The Shape of Things

I came in tonight expecting to blow the dust off and chat with my last remaining subscriber, so I'm rather touched and gratified that there is still a little huddle of you patiently waiting for me to breeze in at my leisure.

Leisure is, in fact, in short supply 'round my casa at present as the changes I have been alluding to for a while have become my reality.

Uni has started, and I am coming to grips with the site and the learning materials; it's certainly a challenge doing it externally, as I don't have the comfort of routine and structure already created for me, but must make my own. I began by devoting 2 days of my working week (Thursday and Friday) to my readings, coursework and online lectures.

The other 3 days were meant to be devoted to my fledgling freelance business (but more about that in a moment), and (trying) to write and market my own ventures, including a shiny new blog.

Now, before I go any further, I've been thinking long and hard about a few things to do with identity and online privacy and all that razzmatazz. This blog has been filled with so much of my lint-filled navel gazing, and is rather personal in nature; especially in its infancy, when I was still married, I trod a very delicate line between revealing my true feelings and maintaining a degree of discretion I felt I owed my then-husband and little boy. And so, because I was showing pictures of us, and talking about personal things, I maintained a certain level of anonymity.

In my new work, I am going the opposite way, and am consciously setting out to be known for who I am, and what I think and do. In my new blog, I am also blogging about being a single mother, but this time I am talking from the perspective of a specialist, if you like - I shy from the word "expert" because I am far from expert, but I want to initiate a conversation for and with and particularly relevant to single mothers, so it's less about me as a person as such, and more about me as an entity, a brand, for want of a better word.

With all of that in mind, my initial impulse was to avoid drawing the line between this blog and my new one, to maintain my relative anonymity here. However, so much of my learning in the last few months has dwelt on the power of communities; what counts, in the social media/marketing/business world is what we women have long known - that relationships count, and making genuine connections with people is the only meaningful way to build a business in the long term. I have nothing to hide here - what I have shared I have done with sensitivity and respect for the other people involved, and it will ever be so. If my ex comes off looking like a shit sometimes, well, that's because he is. ;)

Mainly, I kept thinking about all of you, wonderful people that you are, who have cheered, uplifted and supported me through the highs and lows of the last few years, and how it made perfect sense to share with you the next part of my journey. This is not about business - nothing in my new blog is monetized yet, and when it is, I have absolutely no expectations that you are going to race over there and buy anything (though should you choose to, that'll be lovely, of course ;) ). It's about sharing the next exciting stage of my life with my friends. You have my back-story; now, you might like to get to know me on a different level. Or not. Your choice.

But, if you do want to come check out what I'm up to these days, drop over to The Successful Single Mama and say "Hi!". I'm still struggling to learn more about Wordpress and make the blog look and work the way I envision, so treat it as a work-in-progress - there will be changes to come, and I've got lots of content and ideas to implement yet. I'd love to see you there, and hear your thoughts. :)

Oh, and regarding the freelancing? It was working too well - trying to meet client's deadlines meant I was putting my uni work behind, and my own work even further back(like these blogs). It was lovely to know that I could do it; that people liked my work and were willing to pay for it, but it was coming at too high a price. Most importantly, it was really unfair on the little man, who had a grumpy, frenetic stress-bag for a mother.

In the last couple of weeks, I have decided to put freelancing on the back-burner, and focus on my studies and my own writing for now, until I can reach a comfortable place where I think I can do more. I've beat myself up a bit over this, as I know lots of people who seem to manage to juggle far more. However, I've begun to think we've sold ourselves a real lemon with this whole 'multi-tasking' thing. I suspect it makes us less productive, at least in terms of the quality of our output. And so, I'm being kinder to myself, and chunking things down - when the time is right, I know that I will be able to integrate freelancing into my workload, but that time is not now.

And so, here I am, revealed to you at last. You can still keep up with me here - I'd like to continue to share the more everyday, personal side of my life here, and chuck out the odd recipe and P&C exploit - yes, we've moved on from the preschool committee. Oh, and a word about the little man; I think he has outgrown 'the wee man', don't you? You'll hear about him, here and elsewhere, as 'the boyo' these days. :)

My name is Tracy Rudd, and I am a writer and blogger. Forget the 12 step program - I like how I am. Read about me here, or at http://www.thesuccessfulsinglemama.com, or find me @ruddygood on Twitter and chivvy me back to my studies or writing. :) xxx

"Woman, 42, discovers she is already LIVING her New Year's Resolution.",

I'm 42.

For most of my life, I have wanted to be a writer.

Yet, when people asked me what exactly it was I wrote or wanted to write - even as recently as last week - I would pause for a moment, as I struggled to frame the answer for myself as much as for them.

The standard answer is usually "anything" as I have dabbled in most forms, from poetry and short stories to newspaper and magazine articles and editorial content, with a recent foray into web content and copywriting. I also usually neglect to mention that I blog, for some reason forgetting that composing my thoughts into a 500-1000 word post is certainly a writing exercise, and occasionally produces something actually worth reading. And, like many or most writers, I mention that I hope to have at least one good book in me...somewhere.

Yet, for most of these last 40-odd years, I have done everything BUT become the writer I have always believed I would be.

Something I read today has crystallised all I've been pondering on recently, in terms of my plans and direction in the New Year. One of the incredibly inspirational writer/bloggers I am presently enjoying, Barbara Winters of Joyfully Jobless, wrote a wonderful newsletter suggesting 10 things to do instead of making flimsy and short-lived resolutions. (I am planning on working on her suggestions once the wee man has gone to sleep tonight...a much better use of New Year's Eve for me than drinking champers and partying late, both of which give me headaches these days! Sign up for her Joyfully Jobless News if you want to know what I'll be up to...and no, I'm not paid to say that.).

Barbara quoted Cher as having said that her greatest fear was not living as well as she knew how to live and those words, and the ideas they triggered within, have hummed through my skull and my bones for most of this morning, until I had to sit down and write this post.

"That is my fear", my bones sing, and I realise how a lifetime's passion for learning and self-examination and truth and well-being are guiding me to this moment, to these pivotal thoughts on the eve of a new year, and a new decade.

As you know, this has been a very introspective year for me. A relationship of over 10 years ended last year, and the dreams and plans I held for the future have had to be examined and re-framed in the light of the very significant changes this ending brought to my life. Joyfully, I have realised that I am actually in a better position to acknowledge and achieve my true heart's desires than I was while in that particular relationship.

I have taken concrete steps towards these goals, by enrolling for university and taking baby steps towards a freelance career. For every forward step I take I stagger backwards two, under the force of self-doubt and procrastination and an over-abundance of gurus and how-to's and must-do's. It is mostly self-inflicted, as I feast at the buffet of information online while shaping my vision to become a successful freelancer and entrepreneur, and I'm not missing the opportunity to beat myself up about it.

Yet I also recognise that out of this struggle the seeds of my new future are being sown, and I trust - yes, I really DO - that they (and I) will flourish. My life has been an adventure in learning to live well, even those times when I seemed to doing the opposite. Many times, the people in my life have credited me with helping them find hope and inspiration and direction in their own journeys to living well; occasionally a bittersweet pleasure when I reflected on my own situation at the time, stalled (or so I thought) in one way or another on my own journey.

Ever a work in progress, I confess that that fear will not leave me, no matter what I achieve with the rest of my life. But rather than call it a fear, I prefer to see it as a motivating force, and I have placed my own interpretation of that quote on the top of my monitor, to remind myself every day, not just for New Year, what it's all about:

"I will live my life as fully and as well as I know how to live."

Since I'm always learning, every single day, I know I will find new ways to fulfill that aim, and to share that knowledge with the world.

At 42, I can finally call myself a writer. It's what I know. I might not be the best writer in the world, or even an extensively published one (yet!), but it's one of the things that makes my soul sing.

In 2010, I will be living my life as I fully as I can, one day at a time. Read about it here, or in other places shortly to be unveiled. And go gently into the new year and decade yourselves, with love and light in your hearts. Happy New Year!

Cricket song

The cricket song is reverberating in my ears now, as the last of the light fades. It's funny - moments after stepping out of the car this weekend, my brother's girlfriend was asking me what all the noise was, and it took a moment's pause and a re-tuning of my mental filters before I realized she was referring to the crickets. And yes, they ARE loud.

In our own everyday environment, we become used to certain sounds, smells, sights. In my world, much of the light and colour and sound comes from my little boy. He was long-ago nicknamed "the EveryReady Kid" (a nod to a battery advertisement) for his astonishing energy and ability to be "on", and on the go, from the moment he opens his eyes till the moment his eyes (and mouth) finally close.

Right now, for all the incredible reverberations of the crickets and the murmur of the TV in the background, my house is quiet. It's not unusual for him not to be here - he spends every second weekend with his father, and has been doing 4 days a week at preschool this year. Yet, somehow, when his father picked him up for their Christmas holiday in Northern Queensland, something stilled inside my house, and within me. This will be the first time my little man sees Christmas in without me, and me without him.

Sadness is probably not the right word for the feeling I'm experiencing. Fairness demands that I recognize that his father has already been through this last year, when I took the wee man to my mother's for Christmas, and I'm nothing if not fair.

Part of me is actually quite exultant at the unique pleasure of a quiet, stress-free, totally-mine-to-do-as-I-please Christmas week. I've an invite to a street party on Christmas Eve, which I'm looking forward to, but apart from a last bit of shopping and groceries tomorrow I plan to make like a hermit, and immerse myself in writing and developing the various projects I am setting up for the New Year. (More on that in the near future...look, I'm even going to have time to blog!)

Yet, as well as fair I'm also honest, and it's true that not being able to watch my baby's face light up as he realizes that, once again, the magic of Christmas has touched his world and the jolly fellow in the red suit has heeded his dreams is going to be worthy of the odd tearful moment.

But don't feel sorry for me. Think about all the things I'm going to get done! After all, it's so quiet....

Revelations

Actually, a part of me would like that biblical fury to be raining down on someone right now - some smiting and burning furnaces and two-edged swords and smoke and brimstone could be delivered unto the arse of my son's father while I sit, box seat front row, with popcorn and a digital camera.

Which is kind of interesting because, if I were to categorise my religious inclinations (and that would be hard, because I follow no religion as such), it would be Buddhist rather than Christian. My belief set runs more to karma and inner-leading-to-outer peace than to fiery vengeance wreaked by avenging angels.

Yet recent unexpected revelations have certainly given me cause to wish that karma came with a fast, on-line order version. It's such a bummer having to trust that his transgressions against me, his son and others will be repaid in full through his karmic debt, this lifetime OR the next OR some future lifetime.

Give me some avenging angels and a good plague.


(Btw, the stunning image above is the work of ecstaticist - view more of his exceptional photos on Flickr.)

Rules to Live by

I'm starting the new year by distilling all my acquired life wisdom into a few succinct phrases or rules. It's as good a place to start as any.

One of the many wonderful blogs which captures my attention, often at the expense of my own blogging (but when there is this much great content around who needs to listen to me anyway?), is Gretchen's The Happiness Project. Do have a look around - she has much to offer, not least the comments and sharing from her subscribers, which often lead to me to other treasures.

Her final post for 2008 was New Year's Resolution: Four tips for writing your personal commandments. She shares her own 12 rules (of which my favourite is "Be Gretchen."), and some that other readers have shared ("Don't rehearse unhappiness" is profound: "Do stuff" covers everything), and gave me plenty of food for thought.

Re-aligning with my values and beliefs has been a big part of 2008 for me. Some of you may detect some of the deeper themes, the lessons of my recent life-changes; I know I did.

I sat here and doodled and pondered on and off for half of the day, in between playing and picnicing and just damn sweating (sooo hot...I'm still melting and it's 10 at night), to encapsulate my beliefs into their essence.

Here, in no particular order, are my own personal commandments:

Seek truth.

Trust my instincts.

Simplify.

Share my vision, shine my light.

See good, say good and do good.

It's okay to ask for help.

Treasure every moment.

Always with love.

Be legendary, prove real.



What rules are you choosing to live by in 2009?

He thinks he's getting away with it...

...but he's not sure. I'm not ranting, or even mentioning how his behaviour has impacted us. In the corner of his mind, warning flags are flying: "...when she doesn't say something, look out!".

There's two reasons for my silence.

Losing my temper is wasted energy anyway. He takes no notice regardless, and it simply gives him an excuse to cut off any discussions at all. I am biding my time. In two months, we will have been separated for 12 months. In 2 months, I will be seeking a divorce. I will be formalising the arrangements surrounding the wee man. The court will hear the situation, and we will have to do a mediation session, and he will hear from people, other than me, how his behaviour affects his son.

Probably won't make a blind bit of difference.

Oh, and the other reason?

Because the rest of the time, when he's not around, I am happy. Since I know from long experience that much of his behaviour is just trying to pull me down to his level, I need him to see me how I am now...happy.

Intermission:

Well, I won't be winning any of those fabulous prizes at NabloPoMo. I completely forgot about posting yesterday - you know they say it takes 21 days to make (or renew) a habit, and I'm obviously not there yet.

I'm home alone tonight, my glands are swollen and I ache in every part of my body - guess where I'm going?!

Normal blogging service may resume soon....Here's something to look at in the meantime:

So where was I when I wasn't here...?

Truth to tell, it was real life that mostly got in the way. With the lead-up to the election (no, not THAT one...my local government election), plus the other things I like to involve myself in, plus everyday life with the wee man, I would flop gratefully on the couch at the end of the day, happy for some mindless TV or a little Sudoku...anything that allowed 90% of my brain to drift.

(And, it must be said, I found dial-up so intensely annoying and resented the huge amount of time spent waiting for pages to load that I often found it a real dis-incentive to turning on the computer to read or write blogs.)

However, there was another distraction, another seductive little time-waster, which won a lot of my on-line attention for a while...and it's all my family's fault!

That's right - if I hadn't gone to my aunt's wonderful wedding back in July, and had such a fantastic time catching up with my cousins etc (plus the new members of the family we inherited through the wedding), I wouldn't have made all those rash promises about catching up through Facebook!

Yes - I'm a bit of a late-comer, I know. I had a very minimalist presence on Facebook previously - just a bare-bones profile, as it was a place I used to stay in touch with one girlfriend who lived in England. Then my brothers found me there, and kept sending me all these silly applications (which piled up, 'cos I had no idea I could just hit 'Ignore'). I'd contemplated wiping my profile, sure I had far better things to do with my time...and then I went to the wedding, and suddenly discovered the real strength of Facebook, when it comes to keeping in touch with people you love.

All of a sudden, my family and I (and then my network in general, as I expanded to include many of my playgroup and preschool circle) were able to exchange photos with all with one click of a button, share happenings, children's triumphs, illnesses and worries almost immediately. Indeed, we often tune into the nuances in one another's status report, sharing a sense of supportedness and involvement that the sporadic phone calls and emails we previously exchanged couldn't come near to.

As any regular readers of my blog will know, I am a big advocate for community, and through Facebook, I found another level of community which transcended time and distance and, since it involved family, became very special. Things have quietened down from the first heady flush of connectivity, but Facebook is now a valuable tool in my daily routine, and I use it regularly to weave tighter the threads of family and friendship.

PS. Guess what was one of the first things I did when I moved into this house? Yep! Got me some of that broadband PDQ!!!

PPS. Guess who was the cutest of a very cute bunch of under-age wedding attendants at my aunt's wedding?

I knew it wouldn't be easy.

(No, I'm not already freaking out about NaBloPoMo, though goodness knows I've come into it a lot less prepared than '07. This time last year, I had some lists of possible blog topics and hot links in case the muse ran out on me. This time, I'm running blind...)

I meant the challenge that I faced, to negotiate the minefield that is co-parenting. Given all that I knew about the wee man's Dad, it was never going to be a cake-walk...

I had written much more on this subject, and was prepared to post it, when I reflected on something I remember another blogger saying once; about how she was conscious of the future when her kids, curious about what their old Ma got up to in her younger days, grew old and unwise enough to follow their mother's cyber trail on the Web and read all the embarrassing and intimate details of their babyhood and early childhood on her blog.

So, baby, for your sake I'm not going to tell everybody in detail how absolutely sucky I think your Dad is right now, how deeply sad I am at his selfishness in not recognising how his actions are affecting you, about why I am so profoundly disappointed that a person who I once invested all my love and trust and faith in can't even manage to rise above his shortcomings for your sake.

I'm sorry, sweetheart. Without him you wouldn't exist, and I know you love him deeply, but I'm sorry for the world of hurt and disappointment I've let you in for by choosing him to be your father. I hope he manages to be half the man I think he is capable of being, to do the very best he can by you, because right now I don't think his efforts amount to a fart in a snowstorm.

(I'm writing this when you are four-and-a-half...you've never experienced a snowstorm, but you'll laugh your head off at any sentence that contains the word "fart". You probably still do.)

I love to hear you laugh. Right now, your eyes contain a woundedness I never wanted to see - it's not just me noticing it, but it is up to me to do everything I can to make things better for you. I can only count on myself in this.

You're resilient and smart and sensitive, but far too young to be able to understand the nuances of your father's behaviour. I see you blaming yourself for all the stuff you don't understand, thinking that there is something wrong in you, and that is the only mistake you make...you are perfect, baby. You are a four-and-a-half year old mind in the body of a four-and-a-half year old boy; your father has the mind of a four-and-a-half year old boy in the body of a man.

My most fervent wish is that I can help you grow and integrate all these experiences and feelings in such a way that you don't become another wounded child walking around in the body of an adult. There are far too many of them (and I probably wouldn't entirely exclude myself from that category). As I type this tonight, I pray that you might be able to tell me, one day, that I got my wish...

Contrary to popular opinion...

...I have not been abducted by aliens.

For some reason, which I have been unable to specifically formulate but instead have been idly examining in the privacy of my own head, I have drifted away from the habit of blogging and immersion in the blogging world.

There's some superficial explanations, like how immensely frustrating I found it being back on dialup this year, and how much that limited my enjoyment of the Net in general, and blogging (both writing and reading) particularly. And how caught I became in real-time activities like the campaign and preschool etc.

Ultimately, I think that blogging and the blogging world gave me a much-needed sanctuary, an escape, when so much of my life was going shit-side-up. Now, as things in my life are taking shape in ways which are generally pleasing and satisfying and sometimes just plain time-consuming, I have lost the habit of blogging as the need that it filled (to be heard, to be understood) has fallen away. I'm happy (mostly). It's on a level almost below sensing, like a sub-sonic hum - it has replaced the hum of misery which was there before. People tell me I look happy, whatever that means.

I might have forgotten blogging for a while, but I haven't forgotten the amazing people I have met while blogging, and I have been thinking of you and occasionally dropping in quietly on a few of you when I can. (Trish, Tiff, you two are particularly in my thoughts...you have had a VERY tough year, and I am still here cheering you on, awed by your courage and humour as ever. Cec and JCK - catching up real soon!)

For those of you who have been crazy kind enough to hang in there waiting for me to bob up again, here's a quick summary of the last couple of months:

The Election

- I ran for Council after all, but only on the bottom of the ticket to support the group and our leader who, I am thrilled to say, got on to Council. And what a Council!

We have a lady Mayor, Jenny Dowell, who I had the immense pleasure of getting to know a little through the campaign - she is a person of courage and grace and integrity, which has been incredibly tested as she was diagnosed with breast cancer 3 days after winning the election! She is having a mastectomy on Tuesday, and fully intends to be at the first official meeting of council the week after. The community at large is sending her a massive amount of goodwill, love and support, shocked that she faces this crisis so soon after her triumphant win, but I'm sure that she is winning even more supporters by her honesty and dignity in sharing this terrible time with us, and Breast Cancer Awareness Month has got itself its new best advocate.

We have a Green female Deputy Mayor, Vanessa Ekins, and we have a great mix of progressive and fairly young councillors making up the majority of the council, with only 3 of the original dominating conservative "Six-pack" voting bloc remaining. Clearly, the community has spoken out for change, and I am really happy to have been part of the process. I wanted to make a change in our council, and see a better representation of women, and I helped achieve that without having to be a part of it myself...

...This time. I have had some feedback from some of the wonderful people I worked with in this campaign, to the effect that I have "...a shining future in local government" if I want it. The group who worked behind the scenes to support our party (including some of those who supported the claim of the other local candidate) are keen to work with me, and him, and others, to continue to support our man on council, and make long-term plans for the next elections, four years hence. Looks like my career in politics isn't over yet.



We Moved

- The wee man and I have moved on from one-room living, and now have more than enough room to swing a cat (and she loves it!) In fact, we have a lovely little 3 bedroom house with a jungle of a garden, and our darling dog Rusty was returned by the wee man's dad when we moved, so we are a very happy little family.

We have our own rooms ( I can't tell you how grateful I am not to take 2 steps and then trip on Thomas the Tank Engine or Alfie or Harvey or whoever the hell little metal engine was sticking into my instep...?!), the wee man is sleeping through the night (most nights) in his OWN room in his OWN bed, and I am experiencing that amazing phenomenon where you shut your eyes and then you open them again and it's morning...wtf? It's only been nearly 5 years. (Humble apologies to anyone not currently experiencing this phenomenon - I'm not boasting...oh, okay...maybe a little bit.)

It's been wonderful to get all my things out of storage after nearly nine months, and while a few boxes have been shoved into cupboards unopened, generally the place is looking and feeling like Home. (I can't wait till next weekend when various members of my family will be arriving to help celebrate my birthday, and will get to see it.)
















I Had a Haircut

- More importantly, a haircut I LOVE! In fact, it's six weeks this week since it was cut and I am itching to go back for a trim, but my newly-discovered treasure of a hairdresser has had the gall to be off sick this week...lol!




And So Has The Wee Man

- Photos to follow...I haven't even seen it yet!?! He's away this long weekend with his Dad, and they rang me on the Friday to tell me he had been to the barber and he now had "little hair"! (Don't worry - this was a previously discussed decision. In fact, I had promised the wee man he could cut it as soon as the weather warmed up, but I drew the line at the Number One with the clippers that his father was itching to do!)


So...as I said, Life is generally good. Not perfect, nor necessarily easy, but good. Satisfying. Promising. And sometimes, laugh-out-loud great...

A (Very) Short Career in Politics: Pt 2

Hmmm...serious bit of bad soap opera, leaving you hanging like that - I didn't plan it that way! That's no way to treat my 17 remaining patient and dedicated subscribers; "Love youse all!" as a particularly articulate (not) Aussie boxer is wont to say. (With particular linky love to my dear Cecily, who was egging me on to finish almost before I'd stopped typing...LOL)

So, the phone call.

The party leader is a very nice bloke. We have enjoyed getting to know each other, and kicking around ideas the last few weeks. He sounded distinctly uncomfortable as he told me that certain members of the party, all from one community group, felt that they would be "better represented" on council by another candidate (from their group) who had only just decided he was willing to have a shot at it.

As background to that, this group has been working particularly hard together over nearly two years to represent their village (mine, as it happens) in the fight against a particularly odious development proposed for it (Hardie Holdings - will mean something to the Aussies amongst you). They felt that this candidate had more experience, in this issue, in reading the associated reports and EIR's and DPs and LEPs (Environmental Impact Reports/Development Proposals/Local Environmental Plans) etc...and he did.

(But that is not all Council is about. And I'm a pretty fast learner, for a blonde. But I digress...)

Plus, this group discussed it amongst themselves, without raising it at the party meetings. It only came out in a private conversation with the party leader, the day after our last meeting, which lead to his phone call. So much for increased transparency and honesty, the bedrock of our campaign for council!

My initial feelings were of anger and defiance. I told him I was not prepared to just quietly back down and wanted to think about it. He was really supportive, very disappointed too at the way this issue had been raised, but able to see both points of view - we both have particular strengths as candidates, and either would make a good running partner from his point of view. Also, and importantly, the community groups form the support team for this little local party - any bad feelings or dissent risks undermining the whole team. We agreed that, unless either one of us was prepared to back down, we should put the #2 slot to a secret ballot of the party at the next meeting as the fairest way to decide. Since we were all about to go away on holiday, that was nearly 2 weeks away.

The next 24 hours was quite interesting. What had been a little head cold suddenly decided to become laryngitis - with so much to think about and talk about, suddenly I couldn't talk at all! It was great. Everything had come to a screaming halt - and as soon as I realised this, I started to look at why, and to wonder what the message was for me.

That's when I realised how much I was putting on the line if I actually got on Council - my life, and most especially, the wee man's life.

We've been through a lot in the last couple of years, and particularly the last 6 months. I have been very conscious of a certain amount of anger he has felt towards me, as the one he perceives as the instigator of the breakup of his family unit. I understand that, and want to be able to work with him to help him heal those feelings. And I realised that my Council dream would take me further away from him, and give him more reason to be angry at me...and that was the last thing I wanted.

So, a couple of days later, when I had something of a voice I called the party leader back and told him to drop me...waaay down the ticket, where I had no chance of making it onto council. I am still going to run, to support the party and make a group voting ticket possible, and because I believe in what they are trying to achieve, and because it will be a valuable learning experience. There's no sour grapes - I'm still a bit peeved and disappointed at the way the local group handled the matter, but I'm a big girl, and I know politics is always a dirty game...even this close to home.

All the more reason for me to run in 4 years time, when the wee man is much older, and I'm a little wiser, and backed by people I can trust and who can trust me...

A (Very) Short Career in Politics

*Insert copious and effusive apologies for long absence of regular blogging - include butt-kicking etc. Repeat as required.*

Yes, I know...it's been a while. And it wouldn't surprise me if I'm sitting here talking to myself by now - anyone who has had the patience to hang in there waiting to see if I was ever going to show up again needs to facilitate a workshop in patience skills so I can enrol...!

It has been a busy time for me, with the usual committee-related activities spiced with the beginning of the lead-up to the Council elections in September, culminating in the school holidays over the last 2 weeks.

Last week, though, things briefly came to a grinding halt as the combination of a phone call and a (thankfully brief!) bout of laryngitis gave me a couple of quiet days to look carefully at my life and the choices I was making.

A bit over a month ago, mutual acquaintances had put me in touch with a present councillor who was not running again, but was interested in supporting local candidates who were interested in supporting the issues and community groups he had been putting so much energy into. I went along to a meeting and by the end was thrilled that we all seemed to coming from the same place, were fielding a party supported by many local community groups, with values of transparency and community consultation, and the group had offered me number 2 on the ticket. (In the scheme of things, this gave me a reasonably good chance of getting on council - the #1 on a well-supported group ticket usually gets in, and the #2 has perhaps more than a 50% chance of also getting in, depending on preferences.)

We continued to have fortnightly meetings, and shared emails with ideas and layouts for brochures, flyers and manifestos. Together with the leader of the party and the current councillor, I went to several public community meetings throughout the area to hear the issues that galvanised them, and to show support for the difficulties they were facing with the present council. I was flat out, enthused and inspired. The wee man went away for 2 WHOLE WEEKS with his father to visit his father's family, and despite missing him like a constant dull ache, I was really too busy to mope.

Then the phone call, and my full stop...

The call was from the leader of the party.

And now I have to run - stay tuned, I'll be back soon to update you on what happened next.... xxx

Preparing to leave the harbour

"Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn't do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover."
-- Mark Twain

This week, Past, Present and Future collided. The Past - memories of my father turning up unexpectedly at the very first Australia's Biggest Morning Tea (an annual Cancer Council fund-raiser) I hosted. He was in the city on the way to an appointment with an oncology specialist, and dropped by to see me. He was startled to discover my sunny little flat filled with lovely young women, many of whom he knew from different aspects of my life, sipping aromatic teas and sharing scrumptious cakes for him and others like him, fighting cancer. He shared tea and cake with us, laughed and chatted, before continuing on to his appointment.

The doctor told him to go home and prepare to die. He obeyed, dead 13 weeks later.

I remembered all this, and told the tale, as I watched my Present run around the playground, bearing my father's name, while we sipped tea and shared scrumptious cakes at the Preschool this week. I was hosting another Australia's Biggest Morning Tea (in the Afternoon) - for him, and others like him, lost to cancer.

And as I contemplate my Future, a couple of days after my first pre-election information seminar, I'm sure my dad is egging me on. My learning curve is becoming a "learning perpendicular" (as Jan Strom described it so eloquently at the seminar), and I see the bemused expressions on some faces as I try to describe why I feel compelled to run despite all the negative preconceptions many of us share about local councils and the role of councillors, but I've come away from that seminar feeling really good about what I'm doing.

Dad would understand (even while he may have his own, private reservations); it's time to sail away from the safe harbour, catch the trade winds and explore some new horizons.

After all, this is the only life I have.

Taking a breath before plunging back in...

It's been a very busy fortnight.

My Mum's 60th birthday last weekend - the wee man and I went up with my grandparents and brothers for a couple of days. We enjoyed some time together, helped Mum prepare for her party at home on the Saturday night, and generously had an absolute ball on the night...lol! Talking, laughing, singing and poetry and dance; Mum had a dream of an old-fashioned soiree, with the entertainments provided by the guests, and many of us obliged. (The wee man and I performed that preschool classic "Hello, Neighbour", with the aid of his first amour *cheeky grin*) Mum prepared a photo slideshow of her life and loves (her own "This Is MY Life"), which brought much laughter and some tears (mine, when my father appeared on the screen - unexpected and brief, but surprisingly raw). The wee man refused to go to bed until his little friend was gone, by which time we were all heading for bed, and he went to sleep with her name the last word on his lips.

Last Wednesday, Playgroups around the country celebrated World's Biggest Playgroup Day, the centrepiece of National Playgroup Week. Our local committee had decided in a moment of insanity to hold a public Family Fun Day, bringing together families with children under 5 and the local services and community groups who support them, and the last 6 months has been spent pulling these ideas and plans into reality. What a wonderful day it was, too! I ran around the park like a blue-arsed fly (to use a colourful Aussie colloquialism!), helping to co-ordinate the set-up and then MC'ing the day with the help of a wireless microphone. The weather was magnificent, and perhaps 500 people came (yet we hadn't done half the advertising we had planned to) and gave us excellent feedback, so we've deemed the day a great success. Probably the only child who didn't have a ball was the wee man, who was upset that I couldn't stay with him when he came with his preschool class, and spent most of the time crying and saying "It's not a Fun Day - I'm not having fun!". Oh! the Motherguilt! *wry grin*

Now, I have a moment of respite before I must throw myself into the fray again. Apart from the mountains of red tape we have to wade through to have the community preschool re-licensed (has to be done every 3 years), I am about to gear up for the election for Council. Later this month, there are a couple of seminars I must attend which will enlighten my ignorance about the legalities and processes of running for council, and I have begun attending Council meetings to gain an understanding of the processes, politics and people involved.

I am excited, somewhat exhilarated, slightly terrified, and cautiously optimistic. I am also worried about the little man in all this process, and I will carry his needs very high in my consciousness. He is showing some signs of insecurity and neediness (see above!) - not unusual in a 4 year old, but I sense there is a level of fearfulness related to the changes in our family life this year, and fallout from the hurt we all sustained and are still sifting through.

I had a call from his father first thing this morning (I'm talking 6.30am...very first thing!), exasperated that the wee man had awoken crying to come home to me and was still weepy and sullen and single-minded about it. I know that kids do tend to play off their parents to get their way (and this is not isolated to children from broken marriages), and I also know that the wee man's dad is under a great deal of emotional strain this weekend (his father, loved and loathed in equal measure, hangs onto life by a thin thread in a Wagga hospital, and I think he has decided not to go see him) which is no doubt seeping out to colour his mood and demeanour. I KNOW how uncomfortable he is to be with when like that, so can't say I blame the wee man, nor wish to force him to stay there, though I encouraged them both to try and see what the morning will bring and to be kind to each other.

The original plan of the shared care, that the wee man be with his father 3 nights and 2 days over the weekend, has never really happened, and the visits have dwindled to about 24 hours Saturday to Sunday. This saddens and frustrates me, both for selfish reasons (planning my own time and needs) and for the subtext (not necessarily true) I can see the wee man reading into it in capital letters: "...my father doesn't want to spend time with me."

With all the demands I will have on my time, and the increasing need to put myself "out there", I have a delicate dance to perform here. I'm giving serious thought to taking the wee man to see a counsellor, too, to give us both some strategies for coping.

I've found myself beginning again to read an excellent book I bought last year and never finished: Sarah Napthali's "Buddhism for Mothers". I'm not Buddhist, though many of my personal philosophies are Buddhist in nature, but I highly recommend this book to mothers everywhere, of any belief or faith - it provides real understanding, supportive strategies and calming insights, and I find myself immediately implementing some of its wisdom and feeling better for it, and seeing the little man respond well to those shifts, too.

Well, probably only a little time before the wee man returns (no doubt!). Time to pour myself a cup of green tea, and sit on the patio and gaze at the distant blue mountains...

Weekly Winners, Sunday Meme

Two weeks have slipped by; how has that happened? Where did they go? And where was my camera?

None of these questions will be satisfactorily answered by this post, but despite my absence and few photos of any interest, I am compelled by love and loyalty to be here for my favourite meme. Go check out Sarcastic Mom and the other weekly winners, for much greater dedication to the blogosphere and some much better photos!






Our little green visitor




New best bud





Evening jewels






I'll be back - I promise. I've got things to say, and tell you about, but I've let the blogging habit slip the last few weeks and just dealt with off-line life for a while. I need to get my broadband connection again - that makes a big difference to my online experience.

Entering the arena

Feeling a little like a lamb about to lie down with lions, I am preparing to follow through on my inclination to run for local council this September.

Those who know me have been universally supportive and encouraging, though I'm sure more than a few are wondering if I know what I'm letting myself in for. The short answer is; I don't, not really, but I'm keen to find out. Over the last week or so, I've spoken to several councillors and former councillors, seeking insight and advice.

The key piece of advice so far has been to attend current council meetings, to familiarise myself with the process, decide if it is for me, and assess and meet other councillors...with a view to future alliances, amongst other things. The thought of the electioneering and politics to come is more than a little daunting, yet at the same time, the idea of helping to break the ground and encourage more women to participate in the process is really motivating. The 3 women currently on our local council are widely respected, as caring and functional members of council, and are actively promoting the need for more women in all levels of government. Talking with two of them has been illuminating and inspiring, and I hope that I can continue to learn from them throughout the process. I wouldn't be doing this if I didn't think I had a chance but I am just beginning to understand the depths of my ignorance and, if nothing else, will learn an incredible amount through the next 6 months.

There are going to be many conflicting demands on my time. My little man is always my number one priority, but I hope the compromises I will be making over the next few months will be worth the lessons I can teach him, about going after something meaningful regardless of the result, and living the truth of your values.

You can tell I'm home alone...

...playing on the Internet...wheeeeee!


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PS. Funny, I didn't think my posts were particularly long. Especially not recently. But it's not the first time I've been accused of talking too much...and it won't be the last!

But I don't even drink coffee...

Whoops!...looks like I better cut back on the green tea?! (or maybe it was all the glasses of red wine I had last night...thanks, Hell's Bell's *smirk* )



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Happy birthday, Dad

This photo was taken exactly ten years ago this Easter. Sixteen months later, he was dead. Today was his 62nd birthday.

On so many days, in so many ways, I miss him.

Not least when I look at the wee man, who was named for him, and whose uncompromising character and steel-trap mind daily remind me of the grandfather he'll never meet. Except in dreams - the wee man tells me stories about him sometimes, and I'm inclined to believe him.

They would have been good together - it shits me that I can only imagine it.



I love you, and I miss you. Happy birthday.

Reclaiming my breasts

I've only just regained sovereignty over my breasts. These days, they are mine alone and lead happily chaste lives, gently rounding out my shirts.

I breastfed the wee man until just before Christmas last year. No other aspect of my parenting has been so conflicted for me.

Breastfeeding has been: a source of great pride and sense of achievement, a physical expression of love; a miracle of nature that endlessly fascinated me; and an incredible frustration, with a fair dose of physical pain and discomfort, plus a trigger for relationship conflict thrown in for good measure.

Every choice I made in relation to feeding the wee man was instinctive. I read lots of books when I was pregnant (as I do) and spoke to various friends and family. I knew that breast-feeding made sense to me, in the way that groggily trying to measure out formula in the heart of the night did not. I knew that my ability to breastfeed was in no way certain. Lots of women had shared their stories of breast-feeding failure, with all the good intentions in the world.

Maybe it was then that my subconscious whispered to me, “Not me. I'm doing it – and I don't care who tells me otherwise.” Because somehow, through poor attachment and bleeding nipples and mastitis and 2 hour feedings repeated every 2 hours and jealous insecure husband and early teething and regular biting and being woken nightly every 1 ½ hours (at the worst), somehow, I clung to the idea that I was doing the right thing, and it all made sense.

After the haze and pain of the first six weeks of the wee man's life had passed, we settled into some sort of routine. Or rather, we settled into the certainty of a regular change in his routine based on his changing feeding needs. By the three month mark, I had cracked it – I realised that to survive with some semblance of sanity, I had to lose any inflexibility I had, any preconceptions I had, and just roll with whatever happened. My breasts were clearly not my own – they had a crucial role in my little man's life, and they and my body also told me in no uncertain terms that the Big Feller should re-consider any thoughts of claiming them.

Which was a bit of a problem – for him. (Personally, and generalising, I find men's fixations with particular parts of women's anatomy faintly amusing and a little pathetic. I mean, we rarely talk about another woman as being “a bit of a shoulders girl” or “an arse woman”, do we?) The Big Feller had long been under the (mistaken) impression that my breasts were “his”. After the early fascination and pride at the incredible creation of nature which was our son, he began to exhibit all the classic signs of jealousy I had read about in countless books and website forums. And you know what? I was too tired to give a damn. I was not tap-dancing around his bruised ego. I was barely maintaining my grip on my own fragile sense of self.

In some vague fashion, I had the general idea that the wee man and I would have this breastfeeding relationship for a year or two, until his interest in solid foods superseded his interest in my booby milk. His early indifference to food should have given me a clue to the future – I used to joke half-heartedly that food was only a hobby for him, when 12 months went by with only a token effort at gnawing on interesting food stuffs. (After all, he certainly had the teeth for the whole business – first ones through at 3 months, and the full set of gnashers in place by 14 months. Ask my nipples – they are intimately acquainted.)

Yet the wee man had different ideas, and our breastfeeding relationship continued right up until this Christmas, when he was over 3 ½ years old. At about 2 ½ years, I began to have the first nigglings of discontent. Apart from the mystical image of a complete night's sleep, I was coming to realise how limiting was his dependence on the nightly booby fix to get to sleep; having him rip up my top in the shopping centre or in the midst of a conversation with friends was occasionally challenging. I began to realise too that I would like to reclaim the rights to my own body, which had become the prize in what amounted to a tug-of-love, with no-one else acknowledging my prior claim.

And yet – I was determined to continue until the wee man was ready. Without making a conscious choice, or even being aware that there was a name for it, I had found myself practising a style of parenting called Attachment Parenting, driven by choices which seemed instinctive to me. Co-sleeping seemed a natural evolution of the breastfeeding relationship, and allowed me many precious extra hours sleep; feeding on demand made sense with the incredible diversity of needs of my growing baby. Comforting and carrying close instead of allowing him to cry-it-out spoke to my own heart. Continuing the breastfeeding until he had no more need of it was simply an extension of these practices.

So it was with considerable relief that, after reducing our frequency of feeds down to bedtime and waking after he started preschool last year, we finally said goodbye to “teta” at my mum's on Christmas Eve – spontaneously. And just like that, Dad could finally put him to bed, and I could do other things with the evenings and the mornings. And within the same transition, he was ready to move into his own bed. No tears, no fears, no regression.

Have I given you the impression I didn't like breastfeeding? On the contrary, I loved it. So many incredible moments of contemplative joy, gazing at the face of my precious little man; so many shared glances, private moments, milk-filled smiles; opportunities to relax and enjoy the sight, the smell, the weight of him; to rest together instead of feeling compelled by every little thing that needed doing. The victorious thrill that my body, my breasts, were able to do it, to sustain and nourish my boy, to nurture and inoculate him against the big bad world. “My best science experiment ever”, I used to croon, as I watched him suck greedily, mother's milk performing the amazing alchemy which makes it whatever your child needs in the moment: food, drink, potent anti-bacterial, immune-booster, soporific, euphoric.

Am I glad to have my breasts back? Yes – though they will never be the same shape and texture they once were, they have done great things. I am happy to have regained the rights to my own body, and a measure of personal privacy that has been missing for some time.

Would I make the same choices, if I could do it all again? Absolutely.





(This post is my contribution to Sarcastic Mom's (Breast)feeding Carnival today. The girl is a powerhouse of blogging initiative and mutual support, with a wicked tongue and a heart as big as her rack *chuckle*, starting personal online campaigns to promote green living practices and positive choices for parents. Click on over and read all about it.)