It's not something i do often but yesterday was a day of going there... of going with grief and sitting in it.
It was about 3 weeks before Pollyanna was born that i recieved the phone call..' your mother's dying, they don't know when but it won't be long'
That day was a day that the world changed forever...
3 weeks to grieve the loss of the woman who had once carried me inside of her, 3 weeks to grieve the loss of those hands that stroked my head and squeezed my fingers, 3 weeks to grieve the loss of one of the most impactive and deep relationship most of us ever have...that with our mothe, before birthing my own daughter and beggining again on a journey that for me had just ended.
Yesterday whilst performing my thrice weekly dugong impersonations in the gym swim pool my grief rose up and as I pushed through the water the loss swept over me.
Its been 3 years since i said goodbye to my mother and in these last few weeks as we prepare to welcome a new life, her absence is ever more profound..
She will never hold my son, never weep with me over his going to big school or laugh with me as he sticks his undies on his head. I will not be able to climb into bed with her as i did with my first born and ask her to hold me and tell me that it will pass, i will sleep again and one day I might actually love this screaming writhing being. Never will i hold her hand and feel those big rings and long nails squeeze into my skin..such was her grip assuring me of my role as a mother.
I moved to the shower cubicle, turned the jets on and wept. My 33 week pregnant body, heaving with loss and for once i didn't make myself stop, i just stood and cried and felt the pain of having had to say Good bye too soon. Many minutes passed, the tears abated and it felt good to have said to Mum ..I miss you, to have said to my son I'm sorry you don't get Noeni Mum in your life and I'm sorry for the fact that mummy finds it so so hard sometimes to cope with that. To have swum through the grief and let it leave in its own time.
So to grief I say thank you for rising up, I will meet you, i will sit with you, i will feel the pain and i shall be thankful that the sun does shine again...that those hands that held mine had a strength that has passed through, that woman who gave me life, taught me much. I know she smiles reassuringly as I hold my head high, comb my hair, pop on some lippy and go out to love and embrace the daughters that are part of her too.
May i teach them to love ferociously, grasp tightly and nuture their babes in the way she did me.
Sunday, July 31, 2011
Sunday, July 24, 2011
What's in a name
A name a name what's in a name .. A rose by any other name would smell so sweet..but do we really think that ? I mean if it was called fart, or slug or hairy goat weed, we might not pay $10 a stem for one.. or would we ?
Naming our third child has taken a series of twists and turns. I'm not one of those people who can just sit about and wait for the kid to come out. As for looking into it's face and just knowing the right name..well the person that thought that one up clearly hasn't had children or had a caesar and then waited about 24 hours for the kid to be cleaned up before gazing upon them in beauteous adoration.
I love my girls and they are indeed small people of exceptional beauty, but WOW were they horrendous when first born. If i'd waited until i set eyes upon my first, she may have ended up with the name Brunhilda or something that meant..'my beauty is on the inside'. She spent three days bashing against my cervix on her way out and looked like it. My second was marginally more attractive, however her spine tingling scream upon entering this world would have left her named as Banshee or after a famous Chinese Opera star as it's clear from the first 10 months of her life that is indeed her true calling.
Brunhilda and Banshee... - You see this, this is why when those two blue lines appear on the wee stick of truth i MUST find the perfect name. That and the fact that I can barely remember my own name after pushing a kid out, let alone be entrusted to get it right in the bleary eyed emotional roller coasteresque moments straight after childbirth.
Having an unusual name is something I'm rather familiar with,I am also familar with school yard taunting over a name that really was rather a large joke. My parents in their infinite wisdom named me Skye Macleod. In Scotland in about 1700 this may have been prounounced Mac LEE ODD but alas I was born in Australia in the 80's and if there's ever been a country that bastardises names it's these fair shores. In my parent's defence the name is steeped in history, my ancestors coming from the Isle of Skye and all that, but whilst one can explain that over the phone to the Indian Call Centre Employee who is chuckling rudely at the 'comedy that is your name' one gets' over it... rather quickly. At Primary school it was either my rapidly growing mammaries or my name that incited teasing.. High School was spectacular.. starting afreash with none of my old cronies, the first day of school was open field for the Skye Cloud joke. 68 girls sniggered in unison when half way through the roll my name was called. Mrs Cornish our roll call teacher was from the far West of the State and spoke as slowly and as okka as you could ever hope for. 'Skoie MacLOUD..oh heh MacLoud. oh heh heh heh and so it was on 5 minutes into my high school career and the geratric librarian from Boggabri was in on the joke that is the name Skye Macleod.
My mother in law remarked to Husband of the Century after having met me for the first time...'Is Skye aware that her name is a joke ? ' ...thank you, thank you very much.. and so it was that after a quick 9 months of life with the Boyfriend of the Century i became a wife (not a mother) and could ditch the joke once and for all.
But I didn't...beacuse it was unique and special and fun and I had grown to love it. It had 'built character in me, I'd survived the taunts, the misspellings, the giggles across a debating hall as my name was read out.I loved that it tied me to my ancestors and that my parents went up yours to all the dickheads that are going to laugh, this name means something and therefore our kids gonna get it. I loved that they didn't sit down 2 days before i popped out and worked out what every one else was calling their kid and played it safe, they went with it.. Scottish Heritage and all that, or hippie love child as others may think.. but if you knew my daddy you'd know how very wrong that assumption is ! Incidentally i was also born with Red hair and so i reckon they figured i was going to get teased for being a Ranga far more than for my name.
I do go by my married name now, I wanted all of our family to have the same name and husband wouldn't agree to double barrelling the children and ourselves, But often I'll write Skye Macleod on a name badge and just wait for the name conversation to begin.
So to my children, really did they have a hope in hell of something normalesque ? It was never going to be a case of sitting down with the baby names book and randomly picking something, that sounded suitable. I googled the top 10 baby names for the past few years and immeadiately struck them off the list. Our little man was to be William for awhile but i simply can't bring myself to name him that, knowing he may share a class with half a dozen other Will's.
Our girls both have names that essays' could be written about. I often jabber on to randoms about the meanin gand impact and journey taken to name both our girls, people's eyes glaze over and smile and remark they named their kid Ben because....they just liked it and well and good for them.
Husband of the Century (HOC) sometimes wishes for a simpler time of it... at 1am, I may have been known to wake him up and demand an opinion on Katherine as a middle name if it's a girl or Guillame instead of William because it's French and that means he will sound swarthy and sophisticated,
'Um they're nice..can we talk later, the baby is not due for months'
'It's important, listen can you google it, find out the meaning and don't you love the way Guillame rolls off the tounge'
'We're not French'
And so the dialogue goes, me providing ever more spectacular names and him disliking every single one.
When we found out our new friend was to be of the male variety, HOC was excited, 50 % completed in the naming process. I on the other hand got serious about William and began to pour over the names again.
I took the rather intelligent step of asking Jimmy our Chinese cleaner for some help, the Chinese are rather clever, their names all seem to mean something wonderful, like cherry blossom or number 8 for the 8th child.. never a chance of naming your kid something like Kenneth which acutally means boggy marsh in Gaelic..
'Jimmy can you tell me the name for strong warrior in Cantonese'
Always obliging Jimmy thought and prounounced 'hiiiio wah'
HOC was hovering nearby and I repeated it to him,, what about it darling 'HIIIO waaah '
'ah miss Skye..no you just said Boggy Marsh...
Cantonese is tonal you must be very careful and on we went in the lesson on Strong Warrior, until after 10 minutes i had labelled my unborn son stale bread loaf, tractor with 1 wheel and Boris Becker but had failed to crack Strong Warrior.
Safter to avoid all names with a tonal aspect...lest i accidently call my child donkey penis or purple pansy instead of soaring eagle or fearless protector.
It's a tricky business this naming. And so it goes on.. the other night i wet my pants thinking of a brilliant joke name. 'Noel' I could say that we named him that as he was conceived at Christmas time but then 'Noel Wells' ... hilarious...HOC rolled over and snorted and covered his head as i chortled 'The First Noel' rather dementedly whilst rolling about in the bed. The boy upon hearing his name, booted me hard enough in the bladder to make me stop..I think when the child it's self shows such disdain..it might be time to stop.
At last count HOC has rejected about 70 names but we have one at last..it's been nice to call our son by his name, to admonish him when he takes a nose dive into my nether regions and to tell him i love him by his own name. I love the name, HOC did not reject it first time around about 2 weeks and 46 midnight waking sessions later he agreed it was the one. We've practiced job interviews with it, we've practiced saying it as a kindergarten kid, we've thought of him as old man booming out his name in the bank queue and it works across the ages. It means something brilliant and speaks over him what i hope will be the journey with this babe and I reckon it's a winner.
Now onto the second name...
'Darling , Darling ..wake up what sayeth you to Amadeus ..it's brilliant, it means ..Darling are you awake, it's very important.
Naming our third child has taken a series of twists and turns. I'm not one of those people who can just sit about and wait for the kid to come out. As for looking into it's face and just knowing the right name..well the person that thought that one up clearly hasn't had children or had a caesar and then waited about 24 hours for the kid to be cleaned up before gazing upon them in beauteous adoration.
I love my girls and they are indeed small people of exceptional beauty, but WOW were they horrendous when first born. If i'd waited until i set eyes upon my first, she may have ended up with the name Brunhilda or something that meant..'my beauty is on the inside'. She spent three days bashing against my cervix on her way out and looked like it. My second was marginally more attractive, however her spine tingling scream upon entering this world would have left her named as Banshee or after a famous Chinese Opera star as it's clear from the first 10 months of her life that is indeed her true calling.
Brunhilda and Banshee... - You see this, this is why when those two blue lines appear on the wee stick of truth i MUST find the perfect name. That and the fact that I can barely remember my own name after pushing a kid out, let alone be entrusted to get it right in the bleary eyed emotional roller coasteresque moments straight after childbirth.
Having an unusual name is something I'm rather familiar with,I am also familar with school yard taunting over a name that really was rather a large joke. My parents in their infinite wisdom named me Skye Macleod. In Scotland in about 1700 this may have been prounounced Mac LEE ODD but alas I was born in Australia in the 80's and if there's ever been a country that bastardises names it's these fair shores. In my parent's defence the name is steeped in history, my ancestors coming from the Isle of Skye and all that, but whilst one can explain that over the phone to the Indian Call Centre Employee who is chuckling rudely at the 'comedy that is your name' one gets' over it... rather quickly. At Primary school it was either my rapidly growing mammaries or my name that incited teasing.. High School was spectacular.. starting afreash with none of my old cronies, the first day of school was open field for the Skye Cloud joke. 68 girls sniggered in unison when half way through the roll my name was called. Mrs Cornish our roll call teacher was from the far West of the State and spoke as slowly and as okka as you could ever hope for. 'Skoie MacLOUD..oh heh MacLoud. oh heh heh heh and so it was on 5 minutes into my high school career and the geratric librarian from Boggabri was in on the joke that is the name Skye Macleod.
My mother in law remarked to Husband of the Century after having met me for the first time...'Is Skye aware that her name is a joke ? ' ...thank you, thank you very much.. and so it was that after a quick 9 months of life with the Boyfriend of the Century i became a wife (not a mother) and could ditch the joke once and for all.
But I didn't...beacuse it was unique and special and fun and I had grown to love it. It had 'built character in me, I'd survived the taunts, the misspellings, the giggles across a debating hall as my name was read out.I loved that it tied me to my ancestors and that my parents went up yours to all the dickheads that are going to laugh, this name means something and therefore our kids gonna get it. I loved that they didn't sit down 2 days before i popped out and worked out what every one else was calling their kid and played it safe, they went with it.. Scottish Heritage and all that, or hippie love child as others may think.. but if you knew my daddy you'd know how very wrong that assumption is ! Incidentally i was also born with Red hair and so i reckon they figured i was going to get teased for being a Ranga far more than for my name.
I do go by my married name now, I wanted all of our family to have the same name and husband wouldn't agree to double barrelling the children and ourselves, But often I'll write Skye Macleod on a name badge and just wait for the name conversation to begin.
So to my children, really did they have a hope in hell of something normalesque ? It was never going to be a case of sitting down with the baby names book and randomly picking something, that sounded suitable. I googled the top 10 baby names for the past few years and immeadiately struck them off the list. Our little man was to be William for awhile but i simply can't bring myself to name him that, knowing he may share a class with half a dozen other Will's.
Our girls both have names that essays' could be written about. I often jabber on to randoms about the meanin gand impact and journey taken to name both our girls, people's eyes glaze over and smile and remark they named their kid Ben because....they just liked it and well and good for them.
Husband of the Century (HOC) sometimes wishes for a simpler time of it... at 1am, I may have been known to wake him up and demand an opinion on Katherine as a middle name if it's a girl or Guillame instead of William because it's French and that means he will sound swarthy and sophisticated,
'Um they're nice..can we talk later, the baby is not due for months'
'It's important, listen can you google it, find out the meaning and don't you love the way Guillame rolls off the tounge'
'We're not French'
And so the dialogue goes, me providing ever more spectacular names and him disliking every single one.
When we found out our new friend was to be of the male variety, HOC was excited, 50 % completed in the naming process. I on the other hand got serious about William and began to pour over the names again.
I took the rather intelligent step of asking Jimmy our Chinese cleaner for some help, the Chinese are rather clever, their names all seem to mean something wonderful, like cherry blossom or number 8 for the 8th child.. never a chance of naming your kid something like Kenneth which acutally means boggy marsh in Gaelic..
'Jimmy can you tell me the name for strong warrior in Cantonese'
Always obliging Jimmy thought and prounounced 'hiiiio wah'
HOC was hovering nearby and I repeated it to him,, what about it darling 'HIIIO waaah '
'ah miss Skye..no you just said Boggy Marsh...
Cantonese is tonal you must be very careful and on we went in the lesson on Strong Warrior, until after 10 minutes i had labelled my unborn son stale bread loaf, tractor with 1 wheel and Boris Becker but had failed to crack Strong Warrior.
Safter to avoid all names with a tonal aspect...lest i accidently call my child donkey penis or purple pansy instead of soaring eagle or fearless protector.
It's a tricky business this naming. And so it goes on.. the other night i wet my pants thinking of a brilliant joke name. 'Noel' I could say that we named him that as he was conceived at Christmas time but then 'Noel Wells' ... hilarious...HOC rolled over and snorted and covered his head as i chortled 'The First Noel' rather dementedly whilst rolling about in the bed. The boy upon hearing his name, booted me hard enough in the bladder to make me stop..I think when the child it's self shows such disdain..it might be time to stop.
At last count HOC has rejected about 70 names but we have one at last..it's been nice to call our son by his name, to admonish him when he takes a nose dive into my nether regions and to tell him i love him by his own name. I love the name, HOC did not reject it first time around about 2 weeks and 46 midnight waking sessions later he agreed it was the one. We've practiced job interviews with it, we've practiced saying it as a kindergarten kid, we've thought of him as old man booming out his name in the bank queue and it works across the ages. It means something brilliant and speaks over him what i hope will be the journey with this babe and I reckon it's a winner.
Now onto the second name...
'Darling , Darling ..wake up what sayeth you to Amadeus ..it's brilliant, it means ..Darling are you awake, it's very important.
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Pregnant How it all Started.
Clearly my last attempt at blogging was a total flop and rather negative and perhaps too suburban.. do we really want to know about Dave the Concretor ? ..Incidentally i saw Dave the Concretor the other day, arms full of small man clothes and loving books for my girls, i still wanted to physically attack him. 'Gigantic pregnant woman attacks decrepid old crook in the back streets of Brookvale...classy.'
So i've managed to get myself pregnant again.. according to those online calculators we conceived our son around Christmas Eve...there was a fair amount of drinking going on being the festive season but sadly i can't blame his conception on the Jacob's Creek..it's more my blase attitude towards birth control. My body reacts to the pill as if i am pregnant, which i don't enjoy even when I am and it physically rejected the IUD. Despite conceiving my first child by 'joyful serendipity' ( politically correct way of saying accident) and my second by deciding to try on the Friday, and getting knocked up on the Saturday... a third- who is now in heaven... by having silly make up sex and throwing caution to the wind... i haved fooled myself into thinking if I maintain the attitude of not wanting another child then clearly my body will comply with that...Condoms be damned, the power of the mind is surely enough to repell the little swimmers.
I might add my husband is one of 5 all 'Serendipitously Conceived' and I am the product of a 42 year old mother who got lucky first try with both my brother and I. Given our family history , you'd think I'd just run away from the machine sperminator at every turn.. but alas here I sit, in purple size 18 tracksuit pants and an XL mans' jacket.. with a small person just practicing his scrum technique in my pelvis.
It's taken a while to come around to my little man coming...Castration had been booked for the Man of the Century and we were on our way.. 2011 was the year of no nappies, holidays were bearable, children could communicate their basic needs and desires and cried only for very valid reasons, such as a pinch from a sister or a hideous mother making them 'GET IN THE BATH' and they were in PRE- SCHOOL. I had one day... 6 hours to myself where if i so chose i could lunch with friends and eat my whole sandwich...or clean out the 345 water glasses from the girls bedroom and find floor under the ballet dress infestation that results from two small females sharing a space.
My neice had come to stay over Christmas, she is devine, one of the rare babes that doesn't cry all the time and just seems to sit and smile, but my ovaries were not stirred, there was not a cluck to be heard. I loved her but she was still far far too much work, she had to be fed, or she would cry... quite unable to open the drawer and grab a packet of popcorn this was understandable but.. still. You had to hold her in the bath... we are at that nice age where I can yell their names and they answer and I know nobody has drowned. I marvelled at her relaxed nature and shuddered at the memory of my two now very civilised toddlers who were anything but relaxed small babies.
Our Neice went home on Boxing Day and we firmly decided that NO more small babies would grace the threshold of 67 ever again..
Besides..I was quite thin...
I had spent 2010 reinventing myself, cut the hair, lost 9 kilos, bought black high topped gymboots with studs on them and wore red lipstick EVERY DAY. I went to the gym and sort of enjoyed it and very much enjoyed not being a depressed blob in old KMart Maternity tops which had lost their elasticity in the last days of Pollyanna's gestation but i still wore because well..who could be bothered. I had even re- entered the paid workforce.. for about 10 casual days a pathetically small sum of money would be deposited into our account and I HAD CONTRIBUTED and therefore could entirely justify new black high top studded gymboots. I was 30 and fabulous..i had gotten over my hideous shock of being a mother at 26 which i regarded a moderate step up from teenage pregnancy and adored our princess filled days with two brilliant offspring, who despite their penchant for rising at 5am were actually very nice human beings and enjoyable company most of the time.
Imagine the shock then a fortnight after precious neice had left our shores, and we had moved upstairs to our 'parent's retreat' that i had a wonderful mental conversation with myself, 'my boobs are sore' my boobs are only ever sore when i am pregnant... but i can't be pregnant because i don't want to be and we are careful... well sort of .. could i be ? Well no because I don't want to be and I am thin and we are upstairs in our lovely parents retreat and I DON'T WANT TO BE...but my boobs are VERY SORE.....a rummage through the medicine drawer and a quick wee later and .. and ..and... well that's the September Gold Coast Holiday canned for 2011.
Nervous giggles, oh ..oh bugger. oh well it's okay. oh it's quite nice isn't it ? Another little one.. Oh .shit i can't stand newborn land.... and then mindless mental rambling for several hours until husband of the century comes home and upon sighting the Wee stick of truth is far more interested in when we would reschedule the Goldy Holiday than the fact that WE WERE HAVING A CHILD which would have to come on the Gold Coast Holiday for ever.
But that was 30 odd weeks ago...we're fine now........
So i've managed to get myself pregnant again.. according to those online calculators we conceived our son around Christmas Eve...there was a fair amount of drinking going on being the festive season but sadly i can't blame his conception on the Jacob's Creek..it's more my blase attitude towards birth control. My body reacts to the pill as if i am pregnant, which i don't enjoy even when I am and it physically rejected the IUD. Despite conceiving my first child by 'joyful serendipity' ( politically correct way of saying accident) and my second by deciding to try on the Friday, and getting knocked up on the Saturday... a third- who is now in heaven... by having silly make up sex and throwing caution to the wind... i haved fooled myself into thinking if I maintain the attitude of not wanting another child then clearly my body will comply with that...Condoms be damned, the power of the mind is surely enough to repell the little swimmers.
I might add my husband is one of 5 all 'Serendipitously Conceived' and I am the product of a 42 year old mother who got lucky first try with both my brother and I. Given our family history , you'd think I'd just run away from the machine sperminator at every turn.. but alas here I sit, in purple size 18 tracksuit pants and an XL mans' jacket.. with a small person just practicing his scrum technique in my pelvis.
It's taken a while to come around to my little man coming...Castration had been booked for the Man of the Century and we were on our way.. 2011 was the year of no nappies, holidays were bearable, children could communicate their basic needs and desires and cried only for very valid reasons, such as a pinch from a sister or a hideous mother making them 'GET IN THE BATH' and they were in PRE- SCHOOL. I had one day... 6 hours to myself where if i so chose i could lunch with friends and eat my whole sandwich...or clean out the 345 water glasses from the girls bedroom and find floor under the ballet dress infestation that results from two small females sharing a space.
My neice had come to stay over Christmas, she is devine, one of the rare babes that doesn't cry all the time and just seems to sit and smile, but my ovaries were not stirred, there was not a cluck to be heard. I loved her but she was still far far too much work, she had to be fed, or she would cry... quite unable to open the drawer and grab a packet of popcorn this was understandable but.. still. You had to hold her in the bath... we are at that nice age where I can yell their names and they answer and I know nobody has drowned. I marvelled at her relaxed nature and shuddered at the memory of my two now very civilised toddlers who were anything but relaxed small babies.
Our Neice went home on Boxing Day and we firmly decided that NO more small babies would grace the threshold of 67 ever again..
Besides..I was quite thin...
I had spent 2010 reinventing myself, cut the hair, lost 9 kilos, bought black high topped gymboots with studs on them and wore red lipstick EVERY DAY. I went to the gym and sort of enjoyed it and very much enjoyed not being a depressed blob in old KMart Maternity tops which had lost their elasticity in the last days of Pollyanna's gestation but i still wore because well..who could be bothered. I had even re- entered the paid workforce.. for about 10 casual days a pathetically small sum of money would be deposited into our account and I HAD CONTRIBUTED and therefore could entirely justify new black high top studded gymboots. I was 30 and fabulous..i had gotten over my hideous shock of being a mother at 26 which i regarded a moderate step up from teenage pregnancy and adored our princess filled days with two brilliant offspring, who despite their penchant for rising at 5am were actually very nice human beings and enjoyable company most of the time.
Imagine the shock then a fortnight after precious neice had left our shores, and we had moved upstairs to our 'parent's retreat' that i had a wonderful mental conversation with myself, 'my boobs are sore' my boobs are only ever sore when i am pregnant... but i can't be pregnant because i don't want to be and we are careful... well sort of .. could i be ? Well no because I don't want to be and I am thin and we are upstairs in our lovely parents retreat and I DON'T WANT TO BE...but my boobs are VERY SORE.....a rummage through the medicine drawer and a quick wee later and .. and ..and... well that's the September Gold Coast Holiday canned for 2011.
Nervous giggles, oh ..oh bugger. oh well it's okay. oh it's quite nice isn't it ? Another little one.. Oh .shit i can't stand newborn land.... and then mindless mental rambling for several hours until husband of the century comes home and upon sighting the Wee stick of truth is far more interested in when we would reschedule the Goldy Holiday than the fact that WE WERE HAVING A CHILD which would have to come on the Gold Coast Holiday for ever.
But that was 30 odd weeks ago...we're fine now........
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Dave the Concretor
So dave has sent a letter. I'm bankrupt. Well thanks a lot, as if we needed the ten grand anyway.
All the positive thinking has not allowed me to feel joy towards Dave. If anything i want to rip his head off. But instead i am writing menacing letters and will or perhaps will not send them. Dave the Concretor. You are a bastard.
Merry Christmas to me
Thursday, November 19, 2009
To Move or Not to Move...that is the question and it's really all about DAVE.
Welcome to the life an times of a Suburban princess.
Today i wanted out of suburbia, well at least this house in this part of suburbia. You see I live on a hill, a large noisy angry agressive hill. Yesterday when sitting here trying to find what other useless thing i could buy on ebay i heard a large bang.
Wandering outside I was met with the sickening sight of two cars intimate in a way that cars should not be.
The ambulances arrived and my driveway was blocked for several hours by emergency services. The neighbours bantered and we all commented on our hatred for this road. I wandered back inside and rang the Husbie.
" I want to move now "
thoughts of my children in that car came rushing through my mind. How how is it worth having a large house when the price you pay is russian roulette everytime you drive out the drive way.
I wandered around this house, carefully sidestepping the trail of toys from one end to the other.
Would it be better somewhere smaller.
A tiny box in a quiet cul de sac, yes , a place where i would have to keep control of the mess or drown in the overwhelming sea of toys.
Husband came home and i burst into tears.
"I hate this road"
" I hate that this house is half done"
"I hate the concretors"
And therein lies the crux of the problem.
Dave the Concretor........ started out all right and now has left us, no contact numbers and with several thousand dollars of our money.
Do we feel sick ? Yes
Do we feel stupid ? Yes
Do we get reminded of our foolishness everytime we walk out our door ? Yes
The problems really aren't with the house and the road has always been there. What i want is for Dave the Concretor to come. We have rung Dave to the point of stalking. Dave has come and made promises and promptly broken them the next day.
Dave pisses me off.
The fathers ringing or passing comment "When's it going to be finished"
wghhhhhhhh Dave where are you ?
I thought i was sad, however the whole outdoor being taken for a ride thing seems to be far more impactive for a man than this little Suburban Princess.
James' whole masculinity has been called into question.
"Was I ever taught how to handle this stuff?" he cried into the computer as Dave's ABN proved to be a fake.
He apologises profusely as he tries again in vain to ring Dave the Concretor.
James is fearful that i will lose respect for him.
Did i want to marry Mr Perfect ?
Well yes.........
Do I wish that i could just click and husband could do all that is required to administratively run a house ?
Well Yes.....
BUT
Do i want the man that can cross the T's and Dot the I's at the expense of the man who loves me extravagently, who is spontaneous, who puts up with the fact that our house looks like Chernobyl on most days.
Absolutely not....
And so we wait for Dave the concretor
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