“Can you just not be here?” were the words launched out of my almost 15 year old daughter’s mouth as she requested a “friend” come over in the school holidays. (And when I write “friend”, yes the boy variety friend).
“Don’t talk rot” I said. “I’m not embarrassing, and I promise I will never do anything to embarrass you.”
The 18 year old, who has only just got his keys back on a part time basis due to being, well, an 18 year old, chimes in with “YOU… not embarrassing? YEAH RIGHT! You have a blog and now a podcast. My friends torture me with it and play it to me. They’ve single handedly upped your listener ratings.”
Thanks Fellas. We’ll be sure to give you a special mention on the next episode. 😜
It seems that it doesn’t matter what you do, what you wear or say, what car you drive, what job you have or how much money you have in the bank, it’s a right of passage that you embarrass your children just by sharing the same air as them, their peers, or anyone they are trying to impress. Even the coolest Hollywood stars have cringing teens at home.
I get where they are coming from because I have vivid memories of pretending that I didn’t have parents because “everyone else’s parents were cool and my parents were cringey”. Ugh, why did my mother wear peach coloured pants and dad wore long socks with shorts. Why was my dad so loud and talked too much. Why couldn’t mum just, I dunno, not be so mumsy. These were all questions whirling around in my head as a young girl, longing to be like my hair twin, orphan Annie. I gotta say, who doesn’t want their own millionaire Daddy Warbucks and Punjab?
One day, I have no doubt that the kids won’t find me so embarrassing. They might even look back and smile as they read these words or listen to the recordings of The 40’s Project . It’ll happen. But in the mean time, I’ll keep being the most embarrassing mother in the entire world, because that’s how much I love them.
It’s funny, growing up I don’t remember there ever being too much of a ta-doo about Mother’s Day. My mum wasn’t much for making a ta-doo about anything really. Understated and modest, she was the kind of woman that on reflection, did herself an injustice – sometimes a ta-doo is needed.
So why, since her death so many years ago, do I find Mother’s Day unsettling? I’m definitely not alone, many people do – there are those like me, whose mothers have died, or those who wish their mothers were dead. There are those who long to be a mother as well as those who have lost children.
Maybe it’s because Mother’s Day falls at seeding time on the farm, when it’s all systems go and Mr Hooch is nary to be seen, let alone help the kids coordinate a ta-doo?
Maybe it’s Covid that reared it’s ugly head and left me rendered useless for the best part of this week?
Maybe it’s the expectation of a harmonious, sunshiny, love filled day where the children magically morph into intuitive little cherub-like angels who want nothing more than to pamper and glorify their giver of life?
Maybe it’s the Mother’s Day hype that’s splashed around the online and offline world?
Maybe it’s nothing? Maybe it’s everything?
Never-the-less, I’m not able to to spend the day with my mum, send her a card or give her a call, but what I can do, is thank the women who have filled the gaps and have been the mother-figures and friends I’ve needed.
So thank you to the listeners – the ones who debriefed, picked apart and overanalysed with me; the ones who have “kept shit real” and made me laugh when times were tough; the fixer-uppers; the crazy ones; the thoughtful ones; the dependable “always there” ones; the ride and die ones; the older ones who have trekked the path of life ahead of me and shown me where the pot-holes are; the younger ones who keep me on my toes: the wise ones; the ones who have challenged me; the ones who make me a better me. A special mention must go to my mother-in-law – a generous spirit with gold standard Grannying and even better sausage rolls.
I want to especially thank the ones who every year, without fail, acknowledge my mum on Mother’s Day. The ones who still speak her name, who check in, call and remind me that they know being a motherless mother on Mother’s Day can sometimes be a bitter-sweet pill to swallow.
So thank you to my “mums” for filling the void in the most beautiful ways.
I’m sitting on our couch on Sunday night, which is now the early hours of Monday morning. I’m watching my little boy sleep, in between hurling his ringer up and wriggling around with the pain that comes with gastro. I’m poised with a bucket, tissues, Powerade, Spray & Wipe and hand gel. I’m contemplating a hazmat suit.
It’s gonna be a long night.
I apologise in advance for the fact that Mr Spewmanti was at basketball, two birthday parties and bingo over the weekend. He likes to get around. 🥴
I read a quote once that said having a child means you now watch your heart walk around outside of your body.
It’s corny but true.
In between wiping up spew and rubbing Elliot’s forehead, I’m reminded of all the women I know who are riding or have ridden the wave of motherhood when mothering is brutal, and I’m not talking about a sleepless night with a case of gastro.
Brutal is when your heart can be tearing apart and you wonder how the hell you’re going to get through what lies ahead. Somehow we muster up a kind of “super mother power”. We’re like Wonder Woman spinning into all of her glory while we chant “we ain’t got no time for that shit.”
Tonight I’m thinking of my beautiful friend who is currently sitting a bedside vigil in ICU with her son who was in a horrific car accident.
Tonight I’m thinking of a local mum who is preparing a memorial service for her son who was tragically taken in an accident on the way home from school.
Tonight I’m thinking of the mums I know whose children have been diagnosed with chronic illness.
Tonight I’m thinking of a friend whose teenager is trying to find himself and his identity.
Tonight I’m thinking of the mums I know who have lost children to cancer and the mum who has only recently found out.
Tonight I’m thinking of a friend who helped her child navigate his way through addiction.
Tonight I’m thinking of another whose child has been diagnosed with Autism.
Tonight I’m thinking of the mum whose daughter cries herself to sleep because she doesn’t think her body is the right shape.
I’m also thinking of the mums who are just having a crappy time for no other reason than that life can just suck giant turds sometimes.
Motherhood isn’t for the faint hearted. It also takes a tribe to keep us sane.
I’m lucky to have a circle of amazing women in my world. They’re the ones who have lifted me up when things in my world get a little sketchy. They check in, send a message, call for a quick chat that turns into hours of world problem solving. They lend a hand, make me laugh and have my back. They’re real, they’re raw and they don’t pretend to be anything but who they are. They’re all fabulous for many different reasons. They accept me and my foibles and teach me a lot.
So to all of the mums out there who are catching spew in buckets, researching teen behaviour, driving kids to appointments, wiping away tears, sitting by a hospital bed praying or simply managing to get the kids off to school on time without losing your mind….
You’re amazing.
Mums are incredible.
Don’t let anyone tell you anything else.
Disclaimer *Yes, dads are incredible too, but this blog is called Hoochiemumma not Hoochiepapa 😉.
If there is a word to describe our break away, it would be blue. Blue sky, blue ocean, blue beaches….every shade of blue you can imagine….from turquoise to navy.
There is definitely something to be said about the beaches along the Eyre Peninsula. There is also something to be said about their sand dunes too. I had mainly swear words to say and prayers of a quick death as I dug deep to haul my ample self over them.
Now we are experiencing a different kind of blue….the “Holiday Blues”.
It’s a real thing. I saw it with my own eyes as I farewelled our friends from our coastal oasis as they headed back to the drudgery of responsibility and life in the “real world”.
Now it’s our turn.
I’m not a fan of this. I am quite attune to the holiday vibe.
The whole concept of caravan and camping still boggles me a bit though. I don’t know why I like it because essentially we pick up our family, scrunch them into the car to drive 6 hours while they moan about having sore bums. We plonk them down to live in a space no larger than an average lounge room, tell them all to HAVE FUN AND LOVE EACH OTHER BECAUSE WE ARE ON HOLIDAYS AND “MAKING MEMORIES”, GODDAMMIT.
Added to this is that we have neighbours in a caravan park and “parenting quietly”, without a garnish of word parsley is preferable.
Sometimes a tough ask.
It’s also a lot of effort to set up a teeny tiny house on wheels. There is still cooking and washing to do, with the added bonus of having to walk the trail to the ablution block to share the ritual of sitting on a toot next to complete strangers while listening to each other take a poo.
Ah…. the serenity.
Despite this, we, and many others love to getaway in a caravan.
Everyone has settled into their “caravan set up jobs” too. I’m plumbing/electrical, tables and chairs. Trent is anything to do with spatial awareness, knots/ropes, tent construction and lifting heavy shit. The kids become the apprentices and like a well oiled machine we are sitting in a deck chair before we know it.
However this doesn’t happen before the most important job is done.
Backing. In. The. Caravan.
Trent is the backer.
I am the finger pointer and yeller of “whoa”.
I don’t like this job. I don’t like it at all.
Usually Trent and I are on the same page when it comes to lots of things.
Hand signals is NOT one of them.
I secretly love watching couples “help” each other back into caravan blocks. I’m certain there are divorce proceedings happening right now which states “irreconcilable differences mainly due to backing caravans and erecting annexes”.
These tasks are not for the faint hearted or the shakey marriage. These tasks can make you question what you ever saw in your partner in the first place.
Luckily for this trip our friends were already there so I made myself scarce and magically the men just made the van backing happen with hardly a word spoken. There must be a secret man code of hand signals that I know nothing about.
So now that we are home, the reality of life has bestowed itself upon our sad hearts and given us a case of the holiday blues.
We’ve picked up the list of all the things we stacked into the “stuff it, we’ll do it when we get back” file. The mental load is repacking itself into the recesses of our brains and life will ramp back up to “as per usual” before we know it.
But I guess this is what makes us want more. This is the magic of the holiday getaway. We press pause on the day to day drudgery and give ourselves permission to relax and do things we wouldn’t normally do. If our whole life was like this, what would we have to look forward to?
Happy Holidays to you all, and may the Blues be quick and painless.
For those of you who don’t get an opportunity to go on a holiday at all…..even to a caravan park to poo with strangers, I’m sorry. I hope you can sneak in some moments of holiday-ness and at least find some time to read a book in the sun or take an afternoon nap. On the plus side, day drinking isn’t frowned upon either when on holiday, so pour a gin with your cornflakes and call it a trip 👍🏻
I’m not going to recap 2020. We were all there……We all watched on in horror as Australia was on fire, we locked ourselves away from Covid and started adopting the MOST ANNOYING PHRASES. If I hear “in these uncertain times” or “the new normal” one more time I may burst. Give me the over-use of #blessed any day.
We also got sucked into the world of Tiger King. We saw George Pell walk free and George Floyd die. Harry and Meghan broke away from the Royal Family and the supermarkets ran out of toilet paper. This was all before May.
Most people I’ve talked to seem to agree that 2020 was a weird time warp. It’s managed to be the longest time I’ve spent saying how fast the year is going. Or maybe it’s the shortest time I spent saying how long the year has been?
For some people it wasn’t such a bad year because they got to spend more time at home with their partner, saw their kids more, realised they could work from the kitchen table, didn’t go out and waste money on unnecessary stuff, slowed down and reflected on their life.
For others it was a living hell because they got to spend more time at home with their partner, saw their kids more, realised they could work from the kitchen table, didn’t go out and waste money on unnecessary stuff, slowed down and reflected on their life.
As it’s been said before, we’re all in the same storm, however some of us are in a luxury cruiser and some of us are in a canoe.
On reflection, 2020 may have been better spent in the canoe… it may have been a safer option. #Rubyprincesshasalottoanswerfor
Nothing much made sense in 2020. Donald Trump in particular, so it’s fairly fitting that it seems we’ve been sucked into a blackhole where time has been warped and aliens are eating the brains out of a fairly large proportion of the human population. This proportion are also known as conspiracy theorists.
I love and hate conspiracy theorists in equal portions. They are bat-shit bonkers but so entertaining. I’ve always found it fascinating how we all tick differently, so every now and then I head down the rabbit hole of the nonsensical wankery to wade around in the sess pool of theories of the uneducated and misled.
I choose to keep getting my news and information from the *shock horror* mainstream ABC rather than from Dave the Zombie Slayer Star Child, hater of the Government who lives on the Gold Coast sprouting an education from the “University of Hard Knock’s”. BUT if Dave’s theories turn out to be correct, I’ll be the first to shake his alien hand and declare myself a bone-fide follower and book my spot at Pete Evans next dinner party.
All in all, 2020 definitely wasn’t the year anyone had in mind was it?
But is any year really the one we have in mind?
So my wishes for 2021 is that we can all enjoy the moment, because if Dave from the Goldy is right we’re about to be microchipped and killed by 5G.
Blessings to you all in these unprecedented times. May 2021 be the first sequel that outshines the shit show.
Tomorrow is D DAY. Its a fundraiser for the Cure4CF Foundation. Yes, I’m at it again…. Yes, it’s probably annoying. I know how I feel when I see people over share the same thing. I eye-roll a bit and think “yeah yeah we get it”.
When you’re on the other side though, and there is a cause that you’re passionate about, especially one that involves your child, there seems to be motivation to be annoying and speak out.
Sometimes sharing too much can come across as attention-seeking perhaps? I have always struggled with this balance. There are plenty of people out there branding their existence with having a child with an illness. Usually, these people are giant pains in the arses and sometimes their kids are too.
I would give anything to not have this as a topic to write about. But here are.
We all have struggles through, a hurdle, or some kind of challenge that life throws at us. Every one of us. I’m sure you’re thinking of yours right now. When I think of my family and friends I can easily identify something going on in their lives that is, or has been stressful, hard, or sad. It’s called life I suppose.
Most often, struggles have some kind of silver lining. One of the positive things that having a child with a chronic illness has brought me, is being able to put things into perspective. It’s really easy to get hung up on the small stuff and I certainly do my fair share of that at times. Like this afternoon when Scarlett dobbed on Elliot for being a bit of a dick on the bus.
Did I speak to him about it.. yes.
Did he deny that he did anything wrong…of course.
Did he run away to his room while I was mid sentence, yelling “you just don’t get it mum, stop going on about it”… yes.
Did I see red and turn into psycho Sally and tell him that I will ban him from the bus myself and also used the “f” word twice in one sentence. Also yes.
So OK, sometimes I do sweat the small stuff.
Anyway… I digress.
I have often wondered what kind of parent I would have been if not for the experience of having Macauley. I have also wondered how different he would be too. Those early years were tough and I was fairly intense and controlling when it came to trying to keep him well. It was the only coping mechanism I had to make it feel like I had some kind of handle over something so uncontrollable. I was pretty much kidding myself, but it made me feel better at the time. Because his health was my number one priority, everything else kind of took a back seat and priorities shifted a little. I think I definitely had it in me to be competitive and compare. What a joy sucker that is. (Just a tip for new mums too….you soon forget the age they start crawling, or if they walked before they were one. Plus, once you have more than two kids you get them all mixed up and refer to those early years as “well one of you stated walking a bit late… I dunno which one of you it was now?”)
So by the time he turned 5 and started school, I didn’t really care that he couldn’t hold a pencil and write his name yet. Was he meant to? Besides sending me bat shit crazy, I didn’t worry too much that he was stuck on level 3 reader for what seemed a 100 months of Sunday’s. And who knew that being able to tie a shoelace by a certain age was a milestone to be aiming for? Just buy the velcro shoes people. They’ll get it one day. All of these things are important to a certain degree, but I kept thinking how lucky we were that he was at school, that he was born in the new millennium. If he were living in the 60’s I could have well been preparing his funeral, not his first day of school.
Which brings me to my point of being an over sharer. It’s due to people making more noise and fighting for funding and raising awareness that has led to some amazing medicines and research being done in science land. Sure, big pharma is probably all the horrible things that people say it is….to what degree I wouldn’t know. All I know is that without “Big Pharma” my big kid wouldn’t be here. As evil and horrible as people make them out to be, big pharma develop and provide my child with medication he literally cannot live without.
Organisations like Cure4CF Foundation raise money to provide funds for exciting developments and research focused on a CURE. I see it like a giant jigsaw puzzle where all of the new bits of research from around the world get tacked onto the older bits and are pieced together to solve the puzzle. I am hopeful that the puzzle of CF will be solved so that Macauley and many others can breathe a little easier.
Literally.
M
PS….As always, if you can give, please do or simply share to make aware. 🌹
As much as I am an absolute supporter and cheer squad for women who achieve brilliance in their lives, excel in their chosen pursuits and smash some ceilings, I wonder sometimes, who is cheering for the other kinds of amazing women?
