The Tale of the Little Black (& White) Dress

Once upon a time in the land of Queens there was a bodacious babe named Madmother. Now this bodacious babe was also a curvaceously booby babe, an aging Botticelli-style babe who was fully in touch with the reality of her bod.

This BB was turning the mixed-emotional milestone of the half ton... yes FIFTY! And as she had some dire knee-dom issues, had decided to hold an intimate gathering of those she adored to celebrate. After much sighing and sniffling she managed to cull her list of those nearest and dearest from 140 to 50 or so (earning the ire of many in the process), sent the invitations on steel chargers, and prepared to beautify her bodacious bod as much as her curvy, curtailed, current-state-getting-bloody-old figure would allow.

Now Madmother had a favourite shopping area. One that was realistic of price, splendid in choice, and realistic in the interpretation of real women. Or so she thought. Off she and Big Boy trotted the week before the BIG EVENT, all hyped up in anticipation and with great hopes.

They huffed and they puffed up to the first shop. Snooped and scooped, tugged and tried. The one dress sorta kinda what Madmother was looking for sorta kinda would not do up properly. Mind you, she did manage to snaffle a second version of her favourite maxi-dress in said shop, but her sadness and no obvious candidates for hot-damn dress of the year translated over to the lovely saleswoman. Said sales assistant piped up "What about our sister shop across the way there? They have more designer labels and the sort of thing you seem to seek!"

So with a giggle and a grin, Madmother and her trusty companion trotted over to the other retail outlet.

Now, I need to bring in some details here.

The dress she had tried and failed with was a sorta fitted designer dress in an Aussie size 16. By Joseph Ribkoff.

The dress she had bought the second one of was an Aussie size 14 - but a casual loose style. See where I'm going with this?


Madmother drooled at the gloriousness of the designer delicious designs. Grabbed one here, grabbed one there, grabbed many, many everywhere! Size 14, size 16, even a size 18!

And cried to see how NOTHING fitted. The size 16 would (again) not go near those bodacious boobs - a 10 cm gap at top of zip testified to that. The size 18 fitted over breasts, and swam over rest of body in a very good whale-like impersonation. The size 14 (and on the sale rack), did up, slid sensuously over hips, bum and tum, and then did a pastie like impression over front of chest, barely covering up nipples.

Madmother was devastated. She had dresses she COULD wear, but nothing that matched the image in her head of how seriously hot she needed to be to convince her nearest and dearest that broken knees and turning the half ton did not lesson her Madmotherishness, not her chutzpah!

She stamped her little foot (well, little compared to her bodacious bod) and turned her eye back to the sales rack near the door.

Where a little black and white dress by, you guessed it, Joseph Ribkoff hung tauntingly. Now, we know the size 16 was a hell NO over that bust in a size 16 at the beginning of this saga, and to make matters worse, this dress a sensuously swaying in the sea breeze was marked SIZE 10-12! Now, we know things can  be misleading in the sizing in today's world, but SAME DESIGNER? A minimum of TWO if not THREE SIZES SMALLER? You can guess the reaction of the snooty saleswoman (Oh sweetie, you'll rip the seams and be liable to pay for it) and the feeling-very-under-pressure-and-in-the-line-of-fire Big Boy (Don't worry, let's look elsewhere, we will find something...) to the request to try it on!

Now, this was the first dress in other shop Madmother tried on:

Lovely, isn't it?


This is the one she tried in the smaller size:

Ah, the great sizing dilemma... but who could have dreamt of such a difference?

Size does not matter? Pfft - size does matter when you are trying to buy clothes... And they wonder why I won't shop over the internet?

What about you? Do you have similar sizing scenarios?

 

Weekend Grateful: Special Occasions and Bling!

Yadda, yadda, it is time for Weekend Grateful!

Melbourne Cup lunch 2011 - Madmother & Big Boy

WHAT a WEEK! Tuesday Melbourne Cup. Thursday my birthday. Manic weekend coming up and my head is exploding from looking at children's illustrator sites!

Whose bloody thirteen year old writes a kid's book and needs an illustrator anyway? Hmm? Okay, so mine does. Crap.

Bloody kids.

Bloody amazing kids.

But back to the topic at hand... This week, as mentioned, was my birthday. And Melbourne Cup. Not on the same day, but as we are on the home run to the shop closing we could only have one day together and I chose to celebrate on the Tuesday as it was close enough.

Beauty & The Beasts

Thirteen of us trooped off to a local restaurant. Three course meal, fashion show, prizes of which our group won many, lots of laughter and fun and just an all round wonderful time!

Two gorgeous girls - and they are as LOUD as me!

It was the BEST Melbourne Cup day I have ever had the privilege to enjoy!

Recognise the hot one in the middle?

And then on my BIRTHDAY I was very spoilt (even though we had to work). We had a family dinner at a wonderful local restaurant - though the one we intended to go to was closed, and of course Big Boy, keeping to his record, had NOT rung to check. We were just lucky the other choice was not closed too!

This weekend we are off to another friend's 40th (actually have two on the same night), and as our babysitter fell through last minute, I am also very grateful to good friends who are having my boys for sleepovers!

Oh, and the bling bit?

You like?

So, I am very grateful for the fun and celebrations, friends and family. And I must also thank those who made this possible - the two who sought to make my life bad and yet have made it so much better than ever! Karma is a bitch, eh? Very grateful for Karma...

Weekend Grateful? Hell yeah!

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.



The Big Event.

The countdown has begun. It is two weeks and two days until my firstborn baby becomes a teenager. How did this happen so fast? And how do I stop it? I don't wanna have a big boy, I wanna have my baby stay little! *Sob*.

But the dilemma this year is what to do for his big day. Thirteen. Man, that sounds grown up. Thirteen. And you'll never guess what this quirky, amazing, wonderful young man has asked for this year. Remember, he is a product of a derbying, slightly off center, definitely out there Madmother and a very geeky, sci-fi fan, honours degree in physics, maths and computer science Big Boy: in other words he was bound to be unique.

Any thoughts? I'll give you a hint. He bought The Crystal Bible at age five (no - we were not alternative people at all), sleeps with his four amethysts and two fluorite crystals under his pillow each night, recent reading includes Astral Travel for Beginners, The Autism Prophecies and The Psychic Bible...

No it is not World Peace. He asked for that from Santa a few years back. Nor is it a cure for cancer, he is going to work on that after he completes his studies, he tells me.

The time machine theory has fallen by the wayside for now (could have something to do with his mother's blank looks when he starts on about the time-space continuum, and wrinkles in something or other).

Any thoughts? Give up?

Anyone know where I can track down a decent aura camera? Nope? Me either, but that's what I am on the hunt for. Gotta love him. A boy of science who is as alternative as you can be. What a combination!

I love you baby, to infinity and beyond.

Today the Angels Cry - Happy Birthday Tookie...

Happy 7th Birthday T'Keyah!

Not because they are sad, oh no. They are celebrating the heavenly birthday of the glorious T'Keyah, one of the brightest angels in their midst. No, today the angels cry for the veil of sadness that enshrouds Tookie's family. It is okay for the angels, they have the joy of being with her, but for her parents and siblings, whilst they feel the warmth of her love showering down upon them, well, it is just not the same as having the warmth of her little body to hold, her smile to light up their days, or her wonderful laughter to bring happiness into their lives.

And so the angels cry, and yearn to comfort T's family. They long to say: "It is okay, she is happy, healthy and free of sadness and pain. She watches over you and still lives deep within your heart and mind, and wants you all to know she is still with you."

But they know right now they will not be heard, that tears and pain stop T's family from being able to hear the tiny angelic whispers of comfort. So today, they too cry. They weep for the grief they witness, for the agony they watch from above. And they wait for the day their tiny voices will be heard, when they will allow one small voice to join them to tell the family:

"Wub you to the moon and back..."

You are sorely missed Miss T.

It's My Birthday and I'll Cry If I want To.

The year of firsts has begun. The first Halloween on Sunday, when small my children only ever trick or treated Nanna. As they grew older she was always first on their ever growing doorknock list.

And today. Today is the first of my birthdays without my mother. Today I woke with tears on my cheeks. Today I want to hide under the covers and pretend it is not happening. I want to stop the world from spinning. I want my mum. And I cannot change any of it, for we all know there is no stopping the year of firsts no matter how much we wish it to be otherwise.

I think W.H. Auden summed it up best in his second version of

Funeral Blues: Stop All The Clocks.

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,

Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,

Silence the pianos and with muffled drum

Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

 

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead

Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,

Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,

Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,

My working week and my Sunday rest,

My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;

I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;

Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;

Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.

For nothing now can ever come to any good.

A motherless

A Reminder of What True Friendship Is All About...

Some time ago (in January), I posted about the very special friendship my oldest shares with his best mate of nearly a decade. It was in response to a writers' workshop challenge, and the brief was as follows:

1. Write something to say thank you to someone who has made a difference to your life...

(yes, this is a link to the post)

 

This weekend has once again reminded me of how truly blessed we are to be witnesses to this amazing relationship.

It was Boy 2's eleventh birthday last Friday. In keeping with our usual standards it was bigger than Ben Hur. Well, actually it was smaller than other years, and I had requested it to be lower key but somewhere my interpretation and Boy 2's became very different. Roll around last Friday afternoon, six extra boys invade arrive at our home for Nerf Wars. You may well ask, "What, pray tell, are Nerf Wars?" Nerf Wars are the result of my Machiavellian younger child devising a strategy game with two opposing teams, red and blue, four boys on each. A nerf gun is presented as their party gift on arrival (love toy sales - these cost less than the usual offering of lollies, stickers and novelties), as is a t-shirt in the team colour. Two massive timber bases have been constructed on our almost 3 acres of heaven, masses of foam bullets bought, turret and large guns in place at each base, Boy 2 designed logo with team name installed on each courtesy of laminated print outs (gotta love publisher); rules outlined, all systems go, go, go!

At least that was the theory until the rain Gods decided Friday was to be cold, damp and dangerously slippery...

This meant we had seven boys running screaming, yelling and shooting INSIDE, and one boy having trouble with sensory overload. Boy 1 pushed himself well outside his comfort zone, joining in the last minute training and target practice set up by Big Boy, but struggled to keep his demons under control in the bedlam. His best mate stayed by his side, running interference when necessary, helping Boy 1 to enjoy the games instead of merely coping with the games. It was a sleep over, and with the promise of a clear Saturday all were happy in the knowledge that morning would bring the true game. However, chaos ruled the night.

Boy 1's mate C is a popular kid. All others wanted to be near him, clamoured for him to join them in their late night mayhem. But C is a child of loyalty and strength. He does not bow to peer pressure or demands. He knows his friend well, and realised Boy 1 needed quiet time. So whilst six boys sat in one room loudly interacting whilst watching Clash of the Titans, C and his friend sat in the other, watching The Spiderwick Chronicles. When six manic boys bunked down in the spare room, C and his best mate withdrew to Boy 1's bedroom to read, talk and get some sleep. C politely declined the loud catcalls for him, he rebuffed the physical attempts to drag him into the other area, and told them in no uncertain terms he was staying put. With his mate.

Thanks to his actions, it was a very relaxed Boy 1 joining in the revelry the next morning. Eight boys running, shooting foam bullets, yelling, weaving, ducking, screaming. You would have been hard pressed to pick the one with autism. But you wouldn't have had trouble picking the two best mates. They stood, back to back defeating all unrelenting attacks. Just as they always have.

Nerf Wars rule!

Happy 51st - Wish You Were Here...

I attempted to write this yesterday, but the blog Gods decided it was not to be. Between computer troubles, internet connection woes and my own personal dilemmas it just was not happening.

The 10th of April 2010. It would have been your fifty-first birthday, instead you are eternally nineteen and a half. Happy Birthday my sister. Gone but never forgotten.

                    1963

1964

1966

1973

1976

1978 - the year we lost her.

Happy Birthday. I would give anything to see your smile and hear you laugh one more time.

Life is fleeting, never take it for granted. Love those around you and find joy in the little things.

How They Grow...

He is twelve. As of last week, he is twelve. My first born, child of my soul, my Aspie son, is no longer a little boy, he is a young man. I watch, dazzled by his beautiful heart and incredible mind; I sit and listen, inspired by his other worldy imagination, moved by his compassion. I laugh out loud, huge deep gurgles from deep in my belly, as he unleashes his wit and profoundly dry sense of humour at the most unexpected times. My son, my child, my love, my lifeblood. My boy.

His is an old soul, it became obvious to all within weeks of his birth. The gorgeous amber eyes seemed to bore deep past the outer image into the very core of your soul.

Boy 1 six weeks of age

And as he has grown so too his ability to put thoughts into words blossomed.

Boy 1 - 15 months

His forthright honesty has affected the most toughened of characters. At karate the then six year old walked up to his instructor at the completion of a class. He laid the palm of his hand gently on her heart, gazed intensely into her eyes and told her "You have one of the most beautiful souls, you are so beautiful on the inside you make my heart happy..." This slightly plump, average in appearance, outwardly stern woman was reduced to tears. She turned to us, all rather gobsmacked by his words, tracks running down her cheeks, barely able to speak. She managed to dazedly stammer out "I have never had such a heartfelt, touching compliment. Your son is an amazing young man" before walking away, wiping the wetness from her face.

 Boy 1 aged 5 years old

I pray he keeps this purity, this honesty and the wonderful ability to see even the deepest, most truly buried goodness in people. I know he still has it now, on the cusp of teenagerhood.

My son, no longer a child, standing poised on the threshold of becoming a young man. One day I am going to tell his story, shout it to the world, write his tale for all to behold. It will not be a story of miraculous cures, of crystals and dogs, of horses and travels. It will be the story of a little boy with a strong heart, and the ability to inspire all who cross his path. The journey of a boy overcoming a dark prognosis, fighting his personal battles with the courage of a warrior, wanting only to become the best he can be.

I love you son, to quote our favourite story:

"I love you forever,

I like you for always,

As long as I'm living my baby you'll be."

Robert Munsch 2003 Love You Forever