"New Mum On The Block "
Nelson District Parent Centre Newsletter November/December 2007
One of the things a lot of us look forward to as parents is celebrating Christmas with our children. No doubt it's a combination of our own positive childhood Christmas memories and a natural want to share the goodwill of the season with our off-spring.
This Christmas may be the Christmas that Amelia actually “gets” what the season is all about – or at least, the gift-receiving side of it. She'll be two and three-quarters this Christmas – no doubt the “all about me” syndrome will have really kicked in by then!
Amelia was nine months old when she celebrated her first Christmas. Back then it was all about grabbing bits of tinsel and shiny round balls. There was a bit of competition between her and the cat to see who could pull the most decorations off the tree.
Amelia was twenty one months old for her second Christmas. A little over a year and a half, the present-opening side of it was starting to look interesting. We spent that Christmas with family in Auckland and after watching the older children rip open their prezzies; Amelia soon cottoned on to what all the fuss was about. Three under fours opening prezzies in a frenzied rush was a good hour or so of over-stimulation.
Christmas is a great opportunity to teach little ones about the art of gift-giving. This year I plan to make little bundles of homemade goodies to give away to friends and neighbours. I've been meaning to do this for several Christmases and am always touched when others do something similar. The lesson that the spirit of Christmas can be simple is a great message for children – and adults.
A couple of weeks before Christmas we are heading to the Coromandel for a week or so for a family wedding. We are flying this year after a bad sailing crossing the Strait last Christmas. Yes, that bad. Our ferry was running late and just half an hour into our sailing passengers were dished out ice-cubes in cups to suck and warned about what-was-to-come. A half hour or so into the Strait, where the waves were so rough that the decks were closed off, Amelia started throwing up. I don't think many kids on that sailing weren't sick. The state of the family room at the end of the sailing looked like a scene from a drunken students rampage. Parents had either been sick themselves or were covered in their own children's vomit.
So when we arrived in Wellington, recking of vomit and desperate for a shower we pledged back then that next time we travelled, we would fly. Of course we still had the return sailing to take back to Picton. Luckily for us it was a calm day. The only hazard was running around after a 21-month year old for almost three hours. We were knackered at the end of it! Again, we pledged to take the plane for our next trip away.
We haven't travelled greatly with our two and a half year old. Our biggest trip away so far has been to Sydney last February. There is nothing like traveling with a littlie to realise firstly how limiting traveling with a child can be but secondly how possible it is, once you are geared towards it. We stayed at a B&B in Cronulla which was just perfect for somewhere to escape the hot aussie sun and to come back for naps. It was just a few minutes walk to the beach so we took Amelia for a few swims in the salt baths there. And we went for long walks along the esplanade.
I'm looking forward to exploring somewhere different again with Amelia this December as we head to the Coromandel. It is certainly good for the whole family having a change of scene and exploring somewhere new together. A chance to connect as a family outside of the home and to create some cherished holiday memories.
Happy Holidays to everyone out there!
Tuesday, 23 October 2007
Sunday, 9 September 2007
Spring : a confused season
It is Spring in New Zealand. The time of year we all look forward to after a long, cold Winter. Typically the afternoons are windy, the mountains often snow-capped this time of year in Nelson. The best bit is the days are bathed in glorious sunshine here at the Top of the South. It's a confirmation that despite the sunshine wages and the high cost of housing, living in a location with almost guaranteed sunshine does indeed put a smile on your dial. When the sun is out, that is.
This Spring there has been a fair amount of rain to add to the mix. The whole country has been affected and Nelson has gotten off lightly. The rain has been tolerated, but not enjoyed. Nelsonians have trotted out when the sun has come out for a fix whenever possible - just in case there's another downpour. Our faith in endless days of warm weather is wavering. The other day I put three loads of washing out on the line only to bring them in when the sky turned suspiciously grey. I'd been caught once already this Spring and was on to it - I thought. However the grey sky passed and so out went the laundry again only to have raindrops from literally out of the blue (sky) fall. In went the the laundry, only to go out again the following morning when it finally dried. Normally Spring-time is the time laundry dries in hours as it is whipped around in the wind and blasted with sunshine. Not this Spring with it's intermittent rain-drops.
For the fashion conscious, Spring contradicts itself somewhat. On one hand it is time to strip off a layer or two. But on the other hand it's not quite Summer, so it's questionable as to how far one should go. And with the rain-drops not been too far away this season, often umbrellas and other wet-weather gear get carted around. Underneath my daughter's buggy resembles a bag ladies wardrobe what with a mix of several seasons of clothing shoved below for her and I, just in case the weather should turn.
Out and about on a sunny Spring day, it is often quite amusing observing how this change of season is interpreted by others.
Some, with the first burst of warmer weather decide to skip Spring and to jump head first into Summer. Teens are the typical lets-just-skip-Spring advocates. With their bare limbs and minimal clothing; it is easy to think it is in fact Summer. But when you see for yourself the snow on the hills while walking on Tahuna beach, and shiver visibly, you can only conclude two things: that youth are thick-skinned and/or youth would rather freeze than miss out on an opportunity to walk around in minimal clothing.
Then there are the seasonally confused. Not sure whether to wear Summer or Winter clothing; they end up mixing two wardrobes. The result: clothes that just don't match. Or some take a gamble and decide it is more of a Summer day than a Winter day today and stroll around in the latest Spring fashion in the morning, only having to cover it up in the afternoon with a hefty Winter's jacket when the wind picks up. Or vice versa, the safe approach of dressing warm is chosen only to find that one is completely overcooked midday on a twenty-something degree day in thick woollen socks and a winter jumper.
Layering is a popular option for Spring-time in Nelson. And the safest way to go. Cardies, sweatshirts and jackets are all great ways of covering up when that sunny Spring weather isn't quite warm enough to reveal your fantastic new Spring wardrobe. Just don't forget your umbrella as it seems to be a necessary part of the Spring wardrobe this year.
This Spring there has been a fair amount of rain to add to the mix. The whole country has been affected and Nelson has gotten off lightly. The rain has been tolerated, but not enjoyed. Nelsonians have trotted out when the sun has come out for a fix whenever possible - just in case there's another downpour. Our faith in endless days of warm weather is wavering. The other day I put three loads of washing out on the line only to bring them in when the sky turned suspiciously grey. I'd been caught once already this Spring and was on to it - I thought. However the grey sky passed and so out went the laundry again only to have raindrops from literally out of the blue (sky) fall. In went the the laundry, only to go out again the following morning when it finally dried. Normally Spring-time is the time laundry dries in hours as it is whipped around in the wind and blasted with sunshine. Not this Spring with it's intermittent rain-drops.
For the fashion conscious, Spring contradicts itself somewhat. On one hand it is time to strip off a layer or two. But on the other hand it's not quite Summer, so it's questionable as to how far one should go. And with the rain-drops not been too far away this season, often umbrellas and other wet-weather gear get carted around. Underneath my daughter's buggy resembles a bag ladies wardrobe what with a mix of several seasons of clothing shoved below for her and I, just in case the weather should turn.
Out and about on a sunny Spring day, it is often quite amusing observing how this change of season is interpreted by others.
Some, with the first burst of warmer weather decide to skip Spring and to jump head first into Summer. Teens are the typical lets-just-skip-Spring advocates. With their bare limbs and minimal clothing; it is easy to think it is in fact Summer. But when you see for yourself the snow on the hills while walking on Tahuna beach, and shiver visibly, you can only conclude two things: that youth are thick-skinned and/or youth would rather freeze than miss out on an opportunity to walk around in minimal clothing.
Then there are the seasonally confused. Not sure whether to wear Summer or Winter clothing; they end up mixing two wardrobes. The result: clothes that just don't match. Or some take a gamble and decide it is more of a Summer day than a Winter day today and stroll around in the latest Spring fashion in the morning, only having to cover it up in the afternoon with a hefty Winter's jacket when the wind picks up. Or vice versa, the safe approach of dressing warm is chosen only to find that one is completely overcooked midday on a twenty-something degree day in thick woollen socks and a winter jumper.
Layering is a popular option for Spring-time in Nelson. And the safest way to go. Cardies, sweatshirts and jackets are all great ways of covering up when that sunny Spring weather isn't quite warm enough to reveal your fantastic new Spring wardrobe. Just don't forget your umbrella as it seems to be a necessary part of the Spring wardrobe this year.
Sunday, 19 August 2007
A Night Away
Recently I escaped family life to go on an overnight trip to Blenheim with friends. I resisted leaving a long list of instructions for my hubby knowing he is more than capable of looking after our almost two and a half year old. Besides, she's old enough to gesture towards the pantry when she's hungry and it's obviously time to change her nappy when it's dragging on the floor.
I booked a room of my own at a lodge. I was particularly looking forward to eight hours of uninterrupted sleep. Since we have been blessed with a non-sleeper, it feels like a life-time ago when I last got the eight hours of sleep recommended for an adult to function.
“You can tell you're a Mum” said one of my friends sitting next to me at dinner as she pointed to my empty plate, finished a good five minutes before everyone else. Little did she know that I have been a food-inhaler most of my life. I cannot blame parenthood for the way I throw food down my throat. But, she had a valid point. Our 5pm tea times are typically so focused on getting food into our toddler, that I often forget to chew.
Dining out, I relished concentrating on my meal alone instead of constantly worrying about what goes into my two year-olds mouth. Sipping a beer with my pub grub was a luxury as there is typically no place for alcohol with our early evening child-friendly meals. Adult conversation just made me feel like, well, an adult. There was no reciting and doing actions from The Wiggles, clapping whenever several mouthfuls got swallowed or counting out pieces of vegetables to get our girl to eat. It was tempting to clap when my friends finished their meals, but I managed to restrain myself.
When I first got back to my room at the lodge after dinner, I wondered what I might do for the rest of the evening. Long shower? Watch TV from bed? Read a trashy woman's mag?
In an effort to pack in as much as I could in my night away, I ended up doing all of the above.
Lights out at 11pm, I looked forward to eight hours of uninterrupted, blissful sleep.
I woke up cold at 3am and thoughts started up about my daughter being awake and my husband struggling to get her back to sleep back in Nelson. Eventually I coaxed the thoughts out of my brain, and I drifted off to sleep again.
When I awoke just a few hours later at 6am, I switched on the electric blanket and desperately tried to will myself back to sleep.
At 7.30am, I awoke somewhat disappointed that I didn't sleep like a log. Clearly I have lost the ability to sleep through the night.
Twenty-six and a half hours later I returned home. By then I was missing my girl and anticipated a joyful reunion. When I walked through the door she gave me a token glance and then carried on playing blocks with her daddy. Seems I wasn't as missed as I thought I would be. Fine by me, as I'm already planning my next night away.
I booked a room of my own at a lodge. I was particularly looking forward to eight hours of uninterrupted sleep. Since we have been blessed with a non-sleeper, it feels like a life-time ago when I last got the eight hours of sleep recommended for an adult to function.
“You can tell you're a Mum” said one of my friends sitting next to me at dinner as she pointed to my empty plate, finished a good five minutes before everyone else. Little did she know that I have been a food-inhaler most of my life. I cannot blame parenthood for the way I throw food down my throat. But, she had a valid point. Our 5pm tea times are typically so focused on getting food into our toddler, that I often forget to chew.
Dining out, I relished concentrating on my meal alone instead of constantly worrying about what goes into my two year-olds mouth. Sipping a beer with my pub grub was a luxury as there is typically no place for alcohol with our early evening child-friendly meals. Adult conversation just made me feel like, well, an adult. There was no reciting and doing actions from The Wiggles, clapping whenever several mouthfuls got swallowed or counting out pieces of vegetables to get our girl to eat. It was tempting to clap when my friends finished their meals, but I managed to restrain myself.
When I first got back to my room at the lodge after dinner, I wondered what I might do for the rest of the evening. Long shower? Watch TV from bed? Read a trashy woman's mag?
In an effort to pack in as much as I could in my night away, I ended up doing all of the above.
Lights out at 11pm, I looked forward to eight hours of uninterrupted, blissful sleep.
I woke up cold at 3am and thoughts started up about my daughter being awake and my husband struggling to get her back to sleep back in Nelson. Eventually I coaxed the thoughts out of my brain, and I drifted off to sleep again.
When I awoke just a few hours later at 6am, I switched on the electric blanket and desperately tried to will myself back to sleep.
At 7.30am, I awoke somewhat disappointed that I didn't sleep like a log. Clearly I have lost the ability to sleep through the night.
Twenty-six and a half hours later I returned home. By then I was missing my girl and anticipated a joyful reunion. When I walked through the door she gave me a token glance and then carried on playing blocks with her daddy. Seems I wasn't as missed as I thought I would be. Fine by me, as I'm already planning my next night away.
Yay For Dads!
"New Mum On The Block "
Nelson District Parent Centre Newsletter September/October 2007
One afternoon, after a lunchtime nap, Amelia and I woke up to the unmistakable smell of baking. Sure enough, hubby had a cake on the go. Amelia has had cake before, but treats of any kind are very occasional in this household. One of her favourite books of late is one from the Spot series about making a cake for Spot's dad's birthday. This afternoon in which the house was filled with the aroma of chocolate cake, Amelia made the connection. Cake was a hit, and it became her new word of the day. When we came back from an afternoon outing , “cake” was uttered very hopefully as she searched the cupboards, hoping to find some more. Even at dinner that night, veges and mince weren't quite as popular as usual. And “cake” was uttered even upon waking the following day.
These kinds of shared family moments are priceless. I am forever grateful that I am part of a family unit, that I do have the support of a loving husband. I cannot imagine what it must be like to parent alone. I do have friends and family members in this position and do not envy them one bit.
Although hubby and I tag-team through-out the week, we all breathe a sigh of relief when we get to Friday as the weekend is ours. Parenting together is much easier than parenting alone. I feel my stress levels drop when there are two of us at home. When we're here together we're able to use one another as sounding boards, to bounce ideas around and are able to relish precious family time. And it is so rewarding to see Amelia's eyes light up when she realises on a Friday night Mum isn't racing off to work, her course or anywhere else. On a Saturday moming, it's all smiles when she discovers Dad is at home when she checks on his side of his bed to see if he is there or not.
When we are all home together, there is a different vibe. Amelia has a spark to her and a cheekiness that doubles, or perhaps triples, when she has a captive audience of two. Some of Amelia's favourite family games include getting into bed together for a family cuddle – any time of the day. Or doing roly poly's in the lounge together. Or getting swung in the air between her parents.
I have undeniably been the favourite parent, for lack of a better description, all the way through. I have been the one who has been requested mostly, especially during the wee hours. However lately something has shifted. Amelia no longer fusses or cries when I leave the house. Sometimes I'm lucky to even get a “bye” from her. Now hubby can put her to bed when I'm home without any kind of a protest. I think she's gotten to the point where she's perhaps Mum-ed out by the end of the day and welcomes the time spent with her Dad in the evening. This is a very welcome shift for both hubby and myself.
Recently one wet Winter's morning, we went to Chipmunks and it was “Dees” (Amelia's word for daddy) that Amelia sought to romp around with. So “Dees” followed Amelia up into the play area, while looking like a bit of a contortionist with his six foot frame. Meanwhile I was left to sit and sip a cup of tea while they played. Shame. There are of course some consolations to being the second choice of parent at any given moment.
Although we are going through a phase in which it is difficult to leave Amelia with others, it is nice to see that it is her Dad that she clings to just as much as her Mum these days. We've come a long way in this household since assuring from the beginning that Amelia has had ample opportunities to bond with her dad. It is very rewarding to see that this has happened naturally.
This Father's Day, I want to thank my husband Kev for his on-going tremendous efforts as a dad. From changing nappies all the way through that have included the poo explosions of the newborn days to the solid rocks of today. For bathing Amelia and putting her to bed at night so I can work/go to Yoga/ go to my course. Or watch Shortland Street! For being a solid, steady rock for Amelia and I. And for being understanding and non-nonjudgmental during my less-than-perfect Mum moments.
I have only been apart overnight once from my daughter in the last two plus years. About four months ago when I went to Motueka for a night with some girlfriends. It was the break I needed. I was only gone for 24 hours but it was just enough time to feel like an adult, to feel like me, for a decent amount of time. And this weekend, as I go away with the girls again for a night in Blenheim, I know everything will be fine back here.
I do love that during the week I do see a number of Dads out there at the various groups Amelia attends. Dads add to the groups we go to. It is good for us Mums and great for kids to see Dads weekly who are very much involved out there. Happy Fathers Day to all the wonderful dads out there. Us Mums who are lucky enough to have your support couldn't do it without you.
Nelson District Parent Centre Newsletter September/October 2007
One afternoon, after a lunchtime nap, Amelia and I woke up to the unmistakable smell of baking. Sure enough, hubby had a cake on the go. Amelia has had cake before, but treats of any kind are very occasional in this household. One of her favourite books of late is one from the Spot series about making a cake for Spot's dad's birthday. This afternoon in which the house was filled with the aroma of chocolate cake, Amelia made the connection. Cake was a hit, and it became her new word of the day. When we came back from an afternoon outing , “cake” was uttered very hopefully as she searched the cupboards, hoping to find some more. Even at dinner that night, veges and mince weren't quite as popular as usual. And “cake” was uttered even upon waking the following day.
These kinds of shared family moments are priceless. I am forever grateful that I am part of a family unit, that I do have the support of a loving husband. I cannot imagine what it must be like to parent alone. I do have friends and family members in this position and do not envy them one bit.
Although hubby and I tag-team through-out the week, we all breathe a sigh of relief when we get to Friday as the weekend is ours. Parenting together is much easier than parenting alone. I feel my stress levels drop when there are two of us at home. When we're here together we're able to use one another as sounding boards, to bounce ideas around and are able to relish precious family time. And it is so rewarding to see Amelia's eyes light up when she realises on a Friday night Mum isn't racing off to work, her course or anywhere else. On a Saturday moming, it's all smiles when she discovers Dad is at home when she checks on his side of his bed to see if he is there or not.
When we are all home together, there is a different vibe. Amelia has a spark to her and a cheekiness that doubles, or perhaps triples, when she has a captive audience of two. Some of Amelia's favourite family games include getting into bed together for a family cuddle – any time of the day. Or doing roly poly's in the lounge together. Or getting swung in the air between her parents.
I have undeniably been the favourite parent, for lack of a better description, all the way through. I have been the one who has been requested mostly, especially during the wee hours. However lately something has shifted. Amelia no longer fusses or cries when I leave the house. Sometimes I'm lucky to even get a “bye” from her. Now hubby can put her to bed when I'm home without any kind of a protest. I think she's gotten to the point where she's perhaps Mum-ed out by the end of the day and welcomes the time spent with her Dad in the evening. This is a very welcome shift for both hubby and myself.
Recently one wet Winter's morning, we went to Chipmunks and it was “Dees” (Amelia's word for daddy) that Amelia sought to romp around with. So “Dees” followed Amelia up into the play area, while looking like a bit of a contortionist with his six foot frame. Meanwhile I was left to sit and sip a cup of tea while they played. Shame. There are of course some consolations to being the second choice of parent at any given moment.
Although we are going through a phase in which it is difficult to leave Amelia with others, it is nice to see that it is her Dad that she clings to just as much as her Mum these days. We've come a long way in this household since assuring from the beginning that Amelia has had ample opportunities to bond with her dad. It is very rewarding to see that this has happened naturally.
This Father's Day, I want to thank my husband Kev for his on-going tremendous efforts as a dad. From changing nappies all the way through that have included the poo explosions of the newborn days to the solid rocks of today. For bathing Amelia and putting her to bed at night so I can work/go to Yoga/ go to my course. Or watch Shortland Street! For being a solid, steady rock for Amelia and I. And for being understanding and non-nonjudgmental during my less-than-perfect Mum moments.
I have only been apart overnight once from my daughter in the last two plus years. About four months ago when I went to Motueka for a night with some girlfriends. It was the break I needed. I was only gone for 24 hours but it was just enough time to feel like an adult, to feel like me, for a decent amount of time. And this weekend, as I go away with the girls again for a night in Blenheim, I know everything will be fine back here.
I do love that during the week I do see a number of Dads out there at the various groups Amelia attends. Dads add to the groups we go to. It is good for us Mums and great for kids to see Dads weekly who are very much involved out there. Happy Fathers Day to all the wonderful dads out there. Us Mums who are lucky enough to have your support couldn't do it without you.
The Invite
Entered in 2007 Bank of New Zealand Katherine Mansfield Awards. (short story competition)
Fitting in with the crowd isn't always easy. Warning: some content may offend.
Tabatha looked down at the invitation lying on her desk:
Friday night. 8pm. BYO plate to match the theme.
And the theme?
Dildo Party
What the? Tabatha put her head in her hands and sighed. Why on earth had she being invited to such a thing? She wasn't even that “friendly” with Bronwyn, her supervisor, who was hosting the shin-ding. And she didn't particularly like Sue, Cindy or Chris – The Tight Threesome who would be there, giggling like silly things after just a glass of wine each. Oh god.
“I see you got the invite”.
Oh god. Bronwyn.
“Yes Bronwyn” she managed to say. “Thanks for that. I, um I...”
“You will be coming?” she said “It would be good for team morale if we could all make it. You know, all of us girls in accounts.”
Oh gawd, again. All of us girls in accounts. Well that was a hypocritical statement in itself, anyway. Sure, they were all members of the fairer sex but they weren't a team beyond sharing the same workspace. It was The Tight Threesome who went out for morning teas, girlie lunchtime shopping sprees, facials or a sneaky visit to the bar across the road. Bronwyn was a little older than the rest of them. A thirty-something who was content with family life. She was the boss, she was meant to be on the outer a bit. But Tabatha, she just wasn't a chardonnay-drinking, fashionista despite being around the same age as her work colleagues.
Tabatha's favourite pastime was watching reruns of Seinfeld, having a bubble bath and then going to bed before 9pm with a good book. She did that every week night. And in the weekends her best friend Heidi sometimes came round and they sat and watched a new release DVD with a pile of junk-food that they'd forbidden themselves from eating the week before. Yep, a week of living sensibly off the pyramid food group and then it was all blown in one night. Junk food was her vice, not alcohol.
Bronwyn was tapping her fingers now on Tabatha's desk. So what kind of an excuse is this one going to come up with? She's single, stays in nights so surely there's so other social invites likely to be penciled in her (LOL) – diary.
And Tabatha just couldn't think of a legitimate excuse. So she resigned herself to coming.
“Ok” she squeaked.
“Great!” said Bronwyn. “Just, you know, vamp it up a bit.” And she winked at her as she walked off. Oh great. Tabatha's entire wardrobe was pretty much a department store ensemble. Cheap, sensible clothing. What on earth was she meant to wear to a (god-awful) Dildo Party?!
Thank God for Heidi. Lunchtime the next day they were in one of the trendy fashion chain-stores, trying on some of the latest styles. Tabatha had on a mini-dress, Heidi a long jumper. It was the beginning of Winter and they were both standing there in their neon white, untoned and unwaxed legs. Add the lighting from the fluro bulbs in the changing room, and they looked truly hideous.
“How's it going?” The bouncing, petite assistant popped her head round the curtain. “That would look great with fishnets” she said to Tabatha, and then to Heidi “ And yours with a thick belt. Should I get you one? We have some fishnets in store too...”
“Ok” they both said. Minutes later, they looked a fraction better. But they weren't convinced. Then Tabatha recognised the unmistakable peels of laughter emanating from the next cubicle. Oh god – The Tight Threesome.
“You look hot”
“You look hotter”.
“No, we are all to die for.”
Hee, hee, hee.
Oh man, if they had American accents they'd have been cast into the movie Clueless. They were the Kiwi version of tacky.
Tabatha stepped out. Dammit, Chris was emerging from her cubicle in the same dress! Of course, she looked like a model in it in her size eight figure whereas Tabatha's curves gave the dress a more filled-out look.
“What a surprise!” Chris cooed “Fancy seeing you here!”
And then the three were all on her, like a hawk swooping in on it's prey.
“I've never seen you in a dress before”
“What's the occasion?”
Not entirely bitchy, but close enough.
Within minutes Tabatha and Heidi were out of the shop. They were going to have to work a bit harder to get something a bit more original. They ended up in a recycled clothing shop where Tabatha found a cute top and jacket that looked great with her jeans. Flag the dress, it wasn't her anyway. This was her version of vamping-it-up.
Tabatha was the last to arrive at the party. Clearly, everyone had had a few before she even turned up. And so when she walked in, no one noticed at first, so engrossed they were in company gossip. And the latest about Paris Hilton. The Tight Threesome weren't in agreement around Paris's fate. Chris thought she should be in prison, the other two did not. Of all the things to debate about in this world...
“Tabatha, how lovely to see you!” Bronwyn gushed even though it was 8pm on a Friday night and they'd only parted ways three hours ago at the end of the working day.
“Hi. Thanks” said Tabatha “Ah, where do you want this?” And Bronwyn looked down and smiled at the breasts she'd created out of chocolate marshmellows, stuck together with melted chocolate with jaffas as nipples.
“Hilarious!” she said, almost in disbelief. The Tight Threesome helloed her and then squealed too when they saw the chocolate boobs. Clearly they hadn't thought she was capable of being so risque. All the other plates were phallic shapes – penises in all sorts of guises. Most unoriginal, thought Tabatha.
An older woman, dressed in black leather (what else?) introduced herself as Charlotte. A well-groomed brunette, with red streaks, who said she was the host of a local sex-toy shop called Penny's. Tabatha knew the one as she'd made a point of avoiding it for the last fifteen years.
Charlotte clapped her hands and said in was time to begin. They all sat down, in nervous anticipation.
“I've put a catologue on each of your chairs. And I will simply be talking about each item in it. Mainly vibrators. But we do stock other items such as lingerie, hand-cuffs, edible undies – that kind of thing...” Nervous laugher from all. Charlotte proceeded to explain what was what.
The vibrators came in so many shapes and sizes, and some had some ridiculous names. Some buzzed, some whirled, some had scary-looking bits on the end of them. And some were insanely huge. They were passed around and they all marveled how lovely they were to touch – almost as good as the real thing. Tabatha's cheeks glowed red at that. She knew that they all thought that she hadn't of course – hadn't ever seen a real one. And they were right. She was brought up by her Mum since she was three years old so there had been no nudity from the male side of things in her house. She'd had two boyfriends in college but they'd dumped her once they realised she wasn't going there. She knew the question was coming. How to deal with this one? It would be all over work on Monday that she was a twenty eight year old Virgin. She skulled a glass of wine lying next to her. She remembered a DVD she watched recently – all she had to do was put in her name and tell the story as she remembered it.
“Donald, he was my first” she smiled “An older man. Much older.”
Bronwyn's mouth formed an “oh” and The Tight Threesome sat there in disbelief.
“You've never mentioned any, er, suitors before” said Chris, her arms crossed and in full interrogation pose.
“Well I couldn't could I” she almost whispered “He's married.”
There were lots of ooooooohs!
”Well, what happened? Didn't leave his wife for you love? “ Bronwyn touched her arm.
“No, no” said Tabatha, gulping back her second glass “I used him. Picked him because he was married. It wasn't about love for me. But poor Donald...”
Bronwyn and The Tight Threesome exchanged looks of surprise.
“Anyway, Oliver was my next conquest. He was French canadian. Loved the accent but too soppy for me. Poetry is overratred, you know. So, out the door he went. Next was Gary. Sport jock. Great in the sack. But boring as out of it. Next was Philip. Loaded he was. Foreplay was great at all these exquisite restaurants but I soon tired of the wining and dining – I wanted something more real. Which is, where I'm at today. You know, waiting for someone worthwhile. I've kissed too many frogs I'm sure you know what I mean girls...” she finished dramatically making sure she made eye contact with The Tight Threesome. They all nodded sympathically.
Browyn held up her ring finger “It's worth the wait girls” she smiled proudly as she waved her rocks around the room.
Had they really brought all that? Tabatha was shocked at herself. No wonder she'd steered clear of wine. Clearly her imagination went into over-drive on the stuff.
Chris was eyeing her suspiciously. “We've worked with you for two years and you've never mentioned any of this before...”
Tabatha held up her hand as if to silence her “I don't usually make a habit of kissing and telling. But I trust ladies that my secrets are safe in this room.” They all nodded though she knew damn well by Monday that her sordid fake past would be spread around the office as fast as chinese whispers in a playground.
Fitting in with the crowd isn't always easy. Warning: some content may offend.
Tabatha looked down at the invitation lying on her desk:
Friday night. 8pm. BYO plate to match the theme.
And the theme?
Dildo Party
What the? Tabatha put her head in her hands and sighed. Why on earth had she being invited to such a thing? She wasn't even that “friendly” with Bronwyn, her supervisor, who was hosting the shin-ding. And she didn't particularly like Sue, Cindy or Chris – The Tight Threesome who would be there, giggling like silly things after just a glass of wine each. Oh god.
“I see you got the invite”.
Oh god. Bronwyn.
“Yes Bronwyn” she managed to say. “Thanks for that. I, um I...”
“You will be coming?” she said “It would be good for team morale if we could all make it. You know, all of us girls in accounts.”
Oh gawd, again. All of us girls in accounts. Well that was a hypocritical statement in itself, anyway. Sure, they were all members of the fairer sex but they weren't a team beyond sharing the same workspace. It was The Tight Threesome who went out for morning teas, girlie lunchtime shopping sprees, facials or a sneaky visit to the bar across the road. Bronwyn was a little older than the rest of them. A thirty-something who was content with family life. She was the boss, she was meant to be on the outer a bit. But Tabatha, she just wasn't a chardonnay-drinking, fashionista despite being around the same age as her work colleagues.
Tabatha's favourite pastime was watching reruns of Seinfeld, having a bubble bath and then going to bed before 9pm with a good book. She did that every week night. And in the weekends her best friend Heidi sometimes came round and they sat and watched a new release DVD with a pile of junk-food that they'd forbidden themselves from eating the week before. Yep, a week of living sensibly off the pyramid food group and then it was all blown in one night. Junk food was her vice, not alcohol.
Bronwyn was tapping her fingers now on Tabatha's desk. So what kind of an excuse is this one going to come up with? She's single, stays in nights so surely there's so other social invites likely to be penciled in her (LOL) – diary.
And Tabatha just couldn't think of a legitimate excuse. So she resigned herself to coming.
“Ok” she squeaked.
“Great!” said Bronwyn. “Just, you know, vamp it up a bit.” And she winked at her as she walked off. Oh great. Tabatha's entire wardrobe was pretty much a department store ensemble. Cheap, sensible clothing. What on earth was she meant to wear to a (god-awful) Dildo Party?!
Thank God for Heidi. Lunchtime the next day they were in one of the trendy fashion chain-stores, trying on some of the latest styles. Tabatha had on a mini-dress, Heidi a long jumper. It was the beginning of Winter and they were both standing there in their neon white, untoned and unwaxed legs. Add the lighting from the fluro bulbs in the changing room, and they looked truly hideous.
“How's it going?” The bouncing, petite assistant popped her head round the curtain. “That would look great with fishnets” she said to Tabatha, and then to Heidi “ And yours with a thick belt. Should I get you one? We have some fishnets in store too...”
“Ok” they both said. Minutes later, they looked a fraction better. But they weren't convinced. Then Tabatha recognised the unmistakable peels of laughter emanating from the next cubicle. Oh god – The Tight Threesome.
“You look hot”
“You look hotter”.
“No, we are all to die for.”
Hee, hee, hee.
Oh man, if they had American accents they'd have been cast into the movie Clueless. They were the Kiwi version of tacky.
Tabatha stepped out. Dammit, Chris was emerging from her cubicle in the same dress! Of course, she looked like a model in it in her size eight figure whereas Tabatha's curves gave the dress a more filled-out look.
“What a surprise!” Chris cooed “Fancy seeing you here!”
And then the three were all on her, like a hawk swooping in on it's prey.
“I've never seen you in a dress before”
“What's the occasion?”
Not entirely bitchy, but close enough.
Within minutes Tabatha and Heidi were out of the shop. They were going to have to work a bit harder to get something a bit more original. They ended up in a recycled clothing shop where Tabatha found a cute top and jacket that looked great with her jeans. Flag the dress, it wasn't her anyway. This was her version of vamping-it-up.
Tabatha was the last to arrive at the party. Clearly, everyone had had a few before she even turned up. And so when she walked in, no one noticed at first, so engrossed they were in company gossip. And the latest about Paris Hilton. The Tight Threesome weren't in agreement around Paris's fate. Chris thought she should be in prison, the other two did not. Of all the things to debate about in this world...
“Tabatha, how lovely to see you!” Bronwyn gushed even though it was 8pm on a Friday night and they'd only parted ways three hours ago at the end of the working day.
“Hi. Thanks” said Tabatha “Ah, where do you want this?” And Bronwyn looked down and smiled at the breasts she'd created out of chocolate marshmellows, stuck together with melted chocolate with jaffas as nipples.
“Hilarious!” she said, almost in disbelief. The Tight Threesome helloed her and then squealed too when they saw the chocolate boobs. Clearly they hadn't thought she was capable of being so risque. All the other plates were phallic shapes – penises in all sorts of guises. Most unoriginal, thought Tabatha.
An older woman, dressed in black leather (what else?) introduced herself as Charlotte. A well-groomed brunette, with red streaks, who said she was the host of a local sex-toy shop called Penny's. Tabatha knew the one as she'd made a point of avoiding it for the last fifteen years.
Charlotte clapped her hands and said in was time to begin. They all sat down, in nervous anticipation.
“I've put a catologue on each of your chairs. And I will simply be talking about each item in it. Mainly vibrators. But we do stock other items such as lingerie, hand-cuffs, edible undies – that kind of thing...” Nervous laugher from all. Charlotte proceeded to explain what was what.
The vibrators came in so many shapes and sizes, and some had some ridiculous names. Some buzzed, some whirled, some had scary-looking bits on the end of them. And some were insanely huge. They were passed around and they all marveled how lovely they were to touch – almost as good as the real thing. Tabatha's cheeks glowed red at that. She knew that they all thought that she hadn't of course – hadn't ever seen a real one. And they were right. She was brought up by her Mum since she was three years old so there had been no nudity from the male side of things in her house. She'd had two boyfriends in college but they'd dumped her once they realised she wasn't going there. She knew the question was coming. How to deal with this one? It would be all over work on Monday that she was a twenty eight year old Virgin. She skulled a glass of wine lying next to her. She remembered a DVD she watched recently – all she had to do was put in her name and tell the story as she remembered it.
“Donald, he was my first” she smiled “An older man. Much older.”
Bronwyn's mouth formed an “oh” and The Tight Threesome sat there in disbelief.
“You've never mentioned any, er, suitors before” said Chris, her arms crossed and in full interrogation pose.
“Well I couldn't could I” she almost whispered “He's married.”
There were lots of ooooooohs!
”Well, what happened? Didn't leave his wife for you love? “ Bronwyn touched her arm.
“No, no” said Tabatha, gulping back her second glass “I used him. Picked him because he was married. It wasn't about love for me. But poor Donald...”
Bronwyn and The Tight Threesome exchanged looks of surprise.
“Anyway, Oliver was my next conquest. He was French canadian. Loved the accent but too soppy for me. Poetry is overratred, you know. So, out the door he went. Next was Gary. Sport jock. Great in the sack. But boring as out of it. Next was Philip. Loaded he was. Foreplay was great at all these exquisite restaurants but I soon tired of the wining and dining – I wanted something more real. Which is, where I'm at today. You know, waiting for someone worthwhile. I've kissed too many frogs I'm sure you know what I mean girls...” she finished dramatically making sure she made eye contact with The Tight Threesome. They all nodded sympathically.
Browyn held up her ring finger “It's worth the wait girls” she smiled proudly as she waved her rocks around the room.
Had they really brought all that? Tabatha was shocked at herself. No wonder she'd steered clear of wine. Clearly her imagination went into over-drive on the stuff.
Chris was eyeing her suspiciously. “We've worked with you for two years and you've never mentioned any of this before...”
Tabatha held up her hand as if to silence her “I don't usually make a habit of kissing and telling. But I trust ladies that my secrets are safe in this room.” They all nodded though she knew damn well by Monday that her sordid fake past would be spread around the office as fast as chinese whispers in a playground.
Tuesday, 3 July 2007
"The Secret" worth a read
I finished reading The Secret this week. My Mum bought it for me recently after I expressed an interest in having a look at it. I first heard about it during my Small Business Management Course a few months ago when a class-mate read an excerpt for our class karaka. (prayer). Next a friend told me about it and my curiosity grew from there.
Rhonda Bryne, an Australian film producer, read several books based on quantum physics which changed her thinking, and therefore her life dramatically. She was so blown away by her own experiences, that she created a DVD, and then wrote a book. In The Secret she reveals how avatars and famous historical figures across the ages have effectively held the keys to unlimited success and happiness in life.
Reading The Secret is like having a pep talk with the universe. It's like getting a warm hug from the grandparent who loved you unconditionally as a kid and believed that you could be and do anything you set your mind to do. Some of it I've heard before and some of it was new. It's about an attitude of gratitude, trusting the God of your understanding (which is often referred to as the universe), Feng Shui, visualisation, positive thinking and most of all, believing that you deserve all your dreams and desires. That's the tricky bit, as often there can be conflict between what you want in life and what you think you deserve. It's not only about asking, but trusting and believing deeply that it's all coming to you.
At times The Secret seems insanely simplistic if not repetitive. However Byrne has written the book in a way that makes it accessible to many. I believe she is genuine in wanting to share The Secret with the world and will no doubt get slammed by many because of the warm fluffy nature of her book. But it's meant to be that way. It's about keeping oneself happy and open to the gifts of the universe. Basically you can ask for anything you want. It's about abundance, believing there's enough of everything in life for everyone. There is no such thing as the haves and have-nots when the principles of The Secret are applied.
The only aspect I found hard to get my head around was how every thought we have, creates every life experience. It just doesn't sit well with me that humans effectively cause their own bad experiences including being at the wrong place at the wrong time, according to Byrne. I'm not sure this concept can be applied across the board. The one review I read in The Nelson Mail recently did bring this point up too - that some psychologists are concerned that some in therapy since reading The Secret think they are to blame for their misfortunes in life.
Bryne uses her own weight loss as an example of The Secret in motion. I'm sure many in the field of nutrition will cringe at her claims that she can eat "whatever she wants."
At the end of her book, Bryne encourages the reader just to use the aspects of The Secret that resonate with them. The idea is to keep The Secret close and delve into it, opening the book randomly, whenever inspired to do so.
What The Secret has given me is a written confirmation that I do deserve all I want in life. All I have to do is ask, and trust that whatever I want is on it's way. This is easier said than done of course! Since reading The Secret I now have a greater awareness of just how limiting my own thinking can be. That is the biggest challenge of all; turning around those limiting, if not, destructive thought processes.
I have made my own version of a visual board, one of the recommendations in The Secret. That in itself was a fun exercise - pasting images out of magazines of some of my life desires. I've put it by my dresser so on passing I am reminded that it is all coming.
The Secret is a book I'd recommend to anyone who seeks help obtaining all their goals and desires in life. Just be careful what you ask for, as you never know, it just may work.
Rhonda Bryne, an Australian film producer, read several books based on quantum physics which changed her thinking, and therefore her life dramatically. She was so blown away by her own experiences, that she created a DVD, and then wrote a book. In The Secret she reveals how avatars and famous historical figures across the ages have effectively held the keys to unlimited success and happiness in life.
Reading The Secret is like having a pep talk with the universe. It's like getting a warm hug from the grandparent who loved you unconditionally as a kid and believed that you could be and do anything you set your mind to do. Some of it I've heard before and some of it was new. It's about an attitude of gratitude, trusting the God of your understanding (which is often referred to as the universe), Feng Shui, visualisation, positive thinking and most of all, believing that you deserve all your dreams and desires. That's the tricky bit, as often there can be conflict between what you want in life and what you think you deserve. It's not only about asking, but trusting and believing deeply that it's all coming to you.
At times The Secret seems insanely simplistic if not repetitive. However Byrne has written the book in a way that makes it accessible to many. I believe she is genuine in wanting to share The Secret with the world and will no doubt get slammed by many because of the warm fluffy nature of her book. But it's meant to be that way. It's about keeping oneself happy and open to the gifts of the universe. Basically you can ask for anything you want. It's about abundance, believing there's enough of everything in life for everyone. There is no such thing as the haves and have-nots when the principles of The Secret are applied.
The only aspect I found hard to get my head around was how every thought we have, creates every life experience. It just doesn't sit well with me that humans effectively cause their own bad experiences including being at the wrong place at the wrong time, according to Byrne. I'm not sure this concept can be applied across the board. The one review I read in The Nelson Mail recently did bring this point up too - that some psychologists are concerned that some in therapy since reading The Secret think they are to blame for their misfortunes in life.
Bryne uses her own weight loss as an example of The Secret in motion. I'm sure many in the field of nutrition will cringe at her claims that she can eat "whatever she wants."
At the end of her book, Bryne encourages the reader just to use the aspects of The Secret that resonate with them. The idea is to keep The Secret close and delve into it, opening the book randomly, whenever inspired to do so.
What The Secret has given me is a written confirmation that I do deserve all I want in life. All I have to do is ask, and trust that whatever I want is on it's way. This is easier said than done of course! Since reading The Secret I now have a greater awareness of just how limiting my own thinking can be. That is the biggest challenge of all; turning around those limiting, if not, destructive thought processes.
I have made my own version of a visual board, one of the recommendations in The Secret. That in itself was a fun exercise - pasting images out of magazines of some of my life desires. I've put it by my dresser so on passing I am reminded that it is all coming.
The Secret is a book I'd recommend to anyone who seeks help obtaining all their goals and desires in life. Just be careful what you ask for, as you never know, it just may work.
Sunday, 24 June 2007
Parenting Your Way
"New Mum On The Block "
Nelson District Parent Centre Newsletter July/August 2007
As soon as I embarked on this journey called parenthood, it seemed I was exposed to several choices. That meant making decisions. And with every decision to be made, there came opinions. Or advice. Whichever way you look at it, there is always someone, somewhere more than willing to “share” their well-meaning advice in that minefield called parenthood.
Once pregnant the first decision was to do with mid-wives – hospital or independent?
I chose independent simply because I'd been given the brochure!
Then of course the birth itself – did I want a natural birth or a drug-induced one, in a hospital or a home birth? Well, I had hoped my birthing experience was going to resemble something a la The Pink Kit that I religiously “practised” during the months leading up to my due date. I opted for a hospital birth as I'm a cautious (or is it practical?) Virgo and quite fancied a few cooked meals post-delivery. (even if the scrambled eggs resembled a slab of cheese).
However, when birth plans go anything but planned, and suddenly every drug under the sun is administered, the safety of mother and child is most important. The birthing story isn't nearly as exciting – how does one relay the experience of being sliced open in surgery whilst knocked unconscious? Call me stupid, but I do hold a little bit of green envy for the Mum's who've experienced the whole shebang – contractions, waters breaking, labour, the bloodiness of birth and seeing the face of the newborn for the first time, covered in gunk and goo. My birth story has a beginning and an end – but no middle. One minute I was on the operating table, next minute a mask placed over my face as my world temporarily turned black. Then I woke up to see a brand-spanking, gunk-free babe in my hubby's arms! It was hard to make the association in my brain initially that she was actually mine.
The choices went on. Breastfeeding or formula? When breastfeeding is anything but natural to begin with, it's easy to see why for some it just doesn't work out. I persevered finding it to be far from natural to begin with. But I would never have dreamed that one day it would not only feel natural but that I'd still be breastfeeding, albeit occasionally, my two plus year old.
Cloth nappies or disposables? Well for this fumble-fingered Mum, dealing with the folding of a cloth nappy was too much. For me, it was a little like origami. I started with disposables and apart from a brief stint this Summer of using a few modern cloth nappies as well, they have been my nappy of choice. Sure I have felt bad about all the waste. And over the Summer I did enjoy hanging out the modern cloth nappies on the line, and felt a little more proud of my green efforts. But for us, they did lead to nappy rash so that didn't work out as a long-term measure.
Choices are made along the way as to how we want to achieve balance within parenthood. And that's going to be different for everyone. Some of us need stimulation outside of the home. Some don't so much. There seems to be a lot of judgment out there around the whole childcare issue. If a Mum is happier having some space in her week from her children, then she should go for it. For the Mums like myself who choose not to use childcare, our kids aren't missing out. So long as they are socialised and stimulated, at the end of the day, they are all going to turn out pretty much the same.
Spacing is another choice parents have to make when expanding their wee families. Some choose to have their children closer together to get “all the nappies out of the way” or so siblings will hopefully play together. Others prefer some space between siblings for economic reasons or maybe just want to enjoy their firstborn a little longer and/or the freedom that comes with having an independent toddler.
Some of us don't have a choice with spacing as we face fertility issues. And so my latest decision to make has been how to approach this. Again, there are very black and white solutions out there. Fertility drugs or herbal remedies? For today I've chosen herbal remedies but will keep an open mind in the future.
It seems a lot of the choices to be made by us Mums (and Dads) are quite black and white, initially. Yet when in the midst of parenting, many gray areas unwittingly appear. There are pros and cons for every choice to be made. And obviously parents are going to be supportive and perhaps opinionated about the parenting decisions they've made that have worked for them. Personally I now I have my own strong views and opinions around some areas of parenting and know that not everyone will agree with me.
We are all different and so we will all parent in our own unique way. I've found in the last two years of parenting that I will always disagree with some parents around their choices just as some will disagree with my choices. The important thing is to believe that you are doing the best job that you can, as you are your child's parents, and only you and you alone have the right to decide how to parent. It isn't anyone else's business how you parent. With that in mind, it isn't any of our business how others parent their kids either.
Nelson District Parent Centre Newsletter July/August 2007
As soon as I embarked on this journey called parenthood, it seemed I was exposed to several choices. That meant making decisions. And with every decision to be made, there came opinions. Or advice. Whichever way you look at it, there is always someone, somewhere more than willing to “share” their well-meaning advice in that minefield called parenthood.
Once pregnant the first decision was to do with mid-wives – hospital or independent?
I chose independent simply because I'd been given the brochure!
Then of course the birth itself – did I want a natural birth or a drug-induced one, in a hospital or a home birth? Well, I had hoped my birthing experience was going to resemble something a la The Pink Kit that I religiously “practised” during the months leading up to my due date. I opted for a hospital birth as I'm a cautious (or is it practical?) Virgo and quite fancied a few cooked meals post-delivery. (even if the scrambled eggs resembled a slab of cheese).
However, when birth plans go anything but planned, and suddenly every drug under the sun is administered, the safety of mother and child is most important. The birthing story isn't nearly as exciting – how does one relay the experience of being sliced open in surgery whilst knocked unconscious? Call me stupid, but I do hold a little bit of green envy for the Mum's who've experienced the whole shebang – contractions, waters breaking, labour, the bloodiness of birth and seeing the face of the newborn for the first time, covered in gunk and goo. My birth story has a beginning and an end – but no middle. One minute I was on the operating table, next minute a mask placed over my face as my world temporarily turned black. Then I woke up to see a brand-spanking, gunk-free babe in my hubby's arms! It was hard to make the association in my brain initially that she was actually mine.
The choices went on. Breastfeeding or formula? When breastfeeding is anything but natural to begin with, it's easy to see why for some it just doesn't work out. I persevered finding it to be far from natural to begin with. But I would never have dreamed that one day it would not only feel natural but that I'd still be breastfeeding, albeit occasionally, my two plus year old.
Cloth nappies or disposables? Well for this fumble-fingered Mum, dealing with the folding of a cloth nappy was too much. For me, it was a little like origami. I started with disposables and apart from a brief stint this Summer of using a few modern cloth nappies as well, they have been my nappy of choice. Sure I have felt bad about all the waste. And over the Summer I did enjoy hanging out the modern cloth nappies on the line, and felt a little more proud of my green efforts. But for us, they did lead to nappy rash so that didn't work out as a long-term measure.
Choices are made along the way as to how we want to achieve balance within parenthood. And that's going to be different for everyone. Some of us need stimulation outside of the home. Some don't so much. There seems to be a lot of judgment out there around the whole childcare issue. If a Mum is happier having some space in her week from her children, then she should go for it. For the Mums like myself who choose not to use childcare, our kids aren't missing out. So long as they are socialised and stimulated, at the end of the day, they are all going to turn out pretty much the same.
Spacing is another choice parents have to make when expanding their wee families. Some choose to have their children closer together to get “all the nappies out of the way” or so siblings will hopefully play together. Others prefer some space between siblings for economic reasons or maybe just want to enjoy their firstborn a little longer and/or the freedom that comes with having an independent toddler.
Some of us don't have a choice with spacing as we face fertility issues. And so my latest decision to make has been how to approach this. Again, there are very black and white solutions out there. Fertility drugs or herbal remedies? For today I've chosen herbal remedies but will keep an open mind in the future.
It seems a lot of the choices to be made by us Mums (and Dads) are quite black and white, initially. Yet when in the midst of parenting, many gray areas unwittingly appear. There are pros and cons for every choice to be made. And obviously parents are going to be supportive and perhaps opinionated about the parenting decisions they've made that have worked for them. Personally I now I have my own strong views and opinions around some areas of parenting and know that not everyone will agree with me.
We are all different and so we will all parent in our own unique way. I've found in the last two years of parenting that I will always disagree with some parents around their choices just as some will disagree with my choices. The important thing is to believe that you are doing the best job that you can, as you are your child's parents, and only you and you alone have the right to decide how to parent. It isn't anyone else's business how you parent. With that in mind, it isn't any of our business how others parent their kids either.
The Garage Sale
Entered in The Whakatane Friends of the Library Short Story Competition 2007.
The magic of de-cluttering.
"Being able to write natural dialogue is a rare talent, but this author has the gift. I enjoyed reading The Garage Sale, and while I found the plot a little predictable, the style of writing and skill elevated this story to a healthy mid-field position (a very happy place to be). "
Eva heard the sound of gravel crunching, as someone walked up her driveway. She checked her watch. Eight-twenty a.m. She hadn't even put the signs out for her advertised eight-thirty start for her garage sale yet. An eldery gentleman stood before her.
“Do you have any gardening books?” he asked.
“Sorry, no” she said “I'm not much of a gardener.” He nodded then proceeded to rummage through her box of books anyway. He picked one up and smiled. It was a relationship self-help book. She grimaced as he caught her eye.
“Didn't help me much.” she said, shaking her head and laughing.
The eldery gentleman took in everything that was in the sale in one long sweep. Most of the gear was that of a man's. Shirts, sports gear, records – it was almost as though you could piece together who the character was whose gear was being sold.
“What happened?” he found himself asking.
“An accident...” she trialed off “He...it was a car accident.”
“I'm so sorry,” he said “But isn't having this all out like this rather difficult love? Couldn't you have taken it all to the Salvation Army?”
“Could have” she said “Only, although he died and it was tragic, we were almost over. Before it happened...his accident...there was another woman. I just think seeing for sure that this stuff is going will help me, you know, get over it.”
“Right” he said “Well good luck lass.” He patted her on the shoulder and headed off down the driveway. Eva walked after him and put out the signs.
Within seconds the hoards started to arrive. There were the regulars who scanned garage sales on a weekly basis, either hunting for particular items or wanting to find a great bargain. There were those who just fancied a good old nosey or wanted to spend a little bit of cash on nothing in particular. It was a strange process watching people pick up her personal items that Eva had rejected herself, only to see them put them down again and the rejector then walking away. Or some would buy things she was sure were meant for the tip.
“You a boarder then?”
Eva looked up to see an outdoorsy guy with wild brown hair topped off with a backwards cap, holding up her snowboot boots.
“Was” she managed “I haven't been boarding for years.”
“They're pretty old” he said “But I like the odd retro pair for the shop. How much?”
“Five dollars” she said.
A lined browned masculine hand handed her a fiver.“Thanks” she said as she pocketed it.
“It's meant to be a great Winter – lots of powder. You ought to get back on the horse again.”
He winked, she smiled and he walked off with the boots.
As the sporty stranger crunched off down her driveway, Eva allowed herself to reflect a little. Seeing the boots go seemed to bring up an assortment of feelings. He'd bought her those boots a lifetime ago. It was one of the few things he'd ever bought her, as a gift. They were in a way the last concrete, and sentimental link to a past that was long gone. The boots represented the fun side of their rocky and treachous union. When she'd worn those, their relationship altered. On this sunny Autumn day she reflected how it had been like magic gliding down the slopes together.
“Ahem” a man cleared his throat. “These records, twenty dollars for the lot?” Eva looked to see what the young man in his early twenties with mild acne was showing her. Retro music. Bet he's a DJ, she thought to herself. He'd picked out The Cure, Michael Jackson, The Beastie Boys, The Clash and Boney M. “Sure” she nodded. He handed her a twenty and then strided off down the driveway. Amazing, just like that. Five albumns that represented their courting days. The good old days, when their future was bright.
More things sold. As each item went, Eva felt a little lighter. Sure she could have just taken it all to the Sallies – or the dump. But she was making a little bit of cash from the garage sale and it was proving to be a form of therapy for her.
Then she turned up. Eva knew instantly it was her. She'd seen her at the funeral, the mystery blonde standing awkwardly alone, seemingly knowing noone at the back of the church. Eva couldn't believe she'd even come. And now, it was beyond belief that she was actually on her property.
She stood right before her.
“Hi Eva” she said casually as if they were friends or at the very least, acquaintances. “Um – Holly” she said, stretching out a pale hand.
Eva looked at the white hand, limp, like a dead fish and didn't react.
“Hi” she said, resisting screaming What the hell are you doing here??!! at her.
“I saw the ad in the paper. I, er, recognised the address” She coughed nervously “Mind if I have a quick look?”
Eva shot her one of her worst evil looks. “I do mind” she heard herself saying “I think it best you leave.” Holly took this in, and nodded. Trembling, she seemed to be immobilised. “It's just, I don't have anything of his, I just thought...” she looked around helplessly.
“Well the problem is Holly, what you see around you are remnants of my life with him. Not yours. Everything here is from our time together. From the beginning – to the end.” She shot her another evil look.
Holly nodded. “I understand” she said, a tear trickling down her face. A white hand came up and hurriedly wiped it away. “I'm sorry...” and she turned on her heels.
In that moment Eva realised that she had a decade or more of memories before her. Sure they'd been tainted because of recent events, but they were all hers, theirs. Perhaps the only memory Holly had was of the dirty sheets her lover had left behind. Perhaps she had nothing tangible.
“Wait...” Eva ran half-way down the driveway and tapped Holly on the back. “You can have this.” Holly looked down as Eva opened her hand to reveal a watch. Holly smiled as clearly she recognised it. “Thank you” she said. The two women looked at each other for a few seconds in silence.
“Are you really going to get rid of it all? Because of me? “ Holly bravely asked.
“Yes I am” said Eva “But not because of you. He and I had a real life together. What you and he had was fleeting. Our relationship finished long before you, long before he died.”
“Right” muttered Holly, holding on to the watch tightly.
“Well I better get back to it.” said Eva.
“Of course, thanks for the watch” said Holly as she disappeared down the driveway.
An hour later as the hoards stopped, Eva brought in the signs. She'd made close to two hundred dollars. That afternoon she found herself in a sports shop. She walked past the snowboards and took in the large range of skis before her.
“You a skiier then?” it was the guy from the garage sale that morning.
“Yes, I think I am.” she smiled.
“It's meant to be a great Winter this year – lots of powder” he said, clearly not remembering her from the garage sale.
“Sounds great.” she found herself saying.
The magic of de-cluttering.
"Being able to write natural dialogue is a rare talent, but this author has the gift. I enjoyed reading The Garage Sale, and while I found the plot a little predictable, the style of writing and skill elevated this story to a healthy mid-field position (a very happy place to be). "
Eva heard the sound of gravel crunching, as someone walked up her driveway. She checked her watch. Eight-twenty a.m. She hadn't even put the signs out for her advertised eight-thirty start for her garage sale yet. An eldery gentleman stood before her.
“Do you have any gardening books?” he asked.
“Sorry, no” she said “I'm not much of a gardener.” He nodded then proceeded to rummage through her box of books anyway. He picked one up and smiled. It was a relationship self-help book. She grimaced as he caught her eye.
“Didn't help me much.” she said, shaking her head and laughing.
The eldery gentleman took in everything that was in the sale in one long sweep. Most of the gear was that of a man's. Shirts, sports gear, records – it was almost as though you could piece together who the character was whose gear was being sold.
“What happened?” he found himself asking.
“An accident...” she trialed off “He...it was a car accident.”
“I'm so sorry,” he said “But isn't having this all out like this rather difficult love? Couldn't you have taken it all to the Salvation Army?”
“Could have” she said “Only, although he died and it was tragic, we were almost over. Before it happened...his accident...there was another woman. I just think seeing for sure that this stuff is going will help me, you know, get over it.”
“Right” he said “Well good luck lass.” He patted her on the shoulder and headed off down the driveway. Eva walked after him and put out the signs.
Within seconds the hoards started to arrive. There were the regulars who scanned garage sales on a weekly basis, either hunting for particular items or wanting to find a great bargain. There were those who just fancied a good old nosey or wanted to spend a little bit of cash on nothing in particular. It was a strange process watching people pick up her personal items that Eva had rejected herself, only to see them put them down again and the rejector then walking away. Or some would buy things she was sure were meant for the tip.
“You a boarder then?”
Eva looked up to see an outdoorsy guy with wild brown hair topped off with a backwards cap, holding up her snowboot boots.
“Was” she managed “I haven't been boarding for years.”
“They're pretty old” he said “But I like the odd retro pair for the shop. How much?”
“Five dollars” she said.
A lined browned masculine hand handed her a fiver.“Thanks” she said as she pocketed it.
“It's meant to be a great Winter – lots of powder. You ought to get back on the horse again.”
He winked, she smiled and he walked off with the boots.
As the sporty stranger crunched off down her driveway, Eva allowed herself to reflect a little. Seeing the boots go seemed to bring up an assortment of feelings. He'd bought her those boots a lifetime ago. It was one of the few things he'd ever bought her, as a gift. They were in a way the last concrete, and sentimental link to a past that was long gone. The boots represented the fun side of their rocky and treachous union. When she'd worn those, their relationship altered. On this sunny Autumn day she reflected how it had been like magic gliding down the slopes together.
“Ahem” a man cleared his throat. “These records, twenty dollars for the lot?” Eva looked to see what the young man in his early twenties with mild acne was showing her. Retro music. Bet he's a DJ, she thought to herself. He'd picked out The Cure, Michael Jackson, The Beastie Boys, The Clash and Boney M. “Sure” she nodded. He handed her a twenty and then strided off down the driveway. Amazing, just like that. Five albumns that represented their courting days. The good old days, when their future was bright.
More things sold. As each item went, Eva felt a little lighter. Sure she could have just taken it all to the Sallies – or the dump. But she was making a little bit of cash from the garage sale and it was proving to be a form of therapy for her.
Then she turned up. Eva knew instantly it was her. She'd seen her at the funeral, the mystery blonde standing awkwardly alone, seemingly knowing noone at the back of the church. Eva couldn't believe she'd even come. And now, it was beyond belief that she was actually on her property.
She stood right before her.
“Hi Eva” she said casually as if they were friends or at the very least, acquaintances. “Um – Holly” she said, stretching out a pale hand.
Eva looked at the white hand, limp, like a dead fish and didn't react.
“Hi” she said, resisting screaming What the hell are you doing here??!! at her.
“I saw the ad in the paper. I, er, recognised the address” She coughed nervously “Mind if I have a quick look?”
Eva shot her one of her worst evil looks. “I do mind” she heard herself saying “I think it best you leave.” Holly took this in, and nodded. Trembling, she seemed to be immobilised. “It's just, I don't have anything of his, I just thought...” she looked around helplessly.
“Well the problem is Holly, what you see around you are remnants of my life with him. Not yours. Everything here is from our time together. From the beginning – to the end.” She shot her another evil look.
Holly nodded. “I understand” she said, a tear trickling down her face. A white hand came up and hurriedly wiped it away. “I'm sorry...” and she turned on her heels.
In that moment Eva realised that she had a decade or more of memories before her. Sure they'd been tainted because of recent events, but they were all hers, theirs. Perhaps the only memory Holly had was of the dirty sheets her lover had left behind. Perhaps she had nothing tangible.
“Wait...” Eva ran half-way down the driveway and tapped Holly on the back. “You can have this.” Holly looked down as Eva opened her hand to reveal a watch. Holly smiled as clearly she recognised it. “Thank you” she said. The two women looked at each other for a few seconds in silence.
“Are you really going to get rid of it all? Because of me? “ Holly bravely asked.
“Yes I am” said Eva “But not because of you. He and I had a real life together. What you and he had was fleeting. Our relationship finished long before you, long before he died.”
“Right” muttered Holly, holding on to the watch tightly.
“Well I better get back to it.” said Eva.
“Of course, thanks for the watch” said Holly as she disappeared down the driveway.
An hour later as the hoards stopped, Eva brought in the signs. She'd made close to two hundred dollars. That afternoon she found herself in a sports shop. She walked past the snowboards and took in the large range of skis before her.
“You a skiier then?” it was the guy from the garage sale that morning.
“Yes, I think I am.” she smiled.
“It's meant to be a great Winter this year – lots of powder” he said, clearly not remembering her from the garage sale.
“Sounds great.” she found herself saying.
Saturday, 23 June 2007
The Curse Of The Written Word
Lately I have noted how easy it is for others to get the wrong end of the stick as such with my writing. Emailing and blogging are not always reliable forms of communication, it would seem. One writes differently in these forums and so if you write freely, like I do, letting the words just spill out, it isn't really much different to not thinking before you speak.
And perhaps I do need to learn to think before I speak.
I have had a backlash recently around expressing myself in the written form. This has caused me to ponder as to whether I could be a better communicator. Of course I can. There is always room for improvement.
I went to see Danny Bhoy (a Scottish/Indian comedian) last Winter here in Nelson with some work colleagues (and we're going again this August). He had me in stitches, but what I actually took away from his gig was the sentiment of direct communication being the most gracious and effective way to well, communicate. It's so easy in this day and age to text, email and now blog. And I'm guilty of being an abuser of all three.
But I've turned a corner with all this. Yes, I have decided that I will continue to blog for myself. Friends, family, and whoever else are welcome to read my posts. But really it is just an outlet and a place for me to write. We have a family blog which is great for family updates. But our family blog can't be soley relied on for contact. Otherwise we are in danger of creating relationships that float around in cyber space. So for actual contact with friends and family, I might try using the phone a little more. Some long distance relationships are exempt from this, as obviously I can't phone everyone on my (email) contact list.
In the past I've resorted to email as a cheats and almost lazy way of making contact. Same with texting. It's so easy to use the excuse of a busy life to flick off an email or to send a quick text. So I'm going to try emailing a little less. In fact I've been doing that already for the last few weeks - checking my emails once a day and switching the computer off afterwards instead of having it on all day and checking my in-box on each passing. Phone calls don't have to be long, if possible I will phone the person (especially if local) and save myself the twenty cents it costs to send a text.
Don't get me wrong, emailing and texting will continue as ways of keeping contact with others, but if it is possible to make a phone-call, then I will. Give me a couple of months and we'll see how I go...
And perhaps I do need to learn to think before I speak.
I have had a backlash recently around expressing myself in the written form. This has caused me to ponder as to whether I could be a better communicator. Of course I can. There is always room for improvement.
I went to see Danny Bhoy (a Scottish/Indian comedian) last Winter here in Nelson with some work colleagues (and we're going again this August). He had me in stitches, but what I actually took away from his gig was the sentiment of direct communication being the most gracious and effective way to well, communicate. It's so easy in this day and age to text, email and now blog. And I'm guilty of being an abuser of all three.
But I've turned a corner with all this. Yes, I have decided that I will continue to blog for myself. Friends, family, and whoever else are welcome to read my posts. But really it is just an outlet and a place for me to write. We have a family blog which is great for family updates. But our family blog can't be soley relied on for contact. Otherwise we are in danger of creating relationships that float around in cyber space. So for actual contact with friends and family, I might try using the phone a little more. Some long distance relationships are exempt from this, as obviously I can't phone everyone on my (email) contact list.
In the past I've resorted to email as a cheats and almost lazy way of making contact. Same with texting. It's so easy to use the excuse of a busy life to flick off an email or to send a quick text. So I'm going to try emailing a little less. In fact I've been doing that already for the last few weeks - checking my emails once a day and switching the computer off afterwards instead of having it on all day and checking my in-box on each passing. Phone calls don't have to be long, if possible I will phone the person (especially if local) and save myself the twenty cents it costs to send a text.
Don't get me wrong, emailing and texting will continue as ways of keeping contact with others, but if it is possible to make a phone-call, then I will. Give me a couple of months and we'll see how I go...
Friday, 18 May 2007
What Was I Thinking?
Yesterday (Thursday) I decided because we've all been flat-out lately with family visiting in town, and because Amelia had a slight cold and was also was playing so well alone one morning (which has been a rare occurrence of late) , we'd stay at home.
What was I thinking?
Some may think our weekdays are somewhat over-scheduled as we have an activity to go to every morning. Monday is a play-date, Tuesday is playgroup, Wednesday is gymnastics, Thursday is playgroup and Friday is music. We are never usually out for more than two hours at a time and come home for a late morning nap. (yes, both of us!) Sometimes we may go to the park or beach,run an errand in the afternoons or our big afternoon adventure might be walking to the dairy to get some milk. Or we may just chill at home.
The point is, I'm a Mum who needs to get out of the house at least once a day. I need the stimulation and social connections the world outside our two-bedroomed home provides. Amelia needs it too. Although we enjoy the comfort, warmth and security our loving home gives us, we need to get out sometimes.
This was certainly proven yesterday.
It started off well. Amelia did play independently for a good forty-five minutes or so. And then she was into the cupboards. Obviously she'd witnessed me boiling an egg recently and so out came the pot and an egg went in. I watched nervously wondering where this "game" was heading while contemplating whether I should just nip it in the bud then and there or encourage creative play, while supervising from a safe distance. I chose the latter approach. So the one egg in the pot ended up being the whole contents of the egg tray in the pot. And then they all had to go back into the fridge again. And then back into the pot. You get the picture...
It seems Amelia is going through a stage of wanting to imitate life as she sees it. And so bedding was pulled out from the linen cupboard and I was pulled to the ground in her bedroom as she strategically placed a sheet over me. Just days before her Dad had been camped on the floor and I was in Amelia's double bed when family were visiting in town (they had our room).
It is great and encouraging to see that our two year old wants to help out around the house so much. Yet every attempt to help results in a bigger mess than what was there before.
So this Thursday, at home all day with my two year old, I did tackle a few domestic chores from dishes to laundry only to have little hands wanting to rewash dishes I'd already cleaned or items of clothing hung on to the clothes-horse that hadn't been washed. The egg-game continued throughout the day as did the bed-game. A number of other messes occurred around the house that I've chosen to block from my memory for now.
All I know is, a whole day at home is rare for us. We did end up with egg on the floor by the end of the day. But at least it wasn't on my face!
What was I thinking?
Some may think our weekdays are somewhat over-scheduled as we have an activity to go to every morning. Monday is a play-date, Tuesday is playgroup, Wednesday is gymnastics, Thursday is playgroup and Friday is music. We are never usually out for more than two hours at a time and come home for a late morning nap. (yes, both of us!) Sometimes we may go to the park or beach,run an errand in the afternoons or our big afternoon adventure might be walking to the dairy to get some milk. Or we may just chill at home.
The point is, I'm a Mum who needs to get out of the house at least once a day. I need the stimulation and social connections the world outside our two-bedroomed home provides. Amelia needs it too. Although we enjoy the comfort, warmth and security our loving home gives us, we need to get out sometimes.
This was certainly proven yesterday.
It started off well. Amelia did play independently for a good forty-five minutes or so. And then she was into the cupboards. Obviously she'd witnessed me boiling an egg recently and so out came the pot and an egg went in. I watched nervously wondering where this "game" was heading while contemplating whether I should just nip it in the bud then and there or encourage creative play, while supervising from a safe distance. I chose the latter approach. So the one egg in the pot ended up being the whole contents of the egg tray in the pot. And then they all had to go back into the fridge again. And then back into the pot. You get the picture...
It seems Amelia is going through a stage of wanting to imitate life as she sees it. And so bedding was pulled out from the linen cupboard and I was pulled to the ground in her bedroom as she strategically placed a sheet over me. Just days before her Dad had been camped on the floor and I was in Amelia's double bed when family were visiting in town (they had our room).
It is great and encouraging to see that our two year old wants to help out around the house so much. Yet every attempt to help results in a bigger mess than what was there before.
So this Thursday, at home all day with my two year old, I did tackle a few domestic chores from dishes to laundry only to have little hands wanting to rewash dishes I'd already cleaned or items of clothing hung on to the clothes-horse that hadn't been washed. The egg-game continued throughout the day as did the bed-game. A number of other messes occurred around the house that I've chosen to block from my memory for now.
All I know is, a whole day at home is rare for us. We did end up with egg on the floor by the end of the day. But at least it wasn't on my face!
Sunday, 6 May 2007
Welcome To My Blog!
Hi everyone,
Consider this the launch of my official blog!
As some of you know, I have had a writing web site for a year or so. That was great except I felt I could only put published works on it. Since I get published infrequently, I am excited to have this new forum to write my heart out! It was put together by my clever-cloggs hubby, Kev, who sweetly said perhaps having my own blog will encourage me to write more. Who knows how frequently I'll actually write - I will let my natural (writing) rhythm work itself out.
All of the items dated before this one are my published works (articles and my bimonthly column) and short story competitions I have entered over the last two years.
Enjoy! Don't be afraid to add your comments. But be nice, as I'm just a newbie on the blogging block, after all!
Lynda
xx
Consider this the launch of my official blog!
As some of you know, I have had a writing web site for a year or so. That was great except I felt I could only put published works on it. Since I get published infrequently, I am excited to have this new forum to write my heart out! It was put together by my clever-cloggs hubby, Kev, who sweetly said perhaps having my own blog will encourage me to write more. Who knows how frequently I'll actually write - I will let my natural (writing) rhythm work itself out.
All of the items dated before this one are my published works (articles and my bimonthly column) and short story competitions I have entered over the last two years.
Enjoy! Don't be afraid to add your comments. But be nice, as I'm just a newbie on the blogging block, after all!
Lynda
xx
Two Years Of Mummyhood
"New Mum On The Block "
Nelson District Parent Centre Newsletter May/June 2007
Today our antenatal class met for a combined two year birthday party celebration. It seems like just the other day that we gathered to celebrate the first year of our children's lives. Some mums are on to their seconds. I had the pleasure of holding a five week old this morning and I commented how it seems as though my daughter was born a two year old as it is hard to associate her today with being the baby she was yesterday.
We celebrated Amelia's birthday last weekend with a small party which included a couple of her friends. The celebration was quite different from the one last year in which we had just had close family present. This years party reflected how we've networked just a little more into the community and made some great connections with some other families.
Two years of mothering feels quite symbolic for me. When I celebrated one year of mothering, I felt as though I was no longer treading water, that I was out of survival mode and able to see the wood for the trees. A year later I feel quite different. I am much more confident, have clear values, opinions and ideas around mothering and am enjoying the independence that comes with raising a two year old.
Life outside of motherhood is happening again for me. I've been for swims and bike-rides and am doing a course in Small Management once a week. And working two nights a week. I am very fortunate that I have a wonderful, supportive husband who gives me the freedom to do all this stuff outside of the home.
As I grow into motherhood and enjoy it more and more, I feel sad and concerned for the brand new mums on the block who might feel overwhelmed, uncertain, unsupported and confused within motherhood. It seems there is pressure out there to have it all together and to have all the answers by the end of that first year which to me, is totally unrealistic.
If anyone has stuck long-term in a job in any industry, they will know that a year in a job is not long. Only long enough to get to grips with the role; not long enough to fly in it. The same goes for motherhood, I believe.
There is a school of thought out there that believes motherhood comes together in many levels around the second year. That has certainly being my experience. I am a lot happier now than I was a year ago. A lot of what we do during our weeks activity-wise is the same and we still have sleep issues – yet I am much more relaxed about it all.
Two years of being an at-home Mum has meant a lot of personal growth for myself. I started off in my new role with (natural) trepidation. It was all so incredibly overwhelming. And I didn't help myself any by putting such high standards on myself. It has taken many months for me to get to know my daughter, work out what style of mothering suits me, and to make peace around my non-Betty Crocker self. However I do enjoy getting tea on the table very night at 5pmish. I love creating a stable, secure home for our wee family.
Of course I've had stretches of time when I've been bored, and uncertain about aspects of motherhood and recently, challenged with the trials and tribulations of living with a two year old. Yet those times are in the minority. I love going to Playgroup and music group with Amelia, and watching her evolve in these environments she's been going to since she was six months old. She's more confident, more independent, and more involved.
The bottom-line is; I wouldn't change the last two years for anything. Being an at-home Mum has been an absolute pleasure and I will continue to relish our next year at home together as we prepare for Kindy in 2008.
Nelson District Parent Centre Newsletter May/June 2007
Today our antenatal class met for a combined two year birthday party celebration. It seems like just the other day that we gathered to celebrate the first year of our children's lives. Some mums are on to their seconds. I had the pleasure of holding a five week old this morning and I commented how it seems as though my daughter was born a two year old as it is hard to associate her today with being the baby she was yesterday.
We celebrated Amelia's birthday last weekend with a small party which included a couple of her friends. The celebration was quite different from the one last year in which we had just had close family present. This years party reflected how we've networked just a little more into the community and made some great connections with some other families.
Two years of mothering feels quite symbolic for me. When I celebrated one year of mothering, I felt as though I was no longer treading water, that I was out of survival mode and able to see the wood for the trees. A year later I feel quite different. I am much more confident, have clear values, opinions and ideas around mothering and am enjoying the independence that comes with raising a two year old.
Life outside of motherhood is happening again for me. I've been for swims and bike-rides and am doing a course in Small Management once a week. And working two nights a week. I am very fortunate that I have a wonderful, supportive husband who gives me the freedom to do all this stuff outside of the home.
As I grow into motherhood and enjoy it more and more, I feel sad and concerned for the brand new mums on the block who might feel overwhelmed, uncertain, unsupported and confused within motherhood. It seems there is pressure out there to have it all together and to have all the answers by the end of that first year which to me, is totally unrealistic.
If anyone has stuck long-term in a job in any industry, they will know that a year in a job is not long. Only long enough to get to grips with the role; not long enough to fly in it. The same goes for motherhood, I believe.
There is a school of thought out there that believes motherhood comes together in many levels around the second year. That has certainly being my experience. I am a lot happier now than I was a year ago. A lot of what we do during our weeks activity-wise is the same and we still have sleep issues – yet I am much more relaxed about it all.
Two years of being an at-home Mum has meant a lot of personal growth for myself. I started off in my new role with (natural) trepidation. It was all so incredibly overwhelming. And I didn't help myself any by putting such high standards on myself. It has taken many months for me to get to know my daughter, work out what style of mothering suits me, and to make peace around my non-Betty Crocker self. However I do enjoy getting tea on the table very night at 5pmish. I love creating a stable, secure home for our wee family.
Of course I've had stretches of time when I've been bored, and uncertain about aspects of motherhood and recently, challenged with the trials and tribulations of living with a two year old. Yet those times are in the minority. I love going to Playgroup and music group with Amelia, and watching her evolve in these environments she's been going to since she was six months old. She's more confident, more independent, and more involved.
The bottom-line is; I wouldn't change the last two years for anything. Being an at-home Mum has been an absolute pleasure and I will continue to relish our next year at home together as we prepare for Kindy in 2008.
Getting The Support You Need
"New Mum On The Block "
Nelson District Parent Centre Newsletter March/April
I have yet to meet a new Mum who wasn't stripped bare with the whole childbirth experience. Right from the word go there is so much for the new Mum to get her head around – breastfeeding (not as easy as it looks and no guarantees it will even work), nappies (has any one Mum ever managed to perfect the folding of a hospital cloth nappy?), gingerly bathing something smaller than your cat and operating on a ridiculous amount of sleep even though your body is screaming for a week long break on a tropical island somewhere.
Obviously us new Mums are in over our heads. Of course we need support. A ton of it please! And encouragement. We need a shoulder to cry on when the going gets tough, people to tell us we are doing a good job of raising our bundle of joy even though there is dried baby puke on one shoulder and bags under our eyes that hint that perhaps longer than a week on that tropical island may be needed to recoup ourselves. And do tell us we look good even though we are traipsing around in the trackies we swore we'd never be seen dead in or that you turned up unannounced to find us still in our PJ's at 2pm.
A generation or two ago it was a given that a new Mum would have her extended family close by when the newborn arrived. Motherhood was witnessed amongst family and mothering tips handed down in a natural way. These days a lot of us don't have our extended family around us. And so unless we want to go it alone, we are reliant on reaching out within our community for support.
Because we don't have family who live in town, hubby and I set out to create a support network by firstly attending antenatal classes at the Parent Centre. These were an excellent way to connect with other parents-to-be . The Baby And You classes were my initiation into mixing with Mums and bubs. A coffee group followed where it was a relief to know there were other Mums I could meet with that were in the same boat .
Coffee group gave a bit of a structure to my week in the early months of motherhood. Apart from one or two other Mums I'd known before motherhood, these were the only women I socialised with regularly. It's been great to watch our babies move through each stage together – from newborn to infant to toddler and within the next couple of months they will all be approaching Two! As Mums naturally play the comparison game, coffee groups can have a bit of a competitive vibe, yet it is good to check in with those who are raising children the same age.
When Amelia was around six months, I branched out into taking her to a local Playgroup and music group. By taking her to these groups on a regular basis, it started to feel as though my Mum community was forming. New friendships are developing from these groups, but really the support I get from attending these groups is simply in knowing and seeing other Mums out there, week in, week out. In passing one might have a casual conversation about anything from childbirth to toilet training. You can turn up at of these groups after having had a challenging episode with your pride and joy, only to have it all melt away somewhat once you are greeted by a sea of Mums with their tots. In that instance you know you're not alone. So this week when Amelia's groups started up again I was glad to be back in the swing of it all as not only do these groups add structure to our week, a place for Amelia to play and socialise, they also provide me with a great deal of support.
Sooner or later as parents you realise that it is an incredible challenge to raise your child on your own. We did it for what seemed like a long time. Occasionally my Mum would babysit when in town, but very sporadically. I knew we could “just go out and get a babysitter” if we really wanted to, but like many first-time parents, I didn't want just anyone looking after our daughter. So through our antenatal class, a friendship started to develop with another couple who didn't have family in town either. When Amelia was around 18 months, we were ready to start having regular time-outs to ourselves and we suggested babysitting swaps.
So in the weekends hubby and I have been going out for brunch, knowing our daughter is in safe hands. I smile inwardly at other parents who are getting up fifty times during their brunches while I pour my third cup of tea in a row without moving once. (except to maybe go to the loo...) It is a good feeling being able to hand over your child to someone else to look after, even if it is only for an hour and a half once a week.
Support isn't just about babysitters and mixing with a community of Mums, it's also about being respected for the way you choose to raise your children. In this day and age there are so many variations on how to “have it all” as such. It would seem many a Mum is in a quandary as to what might work best for them. There are many reasons why Mums opt to stay home fulltime just as there are many reasons why Mums choose to work casually, part-time or fulltime. Noone has the right to judge another's decision.
Yet us Mums do need to ask for support so that we are able to be the best Mums we can, regardless of whether we choose to be at-home Mums or to combine work with motherhood. Noone else can guess our needs. I've learnt that I have to pencil in time-outs for the things I need to do to keep me sane and healthy. I've also learnt to grasp the pockets of time that do come up during the week as my daughter becomes more independent.
In the early days I turned to Plunket for advice, and made contact with the Postnatal Depression Support Network here in Nelson following a traumatic birthing experience. I have phoned Healthline off and on over the last 22 months with varying questions from problems with breastfeeding to tending to a toddler with a worrying stomach bug. There are organisations to phone for support. It is important to reach out as none of us can be expected to know it all.
Someone just this week quoted me with the African proverb it takes a village to raise a child. There is a lot of truth in that one as none of us can do the child-rearing thing alone.
Nelson District Parent Centre Newsletter March/April
I have yet to meet a new Mum who wasn't stripped bare with the whole childbirth experience. Right from the word go there is so much for the new Mum to get her head around – breastfeeding (not as easy as it looks and no guarantees it will even work), nappies (has any one Mum ever managed to perfect the folding of a hospital cloth nappy?), gingerly bathing something smaller than your cat and operating on a ridiculous amount of sleep even though your body is screaming for a week long break on a tropical island somewhere.
Obviously us new Mums are in over our heads. Of course we need support. A ton of it please! And encouragement. We need a shoulder to cry on when the going gets tough, people to tell us we are doing a good job of raising our bundle of joy even though there is dried baby puke on one shoulder and bags under our eyes that hint that perhaps longer than a week on that tropical island may be needed to recoup ourselves. And do tell us we look good even though we are traipsing around in the trackies we swore we'd never be seen dead in or that you turned up unannounced to find us still in our PJ's at 2pm.
A generation or two ago it was a given that a new Mum would have her extended family close by when the newborn arrived. Motherhood was witnessed amongst family and mothering tips handed down in a natural way. These days a lot of us don't have our extended family around us. And so unless we want to go it alone, we are reliant on reaching out within our community for support.
Because we don't have family who live in town, hubby and I set out to create a support network by firstly attending antenatal classes at the Parent Centre. These were an excellent way to connect with other parents-to-be . The Baby And You classes were my initiation into mixing with Mums and bubs. A coffee group followed where it was a relief to know there were other Mums I could meet with that were in the same boat .
Coffee group gave a bit of a structure to my week in the early months of motherhood. Apart from one or two other Mums I'd known before motherhood, these were the only women I socialised with regularly. It's been great to watch our babies move through each stage together – from newborn to infant to toddler and within the next couple of months they will all be approaching Two! As Mums naturally play the comparison game, coffee groups can have a bit of a competitive vibe, yet it is good to check in with those who are raising children the same age.
When Amelia was around six months, I branched out into taking her to a local Playgroup and music group. By taking her to these groups on a regular basis, it started to feel as though my Mum community was forming. New friendships are developing from these groups, but really the support I get from attending these groups is simply in knowing and seeing other Mums out there, week in, week out. In passing one might have a casual conversation about anything from childbirth to toilet training. You can turn up at of these groups after having had a challenging episode with your pride and joy, only to have it all melt away somewhat once you are greeted by a sea of Mums with their tots. In that instance you know you're not alone. So this week when Amelia's groups started up again I was glad to be back in the swing of it all as not only do these groups add structure to our week, a place for Amelia to play and socialise, they also provide me with a great deal of support.
Sooner or later as parents you realise that it is an incredible challenge to raise your child on your own. We did it for what seemed like a long time. Occasionally my Mum would babysit when in town, but very sporadically. I knew we could “just go out and get a babysitter” if we really wanted to, but like many first-time parents, I didn't want just anyone looking after our daughter. So through our antenatal class, a friendship started to develop with another couple who didn't have family in town either. When Amelia was around 18 months, we were ready to start having regular time-outs to ourselves and we suggested babysitting swaps.
So in the weekends hubby and I have been going out for brunch, knowing our daughter is in safe hands. I smile inwardly at other parents who are getting up fifty times during their brunches while I pour my third cup of tea in a row without moving once. (except to maybe go to the loo...) It is a good feeling being able to hand over your child to someone else to look after, even if it is only for an hour and a half once a week.
Support isn't just about babysitters and mixing with a community of Mums, it's also about being respected for the way you choose to raise your children. In this day and age there are so many variations on how to “have it all” as such. It would seem many a Mum is in a quandary as to what might work best for them. There are many reasons why Mums opt to stay home fulltime just as there are many reasons why Mums choose to work casually, part-time or fulltime. Noone has the right to judge another's decision.
Yet us Mums do need to ask for support so that we are able to be the best Mums we can, regardless of whether we choose to be at-home Mums or to combine work with motherhood. Noone else can guess our needs. I've learnt that I have to pencil in time-outs for the things I need to do to keep me sane and healthy. I've also learnt to grasp the pockets of time that do come up during the week as my daughter becomes more independent.
In the early days I turned to Plunket for advice, and made contact with the Postnatal Depression Support Network here in Nelson following a traumatic birthing experience. I have phoned Healthline off and on over the last 22 months with varying questions from problems with breastfeeding to tending to a toddler with a worrying stomach bug. There are organisations to phone for support. It is important to reach out as none of us can be expected to know it all.
Someone just this week quoted me with the African proverb it takes a village to raise a child. There is a lot of truth in that one as none of us can do the child-rearing thing alone.
Saturday, 5 May 2007
The Magic of Twilight
Entered in The Page and Blackmore Short Story Competition 2007. Judged by Owen Marshall
An inconvenience leads to possibilities in love.
"A competent light romance tale which tends to become overly sentimental towards the end. "
Geneva tilted her head back so she could relish the feeling of the wind blowing through her hair as she pedalled. It was twilight, her favourite time of night and the beginning of a brand new year. An opportunity to build a bigger, brighter future. Starting with this bike ride. No more toffee pops on the couch while watching bad television.
Clunk. Oh no. Her legs weren't going anywhere. Geneva stopped and sure enough, there was the chain dangling on the footpath like a legless drunk. Nothing she could do but walk the bike home. There was a bit of traffic on the main road in suburbia as it was Friday night. She felt the “will-you-look-at-that-woman” looks but ignored them.
“Nice night for a walk ...with a bike!” The husky American voice startled her. Surburbian New Zealand was hardly a place for tourist attractions. She turned around and was taken aback to see a good-looking, thirty-something dark-haired man smiling at her.
“Hank” he said, offering his hand
“Geneva” she said, shaking it arkwardly.
“ I'm in town for a wedding.”
Her expression must have been “oh.”
“Not my wedding” he winked. “You wouldn't know if there was a decent bar round these parts would you?”
These parts? He may as well have been walking the streets with a horse.
“Well actually there is somewhere – about ten minutes from here. Kind of lame...” he smiled in amusement. “ Well, the beers okay.” she managed to smile.
“Care to show me the way?” he asked, eyebrows high, and his face on the brink of breaking into a smile. “I have a night off from my bestman duties. Tomorrow's the stag night. Thought I better sample some of this kiwi beer so I know what I'm doing.” She took one out-of-body look at herself decked in sweatpants, disrevelled hair from her helmet and shook her head. “I'm heading the opposite way. But it's easy to find – just walk straight down the next turn-off on the right for ten minutes.”
“Shame” he said “You sure know how to let a visitor from out of town down. Well then, if you don't want to come along tonight perhaps tomorrow night then, just as the party's getting warmed up?”
Geneva hesitated. She was so over the bar scene. Really she just wanted to slow down and enjoy the company of a good man with simple nights in. Crikey – she really was sounding the thirty-two years of age that she was. But then she looked at Hank, with his perfect American white teeth and his adorable yankee accent.
“Okay then” Geneva smiled “Tomorrow night it is.”
He grinned from ear to ear. “ See you then Geneva. 7pm. Don't be late!”
Geneva fingered through her wardrobe. What do you wear when you are going on a date with a hot American to a stag party of all things? She didn't want to be too slutty. So the mini skirts, even though they looked good on her, her legs being her stand-out feature – nope – it would just send the wrong message. Afterall, she really didn't fancy jumping out of a cake...So, something not so revealing...Perhaps the capri pants with the fitted blouse would be a good ensemble? On second thoughts, when she put it on it just seemed to scream boring office worker and no, you won't be getting a kiss from me tonight. She didn't want to look slutty but then she didn't want to appear fridgid either...Then, there it was – a classic shift dress with a bow detail at the waist - sexy and simple. Next the makeup. She didn't want to look like she'd been paid to attend the stag party, after all. So Geneva opted for the natural look. Minimal makeup but she danced her eyes up with eye-shadow and mascara. Next went lip-gloss on her lips. She smacked her lips together – not bad!
Geneva stood at the door of the local and suddenly clicked that this was obviously a huge wedding. Then Hank was handing her a glass of champagne “Thought it was going to be a little quieter than this?” She nodded. “ Tom tying the knot is a big deal to this lot – his whole footie team is over there, half his school here. Amazing he ever travelled to America and met yours truly huh.” She nodded as yes, she had wondered how Hank fitted in. “I'm the son of the host family Tom stayed with when he did a school exchange.” “We were like brothers” he added. “Speak of the devil...” and Tom wandered over. Blonde hair, blue eyes – he was the thinking girls jock fantasy. He reeked of push-ups, chin-ups, crunchies and no doubt had a rock-hard body. But he didn't take her fancy. “Tom, this is Geneva” Hank said “Hey” said Tom “So are you going to be Hank's date to my wedding?” Her look must have said it all. “Hmmm...” she said looking at Hank. “Tom!” Hank gave him a blokey slap “I was waiting til she'd had at least one drink before I asked her.” They all roared with laughter at that.
“So? “ said Hank “Even though we've known each other for a whole ten minutes all up – would you like to come to a wedding on Saturday? Please say yes, I'm a decent guy and quite desperate.”
“Sure” she smiled. There could be worse things to do on Saturday night than going to a wedding.
“Excellent!” He punched the air enthusiatically.
Clink. The wedding guests held their up their champagne flutes to the bride and groom. Hank had given a hilarious speech covering some of the experiences he and Tom had had in America. And of course there were references to Janine who Tom had met at highschool that no american girls had ever compared to. There were lots of awwwws when Hank said that, in his charming American way.
Geneva felt a hand on her shoulder. “I'm all yours now” Hank beamed. “My best man duties are over with – so – care to dance?” With that he held out his hand and pulled her to her feet. “Geneva?” he said. Somehow she never got sick of hearing her name in his American accent. “Yes, Hank?” she smiled as they walked to the dance floor. “ I'm leaving in two days...” his voice trialed off. Of course! She'd gotten so caught up in this whirlwind romance that she'd forgotten that Hank didn't actually live here – that he'd actually be leaving soon She felt a lump in her throat. Ridiculous! She'd known him for a whole forty-eight hours. “Anyway” he said turning her head with his hand so she was forced to look directly into his eyes. “I was hoping you might like to join me for a day trip tomorrow. Just the two of us?” That took Geneva by surprise. “Sure, that would be great .” Hank smiled, picked up her hand and kissed it. As they danced closely to the sounds of the jazz band, Geneva could feel her heart pounding in her chest, just like the leading lady in a Mills and Boon novel.
Geneva and Hank went on a picnic where they spent hours drinking wine and talking. They had more in common than they perhaps originally thought – both book-worms who liked to go on long walks. Neither of them liked dogs. At the end of the day Hank looked at her, his eyes misting up a little. “Geneva” he said “Tomorrow my heart will be broken, when I fly back home. It has been the most amazing day...”
She smiled and wiped back a tear too. “I know” she sighed.
They agreed to keep in touch by email and phone calls. Geneva hoped to make it to America within the next six months. She needed time to save and to accrue some leave.
Hank dropped Geneva off at her house early that evening. He had an early flight the next day. They kissed by her front gate and hugged like the lovers they wanted to be. Then Geneva found herself inside her flat. Her bike, chain fixed, stood invitingly in the hallway. Ten minutes later she pedalled off into the twilight. But the magic of the twilight had gone. All she could think of was that Hank would be in the sky tomorrow heading further and further away from her as each second passed. She wiped away an escapee tear and pedalled faster, wondering how different she'd be feeling now if the chain had never come off her bike in the first place.
An inconvenience leads to possibilities in love.
"A competent light romance tale which tends to become overly sentimental towards the end. "
Geneva tilted her head back so she could relish the feeling of the wind blowing through her hair as she pedalled. It was twilight, her favourite time of night and the beginning of a brand new year. An opportunity to build a bigger, brighter future. Starting with this bike ride. No more toffee pops on the couch while watching bad television.
Clunk. Oh no. Her legs weren't going anywhere. Geneva stopped and sure enough, there was the chain dangling on the footpath like a legless drunk. Nothing she could do but walk the bike home. There was a bit of traffic on the main road in suburbia as it was Friday night. She felt the “will-you-look-at-that-woman” looks but ignored them.
“Nice night for a walk ...with a bike!” The husky American voice startled her. Surburbian New Zealand was hardly a place for tourist attractions. She turned around and was taken aback to see a good-looking, thirty-something dark-haired man smiling at her.
“Hank” he said, offering his hand
“Geneva” she said, shaking it arkwardly.
“ I'm in town for a wedding.”
Her expression must have been “oh.”
“Not my wedding” he winked. “You wouldn't know if there was a decent bar round these parts would you?”
These parts? He may as well have been walking the streets with a horse.
“Well actually there is somewhere – about ten minutes from here. Kind of lame...” he smiled in amusement. “ Well, the beers okay.” she managed to smile.
“Care to show me the way?” he asked, eyebrows high, and his face on the brink of breaking into a smile. “I have a night off from my bestman duties. Tomorrow's the stag night. Thought I better sample some of this kiwi beer so I know what I'm doing.” She took one out-of-body look at herself decked in sweatpants, disrevelled hair from her helmet and shook her head. “I'm heading the opposite way. But it's easy to find – just walk straight down the next turn-off on the right for ten minutes.”
“Shame” he said “You sure know how to let a visitor from out of town down. Well then, if you don't want to come along tonight perhaps tomorrow night then, just as the party's getting warmed up?”
Geneva hesitated. She was so over the bar scene. Really she just wanted to slow down and enjoy the company of a good man with simple nights in. Crikey – she really was sounding the thirty-two years of age that she was. But then she looked at Hank, with his perfect American white teeth and his adorable yankee accent.
“Okay then” Geneva smiled “Tomorrow night it is.”
He grinned from ear to ear. “ See you then Geneva. 7pm. Don't be late!”
Geneva fingered through her wardrobe. What do you wear when you are going on a date with a hot American to a stag party of all things? She didn't want to be too slutty. So the mini skirts, even though they looked good on her, her legs being her stand-out feature – nope – it would just send the wrong message. Afterall, she really didn't fancy jumping out of a cake...So, something not so revealing...Perhaps the capri pants with the fitted blouse would be a good ensemble? On second thoughts, when she put it on it just seemed to scream boring office worker and no, you won't be getting a kiss from me tonight. She didn't want to look slutty but then she didn't want to appear fridgid either...Then, there it was – a classic shift dress with a bow detail at the waist - sexy and simple. Next the makeup. She didn't want to look like she'd been paid to attend the stag party, after all. So Geneva opted for the natural look. Minimal makeup but she danced her eyes up with eye-shadow and mascara. Next went lip-gloss on her lips. She smacked her lips together – not bad!
Geneva stood at the door of the local and suddenly clicked that this was obviously a huge wedding. Then Hank was handing her a glass of champagne “Thought it was going to be a little quieter than this?” She nodded. “ Tom tying the knot is a big deal to this lot – his whole footie team is over there, half his school here. Amazing he ever travelled to America and met yours truly huh.” She nodded as yes, she had wondered how Hank fitted in. “I'm the son of the host family Tom stayed with when he did a school exchange.” “We were like brothers” he added. “Speak of the devil...” and Tom wandered over. Blonde hair, blue eyes – he was the thinking girls jock fantasy. He reeked of push-ups, chin-ups, crunchies and no doubt had a rock-hard body. But he didn't take her fancy. “Tom, this is Geneva” Hank said “Hey” said Tom “So are you going to be Hank's date to my wedding?” Her look must have said it all. “Hmmm...” she said looking at Hank. “Tom!” Hank gave him a blokey slap “I was waiting til she'd had at least one drink before I asked her.” They all roared with laughter at that.
“So? “ said Hank “Even though we've known each other for a whole ten minutes all up – would you like to come to a wedding on Saturday? Please say yes, I'm a decent guy and quite desperate.”
“Sure” she smiled. There could be worse things to do on Saturday night than going to a wedding.
“Excellent!” He punched the air enthusiatically.
Clink. The wedding guests held their up their champagne flutes to the bride and groom. Hank had given a hilarious speech covering some of the experiences he and Tom had had in America. And of course there were references to Janine who Tom had met at highschool that no american girls had ever compared to. There were lots of awwwws when Hank said that, in his charming American way.
Geneva felt a hand on her shoulder. “I'm all yours now” Hank beamed. “My best man duties are over with – so – care to dance?” With that he held out his hand and pulled her to her feet. “Geneva?” he said. Somehow she never got sick of hearing her name in his American accent. “Yes, Hank?” she smiled as they walked to the dance floor. “ I'm leaving in two days...” his voice trialed off. Of course! She'd gotten so caught up in this whirlwind romance that she'd forgotten that Hank didn't actually live here – that he'd actually be leaving soon She felt a lump in her throat. Ridiculous! She'd known him for a whole forty-eight hours. “Anyway” he said turning her head with his hand so she was forced to look directly into his eyes. “I was hoping you might like to join me for a day trip tomorrow. Just the two of us?” That took Geneva by surprise. “Sure, that would be great .” Hank smiled, picked up her hand and kissed it. As they danced closely to the sounds of the jazz band, Geneva could feel her heart pounding in her chest, just like the leading lady in a Mills and Boon novel.
Geneva and Hank went on a picnic where they spent hours drinking wine and talking. They had more in common than they perhaps originally thought – both book-worms who liked to go on long walks. Neither of them liked dogs. At the end of the day Hank looked at her, his eyes misting up a little. “Geneva” he said “Tomorrow my heart will be broken, when I fly back home. It has been the most amazing day...”
She smiled and wiped back a tear too. “I know” she sighed.
They agreed to keep in touch by email and phone calls. Geneva hoped to make it to America within the next six months. She needed time to save and to accrue some leave.
Hank dropped Geneva off at her house early that evening. He had an early flight the next day. They kissed by her front gate and hugged like the lovers they wanted to be. Then Geneva found herself inside her flat. Her bike, chain fixed, stood invitingly in the hallway. Ten minutes later she pedalled off into the twilight. But the magic of the twilight had gone. All she could think of was that Hank would be in the sky tomorrow heading further and further away from her as each second passed. She wiped away an escapee tear and pedalled faster, wondering how different she'd be feeling now if the chain had never come off her bike in the first place.
Gone Fishing
Entered in South Island Writers' Assocation Open Short Story Competition 2007.
Who knows who you might reel in if you give it a go.
"This is a good story with heaps of potential. All it needs is a bit of tweaking here and there."
Sam rushed home in a break from the video shop she worked at. Pie and soft-drink in hand, the plan was to scoff her lunch down on the couch while she watched Oprah. Yet the minute she stood outside the door, jangling her keys, something caused her to pause. The front door was slightly ajar, and the pearls of laughter emananting from inside the apartment hit her right in the guts. Sam and her sickened stomach should have just backed out then and there, since she knew what was coming - she had seen the cheesy scene played a hundred times before. Yet some overwhelming need in her beckoned her to inch closer towards the laughter. Sam drew her breath and whipped the bedroom door open wide.
And there they were.
Not completely unclothed like she might have expected, but intimate enough. Sam shook her head, and walked out of the bedroom, clutching her stomach. It was too much, and she was sure she was going to hurl. Outside she gathered herself together for a minute as really she didn't want to come back here again to this tainted apartment, ever. So she sucked in her breath, grabbed her suitcase from the top of the wardrobe, and walked quickly around the bedroom as the awkward couple watched, packing her suitcase, pulling her clothes out of the wardrobe straight off the hangers and stuffing them into the suitcase – there was simply no time to be standing there folding clothes. She flung her tampons, toothbrush and the toothpaste from the bathroom into a toilet bag. Yeah, he could go and buy another tube of toothpaste. Surely it wasn't a bad deal from his end– one tube of toothpaste in exchange for sleazy behaviour. Incredibly, she managed to pack within minutes. Or so it seemed. Amazing what a bit of adrendlin could do for a girl.
And him in the background. “Wait, let's talk this over. We can figure this out...” all the usual excuses. Even he was embarrassed at how unoriginal and cliched he sounded.
“Thanks” Sam said, suitcase in one hand while she smoothed her hair with her other hand while she
caught her breath “For our time together. This ending sucks. But oh well, it's over then. So I'll just leave you and...thingamajig to it then...” Thingamajig let out a nervous giggle. Sam wanted to slap her, oh-so-badly, but she managed to restrain herself.
She turned on her heels and breezed out of the bedroom.
In the seconds it had taken Sam to walk out of the warehouse apartment they had briefly resided in together, and onto the street, their relationship was now history. Just like that. Funny how one minute someone could be your everything and then they were - your nothing. She shook her head in disbelief for a second. It was time to move on – then and there.
Sam walked fast, dragging her suitcase, trying so very hard to fight back the tears in public. Dammit, it was lunchtime and she felt just a bit conspicious as workers on their breaks took in the sight of a mid-twenties woman, dressed in her video store t-shirt, dragging a suitcase down the street. Damn the staring. Sam escaped into a public toilet and her insides welled up like she couldn't believe and she exploded into enormous sobs that came from the depths of her being. She blew her nose loudly with the scratchy toilet paper often found in public loos and her mind wandered back to that first night, wondering how she'd gotten from there – to here...
It was a hot summer's night in the mid-nineties, and Sam was the first to admit she'd had a few too many. Beer, wine, and a couple of shots. Okay, maybe more than just a few too many. She'd had her hair cut that day and was relishing the confidence her new look gave her. Her jeans fitted her snuggly, her t-shirt showed off her toned arms. She felt hip and trendy and proud to be twenty-five.
The bar was packed, and the music was pumping loudly. Coloured lights playfully twirled on the dance-floor and Sam was on fire. Moving On Up by the M People played, one of her favourite
dance tracks, and she was having a ball. She was dancing with Mr Two-Step, one of those guys who didn't know how to break out of the old side-to-side move. And he was slightly out-of-time. Ok, very out. Kind of cute though - in a bank teller kind of a way.
The song ended, Sam thanked Mr Two-Step and looked around for her friends. There they were. Lola at the bar, chatting up the barman. Again. Sonya standing nearby sipping a drink, coolly surveying the surroundings. Sam ordered three shots of black zumbucca. She threw one down the bar to Lola, gave her a wink and then handed one to Sonya. Sonya nodded thanks. And then the lights came on. Curse those three am curfews. And why did the lights have to be on full? Everyone knew how hideous the average person looked at that hour. The girls with their unstyled hair, melted foundation, exposed zits, smudged mascara, and non-existent lipstick. Then there were some whose bodysuits leaked out of jeans that the drunken wearer had forgotten to tuck in during her last pitstop to the loo. And the guys didn't look so great either at that hour with their greasy hair and sweaty underarms. But then the majority of the patrons left at that hour had their beer-goggles on. Small details like that were overlooked.
So Sam, Lola, and Sonya joined arms together, wondering what they might do next as they wondered along Courtenay Place like the rest of the partiers in Wellington, searching for something else to do. It was late yet these three ladies had only just begun. They'd been dancing up a storm and weren't ready to slow down.
They turned around a corner and literally bumped into three guys who also seemed to be having a good time. A little bit of chit-chat on the street and then they were drinking dacquiris in a downtown warehouse-style apartment. Sam couldn't believe it. It was so glam, so american sitcom. Like being Gone Fishing Page Four
on Friends or in Seinfeld's apartment. Except this was Wellington, New Zealand, not New York. Still, close enough.
“I like your hair” he said. She turned and there he was. Schwing! Dimples, tanned skin, long hair and a brown leather jacket.
”Thanks” she said “You know a few hours ago it was down to here...” she said touching the middle of her back. And with that he touched the exact spot her hand had just left and she knew then, in that moment, that she was screwed. She may as well have pulled her heart right out and handed it to him on a platter.
From the start it was all too good to be true. She got wooed in ways she'd never been wooed before. Flowers, wine, and many a dinner out. Romantic nights in at his warehouse apartment listening to Van Morrison. Weeks turned into months and before she knew it, Sam had moved in. Why not, he said, you're here most nights anyway. She didn't own much, since she'd always claimed to be materially-adverse, so it wasn't a major deal. Just Sam and her toothbush, tampons and a few changes of clothes. She'd just naturally assumed that moving in meant that things had changed gears a little. How wrong was she...
There was a loud knock outside the public loo door. Sam came back to reality. She dabbed under her eyes, got out her compact to check her face, then closed it deciding it was just not that important. She opened the door and a guy stood outside. For a moment she was taken aback. Oh yeah, unisex public loos – it was so Ally McBeal.
The guy looked vaguely familiar. Oh yeah – Mr Two-Step! She smiled, he smiled. “You going to be hitting the town this Friday? “ he asked. “Why not? “ she shrugged and as she walked out, dragging her suitcase across the road into the video store she worked at, her co-workers with questions written all over their faces, with Mr Two-Step watching her all the way, she knew was going to be okay.
Seemed there were plenty of fish in the sea. She just needed to go out fishing again. Soon.
Who knows who you might reel in if you give it a go.
"This is a good story with heaps of potential. All it needs is a bit of tweaking here and there."
Sam rushed home in a break from the video shop she worked at. Pie and soft-drink in hand, the plan was to scoff her lunch down on the couch while she watched Oprah. Yet the minute she stood outside the door, jangling her keys, something caused her to pause. The front door was slightly ajar, and the pearls of laughter emananting from inside the apartment hit her right in the guts. Sam and her sickened stomach should have just backed out then and there, since she knew what was coming - she had seen the cheesy scene played a hundred times before. Yet some overwhelming need in her beckoned her to inch closer towards the laughter. Sam drew her breath and whipped the bedroom door open wide.
And there they were.
Not completely unclothed like she might have expected, but intimate enough. Sam shook her head, and walked out of the bedroom, clutching her stomach. It was too much, and she was sure she was going to hurl. Outside she gathered herself together for a minute as really she didn't want to come back here again to this tainted apartment, ever. So she sucked in her breath, grabbed her suitcase from the top of the wardrobe, and walked quickly around the bedroom as the awkward couple watched, packing her suitcase, pulling her clothes out of the wardrobe straight off the hangers and stuffing them into the suitcase – there was simply no time to be standing there folding clothes. She flung her tampons, toothbrush and the toothpaste from the bathroom into a toilet bag. Yeah, he could go and buy another tube of toothpaste. Surely it wasn't a bad deal from his end– one tube of toothpaste in exchange for sleazy behaviour. Incredibly, she managed to pack within minutes. Or so it seemed. Amazing what a bit of adrendlin could do for a girl.
And him in the background. “Wait, let's talk this over. We can figure this out...” all the usual excuses. Even he was embarrassed at how unoriginal and cliched he sounded.
“Thanks” Sam said, suitcase in one hand while she smoothed her hair with her other hand while she
caught her breath “For our time together. This ending sucks. But oh well, it's over then. So I'll just leave you and...thingamajig to it then...” Thingamajig let out a nervous giggle. Sam wanted to slap her, oh-so-badly, but she managed to restrain herself.
She turned on her heels and breezed out of the bedroom.
In the seconds it had taken Sam to walk out of the warehouse apartment they had briefly resided in together, and onto the street, their relationship was now history. Just like that. Funny how one minute someone could be your everything and then they were - your nothing. She shook her head in disbelief for a second. It was time to move on – then and there.
Sam walked fast, dragging her suitcase, trying so very hard to fight back the tears in public. Dammit, it was lunchtime and she felt just a bit conspicious as workers on their breaks took in the sight of a mid-twenties woman, dressed in her video store t-shirt, dragging a suitcase down the street. Damn the staring. Sam escaped into a public toilet and her insides welled up like she couldn't believe and she exploded into enormous sobs that came from the depths of her being. She blew her nose loudly with the scratchy toilet paper often found in public loos and her mind wandered back to that first night, wondering how she'd gotten from there – to here...
It was a hot summer's night in the mid-nineties, and Sam was the first to admit she'd had a few too many. Beer, wine, and a couple of shots. Okay, maybe more than just a few too many. She'd had her hair cut that day and was relishing the confidence her new look gave her. Her jeans fitted her snuggly, her t-shirt showed off her toned arms. She felt hip and trendy and proud to be twenty-five.
The bar was packed, and the music was pumping loudly. Coloured lights playfully twirled on the dance-floor and Sam was on fire. Moving On Up by the M People played, one of her favourite
dance tracks, and she was having a ball. She was dancing with Mr Two-Step, one of those guys who didn't know how to break out of the old side-to-side move. And he was slightly out-of-time. Ok, very out. Kind of cute though - in a bank teller kind of a way.
The song ended, Sam thanked Mr Two-Step and looked around for her friends. There they were. Lola at the bar, chatting up the barman. Again. Sonya standing nearby sipping a drink, coolly surveying the surroundings. Sam ordered three shots of black zumbucca. She threw one down the bar to Lola, gave her a wink and then handed one to Sonya. Sonya nodded thanks. And then the lights came on. Curse those three am curfews. And why did the lights have to be on full? Everyone knew how hideous the average person looked at that hour. The girls with their unstyled hair, melted foundation, exposed zits, smudged mascara, and non-existent lipstick. Then there were some whose bodysuits leaked out of jeans that the drunken wearer had forgotten to tuck in during her last pitstop to the loo. And the guys didn't look so great either at that hour with their greasy hair and sweaty underarms. But then the majority of the patrons left at that hour had their beer-goggles on. Small details like that were overlooked.
So Sam, Lola, and Sonya joined arms together, wondering what they might do next as they wondered along Courtenay Place like the rest of the partiers in Wellington, searching for something else to do. It was late yet these three ladies had only just begun. They'd been dancing up a storm and weren't ready to slow down.
They turned around a corner and literally bumped into three guys who also seemed to be having a good time. A little bit of chit-chat on the street and then they were drinking dacquiris in a downtown warehouse-style apartment. Sam couldn't believe it. It was so glam, so american sitcom. Like being Gone Fishing Page Four
on Friends or in Seinfeld's apartment. Except this was Wellington, New Zealand, not New York. Still, close enough.
“I like your hair” he said. She turned and there he was. Schwing! Dimples, tanned skin, long hair and a brown leather jacket.
”Thanks” she said “You know a few hours ago it was down to here...” she said touching the middle of her back. And with that he touched the exact spot her hand had just left and she knew then, in that moment, that she was screwed. She may as well have pulled her heart right out and handed it to him on a platter.
From the start it was all too good to be true. She got wooed in ways she'd never been wooed before. Flowers, wine, and many a dinner out. Romantic nights in at his warehouse apartment listening to Van Morrison. Weeks turned into months and before she knew it, Sam had moved in. Why not, he said, you're here most nights anyway. She didn't own much, since she'd always claimed to be materially-adverse, so it wasn't a major deal. Just Sam and her toothbush, tampons and a few changes of clothes. She'd just naturally assumed that moving in meant that things had changed gears a little. How wrong was she...
There was a loud knock outside the public loo door. Sam came back to reality. She dabbed under her eyes, got out her compact to check her face, then closed it deciding it was just not that important. She opened the door and a guy stood outside. For a moment she was taken aback. Oh yeah, unisex public loos – it was so Ally McBeal.
The guy looked vaguely familiar. Oh yeah – Mr Two-Step! She smiled, he smiled. “You going to be hitting the town this Friday? “ he asked. “Why not? “ she shrugged and as she walked out, dragging her suitcase across the road into the video store she worked at, her co-workers with questions written all over their faces, with Mr Two-Step watching her all the way, she knew was going to be okay.
Seemed there were plenty of fish in the sea. She just needed to go out fishing again. Soon.
Tommy
Entered in The Romance Writers New Zealand (Nelson Branch) Valentines Day Romantic Short Story Competition 2006.
Love comes in many shapes and forms.
"Characteriaation is excellent. We know a great deal about Tommy and our heroine."
It wasn’t love at first sight. He was almost plain to look at. Medium build. A what-you-see is what-you-get type. No bells and whistles. He’d been around the block yet she liked that he had a history. He was clearly loyal, reliable and willing to go that extra mile. He simply had all the credentials she wanted.
Tommy didn’t say much but she immediately felt at ease in his company. They naturally fitted together so their relationship was a comfortable one from the start. She was slightly more dominating, leading the way a lot of the time. And this suited them both.
When they met she was a bit lost in life. Having recently returned to New Zealand after several years overseas, she felt displaced. She’d left a lot behind and was still reeling from the shock. It was like experiencing culture shock in her home country. It was going to take time to get reacquainted with New Zealand again.
She and Tommy went on many trips throughout the land of the long white cloud. They moved a few times. He willingly followed as she unconsciously searched for a town she could settle in. Their taste in music was similar and they shared many a tune on the open road. He never seemed to mind when she sang uproariously off key to songs playing on the radio.
Tommy was always at her side, supporting her in whatever decision she’d make that affected them. Job and career changes. And just because changes. He seemed to enjoy a change as much as she did. Gradually she fell in love with New Zealand again and his quiet influence had a lot to do with it.
It felt as though he had been a part of her life for so long that she assumed things would always continue the way they had. It was such an easy relationship that it could be said that she took him for granted.
And so the day he hurt himself and his future was unclear came as a devastating blow. It was a moment in time she’d never forget. The car in front braked suddenly and they crashed into it. She sat stunned in the drivers’ seat for a few minutes. The driver from the other car knocked on her window and asked her if she was okay. She wiped away a runaway tear and nodded yes. But Tommy…
Then she got the news that he was going to be okay. He’d be up and about in a few weeks. She got off the phone, her cheeks a rosy glow. Tomorrow she could go and pick up her car from the repair shop. Her Tommy was going to be fine.
Love comes in many shapes and forms.
"Characteriaation is excellent. We know a great deal about Tommy and our heroine."
It wasn’t love at first sight. He was almost plain to look at. Medium build. A what-you-see is what-you-get type. No bells and whistles. He’d been around the block yet she liked that he had a history. He was clearly loyal, reliable and willing to go that extra mile. He simply had all the credentials she wanted.
Tommy didn’t say much but she immediately felt at ease in his company. They naturally fitted together so their relationship was a comfortable one from the start. She was slightly more dominating, leading the way a lot of the time. And this suited them both.
When they met she was a bit lost in life. Having recently returned to New Zealand after several years overseas, she felt displaced. She’d left a lot behind and was still reeling from the shock. It was like experiencing culture shock in her home country. It was going to take time to get reacquainted with New Zealand again.
She and Tommy went on many trips throughout the land of the long white cloud. They moved a few times. He willingly followed as she unconsciously searched for a town she could settle in. Their taste in music was similar and they shared many a tune on the open road. He never seemed to mind when she sang uproariously off key to songs playing on the radio.
Tommy was always at her side, supporting her in whatever decision she’d make that affected them. Job and career changes. And just because changes. He seemed to enjoy a change as much as she did. Gradually she fell in love with New Zealand again and his quiet influence had a lot to do with it.
It felt as though he had been a part of her life for so long that she assumed things would always continue the way they had. It was such an easy relationship that it could be said that she took him for granted.
And so the day he hurt himself and his future was unclear came as a devastating blow. It was a moment in time she’d never forget. The car in front braked suddenly and they crashed into it. She sat stunned in the drivers’ seat for a few minutes. The driver from the other car knocked on her window and asked her if she was okay. She wiped away a runaway tear and nodded yes. But Tommy…
Then she got the news that he was going to be okay. He’d be up and about in a few weeks. She got off the phone, her cheeks a rosy glow. Tomorrow she could go and pick up her car from the repair shop. Her Tommy was going to be fine.
Blueberry Muffins
Entered in a Short Story Competition 2007. (forgotten which one!)
A reminder of how simple , thoughtful exchanges provide some comfort in our times of need.
Seagulls squawked above, cars whizzed by. But it was the sound of the wind rustling softly through the trees outside that comforted her the most as she sat motionless in her armchair. A gentle reminder that she was just a wee speck in the grand scheme of things. Carol got out of her armchair, walked the short distance to her small kitchen and flicked the jug on. A cuppa always did the trick.
A clock ticked methodically away in the kitchen, and the jug whistled happily away. Her dog Hector lay on his side, snoring peacefully without a care in the world as Peanut the cat watched with slitted eyes from her perch on the arm of her favourite armchair.
Carol went to the pantry and chose her favourite mug. She'd been given it by one of her grandkids. Probably from a $2 shop. It said “To The Best Nana In The World”. Silly, but somehow it always cheered her up. Even though two year old Sophie wouldn't have even known what the brightly-coloured letters meant. Carol put in a tea-bag. It was always bell tea. She'd tried those herbal teas but they weren't very appealing at all. Her daughter Laura was always trying to get her to try them. Putrid. Bob always said that they tasted like dish-washing water. Dear Bob...she sure missed sharing cups of tea with Bob.
Damn it. She was all out of gingernuts! Bob had always made sure they had a good stock of gingernuts in the pantry. He didn't need any fancy biscuits and used to say a cup of tea without a gingernut was like apple pie without cream. How right he was. Carol wiped an escapee tear away, and shook her head. Pull yourself together girl.
With a violent thud the jug switched her off. Carol fingered the photo in the silver frame on the kitchen sill of a tanned and lined Bob proud as punch holding up a huge snapper that he'd caught in the sounds just last Summer. Just two months before... Now, stop that, don't go upsetting yourself again.
There was a rat-a-tat-tat at the door. Hector woke up with a start and rushed to the door, barking madly. Shhhh Hector. Peanut jumped off her armchair and fled around the corner, her tail fluffed up in annoyance. Carol sucked in her breath and smoothed her skirt. She looked down at her well-loved baby-pink fluffy slippers, sighed, and then decided to leave them on. She sure hoped it wasn't The Stevens. They meant well, but she wasn't up to all that good-neighbourly garbage.
Oh, Billie. Thank goodness. She breathed a sigh of relief.
Dear Billie with her slightly disrevelled blonde bob and her mismatched red skirt and pink jacket. She was her daughter's age but she was like an old soul. Probably because she'd had her own share of woes in her short lifetime. Billie held out a plate of freshly baked muffins.
“I made these for you.”
“Thanks love. Come in. I was just about to...Would you like a cuppa?” asked Carol.
“That would be lovely” smiled Billie.
So Carol went to the pantry and got out another cup. Without looking she grabbed “I Love You Grandad”. She hesitated for a second and then put in a bag of earl grey tea, Billie's tea of choice. She passed it to Billie, avoiding eye contact for a moment. Billie looked at the cup and smiled.
“How are you?” Billie touched her arm lightly. It was hard to not look up then.
Carol cleared her throat and shook her head. “I, um, gosh those muffins look scrumptious – blueberry are they?”
Billie nodded. She understood. She'd lost her husband four years ago and knew that sometimes company was all you wanted – not the words.
And so they sat down in the armchairs that enveloped the occupant like a huge hug, the muffins before them on the formica coffee table, their cups of tea steaming. Seagulls squawked above, cars whizzed by. And the wind rustled softly through the trees outside.
A reminder of how simple , thoughtful exchanges provide some comfort in our times of need.
Seagulls squawked above, cars whizzed by. But it was the sound of the wind rustling softly through the trees outside that comforted her the most as she sat motionless in her armchair. A gentle reminder that she was just a wee speck in the grand scheme of things. Carol got out of her armchair, walked the short distance to her small kitchen and flicked the jug on. A cuppa always did the trick.
A clock ticked methodically away in the kitchen, and the jug whistled happily away. Her dog Hector lay on his side, snoring peacefully without a care in the world as Peanut the cat watched with slitted eyes from her perch on the arm of her favourite armchair.
Carol went to the pantry and chose her favourite mug. She'd been given it by one of her grandkids. Probably from a $2 shop. It said “To The Best Nana In The World”. Silly, but somehow it always cheered her up. Even though two year old Sophie wouldn't have even known what the brightly-coloured letters meant. Carol put in a tea-bag. It was always bell tea. She'd tried those herbal teas but they weren't very appealing at all. Her daughter Laura was always trying to get her to try them. Putrid. Bob always said that they tasted like dish-washing water. Dear Bob...she sure missed sharing cups of tea with Bob.
Damn it. She was all out of gingernuts! Bob had always made sure they had a good stock of gingernuts in the pantry. He didn't need any fancy biscuits and used to say a cup of tea without a gingernut was like apple pie without cream. How right he was. Carol wiped an escapee tear away, and shook her head. Pull yourself together girl.
With a violent thud the jug switched her off. Carol fingered the photo in the silver frame on the kitchen sill of a tanned and lined Bob proud as punch holding up a huge snapper that he'd caught in the sounds just last Summer. Just two months before... Now, stop that, don't go upsetting yourself again.
There was a rat-a-tat-tat at the door. Hector woke up with a start and rushed to the door, barking madly. Shhhh Hector. Peanut jumped off her armchair and fled around the corner, her tail fluffed up in annoyance. Carol sucked in her breath and smoothed her skirt. She looked down at her well-loved baby-pink fluffy slippers, sighed, and then decided to leave them on. She sure hoped it wasn't The Stevens. They meant well, but she wasn't up to all that good-neighbourly garbage.
Oh, Billie. Thank goodness. She breathed a sigh of relief.
Dear Billie with her slightly disrevelled blonde bob and her mismatched red skirt and pink jacket. She was her daughter's age but she was like an old soul. Probably because she'd had her own share of woes in her short lifetime. Billie held out a plate of freshly baked muffins.
“I made these for you.”
“Thanks love. Come in. I was just about to...Would you like a cuppa?” asked Carol.
“That would be lovely” smiled Billie.
So Carol went to the pantry and got out another cup. Without looking she grabbed “I Love You Grandad”. She hesitated for a second and then put in a bag of earl grey tea, Billie's tea of choice. She passed it to Billie, avoiding eye contact for a moment. Billie looked at the cup and smiled.
“How are you?” Billie touched her arm lightly. It was hard to not look up then.
Carol cleared her throat and shook her head. “I, um, gosh those muffins look scrumptious – blueberry are they?”
Billie nodded. She understood. She'd lost her husband four years ago and knew that sometimes company was all you wanted – not the words.
And so they sat down in the armchairs that enveloped the occupant like a huge hug, the muffins before them on the formica coffee table, their cups of tea steaming. Seagulls squawked above, cars whizzed by. And the wind rustled softly through the trees outside.
Tuesday, 1 May 2007
Preserving The Moment
"New Mum On The Block "
Nelson District Parent Centre Newsletter September/October 2006
I'm a Virgo who loves a good project. I like to organise, plan and manage things. I practically organised the whole of our outdoor wedding with just under 100 guests. I enjoyed it. Mostly...But sometimes the logical Virgo side of me gets bowled over by my flaky Pisces side that is also part of my astrological makeup. At times I can procrastinate and choose to live in the moment, leaving things to sort themselves out another day. Astrological shortcomings aside, basically I swing between being on to it – and not. Hence why capturing some special moments in Amelia's early life got captured – and some didn't.
The traditional way to celebrate a babies arrival into the Western world is to announce the babies birth in the newspaper – including weight, sex, name and time, thanking as many people as you like. Then there's the matter of capturing your wee bundles arrival with a camera – still or moving – the choice is yours. Baby footprints and/or hand prints are another memento a lot of people go for in the early months. And don't forget the placenta . If you're not sure what to do with it you could always keep it in your freezer for a bit until you find an alternative home for it. Just make sure everyone in your household knows it's there as I have heard a horror story about a case of mistaken identity.
Will Amelia forgive us in time when she realises that not only did her parents never announce to the world, or to Nelson at least, her arrival in the local newspaper but that we never planted a tree over her placenta or bothered to get molds of her wee hands or feet?
Maybe discussing the above with hubby before she arrived might have helped. I was operating in a blur for the first couple of months, perhaps a side-effect of a general or maybe it was just early motherhood. My organisational skills fell to the wayside. Form filling just wasn't an option and my short-term memory was shorter than ever. In fact, I think I had the memory of a goldfish for the first few months of my daughters life.
But all is not lost. Within hours of Amelia's arrival we updated our family web site from the maternity ward at Nelson hospital. Hubby went home and sent the link out to friends and family so they had all the credentials and a photo of a brand-spanking Amelia.
Thanks to our monthly family web site we have managed to capture snippets of Amelia's early months via photos and verbal descriptions on her own web page. I even print these pages out and store them in transparent folder from Warehouse Stationary. It's the best I can do. As simply put I'm no arts and crafts whiz. Scrapbooking is back in vogue and I wish I had the knack. But I'm all thumbs when it comes to dealing with scraps of paper and glue. Even with six years of Graphic Design under my belt, the thought of cutting up small pieces of paper and sticking them strategically in a scrapbook makes me wince.
We filmed Amelia a bit during her first year so we have a DVD that hubby proudly edited that captures her growth almost monthly. It starts when she is around a month old and finishes at her 1st birthday party. We haven't filmed her for a few months so need to get on to it again before her Amelia-speak turns into real sentences. Hubby and I are also rather snap-happy with our digital camera so there are literally hundreds of photos of Amelia stored in the hard-drives on our computers.
A friend gave me a journal for recording milestones in the 1st year. I started off with good intentions of filling it in. I think I got to about six months and then got my weeks mixed up and the journaling came to an abrupt halt. But there is the WellChild Health Book. There are a lot of moments captured in there. You can see that Amelia has had all her shots, what her height and weight was at different stages, as well as all her different “quirks” along the way. Recently I saw an attractive material-bound cover designed for the WellChild Health Book in a local children's gift shop. Not a bad idea. Perhaps I should get one myself.
So I think there is a lesson in all this. Invent your own way of capturing your child's arrival into the world and the precious moments that follow. There are no rules. Do what is natural and works for you. Even if those milestones aren't recorded in every traditional way possible.
Nelson District Parent Centre Newsletter September/October 2006
I'm a Virgo who loves a good project. I like to organise, plan and manage things. I practically organised the whole of our outdoor wedding with just under 100 guests. I enjoyed it. Mostly...But sometimes the logical Virgo side of me gets bowled over by my flaky Pisces side that is also part of my astrological makeup. At times I can procrastinate and choose to live in the moment, leaving things to sort themselves out another day. Astrological shortcomings aside, basically I swing between being on to it – and not. Hence why capturing some special moments in Amelia's early life got captured – and some didn't.
The traditional way to celebrate a babies arrival into the Western world is to announce the babies birth in the newspaper – including weight, sex, name and time, thanking as many people as you like. Then there's the matter of capturing your wee bundles arrival with a camera – still or moving – the choice is yours. Baby footprints and/or hand prints are another memento a lot of people go for in the early months. And don't forget the placenta . If you're not sure what to do with it you could always keep it in your freezer for a bit until you find an alternative home for it. Just make sure everyone in your household knows it's there as I have heard a horror story about a case of mistaken identity.
Will Amelia forgive us in time when she realises that not only did her parents never announce to the world, or to Nelson at least, her arrival in the local newspaper but that we never planted a tree over her placenta or bothered to get molds of her wee hands or feet?
Maybe discussing the above with hubby before she arrived might have helped. I was operating in a blur for the first couple of months, perhaps a side-effect of a general or maybe it was just early motherhood. My organisational skills fell to the wayside. Form filling just wasn't an option and my short-term memory was shorter than ever. In fact, I think I had the memory of a goldfish for the first few months of my daughters life.
But all is not lost. Within hours of Amelia's arrival we updated our family web site from the maternity ward at Nelson hospital. Hubby went home and sent the link out to friends and family so they had all the credentials and a photo of a brand-spanking Amelia.
Thanks to our monthly family web site we have managed to capture snippets of Amelia's early months via photos and verbal descriptions on her own web page. I even print these pages out and store them in transparent folder from Warehouse Stationary. It's the best I can do. As simply put I'm no arts and crafts whiz. Scrapbooking is back in vogue and I wish I had the knack. But I'm all thumbs when it comes to dealing with scraps of paper and glue. Even with six years of Graphic Design under my belt, the thought of cutting up small pieces of paper and sticking them strategically in a scrapbook makes me wince.
We filmed Amelia a bit during her first year so we have a DVD that hubby proudly edited that captures her growth almost monthly. It starts when she is around a month old and finishes at her 1st birthday party. We haven't filmed her for a few months so need to get on to it again before her Amelia-speak turns into real sentences. Hubby and I are also rather snap-happy with our digital camera so there are literally hundreds of photos of Amelia stored in the hard-drives on our computers.
A friend gave me a journal for recording milestones in the 1st year. I started off with good intentions of filling it in. I think I got to about six months and then got my weeks mixed up and the journaling came to an abrupt halt. But there is the WellChild Health Book. There are a lot of moments captured in there. You can see that Amelia has had all her shots, what her height and weight was at different stages, as well as all her different “quirks” along the way. Recently I saw an attractive material-bound cover designed for the WellChild Health Book in a local children's gift shop. Not a bad idea. Perhaps I should get one myself.
So I think there is a lesson in all this. Invent your own way of capturing your child's arrival into the world and the precious moments that follow. There are no rules. Do what is natural and works for you. Even if those milestones aren't recorded in every traditional way possible.
Sunday, 29 April 2007
The Valentine's Grinch
Entered in The Romance Writers New Zealand (Nelson Branch) Valentines Day Romantic Short Story Competition 2005.
Even the cynical need love. And you never know where you might find it.
"A strongly plot-driven tale, well suited to a competition such as this - it just missed the cut."
It seems unlikely that Brad Pitt is going to come knocking on her door anytime soon. So Tania thinks of calling in sick. Better than going into work to be faced with the gleeful faces of her female co-workers who had been swamped with a dozen red roses, ridiculous-looking soft toys emblazoned with hearts and acres of chocolate littering their desks.
Even the cynical need love. And you never know where you might find it.
"A strongly plot-driven tale, well suited to a competition such as this - it just missed the cut."
It seems unlikely that Brad Pitt is going to come knocking on her door anytime soon. So Tania thinks of calling in sick. Better than going into work to be faced with the gleeful faces of her female co-workers who had been swamped with a dozen red roses, ridiculous-looking soft toys emblazoned with hearts and acres of chocolate littering their desks.
Tania creeps into work. She hides beneath the Valentine Day paraphernalia that oozes unsubtly from Debbie's desk. Tania is pretty. Bright. Funny. So why did a rose or a goofy toy on Valentines Day have to validate this? She bought chocolate for herself every day. She didn't need some fantasy man to buy it for her.
"SO, who has an admirer THIS year?!" Debbie holds a single red rose. "Let me see" Tania snatches the red rose, feeling all eyes on her.
A card falls out. Debbie's eyebrow goes up. Tania swivels around in her chair and slowly opens the card. "Happy Valentines Day from a secret admirer." Great - so who the hell IS her secret admirer? No-one here I hope she thinks. But she scans the room just in case. Most were off the market. She cannot imagine Bernard The IT Guy wooing anything beside his computer. Jason The Office Flirt? Not likely since she hadn't fallen for any of his one-liners. Unless? Accountant Guy. Oh I hope not she cringes. Too friendly. Too keen. But in reality who else would it be from?
This had to be worse than NOTHING coming her way. At least she didn't have to be plagued with scenarios of ways in which she could avoid Accountant Guy all day - and eventually fob him off.
At five o'clock a scurry of women exit with their Valentines goodies. The annual cry from Debbie. "Not sure I can carry ALL this to the car…" And the annual response - every man in the office clambering to get to her desk like she was the last beer in the fridge on a hot summers day.
"You need a hand with your rose?" She was about to swipe back at the hurtful comment. It's Accountant Guy.
"Do you know why I admire you?" he says. She shakes her head, blushing. "For being who you are - you don't try to be anything you're not".
"Th-anks" she says "…for the rose - it's beautiful." "Not as beautiful as you." How corny - yet how sweet.
"I'm Derek" he stretches out a strong, brown hand. And beneath those glasses is a sweet, wholesome yet kind face.
"Tania" she says, her hand shaking his. He nods I know.
"See you later then." And he's gone.
And then she realises that this could be something worth pursuing. She gathers up her handbag and the rose and rushes after Derek. "Do you want to do coffee?" she says, suddenly nervous. He smiles yes. Perhaps Valentines Day wasn't such a bad tradition after all, she smiles to herself. Who knew where this could go.
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