Chipping away at the silence

So can I tell you a bit about China?

I haven't so far because I'm keeping most memories to myself. Also, I can tell you about my time, but my experience isn't your experience and never will be. My experience wasn't the same as anyone else's on the team I travelled with. Which is normal.

China is a place and a culture that has grown on me over the last few years and the reality of visiting the country has left me in awe.

 I truly appreciate that people have honoured my request not to besiege me with questions, I can't begin to tell you how having space to think and process has helped me appreciate the joy of my time away. Some have been surprised that my husband doesn't even know a lot of detail.
But still, I can tell you. A bit.

About the food, of which there was plenty. Plenty of rice, vegetables ... and chopsticks. I learnt to use them after a fashion while there. A giant bowl of fried rice which filled two of us and cost the equivalent of AU$2. Vegetables I was unaware of tasted amazing. Chillies which I tended to avoid before travelling were becoming more palatable. The smells of dumplings, noodles, broth... the palate was in overdrive. 
Food from street vendors which the travel guides tell you to avoid... Which tasted divine.
About the fact that our local style 'Chinese restaurants' are a pale interpretation and so westernised as to be mostly unrecognisable.

About the scenery. I didn't anticipate the beauty. I knew there were nice parts of China but I didn't know I was going to those areas. The mountains, the valleys, the buildings, the villages. It was greener and lovelier than I expected.

About the history. Again the villages, again the mountains, again the buildings. Also the people whose eyes told of their centuries of history, the amazing terracotta warriors standing guard over their long dead master, the sounds around me which spoke of cobbled streets and monastic backgrounds. That all made me want to learn and immerse myself more.

About the culture. The smell of incense, the sound of laughter and singing, of Chinese street opera. The sights of elderly men sitting playing their indigenous form of chess on the footpath alongside younger men playing a version of poker that was their own alongside the children sitting in prams while mothers chatted outside the shops.
The young trying hard to look as western as they could with bleached hair, stovepipe jeans, hipster glasses (often frames only) and eye makeup.
The store mannequins and advertising which promoted this western look making me cringe that we are impregnating these young people's minds with images of eyes hair and skin that isn't theirs and they don't need to have.
The quietness and stillness of the villages. Even the dogs don't bark like western dogs do. People get about their business talking quietly to each other and interacting but it just.. Seems... quieter.

About the traffic. Here's where quietness and stillness ends. The noise, the chaos, the seemingly nonexistent rules... Trying to cross an intersection with traffic coming from five directions at once and everyone vying for the six inches that became free... And children sitting on their parents laps on motorbikes, bikes pulling wagons of ... Just.. Stuff.
It made me wonder why Chinese cars have indicators; it seems drivers navigate by horn instead. And driving in the mountains, with windy roads where oncoming traffic is invisible until it's right on your front bumper. All cars buses and bikes using horns to alert each other of their existence. And still going around a corner as if they were alone.

About the children. Oh the children. They were a joy. Whether local children in the town or the village, or the children we visited in their SWI (social welfare institute), they all had the gorgeous features that make them uniquely Asia's.
The children in the villages who loved trying out their English 'hello', their families who encouraged them to interact with us in English. The parents who proudly allowed us to photograph their babies.
The cheeky kids, the shy kids, and the... heck, the outright fabulousness of all these kids are what made the trip so special.

The children in the SWI... Who loved us loving on them. Who loved us singing and dancing with them, who loved us noisy and loved us quiet.
The little man who will never stand up straight who told us he knows his back and legs wont ever 'work', but at least he can talk which means he's luckier than most of the kids in his school.
The children with cerebral palsy, spina bifida, cleft lips, albinism, mental and social problems who blossomed in front of us.
The kids who didn't care that they had to be carried to play; at least they we playing.
The kids who bellowed out the numbers as we counted the steps towards "mr wolf".
The kids who all crowded around for food we brought along, usually sweet.
The kids who knew how to use our cameras and iPhones.
The non verbal child who taught me that the intensity or non intensity of the sound he did make spoke volumes. As did his eyes and expressive face.
The child who reached out arms from a cot to be held, who made me rediscover my love for baby necks and their softness.
The child who refused to get involved with team interaction last year but this year joined in as boisterously as any of the others.
The child who proved this playground is like any other; with bullies and an hierarchy.
The child who then partially dispelled this idea for me by grabbing handfuls of the lollies that spilled from the piñata... So he could make sure the not so able kids got their share as well.
The kids who cried when we left, the kids who cried when we got there and the kids whose laughter will never leave our memories.

These very briefly describe the China I saw.
My memories are still mostly held close and checked, not ready to see the light of day. Whether they ever will or not, who knows.
But I am eager to add to the memory collection.

He's a keeper

More than a few years ago, a Sheila went out one night. She only knew one or two other people at this place, but she knew a mob would be turning up.
It was a church youth group, so she reckoned every one who was there would be nice and Christian like, and not yobbo-ish, and not a pack of whingers, so she reckoned it might be a ripper night.

She walked through the front door and saw a group of blokes having a chin wag. She didn't like groups of blokes much but she looked over at them and she heard something in her head say "he's a bit of all right"

She said to the thing in her head "stone the crows, mate. What are you on about?" 
and the thing said "that one" 
and she said "righty oh then"

Meanwhile, a bloke rocked up to the same place on the same night. He knew most of the crew there, so he was feeling pretty comfy. He heard there were going to be some snags on the barbie and a bit of a swim in the pool so he reckoned it'd be a top night and he'd be a mug to miss it.

He was standing in the corner with his mates having a bit of a convo when this new chick walked in.
 "Stone the crows" he said. "You little ripper. She's a bit of a spunk"
His mates said "who ... ?" .
They turned to have a squiz at who he was perving at and couldn't see any decent birds.
He said "the blonde Sheila. Haven't seen her in this neck of the woods before"

And his mates said 
"nah she just moved here from the big smoke"
"A bit up herself if you ask me"
"What, are you gonna crack onto her? Onya mate"
"let's go see if the girls have got their bathers on yet"

So by the end of the night the Sheila and the bloke had got to yakking and he thought she was a bit of all right.
She reckoned he wasn't too much of a drongo, and he wasn't a bogan, so when he gave her a tingle the next day and asked her out, she said "yeah, no worries"
He said "you little ripper this calls for new trackie dacks and uggies"
She said "beaut"

About two years later they got hitched.
And that was 30 years ago. Fair dinkum, it feels like about five.

Some people reckoned the marriage had two chances, buckleys and none.
Some reckoned they were a pair of mugs,
Some reckoned they might make a fair go of it, and some knockers reckoned it'd cark it.

Mate, we've had our blues, we've both acted like drongos and we've spat the dummy more times than a chook lays eggs. 
But deadset, it's been bonza.
I'm fair dinkum stoked.

telling the kids.... about.. you know what...

Another of my older posts. 

“But what do you do if…you know…they spring you, you know…doing it?” asked my childless friend at a table full of mums.

Some faces were averted, some were red, and others were animated. The stories began.

One mum’s story had her young lady, barely able to see over the top of the bed, saying “what you doing?” With this being the first indication of her arrival in the room, the parents, flustered, asked “what do you think we’re doing?”

”Playing horsie rides” came the reply. Mum said “we were, you’re right, would you like a ride?” The daughter hopped on top of the pile of bodies, had a little bit of a jiggle and happily wandered off to watch the Wiggles again.

Others were not so lucky. “Mum and dad, put your clothes back on and get out of bed”, was the loud announcement another couple heard when their son admitted visitors who’d arrived quietly and unexpectedly.

Yet another told of her three year old son bringing his best friend into the bedroom to show her the new shirt he got this morning at the shops.

They are the stories we think we’ll tell at their twenty first birthday parties, but then realise we’re too embarrassed to when the time comes. Because at twenty one, they don’t think they were cute, they think we were gross.

And we still are. 

Because, now, we’re like…So old.

So past it.

Do you do the birds and bees talk with the kids or take the cowardly yet somehow satisfyingly easy way out and go to the parent / child talks run at your local school or community centre? These can be embarrassing for the nervous or the shy, yet seem tame for other parents. 

If this whole piece seems irrelevant to you, well done, you are obviously from the tribe of parents known as “Bravus maturius”. This isn’t for you. This is for those who baulk at the thought of mentioning the “s” word, of using correct terminology for body parts, or of being seen naked by their children. There’s lots of this tribe out there too.

Is your child actually ready for the graphic nature of the school’s parents and kids talk? More to the point…Are you?

One mum of three had her daughter glare at her during the school se session and, in the stage whisper only possible from a nine year old, spit out “What? You and dad did that horrible thing THREE times? I don’t believe it.”

Another mum, on the way home from the sessions, asked her daughter if there was anything she wanted to talk about or ask, seeing as they were in privacy. The daughter, tossing back her hair, said breezily “Oh yeah, well, you know that thing about the periods? I’m not doing that. I’m just not going there at all.”

“Well at least now I know what all those funny sounds coming from your bedroom are”, was the opinion of another wise child post-attendance, prior to demonstrating the ‘funny’ sounds. “Those sounds.”

Why does it seem so hard? Is it our own self consciousness that makes it so hard to do? Are we worried what our children will think of us? Is it because we don’t want them knowing too much too soon? Trust me, they’ll find out about it soon enough. Just because you don’t discuss it at your house doesn’t mean their friend at kindergarten, school, preschool or childcare doesn’t. Are we worried what they’ll do with the information?

I remember sitting in church, hearing a child pointing out and telling his mother which people in the pews in front had a penis and which had a “pagina”.

There are so many resources available to parents to assist with broaching this subject, and they aren’t all on TV! Your local public library may even have a list of titles available, or your local versions of “family life” (who host the seminars) certainly have many tried and tested books and videos to select from.

Probably a lot of us remember “Where did I come from” with its bold illustrations. We’ve come a long way, baby. Now some of the titles include the blatantly obvious “Let’s talk about where babies come from” or “Let’s talk about sex”. There are books available for most ages and stages.

The web is chock full of information as well, and tips on how to introduce the topic with your child, or how to find out what your child knows.

Whichever way you choose to broach the subject with your child, bear in mind their maturity and their capacity for understanding. 

 Some children, upon hearing about sex, and realising their parents have indulged in the practice, can actually appear to see one parent reduced from being an idol to being “rude”. 

Others can be shattered by the knowledge, whereas still others simply take it in stride and don’t turn a hair about it all. Only you can know your child and what they can take in, and how much information makes information overload.

And what of the stories of the schoolyard? How do you handle being told by your child that they weren’t found out in the cabbage patch, they know that because Zara told them they came out of your belly button after dad kissed it? Or any of the rest of the myriad of incorrect information that fills the playground? Be honest. Being honest doesn’t mean telling them the entire repertoire of sex education. Again, gauging it by your child, a simple “well the doctor came to the hospital and helped you be born” may suffice. Or you may need to give more information than that. Without being dishonest, you can be evasive.

One mum recalls her daughter asking her “what’s inside my dad’s balls?” Agog at her precociousness, the mum fumbled a bit and asked “what?”

“Well I was just in there where dad’s asleep and I saw them, and I wondered what’s in them.” To cut a long and excruciating tale short, little daughter had spied a box of Maltesers on dad’s bedside cupboard and wanted to know if they were yummy or not. To this day, the mum is thankful for her own sudden inability to be more than monosyllabic!

Only you can know the depth and breadth of information your child can handle and only you can know the depth and breadth of information YOU can handle giving out! Just a warning though, wait til they’re young adults discovering their own sexuality and quietly mocking your “archaic” views, because they know so much more than you. The only revenge is knowing that one day they too will have children and be in the same boat. Then we’ll see who’s mocking who!

is the grass greener? or just insta-lawn...

This is another old rediscovered post. Written when I was knee deep in toilet training, school and kindy runs and two loads of washing every day, I recognise my feelings when I wrote this. I have edited it slightly.

Some friends are away this weekend; they’ve headed off on a romantic weekend away.  Long lazy nights, sleep-ins with breakfast in bed, romantic walks, deep and meaningful conversation, great dinners…….  Am I jealous?  Heck, yes. Why don’t I just do the same thing?  Well, that’s not so simple to answer quickly.  If this were a movie this would be the bit where the picture would go wobbly or fade and background music would fade in…as I told my tale….but it’s not a movie, so please just imagine that bit.

My friends aren’t married.  Well they were, but not to each other.  They’re the new generation of parents, the ones who have separated at some point and share custody of their children with their estranged partner.  
Once a fortnight, the children go to their dad, his new partner and her kids, and my friend and her new man get to have that weekend away I mentioned.

They and other friends in similar situations regale me with their stories of woe and happiness. This isn’t bashing of single or separated mums, please don’t feel that.  I know there are innumerable valid reasons to leave a marriage.   This isn’t about that.  It’s not a judgement call on that area of their lives in any way; it’s a call for the kids. That they have a voice. I also know there are 'deadbeat dads' who don't do their share, and there are single mums who bust a gut to nurture and help their kids survive every day. To you, we owe gratitude and respect. This isn't about you.

“The two days a fortnight we have alone while the kids are at their dads just isn’t enough time to build this new relationship with my new man” they complain. 

It's hard. I understand that the excitement and the newness of the relationship means you want to spend all your time together, exploring each other’s personalities, but your kids are important too.  

Their time away from you shouldn’t be seen by you - and thereby them - as your welcome relief.   

What of your relationship with your kids?  Are you working as hard on maintaining it?  Do you take them away for two days without the new man to maintain that relationship as well?

“He’s (new man) never had kids, but is just trying so hard with mine, they love him to bits, really they do”, they assure me.

I know, I’ve seen him with them, and he does care about them, and they for him.  When it comes to discipline, who has the final say? You, their biological parent, or him, the new man in your life? How do you manage when he doesn’t understand that the youngest has had asthma / reflux / other problems which mean he wakes up five times a night?  He doesn’t have that bond, he doesn’t have the depth of knowledge of them like you and their dad did. Yes he'll learn, I know.
And what about when they become (or are) teenagers?  This is a stage even biological parents struggle with. Will they still love each other to bits?  Or will it become an even bigger battle than the teenage years are anyway? I know it's great now, but try not to sink into complacency.

“The kids are happy, they don’t have any problems, it all worked out so smoothly”

Kids can be hard to read. Have they been on their own to a counsellor to talk this through?  Have you then joined with them in a session or two?  Has your ex?   

Have the kids been entirely honest with you?  Without the new man around? 
If you’ve done all that and it’s really working out, then kudos to you, and thank you for being so committed and caring and putting that hard effort in. Your kids will be better and stronger for your work.

“Their dad’s trying to get out of his access visits.  It’s only two weekends a month, the lazy so and so.  His new girlfriend complains when she has to have our two kids, because with her three, that means she’s got five kids in the house at the one time, she goes bananas.”

I think she would!  You find it hard to build your new relationship with two days a fortnight, remember, but what about their new relationship?  It deserves time too. Time with no kids.

And ... what about the kids?  How much time do they get to adjust to all these new relationships happening around them?

Perhaps the saddest thing in all this is that your kids visit their dad with his new partner while her kids are around as well, but (I cant emphasise this bit enough) while your children are with you during your access time… her kids still have… your kid’s dad.. every day.
That can hurt.

So what about that relationship? The one your kids are missing out on with their own dad and solo dad time? 

Are they entirely happy to share him, seeing these other kids enjoying the company of their dad full time when they only have him - shared …two days a fortnight? 

And what about the new step siblings?

What about when a new half-sibling comes in from either side?  This can either work well or can compound the problem.  The same thing happens; while one of you parents send your children to the other for their visit, it's time to stay home with the new partner and the child you've had together, with lots of bonding time there again.  
So does your child from your first marriage get the same undivided attention that the new baby gets? 
Can having their own child from the new relationship affect the step parental relation ship?

Kids have feelings, too

A few years ago I had the privilege of watching the state finals of a secondary school’s rock/music show, with students from all areas and all socio-economic groups competing. These kids were amazing.  Talented, confident, brave. 
The most touching moment for me came when the teenaged spokesperson from one school dedicated their performance to “all our parents”.  The actual comment was something along the lines of “Please remember us with our attachments to our old lives when your new lives are starting.”

Separation is never easy on anyone, let’s not forget or downplay that.  
Everyone gets involved. There are lawyers, friends from both sides, relatives who may become ex-relatives, divisions of assets, broken hearts, hurt feelings, all the emotions of grief, plus perhaps embarrassment, recriminations, anger and a myriad of other feelings.  

And they’re not just yours, you share them. Whether intentionally or not.
Because kids have feelings, too.

A young woman from a separated family told me she cried herself to sleep for years because she didn’t “belong” anywhere. 
“Everyone tried to get rid of us so they could be alone.  Mum was glad when we went to dads and dad was relieved when we left him.  And I saw them spending money on themselves and the other kids while we were away from their house, but when we were there as well, they told us we couldn’t afford ice creams or McDonalds because there were too many of us."

I thought ‘Why can’t someone just be happy to have us around and just love us?  What’s wrong with us that they treat us like that?’ ”

I’m not a psychologist, nor am I a counsellor.  So I had no words of advice for this young lady, I just held her while she cried again, five years after leaving home as an adult. And my heart was bursting with the pain I tried to take from her.

 Maybe the grass is greener; maybe it’s not.  Whatever your reasons for starting afresh, the biggest reason to make your new life work has to be your kids.   
Not so that they become spoilt attention seekers or "ruin" your new relationships... but so that they feel loved, accepted and worthy.  
Because they are worthy.   
And they’re worth the effort.

grown up. are we there yet?

I found this in a virtual folder. It made me laugh because I wrote it just before I turned 30. I didn't ever submit it for publication. I then found it, pulled it out and dusted it off just before I turned 40. I still didn't submit it for publication.

Now here I am, almost 50, pulling it out (again), tightening it up (again), editing it (again) and... putting it here.

* With the advent of social media, one point has changed, but I left it in.

Now you’re not a baby, or a babe.  You’re a part of the group you used to cringe at 10 to 20 years ago.  (“Like as if people over 30 know anything about clothes or music or guys or anything.”)  It’s time to take stock and realise that just because you’d rather get a good night’s sleep than a full night's drinking, your life isn’t anything like over. 

Some of the advantages of being a “grown up”:

• You KNOW you’re not Superwoman.  When friends offer help of any sort, you’ll say yes, because you know your back, arms, head, sleep, family and job will thank you for it, and your friend won't hate you for it
  
• You’re learning to love the skin you’re in.  Wrinkles, sags and bulges prove you’re not the naive ‘thang’ you used to be.
• When you go to hear live music, you actually go to hear the music and can’t stand the people who just go to meet up..
• if you buy a great car, it will last, because you don’t have to drive to impress anyone.
• You know better than to drink a $6 bottle of wine.  And you know why a bottle of 98 Cabernet Sauvignon is better than a six-pack at a barbie.
• Shopping for clothes is much bigger than finding the tightest pair of jeans.
• You’d rather go for a movie and coffee with “the girls” than the drive in with “Steve”.
• Your fridge actually has food in it.  And if it’s green, it’s meant to be.
• Chocolate = pimples doesn’t scare you any more.
• You love foreign or indie movies. 
• Slow songs make you cry.
• You’re not embarrassed to talk to your partner about birth control.
• If you’re at a computer, it’s usually because you’re working.
• Videos and movies about violence or destruction hold no interest at all.
• You know not to tolerate ANY violence in a relationship.
• Kids movies are as much or more fun when you’re not a kid.
• You’ve learned that your career isn’t your life.
• You take your health seriously, and you’ve learned your body’s language.

Some basic rules now you’re over that big number.

• Buy yourself nice lingerie.  Just for you, because it makes you feel good.
• Buy silk sheets.  Even if you’re sleeping alone, you can still enjoy them.
• Married men usually stay that way.  Avoid them. (Unless of course, you’re married to yours!)
• Don’t always act your age.
• You are NEVER too old for slumber parties.
• Money doesn't buy class.
• The time to be happy is now.
• Life isn’t always smooth sailing.  Get used to it. 
• Pap smears and mammograms are too important to forget.
• Love yourself as you are.  Do you want to spend the rest of your life holding in your stomach or wearing super sucker undies?

Signs you’ve definitely grown up:

• When taking your daughter shopping, the anorexic sales assistant in the trendy boutique either: a. offers you a chair, or b. asks if the music is too loud.
• Your favourite song from high school is now musak in elevators.  Or being remade with a techno backing.
• 45, or 50-year-old men look gorgeous, in a distinguished kind of way.
• You spend nearly as much at the pharmacy as you do on groceries.  And it’s not on condoms and flavoured lip-gloss any more.
• Breakfast time?  You eat breakfast food.
• Instead of engagement presents and weddings, your friends are getting divorces and fighting for their half of everything.
• When they show “Flashbacks” on TV, you know what you were doing when the events originally happened.
• You see a celebrity “idol” from your youth ahead of you in the supermarket and you smile, not scream hysterically.
• That idol?  He’s really aged.

 Remember: 

We don't stop laughing because we grow old; we grow old because we stop laughing.  

(possibly Michael Pritchard )

back in the day

yes waaay back then, I wrote stuff. Between child minding, housework, community radio and life, I wrote.... stuff.

I called myself a "freelance writer" because it sounded better than "typing stuff that amuses me"

Oh I had a couple of articles published; in national magazines in fact, and was proud of what I had written. I was paid nicely for several pieces as well.

But then along came the internet and made writing for money trickier. Everyone was submitting stuff to publishers via email, so freelancers had to sign with an agent. That made me a bit nervous, I wasn't THAT good nor that serious.

Gone were the days I could type out 1000 words, post them in and hope to hear back "yep we'll publish, here's your money". (Or the far more likely "pass. But thanks for trying")

It hit me the other night that blogging now is an extension of that earlier typing. I don't have the chance of being picked up for publication nor exposure beyond the four or so people who read here, but.. meh.

So I headed back into the dusty boxes of folders (some virtual folders, some literal, that's how long ago) to see if anything I wrote back then could see the light of day now. I won't post the stuff that was bought from me, but I look forward to revisiting some of my thoughts from back then and sharing them.

It's interesting what the me "knee deep in the hoopla" of four little kids thought; I reckon I had a keener sense of humour back then because really, if I didn't laugh I'd have cried. 

And now, up to thirty years later, with the hindsight that makes one oh so wise, it's funny to read my earnestness and concern over things that I now know didn't really matter. 

My house was always messy, my kids were always making noise, the TV was always on, people randomly dropped in with up to five kids in tow, yet I think I was actually.... possibly.... happier in my self. weird huh?

So anyways, I will endeavour to tidy up just a few bits of my old writing and retype some, because somehow those precious electronic files have evaporated. Must have been something to do with the floppy - and I mean "original floppy" - discs.. and bask in their airing.