Totally Blatant, Completely Unsponsored Promotional Post - The Little Village.

I have a friend. Well, I have a lot of friends, but this is a very old friend. Okay, maybe the old won't be appreciated... a very *ahem* long-term friend.

She has started a business in the Sydney suburb of Chipping Norton. Now, she has no idea I am posting this, and in fact the only thing she has asked of me since she opened her doors is to *like* her facebook page for the business.

Little Village : A fabulous store in the heart of Chipping Norton, Fabulous Flowers, Gourmet Food, Picnic Hampers and Gorgeous Gifts.. No artificial Flowers, Foil Balloons or Fluffy Bunnies to be found here.. It's a gorgeous Little Village.

BUT, all the little bits and pieces that make it onto my facebook page have me drooling with hunger, dribbling with desire, or just plain out peeved that I live in another state and cannot get in to drown my senses in whatever the most recent experience on offer is!

The latest is this:

I LOVE relish! And the temptation is so great with this promo that I have looked at affairs and obligations, and all sorts of crazy schemes to fly in. Of course, the temptation to shock the pants off my friend by strolling in unannounced enters into it somewhat... but I. JUST. CANNOT. SWING. IT.

Shop 7 /94 Childs Rd, Chipping Norton NSW 2170

So if you are in Sydney, pop on in. And don't forget to tell the owner (Libby), that Madmother put you onto this. 

Hours of Trade: Mon - Fri: 10:00 - 18:00

Sat: 09:00 - 12:00

She'll either laugh, or get a bit creeped out if the numbers overwhelm her. Let's go for the latter. I owe her one!

Now I'm just going to make you lot drool too...

Note: All photos copyright The Little Village - I stole them

from her Facebook page!

Now I better go 'fess up to her. Hoping sense of humour still intact now she is big business woman entrepreneurial type.

Just in case it is not... I do have OTHER photos from many moons ago, Lib. But I played nice and didn't include those.

Oh, and

*SURPRISE!*

Disclaimer: this is a totally unsolicited post. I have not been paid, nor offered any gratuitous reward, in fact I have not been to the store (as yet), and the owner may well slap me one when I do get there.

Your Funeral of Choice - Eden's Fresh Horses Hop

Death. The final frontier... Sorry. should be more respectful and serious, shouldn't I?





Death. Something I have personally seen too much of not to be allowed some gallows humour.

~It is often said that before you die your life passes before your eyes. It is in fact true. It's called living. ~(Terry Pratchett)~

Death. Whether you believe it is the end or merely another journey, it is hard to think about and deal with when you are the one left behind. I do not fear death, I fear leaving this life and those I love. I worry it may happen too soon, and my children will be left without their mother.

But that is not what this link is about. The question asked by Eden is:
 "Tell Me Your Funeral Song."

If my mother were alive my choice would be different, for I truly believe that funerals are for the living not the dead. It may be a celebration of someone's life, but it is for those attending and the memories they shared and need to be reminded of.

When we buried Wise Woman, the funeral director asked me if I wanted music played as the coffin was lowered into the grave.

I have mentioned this before, I am sure. For a moment there, a song flashed through my mind. The song my mother and I danced to like drunken marionettes around her lounge room. A song that was playing on the radio as I drove into her home only a few weeks before she became ill, a couple of months before we lost her. A song for which I cranked the car radio up full blare and rolled down all the windows. Her neighbours thought I was nuts, but she was laughing as I came in the door. A song of great joy, and wonderful memories full of laughter.

A song that my delicate, refined, gentile mother with her hidden, warped, ironic humour would have appreciated... fleetingly. (Appearances, MM, you are still my daughter and we must keep up the standards of decorum...)

Can you imagine the solemn faces changing, my elderly relatives gasp of horror, the minister's look of disbelief if belting out of the cd player, as her coffin slowly lowered was... wait for it...


"Working in a coal mine, going down down. Workin in a coal mine, whoops I mighta slipped now..." ?????


But, again, this is not about that, but my choices.
 
I want the biggest party. I want them to play "Back in Black" as the people walk in. I want them to play "Don't Worry, Be Happy" as my coffin is taken out.
 
I want there to be a big mothafucka screen on the wall where my pre-recorded message can be played.
 
And my first words...
 
 

 
 
"BOO! Well, that scared ya, didn't it?"
 
I want memories and joy, and laughter and tears...
 
and I want my boys to go: "That's our Mum... she was always a Madmother"
 
 
And I hope they are old, and I am older and have done all I need to keep them whole.
 
That is all.
 

So Apt.

A lovely friend of mine e-mailed this to me today. Very, very appropriate considering the last week and last post. I am still at the point where praying for them might be stretching it a bit, but letting such people stew in their own shit is closer. And I certainly won't be digging them out of their own garbage when the rot sets in.

No, I haven't missed the point, 90% of the time I would feel like below, it is just that last 10% I need to work on...

One day I hopped in a taxi and we took off for the airport.We were driving in the right lane when suddenly a black car jumped out of a parking space right in front of us. My taxi driver slammed on his brakes, skidded, and missed the other car by just inches! The driver of the other car whipped his head around and started yelling at us.


My taxi driver just smiled and waved at the guy. And I mean, he was really friendly.


So I asked, 'Why did you just do that? This guy almost ruined your car and sent us to the hospital!' This is when my taxi driver taught me what I now call,
 

'The Law of the Garbage Truck.'

He explained that many people are like garbage trucks. They run around full of garbage, full of frustration, full of anger, and full of disappointment. As their garbage piles up, they need a place to dump it and sometimes they'll dump it on you. Don't take it personally.

Just smile, wave, wish them well, and move on. Don't take their garbage and spread it to other people at work, at home, or on the streets.


The bottom line is that successful people do not let garbage trucks take over their day.


Life's too short to wake up in the morning with regrets.

So ... Love the people who treat you right.
Pray for the ones who don't.
Life is ten percent what you make it and ninety percent how you take it!

Have a garbage-free day!

The Last Post

On this topic anyway.

I keep thinking it is over. Done.

I keep thinking she has finally moved on.

And then, the ugly head is raised again.

Yesterday I had to have a talk with someone. Yesterday I had to once more explain I had not said something she had blamed me for. Yesterday I had to attempt to right a wrong and warn an innocent party to shield themselves from the poison.

Once upon a time I would have shuffled past, head bowed, unable to look the other in the eye. At the worst of the bullshit, when it was still only me, I would have kept my mouth shut, locked in my own bizarre world where my word was my code and I vowed not to stoop to her level.

But this time, instead of being angry and feeling persecuted, I am merely disgusted.Now I see silence is not being honourable, it is not letting others to make an informed decision. So I am silent no more. When (as I was three days ago), I am told of her attacks and lies I now seek out the person the poison has been poured out to, and tell my side. I have given up any hope of her admitting her words and actions, and in a twisted way, count my blessings her mouth blabbed so much, and that she spoke those horrific words to so many. For now it is not my word against hers, it is mine and J's and M's and Big Boy's (which surprisingly, I only discovered yesterday that she had said this particular nasty jibe in person to...) and many others.

It is sad that this continues, it is really nasty that others are still being fed this absolute garbage. And it has reached the point where action has to be taken. Some suggest mediation, but my issue with this is she would refuse to attend. My husband wants us to take the legal path, as people are willing to make statements, support us, tell the truth of what has been said to them. It is slander, plain and simple. And we can prove the fiduciary cost.

I honestly have not decided where to from here. Is it merely making a very sick woman's life intolerable? Will it make her stop, for she is not sensible or logical or even, in my opinion, very smart. To continue this behaviour for 2 & 1/2 years... that is not the act of an intelligent woman. Especially when her actions have now cost her so very many friends. All due to her own actions. And will continue to do so, for it is a very obvious pattern.

BFF's
New person introduced.
New person moved to BFF status.
Turn on old BFF.
Attack.

This lady I had to speak to was the first one I witnessed this cycle with, I was the new BFF. This genteel, softly spoken woman was wooed back AFTER everything fell apart for the nasty one. When so many had walked away as the scales fell from their eyes. When the liar looked around and saw so few. She is far more forgiving than I, or maybe just unaware of how toxic the words  bandied about were. Words aimed at her family, not just herself.

After I walked away from our discussion, I knew there was so much more I could have told her, and probably much I was not clear on. I worried that I didn't explain myself enough, that I hadn't clarified things I should have.

And then I realised, I had told her my truth, I had given her my version of the words I was accused of, and could do no more. And if she chose to risk herself and her family by maintaining the relationship, then that was not my business. Her battle, is not my battle. And I had done all I could by being honest and speaking to her as soon as I was aware of the lies.

Now is the time to let it be, for I have said my piece. Until the next shard of poison pierces another...

Hyperventilation - The New Coping Mechanism

Yes, I have been off the radar AGAIN.

Yes, I know this poor blog languishes untouched.

But I have rather a lot on my plate right now.

We have until January 31st to be completely out of our shop. That means packing stock, files, fitout and anything else not nailed down and moving it into our storage shed on our property. Which is an hour from our shop.

I am listing madly on eBay only to have some idiot buy one of the expensive display cabinets (one of five) but not win any others thus "he doesn't want it" and becomes abusive when it becomes an issue for me.

And tomorrow... tomorrow... is Boy 1's first day of High School.

Hard for any child. Especially hard for a child on the spectrum.

We feel it is the right choice. A small private school (capped at 225) which caters to the individual, encourages success socially and academically, sets the bar higher but not out of reach.

BUT... it is a totally new environment.

"I am nervous" he tells us.

"I am excited" he tells others.

The truth is somewhere in between.

I am hoping that he is okay, that he is just nervous, not on the verge of meltdowns or terrified. It is so hard to gauge the degree to which this nervousness will affect him. It is so easy for him to lose his grip on his emotions with such a major change.

We have done all we can to facilitate this move, have prepared as much as possible - both him and the school.

His two best friends are not here, they both are going to the public school. This is part of what worries me. How will they see him? Will they get past the differences and see the wonderful person he is? Or will he be alone, no-one to talk too?

He pulls into himself when he is scared, will anyone try to bring him back out?

And to top it off, the one child who has continually mocked and bullied my son is going to be at this school, but I can only hope the school is onto it (which they tell me they are, for of 4 boys attending 3 mothers have been in to request this child NOT be in the same class... says it all really). To be honest, I hope this new start turns this boy around. If it does not then I have been assured he will be gone, removed from this school community. But what damage he could do in the meantime...

But now I must concentrate on my child, not what ifs.

And try to pretend I am not terrified and on the verge of meltdown.

"What ARE You Doing" Autism Awareness Film

This is an e-mail I received today:

Autism Awareness Australia is proud to announce a special premiere screening of our short documentary film, “What are you doing?”, at Parliament House in Canberra on Tuesday 28th February 2012.
The evening will be hosted by television personality and narrator of the film Tom Gleisner, and is sponsored by the Parliamentary Secretary for Disabilities and Carers, Senator the Hon. Jan McLucas.



We have invited all of Australia’s sitting MP’s and Senators to the screening in the Parliament House Theatrette - this is where we need your help!

All of Australia’s Federal Politicians will be in Canberra that evening and we want to encourage as many of them to attend as possible. We are asking the autism community, families and supporters across the nation to contact their own local member and urge them to come along to this important and educational film.
So it is time to ‘get your members out!’ for an opportunity to educate them more about autism and how if affects families across Australia.
Here's how you can help!
Contact your local member and Senator. You can find their contact details below

Find your local member

Find your Senator

Send them an email, call, fax or write a letter requesting they attend our special premiere. Share your personal experiences with them and urge them to take the time to learn more about ASD and the impact it has on our nation.
Let us know the action you've taken and the response you receive!
Help Autism Awareness Australia and ‘get your members out!’ to our special film premiere at Parliament House, Canberra. Check out our Facebook page for the latest updates and RSVP's!
Thanks for your support!
The Team at Autism Awareness Australia

Please, take, share, contact YOUR politicians.

Here is my plea to the representatives of our electorate... (And yes, I have linked to you, I just hope you take the time to read a little).

I have a son. A glorious, tall, handsome, strapping son. A son about to turn fourteen. My oldest son (the first of two). If you met him you would be impressed by his warmth, knowledge, friendliness and his quirky intelligence. If you met him it would not take long to realise he is a little different. My son has Autism Spectrum Disorder, in his case, Asperger Syndrome (AS).
If you are interested, THIS will tell you more, though it is a little long. It was written in the dark depths, when things were so hard, and the future uncertain.

Boy 1 2003

The young man of today is very different to the child of yesterday, he reads Deepak Chopra, dreams of being a motivational speaker, mentors younger children on the spectrum. He has written a children's book for those with Asperger Syndrome because (in his words in a letter to a publisher):

I want the reader to feel how I feel about Asperger Syndrome, that it is just a new kind of normal and people with it are just as important as everyone else. Difference is a good thing in my perspective.

Boy 1 December 2011

He likes himself, is confident in his own skin. But without help and intervention his story could... would have been so very different.

Please, if you possibly can, attend the screening of "What are You Doing" at Parliament House on Tuesday 28th of Feb. It may give you an idea of the world that is ours. And with knowledge and support, then the possibilities are endless.

Sincerely

Uberkate - How You Warm My Heart.

I wear a gorgeous pendant around my neck, the silver pendant swinging to and fro across my chest.

People comment all the time, reach forth, grab, feel, gasp at the weight and the beauty of it.

They read the inscription - one word - Madmother. And every time they ask me about it I tell them, this is my link to one of my cyber friends. This beautiful piece was a gift from the universe made possible by my wonderful friend Kristin, otherwise known as Wanderlust.

And each time I place this around my neck, I think of her and send her a telepathic message across the miles... "How are ya doin' today, my friend?"

I don't know if she hears it, but I hope in her heart she feels another someone added to the list of people who send good thoughts.

Thanks again K, I love it and wear it often... and always think of you when I do.

This is my weekend grateful - the last at Maxabella, another who warms this icy, stone heart of

Huge Can of Worms...

Would you?

If you were diagnosed with cancer?

Would you opt for traditional treatment?

Chemo?

Radiation?

Because I don't know that I would.

I have seen too much pain.

Watched the total loss of quality of life.

And then...


Watched them die anyway.

I think I would choose to have the time left be of some quality, not to endure incredible pain and suffering so much earlier. Not to be in a morphine fog for the remainder of my life. Not to be removed from my family by a haze of vicious poisons that remove your very essence leaving a hollow shell.

For this is what I have seen, this is what those I loved lived and then died. This is what I feel. Me. My personal choice.

You?

Time for a Turn Around!

Gah, I have let the emotions of the last month overrun this blog. No more!

Time for some "awwwwwwwwwh" posts.

My oldest son graduated Grade 7 last year. Yes, here in the sunny state of Oz we hold a little graduation from Primary (middle) school. It was a glorious venue, and a wonderful night.

But more than anything, my eyes shone and my heart burst with pride at my tall, relaxed, happy, articulate son.

Who would have thought that anxious little boy would grow into such a fantastic young man? Okay, okay... we did, but not many others had the vision to see past the influences of the spectrum into his mind and heart.

They even did a dance. And he had a little solo bit on the end. Nervous, hell yes... oh, him? Well, yes, dance is not his forte'. But he pulled it off well.

And now we head to High School, with all the challenges and changes that will bring. Let's hope it is as big a success as these formative years have been!

But seriously... take that you naysayers!

Life Wasn't Meant to be Easy!

So much going on, so many emotions floating around this world.

Grief, conflict, bitterness, bittersweet memories, stress. Mania!

Fingers in too many pies still - madly organising multiple businesses.

I don't like being a grown up.

I don't like having to think of so much.

My head hurts, and not from anything good.

*Sigh*. I thought 2012 was meant to be better?

Hello Reality!

Trying to slowly nudge my way back into the blogosphere.

According to my stats over 100 individuals are still visiting over a 24 hour period. Do me a favour... please leave a comment, even if it is only a "Oh, hai."

I need the shove to get back on board this blogging wagon.

Happy New Year - Welcome 2012... Are you the last?

Yeah, Happy New Year, yadda, yadda... No really, I do mean it, and yes, I know I am a day late. But let's face it, my blogging has become terribly intermittent nowadays. I just don't feel the constant craving to write as I once did.

The funeral was beautiful, poignant, painful and terribly sad. Watching a four year old and an eight (she turned nine the day after the funeral) year old bury their Mum is just not right. Watching Lisa's mum bury her daughter is just not right.

Lisa 1991

Hearing the wonderful eulogies and seeing the hundreds (yes hundreds) of people that loved her was uplifting... and just not right.

I hear her voice in my head. It is as if I keep rethinking recent conversations then I will not forget what she sounded like.

I certainly was NOT in the mood for the celebrations of New Year's Eve... but as it was at our home I really had no choice in the matter. Fifteen adults and nineteen kids... plus us.

I arrived home late Friday, awoke at 3am Saturday, was exhausted by 6pm... when everybody was due to arrive!

Thought I'd be in bed well before midnight, leaving the revellers in the capable hands of Big Boy.

1/1/12 - 4.30am sunrise over the mountain.

I was the last man standing at 5am. Sober? Yes, but not for lack of trying (thank you Pip for that glorious concoction). And certainly by 3am the solo sober stayer. Everyone else was beyond merry, and we had a group decide at 4am to make use of our couches for the night. Wise decision. And lovely to wake up to the smiling (and groaning) faces of friends on the first day of the year.

Where are the photos? Well, it was such a fantastic night NO-ONE thought to take the time from the partying to take any! A rare occasion, believe me, for this group are the happiest snappers of all. It just goes to show how wonderful a night it was.

So, Happy 2012 one and all. Do you think the Mayan's are right - or even that it has been interpreted the right way? Is this the last NYE we will see?

Well, if it is the last it was a good one! How 'bout yours?

Muse Wars - The Memories.

Lori @ RRSAHM has taken me back in time to a happier world. A group of us joined together in creative writing challenges. Muse Wars. The before, as she aptly calls it. Before I lost Wise Woman, before her own personal tragedy with the loss of Tony, before the pain of the recent.

The early, 2010, first run days were far more successful than my later attempts to revive the group. And nowadays, the Write on Wednesday group has superseded our small, intimate bunch of compatriots.

But, here, on a day where distractions call me away from the pain of the now, I give you Muse Wars:

2010:
Challenge 1: Walking Away
Challenge 2: Look Not In My Eyes For Fear
Challenge 3: Seasons of Love
Challenge 4: The Things We Do For Love
Challenge 5: Storm in a B Cup
Challenge 6: The Sunset
Challenge 7: Beam Me Up Scotty
2011:
Challenge 1: Eyes of a Gypsy, Soul of a Wife
 
Miscellaneous: Many Coloured Love (not completed)
 
So, if you are up for some light, short story reading and relaxation - go for it.
 
I miss Muse Wars, *sigh*. I miss a lot of things, especially the people who are gone.
 

How Do You Say Goodbye?

 My mobile rang this morning. Not that early, but still earlyish for Boxing Day. Undecided whether to answer it I glanced at the name and pushed the answer button with a "Helloooo gorgeous!"

I expected it to be my friend of twenty-three years, instead it was her husband. "I'm sorry mate, I have some bad news. She's gone."

She's gone.

My friend, my mate, my loyal, wonderful, kind, generous, loving friend. Gone.

Now I need to sit and write once more for her. Not the speech for her wedding, not the one for her first divorce. The one for her funeral. The last of 1001 nights tales is going to be one of truth and love. I am going to bring her into our hearts, not that she ever left. And I will try not to cry. For her. I will laugh and rejoice in her life, and keep my sadness far away.

Lisa 1996

Because there will be two little girls sitting in that church, watching, trusting, hurting. Needing to see and feel their Mum through my words.

I love you Lise, I will miss you every day of my life.

Hornet's Nest - Or How Nuffnang Stuffed Up Big Time

I am a tiny little fish in a very big pond of Aussie bloggers. This year, my voice has been even smaller as I struggle to post in this busy world.

But over at Digital Parents a large hornet's nest is opening up and spilling forth multiple Mummy bloggers buzzing with ire, as some of our most proficient and well known big fish bloggers are leaping vocally out of the Australian territorial pool.
"Why?" I hear you ask.

Well you see in the blogosphere there is a large commercial presence that goes under the name Nuffnang. You see their banner on many a blog, and also the multiple ads that go hand in hand with said banner. I am not a commercial blogger, but that is a whole other post.

Now Nuffnang run annual awards. Many of the more well known bloggers are nominated in lots of various categories. The most influential blogger being one of the biggies.

And, in my opinion, they stuffed it. They chose a blog I decline to link, for I will not be responsible for boosting traffic to such a site. I find this person blatantly offensive, racist and sick in her rants. I will not term them posts for, from what I have seen, they do not deserve to be categorised as such. I would not even compare her writing to the scribblings of a child, they lack any style and the content is... well, vomit-worthy.

If this is what they consider the best of the Asia Pacific region then I must admit I am proud to not be affiliated with Nuffnang.

Oh, and the best bit? They chose to blatantly ignore their own TERMS AND CONDITIONS by choosing this blog as the winner! Commercial whoring at its finest!

Thank you DP for revealing this travesty.

Boy, am I grateful to be a little fish at this point!

My Weekend Ungrateful...

Do you remember the days when you were young and you were the last one sitting, waiting to be picked? Be it sport, or debating, fun or competition, how many of you can still recall that horrific hard, solid lump of sadness in the pit of your stomach as the last to pick goes "I guess you are on our team then..."

Frday my heart broke a little. Friday I had to let go of a another slice of my preconceptions. Friday I watched my son in that very position at a school excursion.

I am struggling to think of the greatness of this week as those horrible memories flood back over and over again. I need to remember they are MY scars, not his, and hope that times like this are not forming their own deep within my wonderful son.

For whilst his buddies ran around the theme park, having fun, laughing, for the most of it my son remained with me. Forgotten by his peers.

If his best mate C had been there, this would never have happened. But he does not go to this school.

My child's achievements are incredible. His last report card of Grade 7 was flooded with A's in achievement and behaviour, the comments were wonderful, positive, even a little awe flowed through the words.

His book is looking more and more like it WILL be published - he is 13... who manages to get a book published at 13???

He is happy, settled in his own skin, content to be him... because to be him is pretty awesome!

I need to realise that this pain and anger and frustration is my own, born of my emotions and feelings. Hell, I do realise it BUT it is so damn hard not to let it flow onto his situation.

I need to remember my ending... the fact that those kids in primary school who always picked me last were the very ones who clamoured for me to be their first choice in high school as both my athletic and academic abilities soared.

I need to listen to my son, who when asked if he felt left out or lonely replied "Why would I Mum? I love being with you, we laugh so much and have such fun."

My scars, not his. I love you Boy 1, and really am trying to let your generousity of spirit flow into my essence... but whilst it is still slowly permeating I will  hide my tears.

This is my weekend really wish I was grateful.

Sorry.