May 2015

I had an epiphany the other day. While the family was out shopping, number two put in a request for a number two. This request used to make me groan, sweat and swear, because the time required for said number two to do a number two was extensive, and when in a sweaty, tropical toilet, it is really, really shithouse!  Throughout all such public toilet adventures with both of my lads, we’ve always had lots of conversations. The main focus of the conversation always went along the lines of this: “Mum are you doing a wee or a poo?” Obviously I was ALWAYS doing a wee. I must be honest and admit I secretly did enjoy our chats, because their freedom to express our shared experiences, while having no appreciation of its inappropriate nature, was lovely, sweet and completely harmless. One day, these conversations will stop too, but not yet, not yet. They’re just not with me anymore. They are big boys now, and as such, they go to the big boy’s toilet. When Steve’s around, he obviously has to endure it, but otherwise it’s between them and any male strangers in the toilet. My job today is to stand outside and wait, hoping the toilet is clean, and that no guest makes the mistake of dropping a massive guff. This happened recently. Thankfully Steve was there. While having the “conversation,” another chap was obviously experiencing some rather intense stomach difficulties. “Dad did you hear that pop-off? It was so loud. Dad there he goes again. He did a BIG fart Dad.” (Yes we are moving beyond pop-off to fart. That had to happen too.) Steve was obviously suppressing his giggles, while trying not to encourage the conversation, but there is nothing that can be done. My boys are at the age when they think bodily functions are the funniest thing on the planet, and all we can hope for is that day to come to an end too. And soon. I just felt sorry for the guy on the other bog. A peaceful bog he did not have. But part of my epiphany was linked back to an earlier blog I wrote – Motherhood a Series of No Mores. In this I talked about all of the things I decided to stop doing for the boys. I was just done. I’d had enough. It included wiping their arses after they were out of nappies – check. Amazing how quickly they sort themselves out there. Opening Chuppa Chups – check! There is always, ALWAYS a will to open a Chuppa Chup and will is all that’s required to get a result. But of course, now they’re at the series of no mores with me. I obviously can’t take them to the toilet anymore. There are certain conversations they’ll only have with their dad now. When trying clothes on in shops, I can no longer drop their dacks in public and do it quickly. We need the privacy of a dressing room and no mum, you can’t come in. The journey of the parent is fascinating. Our boys are bloody hilarious, and every day I see how the world is starting to shape their thinking and influence their ideas. But they are still connected to the core of who they are, even if it gets chipped away at every day. We’re such complex creatures us humans, so trying to help my boys stay connected to their core is my job now, but it’s completely out of my control. I can’t be there every minute of the day. I can’t shield their hearts from hurt. I have to let them find their way, and with the no mores building up for this mumma, it creates distance too. This is a good thing and a sad thing. I always knew I had to let them go, but it hurts a little bit every time they pull away just that little bit more. Sigh… Bloody kids. I love ‘em to bits, but crikey, what a ride! Anyone want to share a favorite ‘no more’ memory – whether it’s one of yours or one of theirs? Yours, without the bollocks Andrea

When I went to Australia a few weeks back, I spent some long overdue time with my brothers (Paul & Mark), sister (Phillipa), as well as my mum, Kath. It was really nice and I am thrilled for Paul that he finally found his bride. However, because I haven’t been around my family for nearly six years (how did that happen?) it was interesting to watch and observe. Definitely a case of watch them, see yourself.   Paul in the middle One thing I’ve always known is my family has always been pretty out there compared to most. Let’s just say there was always a lot of energy in the family, because we’re all a bit manic. I always remember a lot of people around our family often wondering how the bloody hell we all keep moving, thinking, speaking, shouting (mainly mum) and running at the pace we did, but it appears it’s in the genes. At one point, Mark was talking about how he hates people walking in front of him, feeling like he’s constantly being tripped up by slow walkers. I totally get that. Worse for me is someone who stops and talks to me in a doorway – as my husband knows so well. Speak to me but keep moving love, and DO NOT trap me in. Although I have come to appreciate that walking fast when there’s nowhere to be is completely pointless – slow down and enjoy the moment right? Also a benefit of living in the tropics is you walk slower because it’s too just bloody hot to walk fast. I’m still quick for Singapore though. Paul showed a different manic side – this time when opening stuff – and there’s a lot of stuff to open during a wedding. I am equally guilty of this, as are my kids. When opening anything, if it is not immediately responsive, what do you do? You rip it apart that’s what you do. You know that patience virtue thing? I didn’t get a lot of that either. Mark and Phillipa My sister Phillipa lives her life at such high velocity, it’s hard for anyone to keep up. Whether she’s teaching, conducting, hosting a radio show, mothering, or decorating the most amazing cakes, she can spin your head around at the pace she lives her life. And then there’s my lovely mum Kath. Bloody hell mum, I just got out of bed, give me a chance to turn around and make it. My mum’s home is always ALWAYS clean, and nothing stays in the wrong place. Mum is definitely the one who gave all of us those impatient and manic genes. My dad is definitely the calm one of the clan – although I got my “headiness” from him. Thanks dad. I’ve often wondered why I can’t just sit back and enjoy the ride – appreciating what I’ve achieved and being OK with that. I’ve always tried really hard to master it – with meditation, mindfulness practice, etc.. – but there’s always something else I want to achieve, a new goal to be set, a new ambition to nurture. I can’t help it. This thing lives inside of me and as Queen sang “I want it all and I want it now.” I was out with my mate for drinks the other night and she said you need to learn to be patient when I told her things weren’t moving fast enough in one area of my life. I know, I KNOW but I can’t. The drive exists and if I get freed up in one area of my life, a new opportunity has some space to jump in. I know it is exhausting for Steve. I feel the exhaustion of being with me in him often. But I can’t help it, I really can’t. He knew that when he married me too. I was reading something recently that our most productive and successful years are usually in our 40s-60s. When I read it I thought of course, here I am in the heart of the time when I can probably achieve my best work, and yet here I am also in the time of being a hands on mum with young kids. That’s why you do the procreating thing earlier, so you can be free when your best time comes up. Doh! Oh well, life twists and weaves, opportunities ebb and flow, and I continue to run full pace into everything, doing too much, taking new things on, agreeing to more, more, more. I will continue to work on quieting my mind, trying to get more peaceful, more grateful, etc.., but it seems, perhaps, I just need to accept this is who I am and should relish in my thirst for life. Based on my trip to Australia, I think I can say it’s definitely in my genes after all. Anyone else relate to being completely manic – in mind, body or spirit? Yours, without the bollocks Andrea

Chatting it up with Oprah In case you didn’t notice, it’s Mother’s Day and I think that’s fairly universal, except maybe in Europe? As I’ve written about before, I’ve always had mixed feelings about Mother’s Day, but it comes around every year and of course, it must be celebrated. One of my big struggles about this day is the women I know who haven’t had their chance to become mothers. It’s worse now with social media – there is no escaping the day. I can only imagine how hard that is. I never thought I’d be a mother. I spent years alone, never finding the guy that had the qualities necessary to be a dad for my kids. I was always determined that if I didn’t meet him, then I’d accept a life with no kids. It was better that way. But I did find Steve and the output is two magnificent sons that make us laugh and scream every day. The minute I was pregnant, the big change I noticed is that my life was no longer my own. I wasn’t a private human being living in my own world anymore. From being touched by complete strangers when I was pregnant, to blokes I didn’t know well enough talking about my boobs and breastfeeding, all the way through to well-intentioned people providing advice and insights when you’re little lad is struggling… My world got crashed in on by people in ways I never imagined before. I haven’t always liked that. Little angels In the journey of parenting, we’ve had a very turbulent time – mainly with our Lex. The worst part of that turbulent time is the opinions of people who have no idea what they’re talking about, but feel entitled to share it with you anyway. It takes a lot of strength to grin and bear it let me tell you. I’ve never been rude to people (even if I was screaming inside) because it’s not who I am. If I expressed everything I felt in all of those situations, people wouldn’t like me very much. The reality is, people think they’re helping, but have no idea what you’ve done, what you think, the worries you carry inside (and share only with your husband) and the mountains you’ve scaled for your child already. We’ve left no stone un-turned with the Lexster, and the journey is ongoing, but one thing I can tell you is this: we’ve always been right. He just needs time to develop at his own pace after missing out on the first four years of development due to hearing issues. The hearing issue is fixed and he’s going to be OK, even if we wish he’d bloody hurry up and get on with it…. But nah, that boy does things on his own timeline. I admire him for that and WE need to be patient. He’s an expensive child that one. We’ve experienced some brutal times along the way with Lex too – including being abused by a teacher (that was fucked let me tell you) – and getting kicked out of schools, rejected by other schools, and at many points along the way, left us wondering if we’d  have to move countries to help him move forward. All through this, Jax has been a solid and happy little man, until recently when his teacher told us he’s having confidence issues. Really? Jax not confident? Bloody hell, how do we help him? A new project commences, because what’s more important than confidence and self-respect? They met lots of famous people at Madam Taussads, Singapore So for me, being a mother has been a struggle and it hasn’t always been a lot of fun. Equally, I have massive ambitions for myself, and these ambitions are only getting stronger. I want to make a positive contribution to the world in my own way, so keeping that dream alive is really critical to who I am. But equally, I take the family responsibility seriously. I have seen the results of parents “fucking it up” and I don’t want my boys to be those adults. I can’t guarantee that they won’t be, but I don’t want to look back and know it was something I missed along the way – like making sure they know I love them, believe in them, respect them and value them. If you go back through my blog you’ll find many posts railing against the duties of being a mother. The first 7-8 years were not amazing. They were grueling and confusing and hard and horrible and frustrating and exhausting and much much more. But they were also amazing and beautiful and precious and divine and funny and adventurous and fascinating and so much more of that. Being a mother is the weirdest thing I’ve ever done. But I tell you one thing that’s undeniable. I love those two little dudes with a passion that scares the hell of me sometimes. Anyone else not had the easiest journey in the early years? Yours, without the bollocks Andrea