MIXTAPE

Before there were playlists there were mixed tapes and I WAS THE MIXTAPE MASTER.

I've still got all of them and they all tell a story about where I was at that time of my life... and where my heart was. 

I'm bringing back the mixtape and today I thought I'd share my birthday party selection for your listening pleasure.

WARNING - be prepared to dance.

See? I really AM a seventies baby!

What would you put on a dance mixtape today?

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.

I am woman. Hear me raw.

Today

I am a working mum. My days follow a strict routine which involves ‘just another 10 minutes’ in bed every morning, regardless of what time I wake up. Those 10 minutes feel like those delicious stolen moments with a lover... but better because I’m alone in the bed and I can stretch out and remember my days when I didn’t have ‘a side’. In those 10 minutes I lament the too few hours sleep preceding them and dread the rat-race following them. I mentally check through my wardrobe and decide what I’m going to wear and hope to god that I’ve washed it and if I have, hope that I have hung it up and not left it in the washing basket. It is the only quiet time I will have to myself all day.

There are boys to be dressed and teeth to be brushed. Bags to be packed and lunches to be made. Husbands to send off and make-up to be slapped on. School to be walked to and teachers to touch base with. Meat to defrost and washing to be put on. Emails to answer and coffee to make. Traffic to negotiate and cars to be parked.

Then a day of work which, most days, is good but some days is not.

Followed by errands to be run and calls to be made. Appointments to squeeze in and dinner to be cooked. Washing to be hung out and coffee to make. School to be walked to and bags to unpack. After school snacks to prepare and homework to be helped with. Sports to be driven to and tables to be set. Baths to be run and stories to read. Dishes to be done and washing to put away. Uniforms to lay out and beds to collapse in.

It is gruelling and draining and gratifying and real.

Yesterday

I was a stay at home mum. My days didn’t follow any routine and I was almost totally at the mercy of my sons’ needs. Breastfeeding on demand. Tiptoeing around the house at nap-time. Scraping soggy teething rusks off the carpet. Rinsing off poo on sheets/clothes/cushion covers. Throwing out bibs that had mashed banana on them ‘cause that shit just does not come out in the wash. Toilet training. Manners training. Sleep training. Rich play. Fine motor skill development. Gross motor skill development. Socialisation. 

Some days time would stand still and I would wait, desperately for the husband to come home so I could turn myself off for 10 minutes. Just 10 minutes to not be the one who had to pick up the crying baby. Just 10 minutes to be alone and not feel guilty for the pleasure that would fill my bones to be quiet. And still. Other days time would steal my life away and I would despair that I didn’t have longer to float in the wonder of seeing the world through the new eyes of my baby. I would feel it slip through my fingers as I traced ‘round and round the garden’ on chubby little hands. I would watch it run away as I delighted in seeing those first, wobbly steps. I would look up, after feeling like I had only just sent the husband off to work to see him return and watch my son run to his arms. Happy to see another face. Eager to tell fresh ears about his day. And I would wish for just another 10 minutes to be alone with my boy.

It was exhausting and demanding and rewarding and real.

Long ago

Before I was any kind of mum I was a girl. Those days were all about me. They were about finding my place in the world and deciding where my world was. It was about working and partying and loving and earning and yearning. It was about learning. And the only real way to learn is to fail. So it was about failing too. It was about heartache. It was about self doubt. And it was about wonder. There were no 10 minute increments in those days. Going out for coffee lasted for hours. There was no grocery shopping. If I needed anything, I picked it up on the way home from work. There was only clothes shopping. Phone calls lasted all night on a phone with an extra long cord which would reach all the corners of my unit and never ran out of battery. Friendships were the most important relationships in my world. Other people’s children were to be seen, not heard. Mothers were to be ignored. Boys were to be toyed with. Washing was to be done in the middle of the night and hung out on the backs of chairs. Dancing was to be done. All night.

It was arduous and confronting and fulfilling and real.

Every day

Throughout it all I have been me. I have not always known who I am but I have been defiantly ‘me’ nonetheless. All my life stages are real. All my chapters are fulfilling. All my dreams are valid. All my pains are confronting. Being single and childless was tough. Being a stay at home mum was demanding. Being a working mum is challenging. The next path I travel down will also test me.  Each life stage presents something new to learn and overcome and enjoy. 

My journey is not unique. My lessons are not new. You may relate. You may disagree. You may learn. You may cringe. You may just quietly be thankful that someone else is struggling to get it all right too.

I will laugh. I will sob. I will exalt. I will grieve. I will succeed. I will fail. 

I will live.

It’s my story and I will share.

I am woman. Hear me raw.

So what do you do?

I went out drinking with the girls and met someone new. Yep, that shit still happens and I like that it still happens. Even though I'm not recruiting. My dance card is full, after all, but it's always a pleasure meeting new people. Except that there's always that one question that gets my back up. You know the one. You've heard it. You've asked it. It's not that it's a bad question. It's not offensive and I'm confident it's asked with the kindest of intentions. But it shits me nonetheless. I fantasise my response to that question all the time and next time, dammit, I'm gonna do it. 

It goes something like this...

"Hi Tania, nice to meet you. So what do you do?"

What do you mean, what do I do??

Are you referring to how I spend my days? Because that’s easy.

I have two sons. I play. I teach. I nourish. I discipline. I give in. I despair. I complain. I crave sleep. I cuddle. I clean up. I cook. I clean up again. I shop. I can’t wait for their father to get home. I negotiate. I love. I scowl. I laugh. I learn. I wash. I yell. I listen. I rejoice.

Or are you referring to how I unwind? 

Well, that would be enjoying a glass of wine in the quiet. I read. I watch really bad tv and am addicted to Grey’s Anatomy. I do Facebook. I write. A blog. A journal. An sms to a friend. I drink coffee. I sit by the fire and listen to the rain. I lay in the sun by the pool while the boys try their hardest to splash me with their ‘epic bombs’. 

Sorry... maybe you’re asking about what I do to energise myself? 

I socialise. I talk on the phone. I make skype dates with my interstate friend. I go out drinking with my local friends. I listen to music really loud. I have people over to my home for dinner, drinks, coffee, talking, gossiping, swimming and chats. I create opportunities to laugh.

I dance. 

When I was growing up I had the 'cool mum'. She dressed cool, hung out with cool friends, listened to cool music and was an AWESOME dancer. Mum would often, I mean really often, put the music up really loud and dance around our tiny lounge room. Sometimes she'd get my brother and I to join her, other times we'd just lose her for 3 minutes. Now, as a Mum myself - I get why she did that. It is the one thing that simultaneously relaxes and energises me. When I was growing up, Michael Jackson was black and he ruled our stereo for a while. This definitely IS NOT a Zumba body and I may or may not have done a little bit of a wee when I was dancing around... I am, after all, a 40 YEAR OLD MOTHER OF TWO who never really committed to pelvic floor exercises :-/ 

This is me, tipping my proverbial hat to Mum...

 

Oh no, wait! You must be referring to how I earn money.

I work.

What do YOU do?

Team Meeting - United States of Tania

Ok, we all know why we're here. Well except for you Short-term Memory Loss, but I promise it will come back to you in fragments when you least expect it. 

I've called this meeting because it's well overdue and quite frankly, there are some things that just need to be put on the table.

Let's start with you Judgement. Why do you insist on leaving town every time Sav Blanc comes to visit? Have I not tried to keep you two together. You two need to be friends. Please stay awhile next time. It makes it so much easier for the rest of us but especially for Fancy Footwork. Yes, we know you think you can dance but whenever Judgement leaves you throw in those little dance moves that really should have been left back in the '90s when you wore hi-top sneakers out and not stilettos.

Piss Weak Guts would also like it if you stuck around to keep Sav Blanc under control. I know we had high expectations of her French heritage and are all disappointed that after years of training she still hasn't come up to speed but I think we all just need accept that this is the best we're going to get from her. The same goes for Sore Feet, Pounding Head and Severe Nausea. They're not going anywhere, so the sooner the rest of the team accepts that the better.

While we're here, can I just make a point to you Back Fat and Behind the Knees Cellulite. Don't think that because I can't see you, that I've forgotten you're there. I know and I'm not happy. I also know that I can't sack you without an aggressive managing-out process but I just don't have the resources for that at the moment so I'm going to ask you, again, to please leave. You are not required and serve no purpose. Perhaps you could take Tuck Shop Arms with you and set up your own team somewhere else.

Oh and as for you Laugh Lines... what the fuck was so funny? Seriously, take it down a notch.

How are you going Short-term Memory Loss? Have you caught up yet? Ah yes, you make a good point. Not a Morning Person is VERY upset that Judgement let the team down again. Having two kids who are up with the sparrows is hard enough but when you wake up on the morning after the night before with that bastard Hangover in your bed you know you're in for a tough day 'cause that prick just won't leave!

So, that concludes our meeting. At the end of the day, the bottom line is... to achieve a win/win situation, 24/7, Judgement is not to take unapproved leave. 

Ever again.

Let's Dance

OMA xx

I have often spoken about how my grandmother, Oma to me, Willy [short for Wilhelmina] to others, has influenced me. I have learned many, many things from her and she inspires me in so many ways, even now that she has passed. There is a moment in her life that defines her, for me. A moment that showed me and the world what she was about. I regularly draw on the strength of this moment when I feel that my own chips are down – and it gets me through. Maybe it will do the same for you.

Not long after Oma had undergone open heart surgery in her early seventies, she was called to quite a serious meeting with her doctors to discuss the results of some medical examinations they’d taken during their monitoring of her. Despite living here for over forty years, Oma retained a heavy accent which belied her firm and comprehensive grasp of the English language. Her doctors gravely explained that the results showed that she had a terminal and quite aggressive cancer called multiple myeloma. With sensitivity and resignation they advised her to get her affairs in order as they did not expect her to survive longer than twelve months. They explained how sick she would be and talked about the process of care she would require. Oma seemed to take this in and when given the opportunity to ask any questions of her doctors she asked only this “Can I still dance?” Her doctors had experienced this type of confusion and, perhaps, denial from many others before so asked if her daughter [my mum] could perhaps meet with them and her the following day so that they could explain it to her.

So, the following appointment was attended by the same doctors, Oma and now my mum too. The doctors repeated their prognosis to my mum and explained that they felt Oma was not clear about the terminal nature of her cancer and they asked if mum could translate for them, to overcome what they believed to be a ‘language barrier’. Mum, who took the news a bit harder, did as she was asked and translated the entire conversation into the family’s mother tongue, Dutch, to my quiet but unwavering Oma. The story mum tells me is that Oma listened, nodded and then replied, in Dutch “I bloody heard them the first time they told me, I just want to know if I can still dance!!”

She took that news better than anyone I have ever known to this day. Yes, she understood she had cancer. Yes, she understood it was killing her. Yes, she understood she was dying. But… what she did that day is tell cancer to go and fuck itself. She was going to go out the way she wanted, despite cancer’s plans for her. She DID dance. Five nights a week she could be found twirling around in one of her gorgeous gowns. She could foxtrot, tango, waltz, samba and dip like a beauty queen. Once she BROKE HER HIP and didn’t tell anyone so that she could dance on Saturday night. She was a bit slower on the dance floor that night but she went. And she danced. Then she admitted herself to hospital on Sunday morning, smiling. She told me “It’s a miracle Tania. Even if I can’t walk all week – my legs can move on Saturday night”.

She danced her way through EIGHT YEARS more of her amazing life.

Take that cancer.