….and hello to Shereen Paige. I am transferring my blog to a new one in my name, so all old posts are now there, and I will now update that blog instead of this one. So to catch up on the exciting life and times of *moi*, visit me at my new blog- www.shereenpaige.wordpress.com.
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I am having a massive crisis of confidence. We all know I am due to start uni this week. The reason we all know this is because I have been shouting it from the rooftops (and blogs…and forums…and facebook…), that I am going to uni, and I am going to be great! I have announced to the world that I am making this big step, this massive life change, strutting my stuff with my chest puffed out, acting like I am ALL THAT.
But now I have cold feet, and I am scared.
There is a new little voice competing with the usual voices in my head, saying ‘What have you done? You can’t go to uni! You will need to study, to work hard… you don’t have the time! You don’t have the talent! What were you thinking??’
I don’t know what I was thinking. OK, I like to write stuff. I even think sometimes that I am a bit good at it. But writing stuff on a blog read by loving but biased friends and family is a bit different to putting my stuff ‘out there’ to be critiqued by strangers. What if it turns out that I really am not all that good after all?
Not to mention that I am not used to writing on command. Currently I sit at the computer, listen to the voices in my head and write it down, then take all the credit. Yes, it sounds crazy, but it is true. I do not make words happen, I just listen to whatever it is that is swirling around in my mind and put it onto paper. But I do not think my lecturers are going to want to know the random things I think about. But will I be able to write about stuff that really matters?
My instincts are telling me to run, RUN, put an end to this nonsense! But I don’t want to let nerves, self doubt and an intense fear of public speaking rule my life.
So on Friday, 8am, I will be sitting in that lecture theatre, heart pounding, probably with a stomach ache, possibly feeling light headed and slightly nauseous… but I *will* be there. Because unless I take this scary step all I will ever do is dream.
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This is a fiction story based around real events- there was a holiday, there was a hippy campervan, there was a slightly harrassed but loving mother… the rest is elaborated, exaggerated and/or downright fabricated!
I reckon I have worn a trench between the campervan and the ablution block today. Back, forth, back, forth….back, forth. Three kids with different toileting body clocks certainly has ensured I don’t get a very restful holiday break, that’s for sure. This time, however it is a laundry trip. Who knew that I would have to do washing whilst on holiday?
As I load the big, boxy caravan park washing machine with our clothes I pause to reflect on how this break is not really what I had anticipated. Isn’t getting away supposed to be relaxing, cleansing, good for the soul? Instead it really is business as usual- cooking for the family on a stovetop a quarter of the size I am used to, referee-ing various spats and squabbles, bathing, toileting and otherwise attending to my family’s needs.
But it is for the kids. These are their memories, the defining moments of childhood that will now be carried into three very different futures. I remember with great fondness days such as these with my parents, when I was a child, and they are my favourite memories, especially now my mum is gone. It never occurred to me the work involved in delivering these cherished memories.
Sighing, I wipe my brow and attempt to smooth the lines beginning to etch their way into my forehead. I prepare to walk my trench trail again, back to the campervan, the squabbles, the family holiday. I feel the weight of motherhood on my shoulders, wonder why the tug of love at my heart means I have to give away so much of myself. So much.
My trench trail leads me once again past a quirky little campervan that has caught my eye each time I have trudged by. It is painted with bright, hippy designs, and I am intrigued by the couple who seem to be living inside. They appear to be in their mid thirties, and they appear so…free. Although I look down at my feet each time I walk by, I have noticed that the woman is comfortable in her skin. Her hair is loose, she wears no bra, no shoes- she oozes femininity. Sometimes she dances, rather badly, to a song playing on the radio, and I admire her ability to really live, be in her skin, in the moment.
This time she and her partner are playing Trivial Pursuit by the campfire. They are laughing raucously and I remember a time where I used to laugh like that. What happened, where have those raucous belly laughs gone? It’s is like they have dissolved somewhere. As I approach their camp they appear to finish their game, and they settle by the fire, beers in hand, when they catch my eye just as I quickly look away.
“HEY!”
I pause, surprised when I realise the woman is calling out to me. Slowly I turn, thinking I must have dropped something, but remember I left my washing basket back at the laundry, wasn’t actually carrying
anything.
“Wanna beer?”
I open my mouth to explain that I can’t, I don’t drink thank you, that I really am in a hurry, I am a mother, you know…. but found myself walking toward their campfire, sitting down and accepting the cold bottle. I realised I was sitting stiffly, bolt upright, and I had to force myself to sink into the chair, emulating the relaxed style of the woman next to me.
I took a swig of the beer, a vile bitter taste that I have never liked and stared into the flames, in silent contemplation of what it is like to just BE. No-one asked my name, nor did I offer. I kicked off my shoes and scrunched my toes into the grass and drank my beer, reflecting on how unlike me it is to be this spontaneous. How irresponsible! But for that moment I allowed myself not to care. A brief moment in time for me. That is all, nothing more, nothing less.
In that moment I actually noticed the rugged beauty of our coastal surroundings, heard the laughter of my kids in the distance as they kick a ball with the kids they just met at the campsite near ours, saw my beloved husband watching on, laughing as they play and tustle. Future memories happening right now, as I sit still and watch.
I had thought I was selfish in wanting a moment to myself this holiday in order to find joy, but joy was always there…I just hadn’t sat still long enough to notice. I almost want to laugh at the simplicity of it all. I catch the eye of the woman by the campfire, and smile in gratitude for inviting me to just sit. Something so simple, yet so pivotal. I am not sure she understands, but it doesn’t matter. For once I don’t feel that I need to explain.
I finished my beer, savouring the bitter tang and stood up to go, hugging that moment to my chest like a cherished secret, a reminder that there exists a facet in time that is mine and mine alone. Resuming my walk along my trench trail, I return to the nurturing folds of my family feeling refreshed and more importantly loved, not only by them but also by me.
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Yes it is true. After over a year of wanting this wondrous machine I have relented, splurged, TREATED MYSELF to a Thermomix.
My Thermomix aka Thermie is changing my life. It (I almost want to say ‘he’- Thermie is like a new member of the family) is a revelation, a sensation, a GASTRONOMIC PREPARATION CELEBRATION. Each morning I wake and wonder with excitement what I can make in Thermie first.
I must admit though our relationship did not start off well. After an intense week of waiting for delivery, finally the day came and I picked up my new gadget with excitement. I unpacked the boxes like I was five years old and opening a present from Santa- with barely contained joy and anticipation. There Thermie was, all shiny and new, and I couldn’t wait to take it for a spin.
I threw in all the ingredients for a chocolate custard, pressed a few buttons and WHAMMO! The most amazing chocolate custard in minutes! I felt like Willy Wonka, with a you beaut machine producing splenderous chocolate treats with the press of a button. When the machine started beeping uncontrollably I whistled for an Oompa Loompa to come and attend to the malfunction, when slamming back to reality I realised I was not in fact Willy Wonka, but someone with a brand new, very expensive machine that appeared to be broken.
Awesome Hubby began huffing and puffing and after an intense discussion we eventually came to the conclusion that Thermie was defective prior to my touching it, not as a result of me touching it. Much to my relief. So the next day Thermie was rushed in for an Emergency Repair, and that day marked the start of a truly beautiful relationship between Thermie and me.
Tomorrow is the one week anniversary of Thermie joining our family, and in that time I have whipped up butter, strawberry jam, breadcrumbs (from my homemade bread), biscuits (including grinding the almonds), banana cake, orange muffins, meatballs (incuding mincing the meat), soups, tuna pasta, beef curry, scones (from the buttermilk that came from making my butter), custard (vanilla and chocolate), pizza rolls, ciabatta style rolls, olive foccaccia, three loaves of bread, grated parmesan, playdough, pulverised sugar and nuts for baking…. I am in Wholefoods Heaven and we are all going to get fat!
The other day I was dropping my daughter off to school and the teacher came over with an expression somewhere between total bafflement and complete awe. She almost seemed a little tongue tied in my presence. She dropped her eyes and said “Shereen, yesterday I saw what was in Cupcake’s lunchbox, and I have to ask you… are you Super Mum?”
I controlled my simultaneous mirth and pride enough to ask nonchalantly “Oh what DO you mean?” Totally fishing for compliments, of course. She said to me “That custard, that pizza roll…. I need to know…. how did you do it? So professional! All home made! I cannot believe it!”
I briefly considered perpetuating the illusion that I really am some sort of Super Mother effortlessly producing a plethora of wholesome meals and treats, but decided to bend her ear for fifteen minutes on the joy and excitement of my beloved Thermie.
*sigh*
I love my Thermomix!
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Nothing drives me more bananas than when, not long after a meal, my kids whine with at me, “Muuuummm, I’m staaaaaarrrrving!”
Straight away, in righteous indignation, I respond with “You are NOT starving! You don’t even know what it feels like to be hungry! I will take you to a third world country one day…. THEN you will know what it means to be starving!” I have even been know to launch into a diatribe about how lucky they are to have access to services and infrastructure that many kids the world over cannot even perceive of. Usually a glazed look and dutiful nodding follows, and in frustration I lament about what I do as a parent that results in a complete lack of understanding of the world and its realities. I mean, I am smart. I am socially conscious. Why are they so blissfully unaware of just how lucky they really are?
This morning, after my usual spiel in response to their impending demise by starvation, I send my kids off to play, and prepare to commence my usual daily domestic duties. I open the fridge and consider the contents and sigh dramatically. What *will* I make for dinner? Today has been sooooo busy! How do I get time for anything? Life is just so HARD sometimes! I mean, I have my three children home all week, I HAVEN’T had time to go shopping, and it looks like I will have to whip up SOMETHING…. but what? My fridge is full, but I don’t feel like anything that is in there- and having been so busy my vegies from last weeks shopping have gotten kinda old… better throw those out.
*Sigh* I feel so tired today. I haven’t been able to go to pilates in aaaaaaagggeeess, and forget shopping at Garden City. I haven’t been able to get something new to wear, FORGET taking the kids to a busy shopping centre to buy fashion necessities. UH UH, noway.
*sigh* My life is just so HARD!
Catching myself mid-thought I am ashamed of myself. How is it that in attempting to eke out a significant existence my needs are so shallow? How can I teach my kids to appreciate their lot in life and have a balanced world view when I too have no idea what it is like having to live a life each day battling to obtain basic life needs? They may not know the meaning of starving, but I do not know what it is like to have to face my starving children and have nothing to provide them either.
Sometimes I feel like life can be such a battle, but for what? A battle to have money for more stuff? For enough time for leisure? For more ‘me’ time? Why is it that what we have is never enough, given that there are so many people battling in this world just to survive, fighting for their childrens right to eat, drink- or just live?
Sometimes I am ashamed that we don’t know how lucky we really are.
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Today I had to go to the dentist. I hate the dentist, in fact I am terrified. It is right up there at the top of my most feared list, right after public speaking and karaoke.
I had a 90-minute appointment, which I was absolutely dreading. This would be the final long appointment for what is the second root canal on this same tooth, courtesy of a festering cavity ravaged by pregnancy hormones. After the hours and hours of time I have spent having treatment on this tooth you would think I would be somewhat at ease with dental proceedings by now, but no, I have found my thought processes run pretty much the same way each time.
Usually the freak-out starts well before I arrive at the dentist, culminating nicely into a full blown stomach ache with a light headed kind of feeling whilst I am sitting in the waiting room. And my inner dialogue (like that? It’s Eckhart) is saying quite rationally “OK, I am sick, that’s it, cancel it- you are going to have to reschedule!” I sit there making small talk with the receptionist, appearing totally at ease, betrayed only by my stiffly crossed arms and a jittering right foot.
When I am called into the room, the chair, I feel as though I am walking to my execution. I force myself to sit down when all my instincts are shouting “RUN, RUN FOR YOUR LIFE!!!!” The bib thing is clipped on, the chair is slowly going back and I start to feel queasy. Is it too late to back out?
The dentist brandishes a massive needle and I try pretend that I am fine with her stabbing me in the gum. And then the numbing sensation begins. My lip. My cheek. My nostril. My chin. Oh my god, she has INJECTED TOO MUCH!! My head is going numb! I think my vision is going black! I can’t breathe! She has anaesthetised my optic nerve, my nasal passages! I am BLINDED, I am SUFFOCATING!!!!!
Convinced I am going to die, I wonder if I should say something. BUt of course my mouth is full of instruments and a dentists arm up to the elbow. Not to mention the wierd sucker thingy that sounds a bit like someone hawking back mucous. I begin to feel sick.
Oh my goodness, I think I am going to vomit. A wave of nausea distracts me from my death-by-anaesthetised-nostrils, and I ponder the logistics of being sick whilst receiving dental treatment. Envisaging some sort of fountain scenario, I realise that my heart rate is about double that of a normal healthy adult. Possibly even triple.
Oh crap, now i am having a heart attack! A heart attack at 31, what are the odds?? I always knew I wasn’t long for this world, though I thought I would go by cancer of the belly button, or something equally obscure- maybe karoake induced cardiac arrest. I picture myself on stage, like a rabbit in the headlights, keeling over dramatically, clutching the microphone to my heart in demise. It strikes me as incredibly funny.
Oh no, I am going to laugh! And I might inhale the dentists instrument! Death by dentist- I knew it! Quick, think of something not funny! THINK OF SOMETHING NOT FUNNY!!!!!
The dentist asks me if I am okay. I assure her I AM FINE. She asks me if I need the toilet. I tell her I don’t. And I didn’t until she asked me. Now I really, really need the toilet.
The dentist continues digging around in my mouth, and I become convinced that I am starting to feel it. I wait for a sharp stab of pain, tensed in anticipation. Yes, I can definitely feel something! It is not my imagination! Eyeing the clock I wonder how much more torture I can bear. Begin to wonder whether death by dentist is such a bad idea. I JUST WANT THIS HELL TO BE OVER!!!!
And eventually, after what seems like a decade, it IS over. I rinse my mouth, dribbling minty water down my chin on the numb side, and leave the dental torture chamber with an overwhelming feeling of relief, suppressing the urge to break into a frantic run. I stand, shell shocked, blinking in the sunlight, with a completely numb face and a throbbing tooth- oh the irony! If it was someone else it might even be funny.
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Tendrils and wisps of rainbows and love
You try to grab on but find that you can’t
A promise of life bringing wonder and hope
Now ebbs away slowly like melting snow
A perfect tear glistens, burns a trail as it falls
Caught and carried by your angel, a butterfly soul.
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Friday started just like any other day, with me dragging myself from bed and sitting half asleep on the couch whilst Awesome Hubby brings me my morning coffee. It was raining, had been for most of the night, and once my eyes were formally open for the day I eyed the pelting sky with trepidation.
Luckily for me Awesome Hubby was the one to get wet as he took the girls to school, and I was able to enjoy the warmth and dryness of home. However, I found myself to be at a loose end. ‘What’s going on??’ I thought in frustration. ‘It’s not Wednesday, but it cetainly FEELS like a Wednesday!’ I was in a funk.
It’s not that I didn’t have things to do, I just didn’t have any desire to do them. Washing? Pffft! It will just get dirty again. Cook dinner? Meh, that’s what takeaway is for. Tidy the kids bedrooms? Nah, just close the doors. I looked in the fridge twelve times, I changed the channel on TV fourteen times, I prowled around the house looking for something that would occupy that void inside me with something of interest.
I decided that I would brave the rain and check the mailbox. Maybe there would be some interesting junk mail. Life really is boring when you begin looking forward to junk mail. Sighing with boredom and frustration at a life devoid of mental stimulation I slouched out to the mailbox and looked resignedly inside. And I saw it.
The Big Yellow Envelope.
I felt a flutter in my chest and a lurch of excitement. Big Yellow Envelopes are nearly always exciting or interesting. No-one purchases a Big Yellow Envelope unless they plan to place something important inside. Perhaps my day was looking up?
I scooped up the rest of the mail and hurried inside, trying to decide on how I was going to open The Big Yellow Envelope. Will I rip it open first, leaving the less important and interesting mail to last? Or do I save it for the end, and open the boring, white envelopes with little windows first? Such a quandary, such a dilemma!
I decided to forego the white envelopes altogether as being unworthy of my attention. Tossing them aside I hold up my prize, imagining what must be inside. Ripping open the end and slowly drawing out the pages, I unfolded the sheets with ceremony and prepare to unlock the mystery of The Big Yellow Envelope.
First glance reveals the insignia of my chosen university in the top right hand corner. With barely concealed excitement I scan down the page, savouring the words of the opening paragraph.
Dear Shereen,
Congratulations! I am pleased to advise you that your application for your chosen course has been accepted…
After ten years, marriage, three kids and one mind going stagnant with a lack of mental activity, I am once again a student- it’s official! The Big Yellow Envelope has told me so! I am on my way to becoming a writer! I imagine my name as a byline in a magazine and on the cover of a book, in big, bold letters- and felt that shift of a serious pipe dream morphing into feasible possibility. Though I had to give myself a reality check when I started visualising myself being interviewed by Oprah, striking an intelligent yet down-to-earth air as I frankly discuss my rise to fame. Maybe one day….
With a delicious glee I came to the futher important realisation that starting uni again is a perfect new-bag-purchase opportunity, and the news became that little bit more exciting. As I pictured myself going into class with my funky bag surrounded by my student peers, it became painfully obvious that there will be a *slight* discrepancy in age. Noooooooooooooooooo!!!!! I’m a MATURE AGE STUDENT!
Oh how I used to sneer at the mature agers sitting importantly at the front of the class, answering questions with gusto and enthusiasm unmatched by anyone else in the class! And now that person is me! Visions of me as a popular funky student wafted away and were replaced with me being laughed at by super styled, ipod toting Gen Y-ers.
So my Friday funk was replaced with scheming and planning on how to strike that perfect balance of mature age coolness in the noughties, and rehearsing my witty yet educated responses for my future interview with Oprah. What a difference the arrival of a Big Yellow Envelope can make to a day!
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I have always been a bit of a hoarder. I like to keep stuff. I can’t bring myself to throw anything away that has any form of sentimental value, no matter how random or innocuous, much to Awesome Hubby’s distress. He likes to throw stuff.
My endearing habit of keeping things has never really been a problem, as the odd quirky (but useless) birthday present, thankyou card, concert ticket or holiday brochure could easily be boxed away and forgotten about until rediscovered down the track, at which point I usually take a leisurely meander down memory lane. I love keeping stuff.
My kids like to create stuff. They will draw and write, glue and paint all day, creating some magical and some not-so-magical masterpieces, all of which end up lovingly gifted…. to me. Combine this plethora of art with my inability to throw things and you might have some idea of my dilemma. We are drowning in a sea of art…. battling against the relentless tides of the Art-lantic!
It all starts with a pile of drawings on my kitchen bench. Cards proclaiming ‘I love you Mummy!’ and ‘You are the best mummy in the whole world!’ Paintings of fairies and mermaids and fairy mermaids, rainbows, our family and animals and bugs, and the odd Jesus on the cross… gotta love Catholic education…
Once the pile begins to impede my view of the dining room, I usually transfer the pile somewhere in order to appease Awesome Hubby who has usually begun kind of frothing at the mouth with the anticipation of throwing it out. On the bookshelf, on top of the fridge, in the pantry, in boxes at the top of my wardrobe, in drawers, under beds, behind the toilet…. Pretty soon I will be invited to appear on Today Tonight, showing interviews with elderly neighbours and local council representatives.
‘Throw it out!’ suggests my good friend Nives, ‘they will never know!’ So I try. I stand at the recycling bin, artpiece in hand, willing myself to drop the creation inside. The big lovehearts and I LOVE YOU MUMMYS shine like neon, pulsing with an accusatory glow… how DARE you consider treating me like RUBBISH!
‘Blu tack them to the wall and take photo’s of them,’ suggests Lil helpfully.
‘Stick it in scrapbooks!’ says Nat, practically.
‘GET RID OF IT!‘ says Awesome Hubby, whilst breathing rapidly into a paper bag.
‘Do you really need to keep pieces of paper with three vertical lines on it??’ questions Em, very diplomatically.
And the answer is yes. Yes I do.
So stay tuned for an upcoming episode of Today Tonight. I will be the one rocking backwards and forwards amongst mountains of smouldering lovehearts and rainbows, muttering over and over ‘Must. Keep It. Can’t. Throw It. Away….’ whilst Awesome Hubby is being led away from the burning ruins of our house in handcuffs, saying regretfully ‘You don’t understand, i had to… she wouldn’t throw it out!‘
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Happy 54th Birthday, Mum. It is with love and affection I remember your favourite things, imagining what I would have bought for you if you were still here.
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