Even though Daddy Kewl is no longer a physical presence in our lives, he spirit still very much present in our family. We love him, we think about him, we talk to him, we share things with him, we write him letters and burn them in the fire to send them to him, we blow bubbles up to him and Zy... And on occasion, I still make him breakfast.
It's usually something that happens spontaneously - I'll be dishing out the cornflakes and decide in an instant that Daddy Kewl will join us at the table that morning. Sometimes it's something I plan, and the girls all help make a big chocolate cake for breakfast!
It is always something that comes from a place of calm, and never a place of grief. Sometimes it stirs up more questions or thoughts from the girls about Daddy Kewl and how he fits into our family unit now... But making him breakfast is never something that comes from my grief space. It is one family tradition that I want the girls to have joyful memories of.
Probably the best part of Daddy Kewl having breakfast with us, is working out who will eat what from his plate. As Miss V pointed out - dead people cannot eat fruit salad and yoghurt - so she had better have the strawberries!!! There is far too much banana on the plate for someone without a body - so Miss J had better finish that off for him!!! And the watermellon - that would just go right through a dead person!!! Miss F - that must be for you!!!
Strangely enough, of all the times we've shared Daddy Kewl's breakfast - not once have the girls faught over who would share what. Pretty impressive for 3 little people, really.
Recently, two more little people joined our family unit. TJ, who is 7, and Mr R, who is 2. At 7, TJ is pretty understanding of our quirky family unit and especially, of what Daddy Kewl means to the girls. When there is an extra setting at our table, he understands that it is our way of including Daddy Kewl in our lives, and he is very respectful of this. At 2, Mr R sees an extra bowl of food that the girls are eating from, and he wants his fair share! As understandable as this is for a 2yo, the kewl girls were equally as understanably unimpressed. They grew angry and upset at the thought of sharing their dad's breakfast with another child, while Mr R was more than outraged at being denied something the others were having - and so began a rather spectacular breakfast table battle!
Instead of stopping the breakfasts with Daddy Kewl, I started putting two extra bowls on the table (one for Daddy Kewl and one for Mr R), which solved the battle of small children.
This morning, Daddy Kewl had breakfast with us.
This morning, I set an extra bowl of fruit on the table for R, as well.
This morning, when it came time to help Daddy Kewl finish his breakfast, Miss V took a strawberry from his bowl.
She sat with it for a few minutes, thinking.
Then she looked at Mr R and said,
"I think my Daddy wants you to have this one."
And she handed Mr R her strawberry.
Showing posts with label Daddy Kewl. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Daddy Kewl. Show all posts
Back to the Future
Last night I decided I wanted my old blog back. The "purple page" (as the Kewl girls call it) with my favourite header image. I think the only reason it was changed in the first place was because I mentioned something to Sammi about wanting wider columns and wouldn't mind "a bit of a change", then turned my back for 5 minutes! Sammi is a bit of a whirlwind like that, and I am most grateful for her graphic energy and talent!
So, I changed the template and colours back and went searching for the original header (which Sammi also created) that I love so much. I fiddled with the html thingy until I accidentally on purpose made the header and columns wider, then I decided that the header image looked silly with a too large boarder, so I scaled the header up and now it's HUGE!!! But I love it. Actually, I didn't realise how much I missed the original purple page until I had it back again.
Another thing I didn't realise when I decided I wanted the old look back, was that it was this time last year when Sammi created the header image for me.
This time last year she had arrived for the Freak Fest, along with 40 other ex circus freaks.
This time last year I was surrounded by my freak family.
This time last year, we were all celebrating the surrogate pregnancy with Zy.
This time last year my two best friends in the world were on their way to becoming parents.
This time last year, I felt like I had finally made it through the worst of Daddy Kewl grief, and I could see the light again.
Now, as I look back on this time last year, the blog isn't the only thing I want to go back to.
So, I changed the template and colours back and went searching for the original header (which Sammi also created) that I love so much. I fiddled with the html thingy until I accidentally on purpose made the header and columns wider, then I decided that the header image looked silly with a too large boarder, so I scaled the header up and now it's HUGE!!! But I love it. Actually, I didn't realise how much I missed the original purple page until I had it back again.
Another thing I didn't realise when I decided I wanted the old look back, was that it was this time last year when Sammi created the header image for me.
This time last year she had arrived for the Freak Fest, along with 40 other ex circus freaks.
This time last year I was surrounded by my freak family.
This time last year, we were all celebrating the surrogate pregnancy with Zy.
This time last year my two best friends in the world were on their way to becoming parents.
This time last year, I felt like I had finally made it through the worst of Daddy Kewl grief, and I could see the light again.
Now, as I look back on this time last year, the blog isn't the only thing I want to go back to.
Hippy Fathers Day
Parts of today will be happy.
Parts of today will be sad.
But all day, everyday, we love you.
Happy, hippy fathers day to you, Daddy Kewl.
Parts of today will be sad.
But all day, everyday, we love you.
Happy, hippy fathers day to you, Daddy Kewl.
10 Questions About Dad
The amazing Planning Queen recently posted 10 Questions About Dad, as answered by her children and in honor of father's day.
I am always looking for ways to include Daddy Kewl in our lives, because even though he's no longer alive, our girls deserve to know their dad. I was a bit nervous about how the girls would go answering questions about their dad, but I'm glad we gave it a go anyway - because as it turns out - I think they know him quite well!
1. What makes dad happy?
Miss J - Seeing us happy.
Miss F - When he says hello and we notice.
Miss V - When we do fun stuff and think about him lots so he gets to do the fun stuff with us, too.
2. How does your dad make you laugh?
Miss F - Turning the music up! (Often, without anyone touching anything, the music volume goes up quite dramatically. It happens in lots of places, not just in our home. We think it's dad saying hello.)
Miss J - Leaving his shoes in the hall so mum trips over them! (This started as a game when the girls were little, I would leave their dad's shoes in the hall and pretend to trip over them. I've stopped planting his shoes in the hall but they keep showing up in different places throughout the house for me to trip over. If it's the girls' doing, they are very good at not letting on!)
Miss V - When we fly kites and farts on them! (This one is thanks to Mary, who was flying a kite with the girls and exclaimed, "Oh dad! Stop farting!" every time the kite took a nose dive.)
3. What does your dad do when you're not around?
Miss V - He flies, mostly.
Miss J - He just comes with us when we're not around.
Miss F - Yeah he comes with us. Or he stays with mum. He is always with mum when we're not around.
4. What is your dad really good at?
Miss F - Painting pretty skies.
Miss J - Making mum laugh. Sometimes it looks like she is laughing for no reason, but she's not, she's laughing at daddy.
Miss V - Dreaming with me. (Miss V recently went through a period of crying for her dad at bedtime, so we decided as I couldn't make it better for her, she could go and see her dad while she was dreaming and he would give her a cuddle so she could go to sleep.)
5. What is your dad not very good at?
Miss V - Doing the dishes.
Miss J - Holding his breath. (Sorry, no idea where this came from!)
Miss F - He's not very good at calling mum for her birthday. (Not sure about this either!)
6. What does your dad do for a job?
Miss J - He sings lots.
Miss F - Yeah he sings lots and makes people laugh.
Miss V - He goes in front of lots of people and does stuff so they can love him. (Er, no - it's not what you're thinking!)
7. If your dad were a cartoon character, who would he be?
Miss J - Just my daddy.
Miss F - He would have a big nose.
Miss V - A dead one. (LOL!)
(I think these answers say more about our lack of television than Daddy Kewl!)
8. How are you and your dad the same?
Miss V - We both like dreaming and we see good stuff that other people don't notice.
Miss J - We can fart without anyone knowing!
Miss F - We both love the same.
9. How are you and your dad different?
Miss V - We're not.
Miss F - He's a boy and I don't have a penis, hey mum?
Miss J - I have a body still but dad doesn't.
10. How do you know your dad loves you?
Miss F - He shows us all the time.
Miss J - I can feel it.
Miss V - Because I never get cold at night.
11. What does your dad like most about your mum?
Miss V - That they love each other always and always.
Miss J - That she still cooks him breakfast.
Miss F - How much birthday cake we eat!
I am always looking for ways to include Daddy Kewl in our lives, because even though he's no longer alive, our girls deserve to know their dad. I was a bit nervous about how the girls would go answering questions about their dad, but I'm glad we gave it a go anyway - because as it turns out - I think they know him quite well!
1. What makes dad happy?
Miss J - Seeing us happy.
Miss F - When he says hello and we notice.
Miss V - When we do fun stuff and think about him lots so he gets to do the fun stuff with us, too.
2. How does your dad make you laugh?
Miss F - Turning the music up! (Often, without anyone touching anything, the music volume goes up quite dramatically. It happens in lots of places, not just in our home. We think it's dad saying hello.)
Miss J - Leaving his shoes in the hall so mum trips over them! (This started as a game when the girls were little, I would leave their dad's shoes in the hall and pretend to trip over them. I've stopped planting his shoes in the hall but they keep showing up in different places throughout the house for me to trip over. If it's the girls' doing, they are very good at not letting on!)
Miss V - When we fly kites and farts on them! (This one is thanks to Mary, who was flying a kite with the girls and exclaimed, "Oh dad! Stop farting!" every time the kite took a nose dive.)
3. What does your dad do when you're not around?
Miss V - He flies, mostly.
Miss J - He just comes with us when we're not around.
Miss F - Yeah he comes with us. Or he stays with mum. He is always with mum when we're not around.
4. What is your dad really good at?
Miss F - Painting pretty skies.
Miss J - Making mum laugh. Sometimes it looks like she is laughing for no reason, but she's not, she's laughing at daddy.
Miss V - Dreaming with me. (Miss V recently went through a period of crying for her dad at bedtime, so we decided as I couldn't make it better for her, she could go and see her dad while she was dreaming and he would give her a cuddle so she could go to sleep.)
5. What is your dad not very good at?
Miss V - Doing the dishes.
Miss J - Holding his breath. (Sorry, no idea where this came from!)
Miss F - He's not very good at calling mum for her birthday. (Not sure about this either!)
6. What does your dad do for a job?
Miss J - He sings lots.
Miss F - Yeah he sings lots and makes people laugh.
Miss V - He goes in front of lots of people and does stuff so they can love him. (Er, no - it's not what you're thinking!)
7. If your dad were a cartoon character, who would he be?
Miss J - Just my daddy.
Miss F - He would have a big nose.
Miss V - A dead one. (LOL!)
(I think these answers say more about our lack of television than Daddy Kewl!)
8. How are you and your dad the same?
Miss V - We both like dreaming and we see good stuff that other people don't notice.
Miss J - We can fart without anyone knowing!
Miss F - We both love the same.
9. How are you and your dad different?
Miss V - We're not.
Miss F - He's a boy and I don't have a penis, hey mum?
Miss J - I have a body still but dad doesn't.
10. How do you know your dad loves you?
Miss F - He shows us all the time.
Miss J - I can feel it.
Miss V - Because I never get cold at night.
11. What does your dad like most about your mum?
Miss V - That they love each other always and always.
Miss J - That she still cooks him breakfast.
Miss F - How much birthday cake we eat!
Living
Dear M,
When we first met, we were part of our circus family. It was a very large, very extended family - it's volume in numbers matched only by the volume of love generated by it's members.
I remember flirting with you across the dinner table at one of our big family get togethers, as eccentric aunts and overprotective uncles raised their watchful eyes at us. The sense of love and security I felt then was something I carried with me as we began our life - and our family - together.
We always talked about having a large family, and how it wouldn't be determined by genes. We talked about being a drop in place for our extended family of circus freaks and when we were deciding where we would build our home, you found land far enough away to be in the bush, and at the same time, close enough to a main town and highway to be easily accessible.
We talked about fostering, and we talked about being a safe place for the local kids to be after school and on weekends.
When you died, it felt like a lot of our dreams died with you. My dreams of family life, the way we'd imagined it, they died when I became a single parent. Not that there is anything wrong with single parent families - it's just not what we had planned.
Recently, Mr R and TJ have joined our family. Even more recently, the arrangement changed from something short term, to something medium, or even long term.
Tonight, 8 people sat at our dinner table, laughing and joking and teasing and talking. I know you would have loved it, and I would have loved to share it with you (more than you being there in spirit, anyway).
Then someone on an online forum said, "You are living my dream, Al."
And I had the spectacular, joyful, freeing kind of moment that blew the grief haze away and filled my body with energy and light.
It doesn't matter that I can't see you, or touch you, or hear you tell me you love me.
It doesn't matter that I can't share this life with you in the way that I want to.
Because I am living our dream.
The more I miss you - and the more you miss us - the more I will just have to live it for both of us.
I love you, M.
When we first met, we were part of our circus family. It was a very large, very extended family - it's volume in numbers matched only by the volume of love generated by it's members.
I remember flirting with you across the dinner table at one of our big family get togethers, as eccentric aunts and overprotective uncles raised their watchful eyes at us. The sense of love and security I felt then was something I carried with me as we began our life - and our family - together.
We always talked about having a large family, and how it wouldn't be determined by genes. We talked about being a drop in place for our extended family of circus freaks and when we were deciding where we would build our home, you found land far enough away to be in the bush, and at the same time, close enough to a main town and highway to be easily accessible.
We talked about fostering, and we talked about being a safe place for the local kids to be after school and on weekends.
When you died, it felt like a lot of our dreams died with you. My dreams of family life, the way we'd imagined it, they died when I became a single parent. Not that there is anything wrong with single parent families - it's just not what we had planned.
Recently, Mr R and TJ have joined our family. Even more recently, the arrangement changed from something short term, to something medium, or even long term.
Tonight, 8 people sat at our dinner table, laughing and joking and teasing and talking. I know you would have loved it, and I would have loved to share it with you (more than you being there in spirit, anyway).
Then someone on an online forum said, "You are living my dream, Al."
And I had the spectacular, joyful, freeing kind of moment that blew the grief haze away and filled my body with energy and light.
It doesn't matter that I can't see you, or touch you, or hear you tell me you love me.
It doesn't matter that I can't share this life with you in the way that I want to.
Because I am living our dream.
The more I miss you - and the more you miss us - the more I will just have to live it for both of us.
I love you, M.
Cheers!
Last night (Sunday) I re-entered two worlds that I haven't been part of for quite a while, and I entered for the first time, a new world that is waaaaaaay outside of anything I ever thought I'd experience...
I went to a bar.
I ran a performance installation piece (no - I'm not really sure what 'performance installation piece' means either).
And I spoke to a bar full of total strangers about the last moments of Daddy Kewl's life.
To put that all together (partly for my benefit as I am still not sure I understand exactly what I was thinking or doing!) - last night I went into a bar where total strangers were eating and drinking, I cut the lights at 20 minute intervals, and during those black outs I told the story of Daddy Kewl's last day with us.
It started off as a bit of fun - the black outs had people curious and the beginning snippets of the story were light hearted and fun. Right before the last black out I handed out free beers to everyone. Naturally, this was very well received.
Then for the last time, the lights went out and I began speaking...
"One second... he said. He sounded distracted. Worse - He sounded serious. There was screeching. Then crunching. Crackling through the phone line. Then nothing. Oh no."
An uncomfortable silence settled over the bar. The lights came up slowly as I continued speaking - getting voicemail, putting the children in the car, driving, the rising panic, seeing the flashing lights, the crumpled metal, finally, seeing M and finishing with the words, "He is gone. He is dead."
Once I stopped speaking, I took a moment to compose myself, then the lights went down again and a spotlight came up on a small stage where I was now standing. I explained that the man who killed my husband had been drinking, but decided to get in the car anyway. He relised his favourite TV show was about to start, so he put his foot down. He was one block from home when he ran a stop sign and hit M's car.
M was killed instantly.
He did not get to see our twin daughters turn one.
He was not there for the birth of our youngest.
He will never be here for birthdays.
For Christmas.
To hear the "I love you"s.
See the smiles.
Give the cuddles.
He'll miss every second.
The other guy was physically unharmed.
But he did miss his TV show.
I went on to mention the free beer people were holding, and the split second it took them to decide whether they wanted it or not.
I asked them to hold the bottles up and look underneath.
To the people with a black dot under their bottles - I'm sorry - You were just hit by a drink driver. But don't worry, you didn't suffer. You were killed instantly.
To the people with a red dot under their bottles - Opps - You just drove drunk and caused an accident. But don't worry, they didn't suffer. They were killed instantly.
To the people with a white dot under their bottles - Congratulations - You have just won a $50 Taxi voucher, and you won't kill anyone on your drive home tonight.
Finally, I asked people to remember how easy it is to make split second decisions without giving them much thought.
And I asked that next time, when they have to choose, they make their second count.
There was a round of applause that was hesitant, as if people were not sure whether they should be clapping or not, then without me even realising what was happening, people started emptying their beers.
They tipped them down sinks behind the bar, over the veranda, down drains and gutters and into toilets.
As I watched the people around me emptying their drinks, I felt as though all of the emotions that had been bottled up in order to put together and present the installation were being released. I exhaled, for what felt like the first time in weeks, and just like that, it was all gone.
When the last bottle was emptied another round of applause erupted in the bar, and this time it was packed with energy and intent.
Tonight, I am absolutely exhausted... But I feel better than I have done in months.
One last thing... To everyone at the bar last night, and to everyone who helped make the installation successful, and to everyone who has put up with me while I've had my head so far up the proverbial backside of this new world -
Cheers!
To making every second count.
I went to a bar.
I ran a performance installation piece (no - I'm not really sure what 'performance installation piece' means either).
And I spoke to a bar full of total strangers about the last moments of Daddy Kewl's life.
To put that all together (partly for my benefit as I am still not sure I understand exactly what I was thinking or doing!) - last night I went into a bar where total strangers were eating and drinking, I cut the lights at 20 minute intervals, and during those black outs I told the story of Daddy Kewl's last day with us.
It started off as a bit of fun - the black outs had people curious and the beginning snippets of the story were light hearted and fun. Right before the last black out I handed out free beers to everyone. Naturally, this was very well received.
Then for the last time, the lights went out and I began speaking...
"One second... he said. He sounded distracted. Worse - He sounded serious. There was screeching. Then crunching. Crackling through the phone line. Then nothing. Oh no."
An uncomfortable silence settled over the bar. The lights came up slowly as I continued speaking - getting voicemail, putting the children in the car, driving, the rising panic, seeing the flashing lights, the crumpled metal, finally, seeing M and finishing with the words, "He is gone. He is dead."
Once I stopped speaking, I took a moment to compose myself, then the lights went down again and a spotlight came up on a small stage where I was now standing. I explained that the man who killed my husband had been drinking, but decided to get in the car anyway. He relised his favourite TV show was about to start, so he put his foot down. He was one block from home when he ran a stop sign and hit M's car.
M was killed instantly.
He did not get to see our twin daughters turn one.
He was not there for the birth of our youngest.
He will never be here for birthdays.
For Christmas.
To hear the "I love you"s.
See the smiles.
Give the cuddles.
He'll miss every second.
The other guy was physically unharmed.
But he did miss his TV show.
I went on to mention the free beer people were holding, and the split second it took them to decide whether they wanted it or not.
I asked them to hold the bottles up and look underneath.
To the people with a black dot under their bottles - I'm sorry - You were just hit by a drink driver. But don't worry, you didn't suffer. You were killed instantly.
To the people with a red dot under their bottles - Opps - You just drove drunk and caused an accident. But don't worry, they didn't suffer. They were killed instantly.
To the people with a white dot under their bottles - Congratulations - You have just won a $50 Taxi voucher, and you won't kill anyone on your drive home tonight.
Finally, I asked people to remember how easy it is to make split second decisions without giving them much thought.
And I asked that next time, when they have to choose, they make their second count.
There was a round of applause that was hesitant, as if people were not sure whether they should be clapping or not, then without me even realising what was happening, people started emptying their beers.
They tipped them down sinks behind the bar, over the veranda, down drains and gutters and into toilets.
As I watched the people around me emptying their drinks, I felt as though all of the emotions that had been bottled up in order to put together and present the installation were being released. I exhaled, for what felt like the first time in weeks, and just like that, it was all gone.
When the last bottle was emptied another round of applause erupted in the bar, and this time it was packed with energy and intent.
***
Tonight, I am absolutely exhausted... But I feel better than I have done in months.
One last thing... To everyone at the bar last night, and to everyone who helped make the installation successful, and to everyone who has put up with me while I've had my head so far up the proverbial backside of this new world -
Cheers!
To making every second count.
My Dad vs Your Dad
We went to the park again today, and I think Miss J decided that if her twin sister could have a "death" moment - She could, too.
Miss J was waiting patiently (as patiently as 4 and a half year old's can be, anyway) for her turn to go down the slide. There was another child at the bottom of the slide making a sandcastle.
Miss J said, "Excuse me please!"
The other child ignored her.
Miss J, getting frustrated, said, "Move please!"
Still nothing.
So Miss J started sliding and said, "I'm coming down!"
Upon reaching the bottom of the slide, the other child stood in front of Miss J, stopping her from getting off the slide and most likely treading on the sandcastle.
Miss J, already annoyed, said, "MOVE!"
The other child, also annoyed at being interrupted, said, "NO!"
Miss J, now very annoyed, said, "Move or I will push you!"
The other child said, "You can't do that or I will tell my daddy and he will get you in trouble!"
Miss J said, "Yeah, well if you don't move I will tell my daddy and he will haunt you!!"
I believe Miss J's Daddy won this round...
Miss J was waiting patiently (as patiently as 4 and a half year old's can be, anyway) for her turn to go down the slide. There was another child at the bottom of the slide making a sandcastle.
Miss J said, "Excuse me please!"
The other child ignored her.
Miss J, getting frustrated, said, "Move please!"
Still nothing.
So Miss J started sliding and said, "I'm coming down!"
Upon reaching the bottom of the slide, the other child stood in front of Miss J, stopping her from getting off the slide and most likely treading on the sandcastle.
Miss J, already annoyed, said, "MOVE!"
The other child, also annoyed at being interrupted, said, "NO!"
Miss J, now very annoyed, said, "Move or I will push you!"
The other child said, "You can't do that or I will tell my daddy and he will get you in trouble!"
Miss J said, "Yeah, well if you don't move I will tell my daddy and he will haunt you!!"
I believe Miss J's Daddy won this round...
Bang Bang - Your Spirit is Eternal
At the park today...
A boy comes running out from behind the slide with his hand aimed at Miss F, gun style, and yells,
"Bang! Bang! You're dead!"
Miss F looks up and replies calmly,
"No, you can't kill me - My spirit is eternal."
Confused, the boy says,
"That's not how you play. You're supposed to run away or I'll shoot you."
Miss F stands tall, and from the same calm space, she replies once more,
"I'm not scared of you. And I'm not scared of dieing."
A boy comes running out from behind the slide with his hand aimed at Miss F, gun style, and yells,
"Bang! Bang! You're dead!"
Miss F looks up and replies calmly,
"No, you can't kill me - My spirit is eternal."
Confused, the boy says,
"That's not how you play. You're supposed to run away or I'll shoot you."
Miss F stands tall, and from the same calm space, she replies once more,
"I'm not scared of you. And I'm not scared of dieing."
For most of the girls' lives, Daddy Kewl has been with us only 'in spirit'. To us, this means that even though we talk to him often, we feel him close to us and we look out for signs from him, telling us the he loves us and he is here - He will only ever be here in spirit, because he died, and that means that he doesn't have a body any more.
Last year the girls' surrogate baby brother died, too, and even though we talk to him, feel him close to us, and look out for signs from him telling us that he loves us and he is here - He will only ever be here in spirit, just like Daddy Kewl.
Having two people very close to them 'in spirit' has effected the Kewl girls. There are many ways to think about this, depending on your beliefes, but I believe it has heightened their sense of spiritual 'connectedness'.
Sometimes this is hard and confusing, and it causes them deep pain. These are the times when I wish that the girls didn't have so much death in their life experience. I wish that they didn't have to be so aware or have such a developed understanding of what 'in spirit' means (to us). It's also at these times when I start to question whether or not I am doing the right thing by explaining my beliefes to them. Sometimes I even start to wonder whether they would be better off believing that when you're dead, you're dead. That's it. Lights out. All over.
Then there are the times, like today, that tell me we are on the right track. Times when I feel reassured and in a sense relieved, that I am doing the right thing. Times when I think that we are incredibly blessed to have the spiritual knowledge, understanding and life experience that we do. After all, we have some pretty magical moments thanks to our connections 'in spirit' - and even though it's not the same as sharing our lives with the living, breathing, physical beings that we miss so dearly - it is far, far better than not sharing anything at all.
Today has reminded me to trust myself a little more - to keep following what feels right and trust that I know what is right for my girls, too.
It has also made me quietly proud that in all the trauma and heart ache of Daddy Kewl and Baby Warrior dieing - Miss F stands tall - Calm and unafraid, with the knowledge that her spirit is eternal.
One Second
"Hey Al?... Al?... Wake up - I have something to tell you... Wake up Al... It's important..."
M poked me in the ribs, gently, but with enough force to be bloody annoying. I grunted an acknowledgment, then attempted to go back to sleep.
"So Al... I wanted to wait until I was sure, because it's a pretty big deal.. You know, with the twins and everything. OK, see, the thing is... Al? Al? Would you wake up! I'm trying to tell you something and it's really important!"
That's the trouble with being married to an actor. They always have something really important to tell you.
"Al? OK, here goes.. Al, honey, you're pregnant."
Smart arse.
"You are, aren't you?!!"
I was. At least, I thought I was.
He stood up and started jumping up and down on the bed, just enough to disturb two sleeping babies.... And be bloody annoying...
"Wakey wakey kidlets! We're going on a road trip!"
That's another thing about actors - They can be very melodramatic. By "road trip" he meant, "10 minute drive to the chemist"...
"Excuse me please, can you help me find the biggest, fanciest, most positive pregnancy test you have?"
While he was speaking he was also holding our 10 month old twins upside down and pretending he didn't notice. Eventually he followed the Chemist's stunned gaze, looked down at the madly giggling (and slightly red faced) children, swore loudly and returned the girls to an upright position.
Did I mention that actors also like to shock people occasionally..? Their idea of fun, apparently.
Back at home, and two pink lines later, I decided to have a little fun of my own...
"M, darling, do you know what the odds are of having two sets of twins?"
He studied my face, long and hard, but I was giving nothing away. He answered, "About 1 in a billion for identical twins. Something like 1 in 80 for fraternal twins though."
Not that he'd researched it or anything.
"Gee, we really like to run against the odds, don't we?"
Honestly, that shade of pale does nothing for his eyes.
What was I saying? Oh yes...
"How do you feel about Morgan and Charli - As names, I mean?"
Ahh, that's the colour I was going for. Less puce, more off white.
But I couldn't keep it up. I cracked under the pressure and couldn't hide my grin quickly enough.
So busted.
But I do like those names...
For the rest of the morning I was ambushed every time I walked around a corner. M would come up behind me, put his arms around my middle and ask if he could "rub my belly for luck".
Smart arse.
He left for work after lunch... Then he came back 5 minutes later to rub my belly for luck. He hadn't even made it out of the drive way before he came back a second time.
When he eventually got to work, he called every half hour. He'd start the conversation with, "So... What are you wearing..." Then as soon as I said something he'd reply, "Oh! It's you! ... I mean, Oh! Hi honey! So, what are you, er, doing?"
Once he did the whole 'silence on the other end of the line' thing. I said, "I'm wearing your tracksuit pants with no underwear, and I need to pee. So if you want to see your pants alive again, talk fast."
The telemarketer never called back.
He'd been pestering us all day and I nearly didn't answer the phone when he called on his way home from work.
He asked me what I was wearing, then he said he had something for us to have a little baby celebration. He asked if I could get the girls out of bed.. "And maybe poke them a bit... So they'll be happy to see me when I get home."
I asked him what sort of things he had to celebrate, and if chocolate would be involved.
"One second..." he said.
He sounded distracted.
Worse - He sounded serious.
There was screeching
Then crunching
Crackling through the phone line
Then nothing.
Oh no.
I called back immediately.
Voice mail.
I got the girls out of bed, I poked them a bit as I put them in the car, then I drove.
The phone was probably just broken so he couldn't call me and tell me he was fine...
If there had been an accident he would probably need a lift home...
Oh well, I hope he still has the chocolate.
No sirens, no flashing lights.
That's a good sign.
Down the hill.
Around the corner.
Still no flashing lights.
Hmm, left or right?
He must have been shopping - shops are that way.
Right.
Down the road.
Around the bend.
Oh no.
Broken glass.
Crumpled metal.
Bits of M's car.
Oh no.
Now I hear sirens and see flashing lights.
The front half of M's car is sandwiched between another car and a tree.
It doesn't look good.
I am on my way over to him when someone comes towards me.
I don't care who it is
But then they are stopping me from getting to M and that makes me care.
I get angry and panic takes hold.
I need to see M.
I need to see him NOW.
I get around whoever is stopping me.
Then I see M.
I see his body
But he is not here any more
He is gone
M is dead.
Earlier that day, a man was having a few drinks at his brother's house after work.
As they drank, the brothers exchanged work highlights and low lights, they made a preliminary assessment of their little sister's new boyfriend, they joked about their wives and their horrible cooking, and in light of this last discussion, they decided on going a third round of 2 minute noodles before dinner.
Then it was time for the man to go home.
The distance was not walkable - but he could easily have ridden the bike that was sitting, unused, in the shed.
A taxi would not have cost too much, nor taken too long.
Buses ran every half hour - they stopped right outside his brother's door and would have dropped him 10 meters from his own.
His brother's wife would be home shortly and she could have given him a lift when she went to pick up take away.
He could have called his own wife and asked her to pick him up.
But all these options seemed like such a hassle.
It was only a few blocks...
And he knew the roads like the back of his hand.
There were never any cops around... No cop, no crime, right?
And besides - He could handle his alcohol.
So the man chose to drive.
He pulled out of his brother's driveway at 7:24pm.
"Damn!" - His favourite TV show started in just six minutes.
At 7:25pm - He glanced at the clock and sped up a little.
At 7:26pm - He sped up a little more.
At 7:27pm - He came to a straight stretch of road and sped up a LOT more.
At 7:28pm - He was one block from home, on a road that he knew like the back of his hand. If he put his foot down, he might just make it.
He probably would have made it, too.
Except that at 7:29pm - The man ran a stop sign.
He was traveling at almost 120km/hr when he drove straight into another car.
The driver of the other car, M, was killed instantly.
M did not get to see our twin daughters turn one.
He was not there for the birth of our youngest.
He will never be here for birthdays.
For Christmas.
To hear the "I love you"s.
See the smiles.
Give the cuddles.
He'll miss every moment.
Every smile
Every tear
Every word
Every whisper
Every breath
Every second.
M's family -
His mum, his dad, his brothers, his children, his friends -
They'll miss him
And ache for him
Every morning
Every night
Every day
Every second.
The man -
He was physically unharmed.
But he did miss his TV show.
No matter who you are
No matter how invincible you think you are
No matter how much you love your television
It is never OK to get behind the wheel drunk.
It is never OK to speed.
It is never OK
For anyone
Ever.
Not even for one second.
M poked me in the ribs, gently, but with enough force to be bloody annoying. I grunted an acknowledgment, then attempted to go back to sleep.
"So Al... I wanted to wait until I was sure, because it's a pretty big deal.. You know, with the twins and everything. OK, see, the thing is... Al? Al? Would you wake up! I'm trying to tell you something and it's really important!"
That's the trouble with being married to an actor. They always have something really important to tell you.
"Al? OK, here goes.. Al, honey, you're pregnant."
Smart arse.
"You are, aren't you?!!"
I was. At least, I thought I was.
He stood up and started jumping up and down on the bed, just enough to disturb two sleeping babies.... And be bloody annoying...
"Wakey wakey kidlets! We're going on a road trip!"
That's another thing about actors - They can be very melodramatic. By "road trip" he meant, "10 minute drive to the chemist"...
**
"Excuse me please, can you help me find the biggest, fanciest, most positive pregnancy test you have?"
While he was speaking he was also holding our 10 month old twins upside down and pretending he didn't notice. Eventually he followed the Chemist's stunned gaze, looked down at the madly giggling (and slightly red faced) children, swore loudly and returned the girls to an upright position.
Did I mention that actors also like to shock people occasionally..? Their idea of fun, apparently.
Back at home, and two pink lines later, I decided to have a little fun of my own...
"M, darling, do you know what the odds are of having two sets of twins?"
He studied my face, long and hard, but I was giving nothing away. He answered, "About 1 in a billion for identical twins. Something like 1 in 80 for fraternal twins though."
Not that he'd researched it or anything.
"Gee, we really like to run against the odds, don't we?"
Honestly, that shade of pale does nothing for his eyes.
What was I saying? Oh yes...
"How do you feel about Morgan and Charli - As names, I mean?"
Ahh, that's the colour I was going for. Less puce, more off white.
But I couldn't keep it up. I cracked under the pressure and couldn't hide my grin quickly enough.
So busted.
But I do like those names...
**
For the rest of the morning I was ambushed every time I walked around a corner. M would come up behind me, put his arms around my middle and ask if he could "rub my belly for luck".
Smart arse.
He left for work after lunch... Then he came back 5 minutes later to rub my belly for luck. He hadn't even made it out of the drive way before he came back a second time.
When he eventually got to work, he called every half hour. He'd start the conversation with, "So... What are you wearing..." Then as soon as I said something he'd reply, "Oh! It's you! ... I mean, Oh! Hi honey! So, what are you, er, doing?"
Once he did the whole 'silence on the other end of the line' thing. I said, "I'm wearing your tracksuit pants with no underwear, and I need to pee. So if you want to see your pants alive again, talk fast."
The telemarketer never called back.
He'd been pestering us all day and I nearly didn't answer the phone when he called on his way home from work.
He asked me what I was wearing, then he said he had something for us to have a little baby celebration. He asked if I could get the girls out of bed.. "And maybe poke them a bit... So they'll be happy to see me when I get home."
I asked him what sort of things he had to celebrate, and if chocolate would be involved.
"One second..." he said.
He sounded distracted.
Worse - He sounded serious.
There was screeching
Then crunching
Crackling through the phone line
Then nothing.
Oh no.
I called back immediately.
Voice mail.
I got the girls out of bed, I poked them a bit as I put them in the car, then I drove.
The phone was probably just broken so he couldn't call me and tell me he was fine...
If there had been an accident he would probably need a lift home...
Oh well, I hope he still has the chocolate.
No sirens, no flashing lights.
That's a good sign.
Down the hill.
Around the corner.
Still no flashing lights.
Hmm, left or right?
He must have been shopping - shops are that way.
Right.
Down the road.
Around the bend.
Oh no.
Broken glass.
Crumpled metal.
Bits of M's car.
Oh no.
Now I hear sirens and see flashing lights.
The front half of M's car is sandwiched between another car and a tree.
It doesn't look good.
I am on my way over to him when someone comes towards me.
I don't care who it is
But then they are stopping me from getting to M and that makes me care.
I get angry and panic takes hold.
I need to see M.
I need to see him NOW.
I get around whoever is stopping me.
Then I see M.
I see his body
But he is not here any more
He is gone
M is dead.
Earlier that day, a man was having a few drinks at his brother's house after work.
As they drank, the brothers exchanged work highlights and low lights, they made a preliminary assessment of their little sister's new boyfriend, they joked about their wives and their horrible cooking, and in light of this last discussion, they decided on going a third round of 2 minute noodles before dinner.
Then it was time for the man to go home.
The distance was not walkable - but he could easily have ridden the bike that was sitting, unused, in the shed.
A taxi would not have cost too much, nor taken too long.
Buses ran every half hour - they stopped right outside his brother's door and would have dropped him 10 meters from his own.
His brother's wife would be home shortly and she could have given him a lift when she went to pick up take away.
He could have called his own wife and asked her to pick him up.
But all these options seemed like such a hassle.
It was only a few blocks...
And he knew the roads like the back of his hand.
There were never any cops around... No cop, no crime, right?
And besides - He could handle his alcohol.
So the man chose to drive.
He pulled out of his brother's driveway at 7:24pm.
"Damn!" - His favourite TV show started in just six minutes.
At 7:25pm - He glanced at the clock and sped up a little.
At 7:26pm - He sped up a little more.
At 7:27pm - He came to a straight stretch of road and sped up a LOT more.
At 7:28pm - He was one block from home, on a road that he knew like the back of his hand. If he put his foot down, he might just make it.
He probably would have made it, too.
Except that at 7:29pm - The man ran a stop sign.
He was traveling at almost 120km/hr when he drove straight into another car.
The driver of the other car, M, was killed instantly.
M did not get to see our twin daughters turn one.
He was not there for the birth of our youngest.
He will never be here for birthdays.
For Christmas.
To hear the "I love you"s.
See the smiles.
Give the cuddles.
He'll miss every moment.
Every smile
Every tear
Every word
Every whisper
Every breath
Every second.
M's family -
His mum, his dad, his brothers, his children, his friends -
They'll miss him
And ache for him
Every morning
Every night
Every day
Every second.
The man -
He was physically unharmed.
But he did miss his TV show.
No matter who you are
No matter how invincible you think you are
No matter how much you love your television
It is never OK to get behind the wheel drunk.
It is never OK to speed.
It is never OK
For anyone
Ever.
Not even for one second.
The Meaning of Easter
Warning: Angry Mother Venting.
Dear Mrs. Cadbury*,
Thank you for taking the time these past weeks to speak with the three Kewl girls and share with them your knowledge of God and your religion, Christianity. I appreciate your patience in answering their multitude of questions, some of them not always, er, polite, and I am most grateful for your acceptance of their (and my) sometimes differing view points.
I would like to apologise for offending you by asking that you refrain from explaining to my children, the Christian meaning of Easter. I understand that to a person as committed to their religion as you are, this request is akin to calling the Easter Bunny 'Hoppin' Jesus' and worshipping his eggs.
What I do not understand, Mrs Cadbury, is just why you decided, in all your God given wisdom, that you knew better than I what my children need know or not know about Easter. Why, Mrs. Cadbury, did you feel it was your God given right to explain to one almost 3 year old and two 4 and a 1/2 year olds that (in short) Jesus rose from the dead?
Did you not think that just maybe, this might be a little confusing for three small children whose father is dead? Particularly with their father's birthday coinciding with Good Friday this year?
When you explained to them that Jesus was dead but then God brought him back to life, did the thought occur to you that this may lead three small children to believe that their father who died might also be brought back to life by this wonderful God you keep telling them about?
Mrs. Cadbury, did you think AT ALL about what you were telling my Kewl girls? Or why I might have asked you to refrain from explaining death and resurrection to them?
No?
I didn't think so.
But seeing as how you didn't mind telling the Kewl girls about your meaning of Easter anyway, you won't mind Mrs. Cadbury, if I send the three Kewl girls to you for comforting when they cannot understand why God will not bring their father back to life. You won't mind explaining to them that it's not that God doesn't love their father, it's just that.... Well, it's just that what, exactly?
And you won't mind explaining to one very determined 4 and a 1/2 year old, that she does not have to die so that her father will come back to life... Or to her distraught sister that God did not make her father die for her sins and she did not kill him by being naughty.
I know that you were only trying to give my children an appreciation and understanding of what Easter means to you, but Mrs. Cadbury, Easter means lots of different things to lots of different people. To some, it doesn't mean anything, and that's ok, too. To us, it was meant to be about celebrating family. It was meant to be a non event in our home, at least until the Kewl girls were old enough to understand it better.
Really, I think I have been very understanding, don't you, Mrs. Cadbury? So now you'll understand that your good intentions mean shit to me right now and consequently, you are not invited to our 12 o'clock worshipping of Hoppin' Jesus, the bunny who shits chocolate and promises not to kill or resurrect anyone.
Sincerely,
Angry Mother.
*Name has been changed for the purpose of maximum personal insult.
Please note: This is not an attack on religion. Just an expression of anger and an observation that sometimes doing good in the name of God is NOT GOOD.
And we do not believe in, nor worship Hoppin' Jesus the Easter bunny who shits chocolate.
Please check back tomorrow for the return of calm blue oceans.
Dear Mrs. Cadbury*,
Thank you for taking the time these past weeks to speak with the three Kewl girls and share with them your knowledge of God and your religion, Christianity. I appreciate your patience in answering their multitude of questions, some of them not always, er, polite, and I am most grateful for your acceptance of their (and my) sometimes differing view points.
I would like to apologise for offending you by asking that you refrain from explaining to my children, the Christian meaning of Easter. I understand that to a person as committed to their religion as you are, this request is akin to calling the Easter Bunny 'Hoppin' Jesus' and worshipping his eggs.
What I do not understand, Mrs Cadbury, is just why you decided, in all your God given wisdom, that you knew better than I what my children need know or not know about Easter. Why, Mrs. Cadbury, did you feel it was your God given right to explain to one almost 3 year old and two 4 and a 1/2 year olds that (in short) Jesus rose from the dead?
Did you not think that just maybe, this might be a little confusing for three small children whose father is dead? Particularly with their father's birthday coinciding with Good Friday this year?
When you explained to them that Jesus was dead but then God brought him back to life, did the thought occur to you that this may lead three small children to believe that their father who died might also be brought back to life by this wonderful God you keep telling them about?
Mrs. Cadbury, did you think AT ALL about what you were telling my Kewl girls? Or why I might have asked you to refrain from explaining death and resurrection to them?
No?
I didn't think so.
But seeing as how you didn't mind telling the Kewl girls about your meaning of Easter anyway, you won't mind Mrs. Cadbury, if I send the three Kewl girls to you for comforting when they cannot understand why God will not bring their father back to life. You won't mind explaining to them that it's not that God doesn't love their father, it's just that.... Well, it's just that what, exactly?
And you won't mind explaining to one very determined 4 and a 1/2 year old, that she does not have to die so that her father will come back to life... Or to her distraught sister that God did not make her father die for her sins and she did not kill him by being naughty.
I know that you were only trying to give my children an appreciation and understanding of what Easter means to you, but Mrs. Cadbury, Easter means lots of different things to lots of different people. To some, it doesn't mean anything, and that's ok, too. To us, it was meant to be about celebrating family. It was meant to be a non event in our home, at least until the Kewl girls were old enough to understand it better.
Really, I think I have been very understanding, don't you, Mrs. Cadbury? So now you'll understand that your good intentions mean shit to me right now and consequently, you are not invited to our 12 o'clock worshipping of Hoppin' Jesus, the bunny who shits chocolate and promises not to kill or resurrect anyone.
Sincerely,
Angry Mother.
*Name has been changed for the purpose of maximum personal insult.
Please note: This is not an attack on religion. Just an expression of anger and an observation that sometimes doing good in the name of God is NOT GOOD.
And we do not believe in, nor worship Hoppin' Jesus the Easter bunny who shits chocolate.
Please check back tomorrow for the return of calm blue oceans.
Pip... RAY!
Happy Birthday Daddy Kewl.
We love you.
Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am in a thousand winds that blow,
I am in the softly falling snow.
I am in the gentle showers of rain,
I am in the fields of ripening grain.
I am in the morning hush,
I am in the gentle rush
Of beautiful birds in circling flight,
I am in the starshine of the night.
I am in the flowers that bloom,
I am in a quiet room.
I am in the birds that sing,
I am in each lovely thing.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there. I do not die.
~Mary Elizabeth Frye
We love you.
Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am in a thousand winds that blow,
I am in the softly falling snow.
I am in the gentle showers of rain,
I am in the fields of ripening grain.
I am in the morning hush,
I am in the gentle rush
Of beautiful birds in circling flight,
I am in the starshine of the night.
I am in the flowers that bloom,
I am in a quiet room.
I am in the birds that sing,
I am in each lovely thing.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there. I do not die.
~Mary Elizabeth Frye
Tell me again
"Mummy?"
"Yes Miss V?"
"Tell me the story of when daddy died?"
"In the morning, early early early, even before the sun was up, daddy started poking me in the ribs to wake me up. He poked, then he tickled, then he started jumping up and down like a frog on the bed to get my attention. When I was awake he lay down next to me and said, "Guess what? We're pregnant!!!" ... And he was right! You were a teeny tiny little baby growing in my tummy, and your daddy knew all about you..."
"Even before you told him.."
"That's right, even before I told him! After lunch daddy had to go to his deli to make some food and drink some coffee. He left in his car, then he came back again because he wanted to tell you how much he loved you, and he did that by rubbing my tummy. Then he left in his car again... Then he came back AGAIN to tell you he loved you even MORE!!! He left again and this time he called us on the phone as soon as he got to the deli to tell us all that he loved us all very very very very very very much. He called lots and lots and lots that day..."
"Every half an hour all afternoon..."
"... Every Half hour, all afternoon. On his way home, dad stopped at the shops to get some chocolate so that we could all celebrate our teeny tiny baby growing in my tummy. It was after J and F's bedtime and daddy knew that, so he called from the car to say please please please could we all get up again so we can have a Miss V party with him! He was so very happy and so very excited about his teeny tiny jelly baby."
"Me!"
"You, Miss V! There was another man driving home that night, too. He had made some bad choices that evening and his body wasn't very good at driving. The man wasn't paying enough attention and so he caused a car accident. He drove into daddy's car and there was a big crash. Cars are big and heavy and much tougher than people, so when they crashed together daddy's body got broken and stopped working..."
"... And that's when he died."
"Yes, that's when he died. But daddy is always always always so very excited about his teeny tiny baby V, he is always celebrating your life and all we have to do to celebrate with him is wake up and think of chocolate! And you know the very best bit, Miss V?"
"Daddy is happy because he knows that we know he loves us lots, and lots, and lots, and LOTS!"
"And lots and lots and lots!"
.....
"Mum?"
"Yes Miss V?"
"Tell me again?"
"Yes Miss V?"
"Tell me the story of when daddy died?"
"In the morning, early early early, even before the sun was up, daddy started poking me in the ribs to wake me up. He poked, then he tickled, then he started jumping up and down like a frog on the bed to get my attention. When I was awake he lay down next to me and said, "Guess what? We're pregnant!!!" ... And he was right! You were a teeny tiny little baby growing in my tummy, and your daddy knew all about you..."
"Even before you told him.."
"That's right, even before I told him! After lunch daddy had to go to his deli to make some food and drink some coffee. He left in his car, then he came back again because he wanted to tell you how much he loved you, and he did that by rubbing my tummy. Then he left in his car again... Then he came back AGAIN to tell you he loved you even MORE!!! He left again and this time he called us on the phone as soon as he got to the deli to tell us all that he loved us all very very very very very very much. He called lots and lots and lots that day..."
"Every half an hour all afternoon..."
"... Every Half hour, all afternoon. On his way home, dad stopped at the shops to get some chocolate so that we could all celebrate our teeny tiny baby growing in my tummy. It was after J and F's bedtime and daddy knew that, so he called from the car to say please please please could we all get up again so we can have a Miss V party with him! He was so very happy and so very excited about his teeny tiny jelly baby."
"Me!"
"You, Miss V! There was another man driving home that night, too. He had made some bad choices that evening and his body wasn't very good at driving. The man wasn't paying enough attention and so he caused a car accident. He drove into daddy's car and there was a big crash. Cars are big and heavy and much tougher than people, so when they crashed together daddy's body got broken and stopped working..."
"... And that's when he died."
"Yes, that's when he died. But daddy is always always always so very excited about his teeny tiny baby V, he is always celebrating your life and all we have to do to celebrate with him is wake up and think of chocolate! And you know the very best bit, Miss V?"
"Daddy is happy because he knows that we know he loves us lots, and lots, and lots, and LOTS!"
"And lots and lots and lots!"
.....
"Mum?"
"Yes Miss V?"
"Tell me again?"
Three Years Gone
We have gone away for the 3rd anniversary of Daddy Kewl's death.See you all when we return.
Magic Moment
Miss V was born with a phobia of phones. She got it from me and from an experience we shared when she was in my tummy.
On the night Daddy Kewl was killed, he rang me on his way home from work. He was hit by the drink driver while we were talking.
As much as I am thankful that in a way I was with him when he died, we never got to finish our conversation or say goodbye and that unfinished phone call was stuck on replay for a long time.
So, it is no wonder really that Miss V and I do not like phones!
Mostly I am okay with phones now, but Miss V is still not keen on them. In an attempt to make phones fun for her, I took the girls on a mission a few months ago. We went to the discount shop and I set down the challenge: Find as many phones as you can!
Together we scoured the store in search of our communication treasures - and we scored well! We left with a bag full of 14 new (toy) phones! When we got home we played lots of games with them. I practised juggling them, Miss J had fun throwing them into a bucket from a couple of meters away, Miss F did magic tricks with them (making them disappear by hiding them in different hand bags!) and Miss V used them to play fetch with the dogs.
Having achieved a good level of phone fun, the next step was to practise talking on them. Miss J or Miss F would make fabulous phone ringing sounds and I would answer the call and pass on messages to them. "That was your god mother. She says hello, and she is making snot pie for dinner!"
Miss J and Miss F caught onto this very quickly and became great role models. They started answering phones themselves and passing messages on to me. "That was Whip. He says hello and your shoes are smelly!"
Then there was the "Hello Song". Miss V's unicorn sings this song... Imagine the most annoying, catchy, lame tune you have ever heard. Multiply the annoying factor by 2. Now add these lyrics... "Hello, hello, hello, hello, hello, hello, how are you? Hello, hello, hello, hello, hello, hello, how are you? Thank you, thank you I am fine and I hope that you are too. Do do do do do."
To infinity.
It drives me bonkers, but Miss V loves it. So we sang it - Every time the phone rang.
For all of our phone antics, Miss V still does not want to speak to people on real phones (and that's OK. I'm sure she will warm to them when she is ready). She is starting to get used to speaking on toy phones though. After watching her sisters and I talking and laughing and passing on hello's she is now quite comfortable chatting on them herself, and although the phone may not be plugged in, she certainly has connections.
One day this week I heard Miss V talking on her phone. I didn't catch much of her conversation, but when I walked into her room she had a message for me.
She put down the phone, looked directly into my eyes and said,
"That was dad. He says goodbye."
On the night Daddy Kewl was killed, he rang me on his way home from work. He was hit by the drink driver while we were talking.
As much as I am thankful that in a way I was with him when he died, we never got to finish our conversation or say goodbye and that unfinished phone call was stuck on replay for a long time.
So, it is no wonder really that Miss V and I do not like phones!
Mostly I am okay with phones now, but Miss V is still not keen on them. In an attempt to make phones fun for her, I took the girls on a mission a few months ago. We went to the discount shop and I set down the challenge: Find as many phones as you can!
Together we scoured the store in search of our communication treasures - and we scored well! We left with a bag full of 14 new (toy) phones! When we got home we played lots of games with them. I practised juggling them, Miss J had fun throwing them into a bucket from a couple of meters away, Miss F did magic tricks with them (making them disappear by hiding them in different hand bags!) and Miss V used them to play fetch with the dogs.
Having achieved a good level of phone fun, the next step was to practise talking on them. Miss J or Miss F would make fabulous phone ringing sounds and I would answer the call and pass on messages to them. "That was your god mother. She says hello, and she is making snot pie for dinner!"
Miss J and Miss F caught onto this very quickly and became great role models. They started answering phones themselves and passing messages on to me. "That was Whip. He says hello and your shoes are smelly!"
Then there was the "Hello Song". Miss V's unicorn sings this song... Imagine the most annoying, catchy, lame tune you have ever heard. Multiply the annoying factor by 2. Now add these lyrics... "Hello, hello, hello, hello, hello, hello, how are you? Hello, hello, hello, hello, hello, hello, how are you? Thank you, thank you I am fine and I hope that you are too. Do do do do do."
To infinity.
It drives me bonkers, but Miss V loves it. So we sang it - Every time the phone rang.
For all of our phone antics, Miss V still does not want to speak to people on real phones (and that's OK. I'm sure she will warm to them when she is ready). She is starting to get used to speaking on toy phones though. After watching her sisters and I talking and laughing and passing on hello's she is now quite comfortable chatting on them herself, and although the phone may not be plugged in, she certainly has connections.
One day this week I heard Miss V talking on her phone. I didn't catch much of her conversation, but when I walked into her room she had a message for me.
She put down the phone, looked directly into my eyes and said,
"That was dad. He says goodbye."
Introspection
Below is a lecture given by Dr. Randy Pausch when he appeared on Oprah.
The full version can also be viewed on YouTube and it is a little over an hour long.
This version is just 10 minutes, though really, it can last a lifetime.
I wrote a whole lot of introspective ramblings here, clicked publish, then changed my mind.
LOL
Suffice to say, for the next few weeks I will be attempting to answer a question that has been burning ever since I saw this lecture.
If M had know he was going to die, what would he have said in his 'last lecture'?
The full version can also be viewed on YouTube and it is a little over an hour long.
This version is just 10 minutes, though really, it can last a lifetime.
I wrote a whole lot of introspective ramblings here, clicked publish, then changed my mind.
LOL
Suffice to say, for the next few weeks I will be attempting to answer a question that has been burning ever since I saw this lecture.
If M had know he was going to die, what would he have said in his 'last lecture'?
Smile
This week I have been missing Daddy Kewl a lot. No particular reason, just because he is not here.
Yesterday the girls' god parents came over and we went and had a picnic lunch under M's tree. Usually, visiting this magical place helps me feel closer to M because deep down, I know he is still here with us. Yesterday though, instead of loosening the bands of grief around my chest our picnic lunch had the opposite effect. The tree served only as a reminder that M is gone and all I felt was the ache for his physical presence.
For the first time in a long time, I was relieved when it was time to pack up and head back to the house.
Later in the afternoon, I set the girls up with some crafty stuff while I sat on the couch and tried to work out how I was going to climb back out of my misery hole - or at least stop digging it.
OK. Think positive. What am I grateful for? What brings me joy?
To be honest, I wasn't getting very far. I could name plenty of positives, plenty of things to be grateful for and plenty of things that bring me joy, but the feeling just wasn't there.
My head and my heart were not cooperating.
Right on cue, Miss J left the craft table and came to see me. She was holding something behind her back and she told me it was a surprise, so I had to close my eyes. I obeyed and Miss J reached out and gently stuck something to my chest.
When I opened my eyes, Miss J said,
"See? It's to make your heart happy."
Then she went back to her craft with a big smile on her face.
It was almost as big as mine.
More smiles and magic moments over at Mountaingirls Musings.
Yesterday the girls' god parents came over and we went and had a picnic lunch under M's tree. Usually, visiting this magical place helps me feel closer to M because deep down, I know he is still here with us. Yesterday though, instead of loosening the bands of grief around my chest our picnic lunch had the opposite effect. The tree served only as a reminder that M is gone and all I felt was the ache for his physical presence.
For the first time in a long time, I was relieved when it was time to pack up and head back to the house.
Later in the afternoon, I set the girls up with some crafty stuff while I sat on the couch and tried to work out how I was going to climb back out of my misery hole - or at least stop digging it.
OK. Think positive. What am I grateful for? What brings me joy?
To be honest, I wasn't getting very far. I could name plenty of positives, plenty of things to be grateful for and plenty of things that bring me joy, but the feeling just wasn't there.
My head and my heart were not cooperating.
Right on cue, Miss J left the craft table and came to see me. She was holding something behind her back and she told me it was a surprise, so I had to close my eyes. I obeyed and Miss J reached out and gently stuck something to my chest.
When I opened my eyes, Miss J said,
"See? It's to make your heart happy."
Then she went back to her craft with a big smile on her face.
It was almost as big as mine.
More smiles and magic moments over at Mountaingirls Musings.
Silly mum
Miss F loves taking photos. In fact, give her a camera and she will amuse herself for up to an hour - That is how much she loves taking photos!
When she is in one of her arty photographer moods, it is best not to disturb her - She gets quite cranky when you interrupt her flow. If she could make such an offence punishable by death, I honestly think she would consider it.
I have learned the hard way that asking to look at her photos before she has finished with the camera counts as interrupting. I do like to see what she has captured though, so we came up with an acceptable alternative. When the memory card is full, we hook the camera up to the computer and go through her shots, saving to good ones and "clearing" the rest.
This morning Miss F spent an hour taking photos in town. She took so many photos that when we got home the camera was flashing "Memory Card Full", so we sat down at the computer together and started clicking through her photos. To her credit, Miss F is not afraid of good honest feedback, nor is she precious about her photos - most of them get "cleared" without so much as a second thought.
Today, after "clearing" 20 or so similar images, I started to have second thoughts. My mind went back to poor James and the forty four photos I sat through before finally realising I was looking at more than just grass. I started to think that maybe today's repetitive images also had a deeper meaning, so I asked Miss F to explain this photo to me:
She said,
"Silly mum... That's you and dad playing music in the sky."
When she is in one of her arty photographer moods, it is best not to disturb her - She gets quite cranky when you interrupt her flow. If she could make such an offence punishable by death, I honestly think she would consider it.
I have learned the hard way that asking to look at her photos before she has finished with the camera counts as interrupting. I do like to see what she has captured though, so we came up with an acceptable alternative. When the memory card is full, we hook the camera up to the computer and go through her shots, saving to good ones and "clearing" the rest.
This morning Miss F spent an hour taking photos in town. She took so many photos that when we got home the camera was flashing "Memory Card Full", so we sat down at the computer together and started clicking through her photos. To her credit, Miss F is not afraid of good honest feedback, nor is she precious about her photos - most of them get "cleared" without so much as a second thought.
Today, after "clearing" 20 or so similar images, I started to have second thoughts. My mind went back to poor James and the forty four photos I sat through before finally realising I was looking at more than just grass. I started to think that maybe today's repetitive images also had a deeper meaning, so I asked Miss F to explain this photo to me:
She said,
"Silly mum... That's you and dad playing music in the sky."
Quotes
"What the caterpillar calls the end of the world, the master calls a butterfly."
~Richard Bach
"Look mum! Daddy's flying!"
~Miss F
"Look mum! Daddy's flying!"
~Miss F
Magic Moment
I love tax time.
I love working with figures... Finding ways to be clever and different within a system.
Talking to my accountant is exciting and our conversations are always interesting and progressive.
Organising receipts and statements and making estimates and adjustments and calculations is such a fun way to spend every evening.
Oh yeah - I love tax time...
I love working with figures... Finding ways to be clever and different within a system.
Talking to my accountant is exciting and our conversations are always interesting and progressive.
Organising receipts and statements and making estimates and adjustments and calculations is such a fun way to spend every evening.
Oh yeah - I love tax time...
Almost as much as I love positive self talk!
In all seriousness... This year is actually a big step forward for me. It is the first year since M died that I am getting involved in my taxes.
As a couple our finances were greatly intertwined. Even though M had his own business and I had my own work, we also had a shared business and our marriage, our children and our choices meant that tax time was very much a family affair - Something I'm sure most couples relate to.
We were both fairly good with numbers, and we really did enjoy working with figures and finding ways to be clever and different within a system. We'd sit together in our own world of calculations, occasionally coming together for a comparison or a congratulations when we were on roll. M - smarty pants that he was - would always remind me to take a "brain break" every couple of hours and then he'd make me laugh by asking, "Is it hard being so smart?".
Since M's death, the thing I have struggled with about tax is that even when a person dies, their records don't. M is no longer here, but his business, our business and the results of our choices are still alive and kicking. Or more to the point, alive and taxing.
For the last 2 financial years I've left everything to the accountant and a financially savvy friend. I preferred to deal only with the idea of doing tax without M, and not the reality.
This year I decided it was time to stop hiding, stop pleading ignorance and take responsibility...
Time to get real.
So this week I've been doing our taxes. I've been talking to our accountant and organising receipts and statements and making estimates and adjustments and calculations.
I've spent hours sitting in the office alone - Half the time working, the other half crying.
Yesterday, after a good hour of tears followed by a good hour of calculating, Miss V came in to see me. She climbed on to my lap and sat for a while, sucking her thumb and stroking the side of my face as I worked.
Then she turned her body to face mine and leant back into my line of vision, telling me it was time to focus on her now.
I put my pen down and kissed her forehead. Miss V sat for a moment, then reached up and tucked a few stray hairs back behind my ears. She looked into my eyes, holding my gaze and melting my heart, then she asked,
"Mummy? Is it hard being so smart?"
To read more Magic Moments or join in with your own, head over to Mountaingirls Musings.
In all seriousness... This year is actually a big step forward for me. It is the first year since M died that I am getting involved in my taxes.
As a couple our finances were greatly intertwined. Even though M had his own business and I had my own work, we also had a shared business and our marriage, our children and our choices meant that tax time was very much a family affair - Something I'm sure most couples relate to.
We were both fairly good with numbers, and we really did enjoy working with figures and finding ways to be clever and different within a system. We'd sit together in our own world of calculations, occasionally coming together for a comparison or a congratulations when we were on roll. M - smarty pants that he was - would always remind me to take a "brain break" every couple of hours and then he'd make me laugh by asking, "Is it hard being so smart?".
Since M's death, the thing I have struggled with about tax is that even when a person dies, their records don't. M is no longer here, but his business, our business and the results of our choices are still alive and kicking. Or more to the point, alive and taxing.
For the last 2 financial years I've left everything to the accountant and a financially savvy friend. I preferred to deal only with the idea of doing tax without M, and not the reality.
This year I decided it was time to stop hiding, stop pleading ignorance and take responsibility...
Time to get real.
So this week I've been doing our taxes. I've been talking to our accountant and organising receipts and statements and making estimates and adjustments and calculations.
I've spent hours sitting in the office alone - Half the time working, the other half crying.
Yesterday, after a good hour of tears followed by a good hour of calculating, Miss V came in to see me. She climbed on to my lap and sat for a while, sucking her thumb and stroking the side of my face as I worked.
Then she turned her body to face mine and leant back into my line of vision, telling me it was time to focus on her now.
I put my pen down and kissed her forehead. Miss V sat for a moment, then reached up and tucked a few stray hairs back behind my ears. She looked into my eyes, holding my gaze and melting my heart, then she asked,
"Mummy? Is it hard being so smart?"
To read more Magic Moments or join in with your own, head over to Mountaingirls Musings.
Why?
Miss J:
Mummy? Why does the fridge light up but not the freezer?
Mummy? Why is the sun round? Why can't it be square instead?
Mummy? Why is the bubble bath stuff blue but the bubbles aren't?
Miss F:
Mummy? Why does that lady have a beard? Is she Santa Clause?
Mummy? Why does that man have breasts? Is he feeding a baby?
Mummy? Why do we have bones if they break?
Miss V:
Mummy? Why can't I have smarshmallows for breakfast?
Mummy? Why can't I have a penis?
Mummy? Why do clouds fly?
Mummy? Why did daddy die?
Mummy? Why doesn't he come back yet?
But mummy, why?
Mummy? Why does the fridge light up but not the freezer?
Mummy? Why is the sun round? Why can't it be square instead?
Mummy? Why is the bubble bath stuff blue but the bubbles aren't?
Miss F:
Mummy? Why does that lady have a beard? Is she Santa Clause?
Mummy? Why does that man have breasts? Is he feeding a baby?
Mummy? Why do we have bones if they break?
Miss V:
Mummy? Why can't I have smarshmallows for breakfast?
Mummy? Why can't I have a penis?
Mummy? Why do clouds fly?
Mummy? Why did daddy die?
Mummy? Why doesn't he come back yet?
But mummy, why?
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