is comprised of children from diverse backgrounds and most of them don’t speak English.

Their parents can’t speak English either and one mother hugged me and told me that she loves me the other day.

Not sure if it got lost in translation but it made my day.

I had a girl come up to me today and looked up my dress to check that I was wearing knickers.

I was. I am.

I am used to children patting me on the breast to get my attention and ask me how many babies are in my tummy after I’ve had a big lunch.

They talk about my hair and my hairy legs.

I wore a striped dress last week and one boy said I looked like a thief.

Today we somehow started talking about death and how dead people live in cemeteries and can’t come alive from there and one girl put up her hand and started talking about cake.

This is my professional life. This is what I studied at university to do.

Now I’m not sure if these strange little people are influencing me or if being around small children so often has left me handicapped when it comes to speaking to adults in the real world.

I often wish that I had the stamina and patience to be a selective mute.

Alas I do not.

My own children beg me not to talk to strangers.

Maybe it’s because I had my thyroid removed?

But seriously sometimes I hate it. I hate that I say dumb things to fill silences and then lie awake ruing my words in the evening.

I know that I must be grateful that I have a voice at all but I do sometimes thing I’d like to share a drink bottle with someone who has laryngitis.


Fete of fate…

Tonight is the night of my kids school fete. Otherwise known as a fate worse than death.

A biannual event filled with noise, sugar and small children screaming.

I baked a lemon cake last night for the bake sale stall.

I donated blocks of chocolate and jars of lollies for prizes.

I paid 2 x $36 for ride wrist bands and then the worst of all I volunteered on the toddler game stand.

One hour watching other people’s children after working all day with other people’s children.

And I don’t usually work Fridays.

So I turn up.

My stall is set up in the shade and there are chairs to sit on. People don’t pay for admission so I don’t have to worry about handling money.

I sit down next to another volunteer.

She is one of the girls in my sons class grandmother.

We had the best chat over the course of our one hour shift.

She was born in Hong Kong and went to boarding school in England.

She had never seen cutlery when she got to boarding school and her first meal was mashed potato, peas and meat covered in brown runny gravy.

She had no idea what it was or how to eat it.

When I asked her what she does now she said she’s in investment and runs her business online at home.

When I asked her how she had trained to do that she told me she’s qualified as a nuclear physicist.

Then I told her about my job and she couldn’t believe that I teach 26 four year olds who mostly don’t speak any English.

She said she thought I was hilarious. I told her that I wished I was a selective mute because I have no control over my mouth.

I asked her if she saw the post on the entire class messenger group where I accidentally posted screen shots about the side effects of lithium instead of sending it to someone else.

She said she hadn’t but she thought it sounded pretty funny.

She also told me she hadn’t because she’d decided after living in Tasmania while working and schmoozing politicians she decided she didn’t want to have a mobile phone anymore.

We finished our hour of duty and hugged as we said goodbye and said that we would catch up for coffee sometimes.

Thus proving that sometimes when you dread something for weeks you might actually end up with a new 67 year old BFF.


I’m still here.

People say that you should cut negative people out of your life.

So what happens to all the negative people?

Or the people who are just hard work because they require a bit of extra love sometimes?

Everyone needs someone.

I need someone sometimes.

I’ve been on antidepressants for a couple of years now.

Sometimes I have bad days and don’t know if it’s me or the meds.

I don’t know if worry is anxiety wearing a disguise and sadness is depression hiding under the bed.

Sometimes it’s the same with good days.

I haven’t been writing as often as I used to. I get a bit scared that I’ll say the wrong thing and offend someone or that I’ll upset someone.

It’s strange that when I write here I use my filters. In real life I have no filters.

I spew rubbish out of my mouth and then stew about what I said for days.

I’m strange like that but…

The sun has come out more lately and the fresh air and vitamin D seem to make life nicer.

The washing is drying on the line instead of inside which brings me so much joy that I’m sure my meds are working.

I’ve made enough bolognese sauce to last for 4 dinners today so that part of my brain that worries about dinner is on a break.

So in short I’m good. I hope you are too but I’m here for you if you need someone.


P.S I “borrowed” that pic from Instagram.

Come stai? Benne, molto benne.

G’day. Hello. Ciao.

It’s me. (Please feel free to read back and remind yourself of who I am.) It’s been far too long between posts.

Anyway… A week ago I got back from a two week trip to Italy with my family.

It’s because of the “with my family” bit that I wrote trip instead of holiday because traveling with two youngish boys is not a holiday.

My youngest son is a special gift from God. (The kind of gift that can’t be returned.) I think he’s amazing and awesome most of the time but I also know that it’s only because I’m his mother that I think that. 🙂

He complained about the heat. He complained when we made him walk for 7 hours in the heat.
He complained when we bought him a strawberry ice cream that it tasted like real strawberries and not strawberry flavoured milkshake.
Ditto with the banana flavour.
He complained that the Vatican was boring.
He complained that he was bored during our hot air balloon flight over Tuscany.
He complained that his pizza had green herbs on it.

But I still love him. Next time he wants to go somewhere cold. I’m thinking Iceland. And every time he complains that he’s too cold I’ll remind him that he didn’t like the heat.

Having said that… Italy felt sooooo good.

There was something in the air or the atmosphere or possibly in the water that was good for the soul.

I felt mentally happier than I have in years. I felt free of something. Maybe it was being free of routine or being free to be yourself in a different place.

Anyway it was divine.

I’ve decided that I will be one of those rich people that spends a month every Australian winter in Lake Como. Lying on the sun lounge eating fresh croissants with marmalade and wandering down to the local cafe for an espresso at the bar when I need it.

Or maybe it was just that ER was on tv every night and seeing a little bit of 90’s George Clooney on a daily basis is also good for the soul.

I’ve come back breathing deeper and with some space to move in my head.

Which is just as well as I’m being the helper instead of the helpee at the moment.

I’ve got a beautiful friend whose grandmother has died and she’s dealing with all the family squabbling that happens when your mother has died before her mother and life is out of order.

Another beautiful friend witnessed a tragic suicide last week and needs a little extra love.

A friend has just completed a cycle of IVF in which no embryos grew well enough to be transferred.

And a colleague who found a lump in her breast and hasn’t been sleeping since she found it and her husband is away for 2 weeks.

Now the funeral is tomorrow, I’m spending the weekend with my friend who witnessed the suicide and the lump turned out to be a lymph node being reactive.

There is nothing I can do for the IVF friend but be there for her.

So while some of my favourite people are going through some awful times I am well enough to help.

It’s strange that sometimes you get so lost that you can’t help yourself and your friends help you and then the tables are reversed and you are so grateful that you can help them back.

So I’m seriously thankful not to be the one going through the crap at the moment and relieved that I’m able to help my friends that are.

Helping and looking after friends is good for the soul.

Italy is good for the soul.

Now if only I could take my friends to Italy…