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.

Hosting The Double Playdate

I’m half way through the first week of the school holidays. The winter school holidays. I’m also at the end of an all day double playdate. A double playdate is one where each of my boys has one of their friends over. That’s four boys under ten in my house that I work from home from. Are you on board the train to hell yet?

Of course, I didn’t make these arrangements by accident. I thought them out and stupidly idiotically naïvely thought it would be EASIER having playmates for my kids. So then I could continue to work from home while they entertained themselves. Oh, don’t worry. I can see you shaking your head from here.

It’s not like the entire day was hell. There were moments of sheer glory. When each son played quietly in their respective bedrooms with their mates. Lego and Test Match Cricket kept them entertained for about 45 minutes each. They did a bit of ball kicking outside and there were the PS4 sessions which peppered the day and thankfully didn’t consume it.

But kids these days [oh FFS, did I actually just say that??] don’t cope with boredom too well. And in the down times they were stuck. And every time they got stuck they gravitated to a screen. And I wanted to scream. Which of course I couldn’t because we had outsiders in the house. Outsiders whose mums undoubtedly DON’T scream and probably smile with amusement when their kids complain that they’re bored and come up with some interesting activity that grows their kids’ brains or something.

So I went all ‘perfect mother’ on their bored arses and serenely suggested they ‘go outside’… “go have some fun boys! Kick the ball or play basketball or climb a tree!”

And eight eyes were rolled. And four of them looked apologetic and possibly even dismayed that those words came out of THEIR mum’s head. I can just imagine what the outsiders said when they got home. “It was ok Mum but their mum told us to go outside. In the winter – who does that?”

So they did go outside for a while and then they moped around from room to room trying to come up with an idea to stop the boredom. Because life is so boring. This life which is full of board games and ball games and friendships. And I tried to ignore them and not intervene with my ridiculous suggestions. At one point I heard one of the outsiders ask one of my boys “So what do you usually do?” and I strained to listen to the answer because I wanted to know too…

Back in my day [yes, I'm going there] kids would just rock up at their friend's houses. There were no playdates and there were no activities. There were just mates hanging out in each other's space. If that got boring you'd head out into the street to see who else was around and then there'd be a posse of bored kids. Which, just quietly, didn't always end well... if you catch my drift! The point is, you sorted shit out yourself. If I ever had the balls to whinge to Mum that me and friends were bored she'd make us weed the garden! 

I had one activity totally worked out for them. If you have sons then you will know that they could fill their entire day simply with eating so I covered that off. Fruit and lollies and homemade pizza and hotdogs and juices and popcorn and donuts. All the essential boy food groups were covered. But boys tend to inhale food, on the run so that filled up about an hour, in total, of their day. Or should I say, ‘our’ day.

They worked it out in the end. They made a game that involved all four of them. One person had to hide a small ball and the rest of them had to find it. Sounds pretty cool huh? Yep. Except that the game is played INSIDE and part of the rules seemed to be that while you were searching for the small ball you all had to scream. That’s four boys SCREAMING in my house and it took all my efforts to NOT tell them to use their ‘inside voices’ or ‘go outside’ or say anything at all to discourage the game because I was pretty happy that they had done almost exactly what I had hoped. They made up their own game, inclusive of everyone that didn’t involve a screen. Just a whole lot of fucking SCREAM.

Of course all attempts to work at that time had became entirely futile. Because they were screaming and running around the house in socks on hard floors and there are corners on all the furniture and doorways and no matter how hard I try to remember I constantly forget that my kids aren’t toddlers anymore. So I wiped the kitchen benches multiple times while smiling and gently reminding the boys to ‘take it easy’ and ‘slow down’ and ‘watch your head’ as they zoomed past me in laps.

A hundred times that day, I wondered why I did it. And then our guests were gone and so was the noise and the boys were tired and so grateful.

And it all made sense.

Are you into hosting playdates?

Warring Women versus The Sisterhood

Image source: www.ketzali.com

We are one bitchy, judgemental lot aren’t we?

Every day I read social media updates about mummy wars and women criticising each other for choices made and clothes worn and parenting decisions and food choices. Blogs and articles are constantly being written by women imploring other women to stop judging each other. To give a sister a break. To stop being such bitches. Our own focus on women as crap people is relentless. The negativity that we are imposing on ourselves is endless. It feels like we are all beating the same self-deprecating drum in an effort to show how evolved we are.

And it is true that we are judgemental. Many of us measure our own performance and, sadly, self worth by how we see everyone else is performing or coping or falling apart. It’s not new. We’ve always done it only now, in the information era, everyone knows about it. We used to just bitch behind each other’s backs. Now we post status updates and share articles in a passive aggressive attempt at saying “I’m doing a better job than she is.”

So now that I’ve got that out of the way, let me remind you of something very important about us 'warring women'.

We are a sisterhood. And just like sisters, we are able to bitch and insult and fight and disagree until one of us loses our shit and then we’ve got each other’s back.

Yesterday, I saw three separate women unexpectedly and spontaneously burst in to tears. They all went from smiles to sobs in less than 60 seconds. Each time they were surrounded by women they knew. Each time they succumbed to their emotions because they felt they could. And each time the women in their vicinity moved in with a speed and purpose that only other women understand... because for all our bitchiness and comparisons, we get it. We are all struggling. When we see a sister crumple under her own pressure we are fundamentally compelled to support her. When we see another woman struggle to fight her demons we stand behind her, next to her and many times in front of her. I see women rally for each other all the time. I see it online even more than I see the apparent war of women.

My sisterhood is strong and incredibly valuable to me. It is rich and full of women who represent so many different walks of life. It is diverse in age, culture, politics, religion, sexuality and geography. 

It is my anchor. It is my constant. 

I was raised by a single mum who had an amazing sisterhood. It is in her battlefield that I learnt the lessons of womanhood. It is through her and her friends that I learnt to gather my own army. Watching my mum and her friends navigate life together is where my awe of women began. In fact, from my view point, watching them around the dining room table making cups of tea and smoking cigarettes as they swapped stories and ear-rings, it was almost magical. 

To this day, I find magic in my friendships. My sisters have single-handedly healed gaping holes in my heart. They have saved me a million times from a million different tragedies. They have stood by me through fist fights [real and metaphoric] and I have seen my joy reflected in their eyes and heart  time and time again. I have a friend that calls me crying often and by the end of the conversation, which is sometimes only 5 minutes long, she’s laughing. 

That’s magic. That’s powerful. THAT'S what women do.

And if you’re reading this and thinking to yourself “What are you talking about? I don’t have a sisterhood!” then you’re probably a man OR you haven’t met the right women yet. 

Do not despair, sister. Start close to home and gather your army and in the meantime stick around... 

I’ve always got room for more in mine x

4 Friends Every Girl Should Have

Something old

This is my high school buddy. The one that I met when I was still a kid. That grew with me. That shared my firsts. The one that anchors me to my inner self. The one that knew me before I was a grown up. My longest relationship. The family I chose for myself.

Something new

This is my friend that my kids brought to me. The mum of their friend. The one I was drawn to despite not being in the ‘friend market’. The one that comes from a different place to me but shares the same values. The one that I see myself sharing my future with even though we don’t share a past. The friend I found after I discovered myself.

Something borrowed

This is my friend that is the girlfriend of my brother and brother-in-law. The sister of an ex boyfriend. The wife of a cousin. The one that is on loan while they’re together. The one I think about after they’ve split up. The one I’m friends with on Facebook.

Something blue

This is my boy-friend. The one that never crossed the line – and never will. The one that comes to me for girl advice. The one that likes clothes shopping with me. The gay one.

Do you have an old, new, borrowed and blue friend too?

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)

Big dreams in little bodies

It's been a big week for the boys.

School's back and that means the return of routine, early morning, get-ready fights, book covering and reunited friends. 

Nathan is doing cricket, tennis and swimming this term. He also starts pre-season soccer training. He just got back from a weekend away, boogie boarding with his best mate at Middleton. I ribbed him when he got home, his hair stiff with salt and sand still in his eyebrows "So, did you get sick of Charlie while you were there?". He looked at me, simultaneously perplexed and disgusted... 

"Mum. He's my best friend. You don't get sick of your best friend". Boom. 

Nathan's not much of a socialiser, unless it involves sport. So this year, again, he has opted to forego a birthday party for a trip to Melbourne to watch his beloved Blues instead. He's heavily campaigning that Charlie goes too. We've got a couple of months to work all that out but Nathan's a planner. He's really keen to start making some connections at the club because he intends to be drafted before he turns 18. Which, of course, means we will need to move to Melbourne. He understands that it could be difficult for Stefan to leave school though, so he's already in discussion with his Aunty Pauline to move in with her until we're ready to follow him over there. Righto. 

Then, over dinner this week, he announced that it was probably time for him to start working in the family business. Which, of course, is our hope too but we were expecting him to finish school first. He made a reasonable case that he could work part-time and even from home if the business would supply him with a lap-top and a phone. He could help pack wine but he doesn't have a forklift licence, so he probably couldn't do that yet. Mark said he's discuss with the board and get back to him. 

Meanwhile Stefan is, as always, travelling to the beat of his own drum. As he sat at the breakfast bar watching me cook dinner this week he asked when I would allow him to get a tattoo. He thought he might like one on his arm to begin with and thinks a dragon might be appropriate. I've always known his penchant for pictures on his skin as he's been doing his own texta tattoos since he was a baby. I was taken aback though, that he is keen on piercings too. He calls them screws. Screws in the skin. Sigh. 

I told him that we would talk about it later which he seemed to accept. His next request was for a blue mohawk. Are you picturing what I am? My beautiful boy with the sides of his head shaved, a bright blue spikey strip down the middle, a dragon sleeve on his arm and screws coming out of his face. 

I wonder if he will still sneak into my bedroom in the morning, hold my face in his hands and kiss me, whispering 'I love you mum' while he thinks I'm sleeping. 

He has no plan to play footy or live in Melbourne with his brother. He talks about having lunch with me at the Eiffel Tower and he fiercely disagrees with Nathan that Psy is the best singer in the world. "Adele has the best voice. Ever. Even better than Michael Jackson. Because he's dead." He told me, on the way home from a trip to the beach where Mark and the boys did some body surfing in the shallows, that he was going to teach his kids to do that too. "When I'm a Tato [dad], I'll stay with them in the water until they know how to do it. They'll love that Mum. They're gonna love me" 

Time has a way of creeping up on you. It can steal your plans and hijack your dreams and slap you in the face with stinging reality.

I'm excited that my boys can see their futures. I'm proud that they're navigating their way through life and setting goals for authentic journeys. It warms my heart that they value good friendships and understand the important things that parents do and see no shame in loving. 

I just wish that time would slow down a little. 

Am I happy that my sons share their dreams and have these conversations with me? Absolutely. 

I just didn't expect them to be 7 and 5 when they did.

When I was a kid

My kids are bored. It's been CRAZY hot and they're on holidays and they are begging me for more time in front of the tv or on the computer which I'm barely resisting. I'm racking my brain for things for them to do and that in itself is pissing me off. I don't remember having daily activities in place for me and my brother growing up. I don't remember that our time was micro-managed by mum or that we felt she was responsible for our fun. 

I DO remember...

Just going outside and playing with the neighbourhood kids. Some you liked. Some you didn't. It wasn't really important. You just hung out. In the street or someone's front yard.

Taping songs off my records and the radio and making compilation tapes which I would play and play and play again. Sometimes if there was a song that I really liked, I would tape it on both sides of the tape [so I didn't have to wait to REWIND the tape to play it again].

Getting up on Sunday morning, well before the parents, and making ourselves a huge cup of 'chocolate poo' [which was about half a tin of Milo each in cold milk, mixed until it was a deep, chocolate, poo brown] and then quietly playing Monopoly for HOURS. Our board still has 'chocolate poo' drip stains on it.

Riding my bike around the streets. No helmet. No parents. Just the sun and the wind and pedal break skids.

Making a slip and slide out of garbage bags, a hose and dishwashing liquid. 

Climbing the street trees in our neighbourhood and eating the fresh, soft almonds.

Watching Video Hits on Saturday morning and memorising the words and the ground-breaking dance moves of The Nolan Sisters.



Going down to The Broadway at Glenelg beach with the family and spending the WHOLE day there in a group that simply expanded as the day went on. There were no cries of "I'm bored" or "Can we go home yet?" or "Can I play on your iPhone?" In fact, we only spoke to the grown-ups to ask for hot chips or a Paddle Pop. Otherwise we were jumping waves, collecting shells, burying each other, building sand castles, playing beach cricket and turning chocolate brown in the Aussie sun.

Walking in a gang to the local playground and spending hours just... playing.

Collecting envelopes from family and neighbours, soaking off the stamps and putting them into the world's most boring Stamp Albums.

My brother, Jason, and I combining his Star Wars figures and my dolls to create elaborate battles.

Racing cars down the hallway.

Concocting horrendous potions from anything we could find outside and then double-daring each other to eat/drink it .... ewwwww!

Going to Marion Swimming Centre and not daring to wee in the pool in case that special stuff they put in the water would put a bright blue ring around your bathers so everyone would know.

What did you get up to when you were a kid?

Attitude of Gratitude

So, on the first day of December this year I committed to having an attitude of gratitude for a month which I would share with my Facebook friends each day. I didn't come up with the idea myself. I was inspired by The Mums Lounge "Attitude of Gratitude Photo Challenge" because I have been feeling more grateful lately and because, to be quite frank, I like that it rhymed.

I started off slow. A quick photo and something small in my day that I was thankful for. But, as all good things do, it gathered a momentum of its own and my thankfulness became more significant. 

My attitude actually changed. 

The commitment I made to having to stop each day and think of something to be grateful for, during a very busy time of the year, became my calm. I discovered that I have so much to be grateful for and that I have fallen into the well-known trap of taking my good fortune for granted. This month has reminded me to be extremely grateful for my journey in life. For the lessons I've learned. For the losses. For the gifts. For the growth. For the pain and for the joy. It's EASY to get caught up in the rat-race of life, particularly at Christmas time. It's soooo busy and everyone seems to want a piece of you and I have MANY times spent almost the entire month complaining. But this year, not so much. This year when I have caught myself whingeing about.... whatever, I have stopped and said 'Lucky you Tan, that there is space in your mind for such a silly complaint'. 'Lucky you that you do not live in fear. Lucky you that you do not live in pain. Lucky you that you do not live with loneliness. Lucky you that you do not live in darkness. Lucky you that you do not live in silence. Lucky you, Tan.'

I had planned to post something to be grateful for every day of December, but I stopped a couple of days ago. Not on purpose. I was running out of hours in my days and telling everyone how grateful I am was the first casualty of tasks I didn't have time for. I have still stopped every day though. Stopped and thought and felt lighter. And now, in the quiet aftermath of a marathon family Christmas lunch, I have stopped to think about what I am thankful for. And of course, on days like today, there is so much. Family. Love. Tradition. Giving. Eating. Playing. Fun. Togetherness. Sharing. It's almost a no-brainer but I have something more [yes more!] to be thankful for.

Attitude of Gratitude - Days 21-25 (!)

I am grateful for my friends who came along for the ride with me. All of my friends but especially the friends who are otherwise quiet on Facebook but have showed their support by 'liking' my post. It kept me honest. When I realised how many people were listening, it encouraged me to actually say something.

I am grateful for the friends [who I do not 'see' socially but with whom I share my Facebook life] that took the time to comment on my posts. Friends like Di, Riannon, Crawford, Monique, Josie, Mia and Mandy. When I realised how many people were touched, it encouraged me to dig deeper.

I am grateful for the friends who made a special effort to tell me how my Attitude of Gratitude posts had inspired them. Friends like Alischa, Isabelle, Kalyna and Isabella. When I realised how many people were inspired, it encouraged me to share more of myself.

I am grateful for my friend Polly who took my proverbial hand and travelled down the road of gratitude with me. When I realised I was not alone, it encouraged me to stay on the road.

I am grateful.