Parenting 101: A memory that became a lesson

My son is spending the day with his new teacher and class-mates today at his year 6 induction day, which is kind of a big deal in his life so far.

He goes to a school that has students from Reception through to Year 12 and the school is split into Primary School, Middle School and High School. Year 6 is the first year of Middle School so he’ll be graduating from Primary School this year with a real graduation ceremony and everything. It’s all a bit strange to me but both my kids seem to enjoy the structure of the school and so far it’s been a very positive experience for all of us.

The thing is, Nathan has a really tight posse of mates. REALLY TIGHT. Most of them went to kindergarten together and then started school at the same time. TOGETHER. They learn together, lunch together, walk together, play club-sport together, Skype together… you get the picture. And for Nathan, that’s extremely important. He’s the kind of kid who, despite being incredibly popular, really values the dynamic of having a small handful of close friends. So when he discovered yesterday that ALL of his mates were heading into one class and he was heading into another, the rug was pulled out from under his world.

And oh god how I felt for him. He was SO upset. Dejected and confused and then really worried about what lay ahead for him, especially because there is a huge intake of new [and potentially scary!] kids in Year 6. I talked calmly and sensibly and made all the right soothing noises but I was panicking inside. 

Why did they do this to my son?? How could they do this to him? How will I fix it?

I spoke to a couple of very wise mum friends who talked me off the ledge and I realised something significant. Nothing needed to be fixed. This may be well be the poster child for a ‘first-world problem.’ He just needed to understand how to manage it. I remembered my own quest to raise a resilient kid and I remembered how resilient I was when I was younger. Through necessity sure, but the end result was pretty decent.

I reminded Nathan that friendships don’t only live in the classroom but out on the oval and in the playground and on the footy field. I told him he would be fine and that he would be lucky enough to meet some new friends and when that didn’t work, I sat on the edge of his bed and quietly told him of a very special and important story...

When I was growing up, a looooong time ago, there was only Primary School and High School and they were two different schools. In different places.

High School started in Year 8 and the first time I met my new teacher in my new school with my new class-mates was on the first day of school.

I was SO NERVOUS. There was only one other girl, called Tara, from my Primary School in my class who was very nice but she wasn’t one my ‘friends’. Of course I sat next to her anyway but I was terrified that I wouldn’t have any friends in my new school.

I sat there quietly and watched as everyone’s name was called out for role call and they had to go up to the front of the class to collect something from our new teacher. I can’t remember what that something was but my surname started with B so I was one of the first people who had to go up the front. It was horrible! But over quickly and then I just sat and watched everyone else.

After some time the list got to W and I watched this girl, who I’d never seen before obviously, walk up to the front of the class. She was so confident! The boys in the class were saying silly things because boys are silly…

"No we’re not Mum!"

Well, SOME boys are silly and they were saying silly things to this girl [What I didn’t tell him, is that her windcheater had a picture of Mickey Mouse on it and the word Mickey printed randomly all over it. That was during the era that people in our neck of the woods called sperm/cum/ejaculation ‘mickey’ and those bastards were saying ‘ooooh she’s got ‘mickey’ all over her top”!] but she did not flinch! She didn’t rush and she didn’t fidget and she had no apology in her step.

I watched her and I thought to myself ‘THAT girl is going to my friend” and by the end of the day, we were friends.

"Yeah, that’s pretty cool actually. What happened next?"

Well… THAT girl is your Aunty Ilka that I’m STILL friends with today and if I hadn’t been alone that day I may not have noticed her. If I had all my Primary School friends with me, I may have only been with them and not had room in my heart for Aunty Ilka. Sometimes these scary days turn out to be the best things that could ever happen to you.

"Thanks Mum."

And just like that, my first day of high school became the gift that keeps on giving. A life-long friend AND a lesson in parenting.

Dear Mother Guilt, it's not me - it's you

We've been together for a while now. 9 years, in fact. Most of the time we seem to be able to live alongside each other. Occasionally you're even helpful, keeping me in check and providing 'conscience' when I make a decision that I'm unsure about.

But let’s face it, you were trouble from the start. I just wish I’d listened to my friends who warned me about you. “Beware Mother Guilt!” they cried. “She’s a bitch and once you let her in, you won’t get rid of her.”But it was too late. You were already in. Lurking in the maternity ward in hospital we first met when my new son couldn’t latch on. Big and imposing you sat in that room with me day and night. And we’ve been inseparable ever since.

Lately though, there’s been murmurings in the ranks that you’re not so welcome and I have to say, that I agree.

Don’t ignore me. I know you’re there. I can hear you, dramatically sighing. You know the sigh I’m talking about. The one that’s laced with disdain. It’s one of your favourite expressions of disappointment. I know you’re there, and I suffer your judgment, just like mothers all around the world do.

I heard you yesterday. Tutt-tutting when I snapped at Stefan for interrupting me for the 17th time in ten minutes. I know he just wants some attention from me and there will come a time, very soon, that I will yearn for him to want my attention again. I KNOW. All mothers know these simple truths and we don’t need you giving us your 2 cents worth [which, by the way is not even in our currency anymore – just saying].

I hear you in articles I read written by mothers all over the world. Working mothers, stay at home mothers, single mothers, gay mothers, divorced mothers. You’ve got your little claws in all of them. Every day we wonder if we’re doing it ‘right’. If we could do ‘better’. If our children are ‘happy’. If we have ‘given’ enough.  Every day your voice is heard and every day a mother feels worse for hearing it. And we are tired of it.

No-one invited you to this party and everyone wants you to leave. Oh I know I’m only one voice but I speak on behalf of so many who have not yet found the strength to. And believe me when I say it takes strength to stand up to you.

You’re a bully MG, striking at us when we are at our weakest point. At the times when we most need reassurance and support, you’re there instead. Judging. Berating. Blaming. And the irony? It’s usually the best of us mums that give you the most airtime.

You stifle the love in our hearts. Every moment we spend indulging you, is a moment taken away from our wells of love. That’s not how it’s supposed to be and that’s why you’re not welcome here anymore MG.

It has to end. Today.

Oh, and by the way, we know all about your cult. They’re everywhere – The Mother Guilt Disciples. Disguised as well-meaning strangers and internet trolls and sometimes even our own family, they do your work when you’re not around. They’re not welcome here anymore either.

So we’re over MG. Don’t come visiting. I’m not going to let you in. I’m going to be kind to myself and I’m going to love my family, the way all good mums do. But most importantly, I’m going to believe them when they tell me

“You’re the best mum in the world”

Sincerely,

Me x

Have you ever loved anyone who is depressed?

I’ve been thinking about suicide a lot lately. Deep, ponderings about suffering. Questioning my own deep seated belief that to take your own life is selfish and weak.

First things first... I’m not suicidal. Not in the slightest. I have always told myself it’s because I’m not selfish. Or weak. I’ve spent time in some very dark places in my years but I always pull through. Because – strong. But I’ve challenged those thoughts recently and I’ve surprised myself.

My father-in-law died a horrible cancerous death four years ago. A tumour was discovered in his sinus. Mucosal melanoma. The oncologist told him his best chance was to remove it and all that surrounded it... which was half his face. This may give him some more time. More time than the 80 years he had already lived. He was scared to do it and spent many hours deliberating. Discussing with his loved ones. With his family who all urged him to do it. “You HAVE to fight” was the message he got loud and clear. “Don’t let this beat you”. And so, bravely, he decided to go through with the procedure. He did fight. He fought hard. But he confided in me, not long before he passed that he wished he had never done it. Because it did beat him and it did not buy him time and we buried him with half his face missing.

When he died, like the countless others that I know who died at the hands of a debilitating disease, the people he left behind [us] were relieved. “Thank goodness his suffering is finally over” “He fought so hard but the pain was just too much for him” “He was so brave”.

Far too many of us have watched someone we love suffer intensely before dying. We watch disease ravage them. We watch them change before our eyes. We remember brighter days when they weren’t sick. When we could laugh together and have fun. When their body was fit and healthy. When all hopes and thoughts of the future included them. We watch them waste away before us as their illness takes hold. As their appetite wanes and their ability to put on a brave face become less frequent. We watch as the light dulls in their eyes from medication to help them ease the aching. We watch and we wait and we empathise because we can’t even imagine the hell they must be living in. Many of us sit by their bedside and hold their hands and give comfort as we assure them that we will be ok without them. That they can go. That they can give up the fight. It’s ok, we say. You have been so strong and so brave to hang on so long. It’s ok, we say.

But what if their disease is not physical? What if their illness is mental? What if the excruciating pain they are feeling is all in their head? Are they not brave too? Is their pain less worthy? Is their yearning for it to end really so selfish? Do they not deserve dignity too? Why do we urge our loved ones who suffer from physical pain to let go yet demand the ones that suffer from emotional pain to hang on?

Have you ever loved anyone who is depressed? And I’m not talking some bullshit down in the dumps or in a slump or a bit flat or sad. I mean bona fide, clinically depressed. Someone who is actually unable to function for weeks, months and even years on end. Someone whose emotional pain is so intense they are unable to maintain a relationship of any kind so that they are deeply alone and overwhelmingly lonely. Have you ever loved someone who is so devastated that they choose to physically harm themselves as a distraction to their internal suffering? Have you ever watched someone waste away before your very eyes and pull away from you so profoundly and have absolutely no way to help them? Have you ever watched someone you love self-medicate and seemingly prefer to choose poison over their relationship with you? Have you ever looked at someone you love, survive a suicide attempt and think “you’re so selfish” or “you’re so weak” or “you’re just doing this for attention”? Have you ever said to someone you love, who can’t seem to get their shit together who tells you they’re suffering and tries to explain the depth of that suffering to “snap out of it”?

As though they have a choice.

I know I’m only one generation shy of “there’s no such thing as mental illness”. I was brought up on “snap out of it” and “toughen up” and “there’s nothing wrong with you, you just need to work harder”. Will our next generation ‘get it’? Will my kids grow up understanding all the different pains in the world? Will their empathy extend to those whose suffering they don’t even understand?

Should it?

I think [hope] most of us are well intentioned. That our insistence that those we love who suffer from depression try harder is because we believe that’s all it takes. Because those of us who are healthy of mind can, actually, talk ourselves out of [and into] all sorts of moods and mindsets. I hope it is our naivety that fills us with the belief that all our suffering loved ones need is more company/stimulation/money/love to drag them out of their slump. I hope we are simply well-intentioned and naive because if we are not, then it is US who are selfish. It is US who are weak. It is US who need to snap out of it.

My truth is, I believe the fight is worth it for everyone. I believe life is worth it. I believe that if you have any fight in you then you should use it to war against any disease you have – physical or mental. I also believe that wars aren’t won without an army. In my family, when that bastard cancer is diagnosed [far too many times] we all suit up and stand strong as we face the enemy. We know that enemy well. We understand it and we hate it. So we fight. Together. Until the end. Because cancer is ok to have at the dinner table. It’s ok to have cancer at Christmas lunch. It’s sad, and sometimes confronting, but it’s there and we accept it – like an uninvited, estranged relative.

Depression, however, is not welcome at lunch. Or dinner. Or at picnics. Or even for coffee. Deep-seated, I’d-rather-be-dead-than-face-another-day depression is not welcome. It’s uncomfortable. It is not understood. It is not discussed. It is verboten. It is not real.

And so I ask you.

How can anyone possibly amass an army against an enemy that does not exist? 

And how can we possibly look our suffering loved one/s in the eye and ask them to stay without first trying to understand the pain that makes them want to leave?

The thing no-one told me about returning to work

When I found out I was pregnant with my first baby, I was two years into running my own business after resigning as the General Manager of a local telecommunications company. I had my own label and a fledgling menswear boutique that had not yet hit the income level required to pay for a full-time manager. At the time, I worked it 7 days a week to cover expenses and take a minimum wage home. 

I hadn’t planned on being a mum yet but I always knew the kind of mum I wanted to be. I wanted to be present. Invested. Full-time. I CHOSE to close the shop to allow myself to be that mum. I don’t see that as a sacrifice. I see that as a choice. My choice. Just as it was my choice to not return to paid work before both my kids were in school. I didn’t sacrifice my work to raise them. I didn’t sacrifice myself to raise them. I chose to become a mum. I chose to have children and I chose to parent them full-time. 

Was that easy? Fuck no. 

Was making the decision easy? Absolutely. 

Would I do it again? In a heart beat. IF I was going to have any more children. Which I’m not. DO YOU HEAR ME?? 

Anyway...

I was, voluntarily, out of the paid workforce for 8 years. 

Let me say that again, for impact. 8 YEARS. 

That’s nearly a decade of being driven by the needs of my children as a first priority. Yes, many times even before my own needs. ‘Cause, you know... I’m a mum right? It’s an incredibly demanding and taxing job which extends well past full-time but I gave it my everything.

My youngest starting school heralded the end of my full-time, stay-at-home mum role and the beginning of my part-time paid work role. Which should have been easy and perhaps even seamless in its transition. One would think.

What I didn’t know is that, actually, it’s a big shift in your thinking. That just dropping the kids off at school is not enough to trigger the highly efficient, super productive, over achieving paid work hormone that I had in spades previously. What I didn’t realise is that spending 8 years immersed in the minutia of motherhood can dull the professional senses a bit. That whilst I can juggle dinner, homework, grocery shopping, washing, cleaning and homemade biscuits all while organising the latest family get-together with the phone between ear and shoulder with the flick of the hair and a smile on my dial, getting your head in the business game takes a bit more deliberate thought. 

Being accountable to my husband and kids is NOTHING like being accountable to the ‘bottom line’ of a project budget. The deadlines of full-time motherhood have some room either side and if there is a day that I just can’t get my shit together, well everything will be ok. The house may look like it’s been ransacked, we might eat toast for dinner and the kids may be a bit stickier than usual when they go to bed sometime way past their bedtime but the next morning that day will be over and all will be alright. I forgot that to have a slow day when you’re working for someone often has quite serious repercussions.

When I worked full-time I was SWITCHED ON. Plugged in. Sharp. So much so that I even handled my personal relationships with the same business-like manner. In fact I still have an email from a corporate colleague comparing my 2 hour labour to my ‘usual efficiency’ performed at work. [HA! As if I had anything to do with that] I had mantras and routines and gym schedules and wool blend suits and the blessed Friday night drinks. I prided myself on my professional reputation and identified myself through my work. And then for 8 years I didn’t.  

And now that I’m back in the paid-work saddle, I’m working over-time to function part-time.

Did you have a big break from paid work? Have you experienced even some of what I’m talking about?

Please say 'yes'.

R U OK?

So everyone’s asking if I’m ok. 

And I’m happy to say that yes, I am. And I’m happy to say that for most of my life I’ve been ok. Ups, downs, peaks and troughs but fundamentally ok. I’m lucky. For the most part I can see that when I’m down, there is still an up. In the darkness I’ll head toward the light which is always there... somewhere. In my loneliest hour I know that I am not alone and I will reach out for someone... and someone will be there. In my coldest season I will find warmth in an embrace or gentleness in a phone call. Most times, when I have needed to face demons and battle despair, I have been armed with an inherent belief that things could always be worse. When I have mourned the loss of people I have loved, I have done so knowing that there will be a brighter day and that the pain will not always be so raw. And on the rare occasions that I have felt too weighed down with grief and hopelessness, it has always been the investment of my friends and family in me that have pulled me up. For that, for them, I am grateful.

I’m off to make some calls.

I hope you’re ok too and I hope you know that if you’re not, it’s ok to let people know.

It’s ok not to be ok... xx

The Vitamin Pill

You know how sometimes there are people in your life that you just like even though your lives are so crazy different that it seems unlikely to anyone else? Well we had lunch with those people on the weekend. They have one grown up daughter, two nearly grown up kids and a just turned 8 year old little girl. They are laid back folk. They live on a farm in a house they built themselves that sits, seemingly, in the middle of nowhere. During lunch their pet lamb walked in to the house and sat under the dining table until dad picked it up so it could nibble his ear. What. The. Fuck. And they all laughed at my confusion and disdain that a farm animal was sitting at the table. Our differences are as stark as they are well-received and good-natured. We’re bright people who get that we’re different and celebrate our own self-imposed diversity. We can do this because there is something deep that ties us. Something intrinsic to our values that unites us as friends. Comrades if you like.

It’s the ‘sex is unnecessary now that we have kids’ ethos.

If you know what I’m talking about then you will be nodding and searching my blog for contact details so we can do lunch right now. Our comrades have been married a few years longer than we have but they’re the same vintage. They’re happy together, like us, and they have the same goals as each other, like us, and they’re not having any more kids, like us. And when we all get together it’s always the same. The boys compare stories of how long it’s been between drinks and the girls square their shoulders defiantly and give a proverbial high-five to each other as we realise we’re not alone in our resistance to the late night shoulder tap when you’re just about to slip into that deep, delicious sleep. 

But this time the boys wheeled out the big guns. No longer content to refer to the latest Cosmo tips for orgasms, today they went for medical research.

“Do you know what I read the other day? Studies have shown that semen has anti-depressant properties and that women who have a lot of semen aren’t depressed”.

Seriously.

To which I wish my response was “Yes, that would be true. Women who have lots of sea men are generally single, childless and very, very happy” but instead was:

“Oh my god... here we fucking go”

The ensuing debate on the health benefits of sperm was as ridiculous as it was unproductive, so to speak. Lots of rolling eyes from the wives and lots of guffawing and nudging from the husbands. Lunch was served. The boys conceded. And the boys kept their vitamins to themselves for a bit longer.

And so now I ask you, has your guy ever tried to tell you that a shot of semen is just like one big vitamin pill? Or, dear male reader, have YOU ever used that incredibly compelling argument in your quest to get laid?

Please... share x

I'm a mum but...

I don’t like kids.

Well, it’s not so much that I don’t like them but more that they annoy the living shit out of me.

I know, that’s going to really surprise some of you, but I’m all about keeping it real and though I do, truly, love being a mum and love my boys, kids in general suck.

Now, I can put up with all the infuriating things my kids do because the upside is the love and joy they bring to my heart and life. Most times that’s tipped in their favour. Most times.

But when the kid’s not mine … weeeelll….I... struggle. And when a mum pushes her annoying kid onto me I can barely disguise my disdain.

Example. “Go on, Annoying Johnny, give Tania a kiss and a hug. Go on, show her that cute little dance move you do. Oh go on, sing that song you sing to me – she’ll love it.”

NO. No, I won’t. 

Dear parent of annoying kid, I’m glad you think it’s cute that your kid sings, dances, counts with claps and spins like a whirling dervish but I really don’t. I don’t care.

The thing is, sometimes I care. The same way I care about some grown-ups and not so much others. Some kids I can connect with and I’m genuinely amused with every little expression on their face. But there’s PLENTY that do not amuse me. There’s plenty that just piss me off and most of the time I deal with that the way I do anything annoying -- by ignoring them. By not engaging with them.

Oh and don’t even get me started on the ‘birthday’ parent. You know who you are. You’re the one that offers your kid to help blow out someone else’s birthday cake. THAT DRIVES ME MAD. It’s not their birthday. That day is not about YOUR CHILD. Sometimes, the world doesn’t revolve around kids. It’s a lesson in resilience and humility that they need to learn. Also, when kids blow – they spit. I can tell you now that I will not eat any cake that a kid has blown the candles out on. Blegh.

I dread school concerts. I resist school plays. I downright refuse invitations to ballet recitals. Unless the stage is full of child prodigies [which my kids ain’t] then I’ve just spent $10-$30 to sit in a school hall on Facebook.

Yep, kids are annoying. And after two weeks straight with them during the school holidays I've come up with the following list. It's far from complete. Just saying.

My top 5 most annoying things kids [especially including mine] do are:

1. Interrupt incessantly

I’m TALKING. My mouth is moving, sound is coming out and hopefully an adult is listening. If I’m not talking then I’m trying to listen to someone else who is. Whether they are in front of me or on the phone now is not the time that I want to hear from you.

2. Involve themselves in grown up conversation

I’m sorry, how interested in your primary school opinion do you think I am? And kids who correct their parents during a conversation that doesn’t involve them. And kids who eavesdrop. And kids who flap about saying ‘she said the F word’. And kids who think it’s cool to be a smart arse to their parents in front of other grown-ups. And... and... and...

3. Use that annoying, whining voice

Mum, mum, mum, mum... It’s not fair. He hit me. Can I have a [insert something they’re not allowed to have]? Can we go? I’m bored? Why do I have to do that? SHUT.UP. My youngest is a drama queen and does this thing when he’s upset, particularly when he’s over-tired, where he will just cry. Out loud. It’s insane. And I tell him so. “If you’re going to make that noise, you need to take yourself to your bedroom because I do not want to hear it”. Mostly that just turns it into a wimper, but he gets the point.

4. Put their filthy hands all over the food

Kids do not wash their hands properly. It’s a fact. Also, I have seen mine wash their hands and walk out the bathroom picking their nose. What. The. Fuck. So, I hate it when they put their hands all over my food. When I entertain I purposely put out kids’ snacks and grown up snacks. Partly because I buy expensive cheese for the adults and the kids get cheap crap but mainly because I don’t like to share with grots. It makes me wild when mums let their kid’s hands on my grown up snacks. Especially the indecisive ones that have to pick up every fucking thing and put it back before they choose.

5. Complain about life

Actually, I haven’t heard many other kids do this but I’m sure they do. When mine complain about their life I go a bit mental. They’ve got the greatest life in existence. And the best mum. Be grateful.

Be honest... what annoys YOU about kids? And if you say nothing... can you please babysit mine this weekend?

Things to do in SA these school holidays

There are many mums who get excited at the prospect of school holidays. They like the fact that the routine goes out the window and they get to spend all day everyday with their kids. It heralds special times of afternoon tea and pjs all day. There are mums like that. Then there's the other sort of mum. The mum who kind of dreads school holidays because the routine goes out the window and they get to spend all day everyday with their kids. It heralds nagging and sibling punch-ups and expensive outings and cabin fever. For those mums, I've put together a short list of things to do that get the kids out the house and won't cost a stack of dollars. 

The other mums might like the list too. And dads. And grandparents. In fact, as long as you're in SA, it's worth checking out.


South Australian Museum

My kids love going to the museum. We usually try to include a tram trip at the same to add to the adventure. These activities are free and best suited for kids aged 5 and up. With all activites held inside, it's a great wet weather destination.

Sleeping Beauty in Rundle Mall

If you've got a helping hand this is a great idea. Head into the city [take the bus to save on parking and add to the adventure] and set the kids and your 'helping hand' up at the show... and then sneak off to do some shopping. WIN!

Botanic Gardens

This school holiday program is great and the costs are very low. Don't forget to book though.

Hahndorf Farm Barn

The Farm Barn is particularly fun for the younger kids. It's open from 10-4pm every day and has some good family concession pricing.

Art Gallery of South Australia

Only $5 to participate in this activity. Bookings essential.

Granite Island

This is a great one. Take a drive down the coast and head out to granite island to see the penguins. Fun for the whole family and cheap as chips.


Can you suggest anything else local that the kids'll love and won't cost a fortune?

Happy 1st Birthday Seventies Baby

When I started blogging, I had two objectives. To write, which has always been a kind of therapy for me, and to share. As my 'voice' developed, I discovered something amazing. There is magic in the story. There is magic in me.  

"The stranger who tells our stories when we cannot speak not only awakens our spirits and hearts but also shows our humanity"   Mende Proverb, Sierra Leone

I always get a little bit nostalgic on birthdays, so I have spent the morning re-reading my stories and I thought I'd share a selection of my favourite posts from the last year that you may have missed or may just like to revisit.

1. My first post - the one about mums at school.

2. 50 Shades of Twilight - the one I had the most fun writing... [warning: involves anal plugs and nipple clamps]

3. Make My Day - the one that I go a bit mental in.

4. While you were sleeping - the one that makes me cry a little bit when I read it.

5. 10 Parenting Rules - the one that went viral.

6. Dear Men - the one where I write about dry-humping.

7. Stretch-mark Swagger - the one about my thighs.

Do you have a favourite? Is there a story you'd like me to tell?

My mum hates my blog

It's true. Mum hates my blog. Well, she doesn’t hate it as much as fears it. She loves my writing and she loves that other people love my writing but she hates that people read what I have to say. She hates that I have a place, on-line, that I share stuff about me and my opinion and my loves and my hates. And she hates my blog mainly because of this post I’m writing right now. The one she doesn’t know I’m writing. The one about her.

When Mum finds out about this, which she will ‘cause her friends love my blog and they read it all the time, she’s gonna lose her shit. And when my mum loses her shit – the world knows. She’s that kind of mum. The outspoken kind. The opinionated kind. The awesome kind.

Being born in the 70s meant that my mum was young. It wasn’t the norm, back then, to wait until you had ‘done stuff’ before you had kids. You got married as soon as you could and had kids straight away. Which in Mum’s case was at the ripe old age of 20. Being born to a 20 year old in the 70s was a very different parenting dynamic than today. There weren’t books or websites or online forums or help-lines or social media communities or parenting shows. 

There was only this... On the job training. 

And, unbeknownst to me, it was during my mum’s on the job training that I cut my own teeth on being a mum. Today, 40 years after she started the ball rolling, I see myself parent in her style. It’s equally as terrifying as comforting. Terrifying because I hated some of what she did and comforting because what she did created some pretty impressive grown-ups [yes, I’m pissing in my own pocket].

  

I hated “Stop crying or I’ll give you something to cry about.”

I’ve got something to cry about Mum – that’s why I’m crying!

I hated “If you make that face and the wind changes, your face will stay like that forever.”

What was that parenting technique even for? To discourage kids from making ugly faces? And would that mean that if, after the wind changed and made my face ugly forever, I would have the chance to make it normal again by making a happy face and waiting for the wind to change again?

I hated “Because I said so.”

That's not a reason. Just like it wasn't an answer when I replied 'because I don't want to'. I hate even more that I say it to my own kids now.

I hated “You’ll understand, when you have your own kids.”

Because, of course, I do understand.

I hated "Do you want a smack?"
Yes please Mum. A hard one please and if possible, in public.

Yep, Mum said some stupid shit when I was growing up but it turns out it didn't ruin me. And as for the good stuff? Well that turned out to be the gift that keeps on giving... and I'm now regifting to you.

Lone's Life Lessons

#1 Always wear singlets in winter. It keeps your core warm which means the blood that pumps around your body is warm. Whether that's true or not, I still wear them to this day and my boys are in them whenever it’s cool.

#2 Always dry your hair before you go to bed. Or you will get a chill or catch pneumonia. Or end up in hospital. Anyway, I forget the reason but my kids are under the hairdryer every time they get out of the shower/bath.

#3 Always have a ‘hands towel’ and a ‘dishes towel’ in the kitchen and NEVER mix them up. It's a germ transfer thing. In my house, if the tea towel is visible then it’s a ‘hands towel’. The ‘dishes towel’ is on the rack under the sink.

#4 Always wear a dressing gown on top of your pjs if you’re not in bed. There can be no sitting on the couch [that people put their feet on and their bum on and their unwashed hands on] in the same pjs that you’re going to wear to bed later. It’s dirty and gross.

#5 Always have a rice steamer. It is the only way to cook rice.

#6 Always walk into a room as if you own it, even if you’re shitting yourself.

#7 Always protect your family.

#8 Never talk when Mum's favourite song is on the radio in the car. Either sing along or shut up.

#9 Always squat over a public toilet seat so that your bum doesn’t touch it and if you can’t squat, then LINE the toilet seat with toilet paper. This will reduce the risk of catching a disease like herpes or hepatitis or AIDS or the worst possible option – worms.

#10 Always overcook the chicken. There cannot be even a tinge of pink or you will get salmonella. Or worms.

#11 Always wash your feet before going to bed. Dirty and gross.

#12 Always have good girl friends in your life. Whether you’re married or not. They are the constant.

#13 Dance. Often. Well. Alone or out on the town. Just make sure you dance.

#14 Always be clean. Even if you’re tired. Even if you’re sad. Even if you’re broke. It costs nothing to be clean.

#15 Never apologise for who you are or where you've come from.

#16 Always sort your dirty washing into light colours, dark colours and whites. Towels on their own. Bedding on its own. Tea towels on their own. And if you leave them in the washing machine for 2 days, wash them again or they will smell like old vomit.

#17 Always shake the creases out of every piece of wet washing before you hang it on the line. You need to make it ‘snap’. If you hang it, like a boy, straight from the basket it will dry crunchy.

#18 Always steam your vegetables. Well, if you want flavour that is.

#19 Always make sure the kids are fed. Well.

#20 Never let your kids know you’re scared.

#21 Always trust your instinct. It’s all you have in the world when you’re all alone so listen to it and make it your friend.

#22 Always listen to your mum [if you haven't made friends with your instinct yet] She may do and say things you hate. She may be annoying. She may be too strict. She may be unfair. She may be too tough. But she knows your heart. She knows your smell and your touch and your face. She knows what’s best even when you don’t. Especially when you don’t.

My brother and I did it tough. With only Mum to raise us we missed out on a lot. The newest gadgets. The coolest clothes. The nice house. The new car. Travel. A father. A mother. Because what happens when there’s only one parent is that parent has to spread themselves so thin that you’re really being raised by half a parent.

Yet it never felt like that. My mum did the best and most committed job she could possibly do. Which may not make her the greatest mum in the world. 

But she’s the greatest mum in my world. 

And that, is all we can ever hope our mums to be.

Frank, my dear, doesn't give a damn

“You’ll never guess who just walked into the shop”

That’s how the phone call from my very good friend started today. It sounds delicious doesn’t it? Who? I almost squealed, excited. Hopeful for some gossip.

“That bitch, Deidre Smith*”

Oh. Not so delicious. Not gossip. Horrible, confronting and painful news.

Deidre is the wife of the man who molested my friend’s two children when they were very young. She is the mother of my friend’s ex-defacto, her children’s step-father. She is the woman who didn’t participate in the molestation but knew about it. Turned a blind eye to it. Kept quiet about it. Enabled it. 

She is the woman that my friend and I HATE.

It’s a strong emotion, I know. But it sits real and heavy in our guts. My friend, let’s call her Molly [because I don’t actually KNOW anyone called Molly] has grown children now, but at the time of their abuse they were both under 5 years old. Molly didn’t know what was happening then. But Deidre did. SHE KNEW. And we hate her for knowing and for sharing cups of tea with Molly and smiling in photos with Molly’s kids and for getting on with her life,seemingly unaffected.

There are many, many resources for childhood victims of molestation, sexual abuse and rape. There is support. There is a general level of public understanding and empathy. In our culture, at least. As there should be. But often, it is the family of the victims that are forgotten though they suffer too. Make no mistake the ripple effect of child molestation is more like a tsunami... some people drown, some people never return after being swept away and homes are destroyed.

In Molly’s case, her suffering is threefold. 

First she has had to endure almost crippling guilt at the realisation that this happened ‘on her watch’ and SHE HAD NO IDEA that it was happening. It wasn’t until her children were grown up that they finally revealed to her what they had suffered as preschoolers. 

Secondly she has had to deny her own deep, burning desire to exact revenge on her children’s abuser AT THEIR EXPLICIT REQUEST. 

And lastly,it is her ongoing struggle to support an adult son who battles debilitating depression and agoraphobia as a result of the horrific acts against him as a toddler.

There was never any reason to suspect the man who molested Molly’s children. I’m going to call him Frank because that’s actually his name and it feels good for me to ‘out’ him, albeit under a shroud of anonymity. Frank was a lovely man. He was friendly and funny and charming. He had good relationships with his friends and a pleasant, happy wife. Two successful, grown [childless] sons. He looked after his home well and loved Molly’s kids. AND THEY LOVED HIM TOO. Molly could barely believe it when she finally found out what had happened, it seemed so unlikely.

And that’s what I’m here to tell you. It’s not always obvious when children are being molested. In fact, it often isn’t. In this, real-life, example I can tell you the following truths:

• Those kids WANTED to visit Frank. EVERY TIME.
• Molly TRUSTED Frank.
• Neither of Frank’s grown sons gave ANY INDICATION that something was ‘not right’ with their dad.
• Frank’s own wife welcomed Molly’s kids into her home and turned a blind eye when Frank visited them in bed. And the bathroom. And the shed.
• Molly’s kids showed NO SIGNS of being uncomfortable or scared of Frank. 

The other truths I can tell you are these. When a child’s innocence is stolen by sick bastards like Frank, it affects the rest of their life and the rest of their family and the rest of their family’s lives. When pricks like Frank get their revolting paws onto babies, hearts are ruined. When disturbed fuckers like Frank are left unchecked, scars are formed and futures are destroyed and hatred grows and grows and grows.

My final truth is this. Sometimes sick fuckers look like nice guys... and girls. Sometimes the only thing standing between your child and some disgusting pig is you, your gut instinct and your perceived over-protectiveness. It is your responsibility to be ever vigilant with your kids. Don’t assume you’ll KNOW that there’s something going on. Hundreds of thousands of people have proven how easy something like this goes undetected. In the case of Molly’s family even her two kids didn’t know it was happening to the other.

My friend Molly hates Frank and she hates Deidre too. She was happy to hear that he suffered before he died. She was happy to know that his last days were not easy, just as her son’s days are not easy either. She had nothing to say to Deidre that day. She was paralysed with rage and her voice was strangled with betrayal. But Molly’s ready for her when she comes again.

And Deidre better watch her back.

*Deidre Smith is a make-believe name for a real-life monster.

Please, if your gut is telling you something isn't right with your little one... seek external help. Follow the links in this blog or contact your state government department listed here.

"the world is in greater peril from those who tolerate or encourage evil
than from those who actually commit it"
ALBERT EINSTEIN (1879-1955)