Sunday Sessions - Oh, My Legs...

On Sundays Thea

pops two favourite songs onto her blog.

An oldie but a goldie.

And a newbie, fresh off the charts.

Now, not only did I do derby training on Thursday night, I then spent eight hours walking around Seaworld in the heat yesterday. (See previous post for obvious reason - and add in three extras so had five manic boys meandering with Big Boy and myself). Add in an hour's swimming (okay, fifteen minutes swimming, and the other forty-five lying on a banana lounge looking cool, drooling over the cocktails wafting past) and you have serious pain. I have muscles in my legs that I didn't know I had. And they hurt. A lot.

And so at least one of my Sunday Sessions choices obviously must represent my agony situation.

Now be warned, this will be one of those annoying songs that sticks in your head for days. But I do love this accoustic version...



And for my newie, well, that was hard, but here it is:



For all those who are outside the square, celebrate your uniqueness and the pride of being AND liking exactly who you are right now! Mwah from the mistress of madness, your very own...

Weekend Grateful - The Best

From this (3 weeks of age 1998),

to this:

I love you my son, and on your 13th birthday I am truly grateful for your presence in my life and the lessons you have taught me and everyone who crosses your path on this journey.

Thank you Maxabella, for reminding us we need to stop and give thanks.



FYBF - Reserved...

I had something light and fluffy planned, amongst the regular mentioning of Auction for Lori. I had some trivial, funny post in the back of my mind. Then I read Lori's latest and all the meaningless drivel vanished. How could I post anything inane when this brave, incredible woman is baring her soul in her darkest moments, helping rip the covers from the hidden, secret, tragic depths of mental illness and depression, and even more confronting, throwing out the taboo of mentioning suicide.


And so it is a very different post I will be adding to FYBF.

Many know I lost my sister, the flame-haired hellion, to asthma at age 19. What you do not know is we nearly lost her at 15. My sister was always a passionate creature, fiery rages one minute, heartbreaking tears the next. She loved quickly and deeply, and her series of serious boyfriends started at 13.

One such boy I still consider the love of her life. He was a nice boy, lived with his grandmother, was polite and friendly and open. Calm and confident, a perfect foil for FHH. Good looking too, and rode a motorbike. They had been going steady for nearly two years when his best mate was killed in a motorbike accident. It was an emotional, grief-filled, raw time for this young man, and to be honest, the trivial hystrionics from the red head became too much. I think if this tragedy had not occurred, they would have grown up and matured together, and still be in a relationship.

But it did. And my sister was heartbroken. Six months later she had tentatively accepted it was over and had begun dating again. She was seeing another boy, a bad boy this time. He seemed to thrive on and provoke the dramatic arguments. Then one day my sister and I were home, Grumblebum was up in his shed, Wise Woman was out. I was 12. My sister shut me out of her room, a normal occurance. The phone rang, and as she did not re-appear to answer it as she usually would, I did. The new boy. He asked for her. I went, knocked on her door, slowly opened it quietly calling her name. She lay sleeping on her bed.

I went back to the phone and told him she was sleeping. He insisted I wake her, "oh great" I thought.

The images still run like a slow motion picture through my mind. I put the receiver down once more. Go to her door, open it calling louder. No answer. I figured she is playing possum just to annoy me. Move to side of bed, shake her. Nothing. Screw this for a game, I give her a shove then pull open one eyelid.

And scream as her eye rolls back into her head. I run back to the phone crying "I can't wake her, I can't wake her."

"Get your PARENTS now!" I hang up.

I run out the back door screaming for Dad. He comes down and within minutes we have the ambulance and doctors trying to rouse her, checking her vitals. Thank God for living next door to a private hospital, thank God for the ambulance station round the corner.

She remained in a coma for many days, as we scoured the house to find the pills of death she had overdosed on. All because of a boy. Not the new one, no. The old one. He had a new girlfriend we later found out.

After being hospitalised for nearly two weeks she came home.

Attempted suicide. The scars burn deep. Especially for those around the victim. That is why what Lori is doing is important. Spreading awareness by sharing her pain. As we all should, for it is the unspoken that can kill. Looking back the signs were there. Feint, but there. Hindsight is 20/20 vision, and if it were not for the timing of one phone call I would have lost my sister that day.

I had four and a half more years with her; important, precious time for our whole family.

 

Please, please talk to people if you are feeling desperate. I know it is not easy, but death is final and the pain can never be healed.

 

This is my FYBF - God bless you Lori for removing the veil.

You Just Never Know...

Whose watching.

And reading. Found out today another Mum at our school is a fellow blogger. Remember my dilemma way back when I recognised someone from our school as a blogger I read? And then of course the infamous Bollywood night when bragging talking about roller derby and the name I craved, and a just met lovely lady turned to me aghast and says "Oh MY GOD! You're MADMOTHER?!"

Well today I have had another little kick up the butt of small worldliness in the shape of the sister of a friend, with an *ahem* power christian name, sidle up to me and mention she twigged as to who I was, and that we had conversed on a parenting website many moons ago... All because brainiac put her newly approved derby name in the middle of her real names on facebook. Yeah, dead giveaway, I know. But hey, it is cool to put a face to a name you have known even if you had no idea that you knew them, lol. Clear as mud, right?

Lucky I don't put stuff on here that I won't own. Oh, and "Hello". I'm your newest stalker follower on your blog now!

Happy Australia Day! Oi Oi Oi...

I was going to delve into the greeting card poet recesses of my mind today, but after sitting on Google I discovered I could not say it better than Manjit Boparai:

So many times the chant of "Aussie, Aussie, Aussie, oi oi oi" has been used to stir up the fires of racial disharmony, so it is wonderful to see this unique take on the chant. Wish I could have found a You Tube version to link, but it appears all have been removed. And apologies on the quality but it is the best I can do.

On a lighter note however, what do you think of these? Still true or obsolete in our amazing mish-mash of multiculturalism of today's Australia?

He looks like an ex of mine in my stupid stage of development.


And:

I just want to know where they found the drawing of moi in my 1970/80's heyday! I even owned the faux fur topped uggies...

Please leave a comment if you can. I am feeling very alone in here nowadays and echoes just don't keep you company in blog reality.

Memoir Monday - The Ring

Here we are for another Memoir Monday on a Tuesday, yada, yada, yankee time difference, blah, blah, blah... oh, and Trav. I WAS here last week, where were you? Hmmmm? Bit hard having a Memoir Monday without the host, ya know.

Now, a little back I referred to my heartbreak over losing my ring. In that story I mentioned the importance of this engagement ring, not only for all it symbolises between Big Boy and I, but also because of the role Wise Woman played in the whole fiasco situation.

And so today my Memoir Monday is, as it says in the title of this post...

THE Ring.

I am sure I have mentioned my performance before, probably in one of those 10 things about yourself posts in the early days. Forgive me if I am repeating something you have already read.

We are going back, back through the years, back to the beginning of the Madmother & Big Boy clan. My wonderful soul mate has just proposed in a reasonably romantic manner, well romantic for the boy he was. Loving and knowing me well, he chose not to design THE RING prior to this proposition, choosing to avoid a madmother meltdown if her control freak ways were not catered to cater to his beloved's little endearing quirks of nature.

Now I will let you know I adore vintage and antique rings. In fact at that point I already owned three, left to me by my wonderful Yee-ha Grandma. So I knew pretty much the design I wanted. I even had an old Angus and Coote catalogue from the 1920's, again left to me by my beloved Grandma, from which I picked a design, or rather a blend of several of the designs within the pages. We went diamond shopping (yes, one of those brokers who specialise in stones alone and would only let you past the armed guards and the security locks if you knew the secret squirrel password and hush-hush handshake), and we went jeweller shopping. Now the first jeweller was situated in the glorious Strand Arcade.

Gorgeous, isn't it. Wise Woman tagged along as she was on holidays staying with us. And because I asked her (a woman of far more elegance and discerning taste than I will ever be). Off we toddle, meet up with Big Boy in his lunch break (looking mighty fine as a boy in a suit, I might add). Discussed design, showed them the various elements from the catalogue I wanted, received quote. Let's just say back then it would have served perfectly as the deposit on your first house. Holy crap! In their defence a lot of the cost was in re-creating the old moulds used to create such fine work on those rings. Well, that's what they told us anyway.

At this point I could quickly see my perfect ring fast becoming an unattainable dream, but we decided to go out to a more suburban shopping centre for another quote, just in case it was feasible.

Big Boy had to work (to earnt the $$$$ to pay for his delicate little petal's obsession desire), so Wise Woman and I went on a preliminary reconnaissance all by our lonesomes out to Eastgardens. Now, do remember back in them days it was not the massive centre it is today. Noooo. It was actually quite small by today's standards. There was a jeweller I had dealt with previously, and I was sure they could help. Off we trot, anticipation building as we ride the escalator up to the top where they were located.

To find them shut. A Jewish holiday apparently. No, I'm not Jewish and had no bloody idea they were. And so, Madmother threw a tanty. A pretty embarrassingly loud, large one according to my mum.

Now, Wise Woman had been dealing with Madmother for thirty-two years by this point. She may have been slender and elegant, but she was also a tough lady underneath that gentile exterior. Quick as a flash she grabbed my arm in a vicelike grip, hissed in my ear to grow up and stop behaving like a five year old, and she had spotted another jeweller at the bottom of the escalator. By this time I am in martyr mode and sniff disdainfully "Well, I am sure THEY will have nothing suitable for ME." But I have no choice in the matter as she maintains her hold and drags me back down to the store.

Well, you guessed it. Not only was the man a master designer and jeweller, he had been apprenticed to his father and still had his Dad's ORIGINAL MOULDS. Voila! One glorious brilliant cut diamond solitaire ring, designed exactly along my heart's desires, and at HALF the price quoted by the city centre lot. And so this ring became a symbol of more than the love between a man and woman, it represented the love, tolerance and none of that behaviour from you young lady relationship of a mother with her daughter. 

As per usual my wonderful Wise Woman was right. You'd a thunk after having her as my mum for the previous three plus decades I'd of learnt to shut up and listen, huh?

This is my Memoir Monday. Love you Mum, wish you were here.



Auction for Lori  is about to start tomorrow. Pop on over to facebook to see the goodies, place a bid, and support this gorgeous woman in her time of need.

I had a whole other post a comin'...

But after a wonderful, therapeutic, soul cleansing day I just think I'll pop this in:



Life is good, new people on the horizon of friendship, darkness dispensed. And finally  the truth is breaking through the bulldust. No more to be said other than karma is a wonderful thing.

Still chuckling away here about some of the stories... Wow, I am so much more cleverer than I ever knew.

Uncontactable. And Sunday Sessions.

The bane of a parent's life.

The night before school goes back frantic book covering. The bubbles and wrinkles and unintentionable covering of oneself. I am certain there must be a condition called contactitis: fear of failure in performance of covering treasured childrens' school books. Symptons: air bubbles, wrinkles, hair or dust under final product, small cuts in plastic to free air, inability to free hands from adhesive covers, constant cursing under breath. Excessive perspiration at times.

I think it was invented by teachers for revenge. I know it must have been created in the first place by a man, for what woman would ever design such a user-unfriendly product as contact?

Aargh...

 

Time for a Sunday Session methinks. Pop on over to Thea's for the blurb.

Here's my oldie:

Huey Lewis - Stuck on You

And my newie:

Hey boys. You must know how much ya mumma loves you after this. Contact. Arrgh. Oh the pain.

Things I am Grateful For: A Constant Hum of Life in the Madmother House.

No, not that busy little undertone of real life we all have buzzing around in the background of our everyday. Noooo, I have my own personal, constant, rarely stopping mumbling hummer. Boy 1. But it is friggin' GREAT!

He has his own humming monologue that goes something like: "Hmmm hm hm hmmm. Hmmm, hmm, hm. hmmmmm, hmmm." Guess what? It is because his incredible mind NEVER stops. NEVER. And he knows the constant chatter can drain others, so he has his own little chat within his closed lips.


Am I grateful for it? Hell YEAH!



The one the first speech specialist who saw him at only 3 and a half years of age told us he would never socialise or have friends or even be able to converse?


The kid the so-called educational specialist morons told me had an intellectual impairment and could never learn at 6 years of age?

The one who now is doing incredibly well at school, and amazes most with his incredible mind?

God, he is amazing. I love the hum in my life. Asperger Syndrome - not disability, differing abilities...

Ouch. The "Oh Hell" Reminder.

Oh hell - I am SO unfit! I have put on a lot of weight since chewing my way through my grief avoidance. Around 6 or 7 kilos to be exact. I had gained some eating takeaway on constant hospital duty, but solidified my butt extension after losing Wise Woman. It is easy to eat comfort food when the world is grey.

Look at those tuckshop lady arms!

But last night I returned to derby. Last night I got my wheels back on - for the first time since July last year.

Last night I realised how incredibly unfit I now am. I was unfit before, but with the extra weight in the heat - holy crap! But I am back. And determined to put my all into it this time. Training two nights a week, and the family is going to walk early each morning before school.

I will be fit and fabulous before you know it. Cause let's face it - I've always been dangerous!

Officially now - as per two evils international derby name website:






Oh, and this will be my only derby update here. Will be reviving my official derby blog from now on:
Madmother: Hellion on Wheels. Come on over and follow the journey if you want. And in case you are wondering - even after over 6 months and at the heaviest I have ever been... I can still skate like hell!

I am Not Asleep...

I wish I was. I have had a little wine (just a couple of glasses with Big Boy), and I have watched TV. But I am wide awake. I need to sleep, we have both Boy 1 and 2 friends coming over tomorrow, and then I am going to derby training in the evening. I NEED sleep.

I know why I am awake. The fear and heartache is beginning to break through the ice encasing my grief. And I am scared. Because if the ice cracks and the grief is freed, I am broken. For she is so much of who I am. Was. I want her to be proud, but I just wish someone would let me cry on their shoulder, let me release this insistant pressure of pain. I wish someone could see I am broken. I want someone to see the shattered soul inside my outer shell. I want to feel safe to fall apart, if only for a bit. And the only one who ever saw that, and felt it, and let me be weak, was her. I want my mum. Please. Just for a little while.

Laugh at me if you must -  I just hope you do not ever feel like this because it fucking hurts. Sorry Mum, I know you hate that sort of language. I just can't be strong tonight. I miss you so much.

Greeting Card Poetry and Other Drivel.

For those unfamiliar with me on here, or even irl, I am a bit of a puerile poem profligate. I call them my greeting card poems - you know, the sort of rhyming drivel that briefly charms then sours like eating a large packet of jelly belly beans in one sitting?

I also have been know to dissect a good song and mutilate transform it into my own little ditty. Prime examples are my Blog This Challenge winning rewrite of a Midnight Oil classic (yes, I did just sit and do spirit fingers dancing in the instrumental bit); and also my rehash of Hey Soul Sister by Train for a friend. The second was bloody difficult I might add. won't be doing THAT in a hurry again, let me tell you.

But it is my little poems of fun that tend to burst forth at the strangest times. Like the comp over at WoogsWorld atm. Don't get me wrong - the comment ditty I entered is all pretty damn accurate, it just is rhymingly accurate. Bit tragic I guess. Oh, and the rude versions of Christmas songs me and kids have made up. Those I best not post, or your view of me as a delicate little petal may be forever tainted. Really.

And of course I cannot leave out my fundraising efforts, and school projects.

Things like the magnet hand cut out with a marble on the thumb:

Happy Mother’s Day Mum,

I thought I’d lend a hand

Cause I know you are so busy

And always in demand.

On it is a marble

For you to have to put away

I KNOW you lose your marbles

As you tell me everyday.

So next time I annoy you,

And make you tear your hair

Just look upon the fridge Mum,

And your marble will be there!

Or the door hanger, again with marble:

Please Do Not Disturb

Do not dare to enter here

Cause inside is a madwoman

Known to you as “Mother Dear”

Today has not been good to me

I’m losing the whole plot

You know I love you dearly

But some space would mean a lot

I think I’m losing all my marbles

Nothing is very clear

But when you feel I’ve lost them all

You can show me this one here!

Oh, and lastly - my interpretation of the Jar of Nothing:

When I asked you what you wanted,

For Father’s Day this year

I know I heard growled: “Nothing!”

It was so very clear.

I’m sure I heard you right,

When at last you made reply,

Did you not say nothing

As I looked you in the eye?

Now, I searched all sorts of places

High and low and here and there

Until I found the perfect gift

(It is all full of air.)

So next time when I ask you

Sincerely what you need

Recall this Jar of Nothing

And answer properly please.

See, I should be writing for a greeting card company! Now, go to Woogsworld and have a go at winning her JVC camera giveaway.

Memoir Monday and Other Crapola in this Screwed Up World

Today I was intending to post the details *cough* story of my engagement ring melodrama, and the role Wise Woman played. It was to be my Memoir Monday that I normally post on a Tuesday because Trav is a yank and his Memoir Monday is launched on Aussie Tuesdays. Sometimes. As in when he feels like doing one.

Then I realised the date. January 17th - the birth day of my father, Grumblebum. How could I not do a Memoir Monday dedicated to him on his birthday? Now I just need to dig into those dark recesses of my cobweb filled mind to find one I have yet to share here...

Ah yes... How to Dump a Boy without ever Uttering a Word

I mentioned in another post on Grumblebum how tall and *ahem* large he was in life. (Yeah, go back, look at the one linked in his name back up a bit). What I did not mention was that he suffered from a slight hearing loss. Which made his already loud voice LOUDER. BOOMING in fact. Sort of like those really ear-bursting announcements you hear over the microphone in some stores. The ones that make you need a change of underpants.

Now, for all my brashness I have an affliction which made it difficult for me to tell the boys of my youth when I lost interest. Yep, Madmother has... a soft heart. I just could not make myself dump someone, it was just too crushing to frail teenage male egos. So, I utilised my secret weapon.

Grumblebum. How, you may ask? No, I didn't tell porkies and have him go out seeking vengeance for his daughter's reputation. I just, ah, made use of circumstances. And my Dad's loud voice, short fuse and lack of tolerance. My Dad spent most evenings after work at the Bowling Club. Great Aussie tradition, the Bowling Club. Leave work, head to the club for a couple of hours, unwind away from nagging family, come home ooh, around 7ish for tea. With a *cough* few schooners under his belt.

Sooooooo, when young Madmother needed to dump discourage a paramour, it would run like this...

I'd avoid said boy over a period of around a week or so. Have Wise Woman field phone calls (easier in the days before mobiles), keep away from usual hang outs, run in other direction if visual contact made. Until said boy, out of sheer frustration, would turn up on doorstep. Frantically run around turn off all lights. Hide in house until, unbenownst to boy, Grumblebum shambles up driveway and in back door. To dark house. "What the blazes is going on here?" usually first words as he trips then finds kitchen light. At light and sign of life, said boy frantically pounds on front door, holds finger on really annoying *ding-ding-dingaling-ding* doorbell and yells out my name. Sorta like Brando in Streetcar, but instead of STELLA he calls MADMOTHER...

At this point Grumblebum storms to front, yanks door open, and with bright red face, standing 6ft 2", weighing over 20 stone, booms out "What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" top of his considerable lungs. Cue rapidly shrinking teenage boy stuttering, stumbling, mumbling, slowly backing away from enraged father, muttering... "I am here to see Madmother, is she here?"
"No! And don't bother coming back."

They never did. Bad, Madmother, bad.

Happy Birthday, Dad. And they wonder where I get it from, lol.

Party hard in heaven Lulu. Yes, after the tragic loss of Lucy's sister Amy only a week or so ago, the family now has to cope with the sudden death of our own dear Lulu, under very similar, heart-breaking circumstances to her sister. You will never be forgotten, dear girl. xx

The world is a truly grey place at the moment.

Sunday Sessions - Old Friends

This is a blog hop with Thea. Read her rules and link up on her blog.

I have had a wonderful weekend. Yesterday was spent with some old friends from my Uni days, and their children who I last saw as babies. The great thing was the instant rapport that leapt into being between my Boy 1 and their Boy 1, my Boy 2 and their Boy 2. Laughter rang from our table at both ends, young and old. A friendship hopefully to last as ours has, over miles, years and differing paths.

To celebrate I give you this one:



See the big bloke who features in this? Yep, that's one of my dear friends who was here. And yes, he is absolutely lovely. One of the most endearing people I have ever had the chance to meet. Then again, he is married to one of the most gorgeous women on this planet (who I happpened to go to Uni with many moons ago). Yes, I haz famous friends!

And then today some other friends from my childhood (who we only saw a week ago on our hols, but loved seeing them here again) unexpectedly came to visit. They rang last night whilst the others were here and we leapt at the chance to have them come up. Another day of laughter, fun, frivolity and friendship. Great weekend.

This one is for them - an old favourite.




You are a balm to my wounded soul - all of you. Loved it, really loved it!