Assault in a Perfect World

Recently, like very recently, my eldest son was assaulted. He was beaten up by a gang of 6 youths and his brand new bike was stolen. When I found out, after knowing my son was ok, I was angry. I was so fucken angry and I wanted to hunt these cowards down and I wanted to inflict severe pain on them. I wanted to take their possessions and make them feel vulnerable and scared for their lives. I wanted them locked up with the key thrown to the bottom of the ocean because to me they were the scum of the earth.

Eventually after these feelings had run through my heart and soul like red hot lava the sadness kicked in. Like deep, deep sadness where my heart broke and my tears flowed. Not only was I sad for my son and how this could possibly affect the rest of his life but I was deeply saddened to know these kids knew no better and quite possibly they never will. I was sad for them because they weren’t brought up in a loving family environment where they were taught right from wrong. I was sad they didn’t know how their actions affect other people for the rest of their lives – or don’t care. I was sad to know that they will go through the justice system and be in and out of jail for the rest of their lives and there is probably nothing anybody could do about it.

Then I thought how we could change this? How could we make things better before things get worse? How could we create a judicial system that helps make these kids, while they still have the chance, to be decent adults and better human beings – rather than locking them up with other trouble makers where they just learn new tricks.  So I created the perfect world. A world where these children were charged. Where they went before a court and their offences were made clear but then instead of juvenile prison they were instead taken to a remote village. A place where they were mentored, hugged, lived off the organic goodness of the land and taught good manners and morals. A place where they felt safe and could make the change to be kind. To be thoughtful. To laugh at funny things not cruel things. To be a person who they can enjoy being, to make something of their lives.

It’s crazy and naive I know. It’s a dream and a perfect world. But I do believe that some of these young ones could actually benefit from a place like this – it probably already exists. I think they could grow up and then they could become mentors themselves and start changing the circle of life for their families, their children. To some degree I believe in rehabilitation I am just not sure it can be done in an environment that is already toxic.

Just a “perfect world” thought.

One Love

DRK xxx

Part 1: My Story | Part 2: Grieving

Part #1 My Story

My brother passed away from cancer at age 27 in 2003. It was a long time ago. I get it. Why would I bring it up now all these years later? Why drag shit up from the past. Well because I have to. I have to because I have never actually moved very far forward. I have carried this hard and awkward grieving process with me this entire time which, I realise, is too long and to move on I need to let go. Not of my brother but of my grief story.

The final stage of my brothers life was during a time that I was facing difficulties in my first marriage. We were partying too hard, hating each other too much and trying to raise two and a half kids on a very tight budget and in a house that was falling apart. Life was, to say the very least, shit. 

But my brother was dying and there was nothing harder and nothing that could prepare me for it. He was dying but he had overcome his first cancer diagnosis at age 14 so I kept telling myself that he would be fine, that he would bounce back, that I had more time to be better. In his final days, watching his shallow, slow breathing, I remember thinking that he would, still at some stage, jump out of bed and say “Just joking!” He was the family jokester after all. But he didn’t.

When he finally passed away in the early hours of the morning of the 28th September I wasn’t there. I had gone home to have a shower. I was 28 weeks pregnant. I had, that very same week that he’d been placed into palliative care, gone into early labour and been admitted to hospital. I was embarrassed that my body let me down and had made this traumatic time in my families life all about me and so after my shower I remember sitting on the edge of my bed. It was 5am. I just sat there and cried. I cried for my family. I cried for my brother. I cried for my baby who was hanging in there and I cried because I didn’t no what else to do with all these emotions I had. I remember, after allowing the tears to flow for awhile, that I took the deepest breath in and pulled my shoulders back. It was a very deliberate move physically to get myself prepared for the next part of the day. It was time to get back to the hospital. Look strong. Be ok. Be supportive. Be good for once in my fucking life. It was time to get back to the hospital because I didn’t want to miss his last breath.

But I did.

He died a few minutes before I arrived. My other brothers face said it all as he stood on the other side of the hospitals palliative glass door to let me in. His red blood shot eyes. His head slightly shaking. The look of despair on his face. I had missed my dying brothers final moment and to me this was the catalyst into my guilt. I wasn’t there. I wasn’t a good sister, a good daughter, a good person. I left at the most significant moment in my families life – the last breath of our brother, their son. Our family, the only one I’d ever known, was no longer six, well at least not on Earth together and the realisation of this was soul destroying.

My story began to unravel from here. Guilt ridden for not being there, for not being a better sister, for being admitted to hospital the same week as him – like an attention seeker would – guilt ridden because I didn’t actually, at any point really think he would die. But he did.

At the time I really did expect the world to stop. I expected my friends lives to stop. I expected people to understand what was happening to me when most around me had never been through anything like this before. But their lives continued on as normal. Which to me, back then, told me I was shit. I was nobody worth caring about.

And so the spiralling of my story continued. I remember at my brothers graveside funeral that I chose to move as far away as I could once the ceremony was done. I stood in the corner of the garden bed because deep down I didn’t want anyone to hug me. To say they were sorry for me. To give me any comfort. I didn’t want it because I felt I didn’t deserve it.

At his wake my friends asked me if I would like to join them in giving Reiki to a girlfriend going through a hard time – a nasty marriage separation. I was so hurt and it reaffirmed to me that my pain was insignificant. I remember thinking that this friends pain was more momentous than mine because those I loved only saw the importance of healing her wounds whereas my pain wasn’t worth healing.

I began to withdraw from here on in and then the final nail on my grief stricken coffin was two weeks after my brothers death. A friend came to give me a “talk” and told me that I needed to make more of an effort in the friendship, that it was time to get over it and that I wasn’t the only one grieving and that she, too, was grieving him. Again, I didn’t understand. Was I supposed to help her through this difficult time when he was my brother and she had only spent a short amount of time knowing him. Was I doing this grieving thing wrong? Was I selfish and unworthy of these feelings I was having because I hadn’t been a good enough sister? Were these feelings even real? Didn’t I have any right to be sad?

It was all a very confusing time for me. So confusing that it has stuck with me for over a decade. There were so many other moments to my story that confirmed my feelings of guilt, unworthiness and shame over the months and now years. I’ve become like a snow globe where the confused feelings would settle for awhile yet they are always there and it only takes something minor to shake all those feelings up again. Something big gets them going real crazy and crazy is the only word that can describe it. It makes me feel like I did something wrong in my grieving. That I am going crazy to think that I actually had the right to be upset during that time of my life.

But this has just been my story. A story that hasn’t served me well at all. It is a story that has extended my grief beyond belief and one that holds me back in life and relationships because of the anger, guilt and confusion. Letting go of my story is not easy when I feel so much injustice was done to me at the time. Then I feel guilt for having had any expectations on other people. Then I feel stupid and unworthy for being all high and mighty thinking others might care the way that I do.

As I come through a challenging year now, I feel that it is time to let go of my story. It is time to let go so I can heal. It doesn’t mean that it didn’t happen or that I didn’t have the right to feel the way I did at that time in my life but at some point you have to grow and move forward – don’t you? I’m really unsure of the process but by acknowledging that I’ve had enough of the pain I carry, the guilt I burden myself with and the frustration I feel towards it may just be the first steps in my own healing.

Part #2 Grieving

In telling my story I want to finish with something useful. Something that may help others when someone they know is grieving. There are so many cliches that people say. Most come across as hollow and insensitive. So I want to share, from my experience, what you should refrain from saying and of course what you could say – but it is really all about how you say it. The words won’t always be right because for everyone the grieving process is different but I can guarantee if you come from a place of love and a place where you aren’t trying to fix them then you are in the right place to be there for them.

Things you don’t need to say to someone grieving…

* What doesn’t kill you will make you stronger: no this is not true and is genuinely insensitive. When your heart is breaking into a million little pieces you are already dying on the inside and being stronger because your loved one has died is not a comfort nor a support.

* Everything happens for a reason: whether it does or it doesn’t this is not the time to tell someone that the death of their loved one is for a higher or greater good because right now in their pain all they feel is … oh yes that’s it pain!

* Only the good die young: well bring him back then! We’d rather he be ‘bad’ and still alive then good and dead! Someone grieving is missing their loved one – good or bad. The good die at any age. My Nana died in her 80’s which is, to me, a ripe old age but she was good… It’s a cliche don’t say it.

* Cheer up. He/she wouldn’t want to see you sad: we know, or at least we hope, they are up there somewhere looking down on us but for right now, in our pain, the last thing we need is a guilt trip. We miss them, we are heartbroken and we are entitled to feel sad.

* They are in a better place: Really? Because last we checked that better place was here in our arms. We have no idea what Heaven or the afterlife is like but don’t tell me at this stage of my grieving that there is a better place than on earth with us.

* At least they are no longer suffering: yes we are aware of that but please don’t place that heavy weight on our shoulders. Seeing a loved one suffer for years is painful enough. All the “what if’s”, “if only I’s” has placed enough guilt in our hearts. The younger they are the more questions you have and the unfairness of suffering and death.

* Be strong: we can’t. We do not feel strong and why do we need to be. Our insides are crumbling, every core of our being misses them and being strong is not high on our list right now. These are people who we’ve known all our lives who are no longer walking through our front door, sitting at the dinner table at Christmas and celebrating another birthday. When someone passes away we always feel like something is missing… because there is.

* You need to move on: no. No we don’t. Our grief does not have a time frame. It does not say 2 weeks, 2 months, 2 years. It says there is a hole in your heart where a person once lived. A person you miss with every fibre of your being. A person whose memory will have you heartbroken and crying one minute and laughing like a crazy woman the next. Grief has no rules, timeframes or explanations and you have no right to place them on someone.

Well then Superwoman what can I say? Why are you creating a dictatorship on what’s right or wrong? I’m not and there isn’t. This is just advice from someone whose been there. Who has felt additional pain from insensitive moments and I’m just giving a heads up.

Things you could say instead…

* I’m so sorry for your loss: yes it’s not much when you want to say more and it is also said a lot but there is a difference when it is just words said and when it is FELT. So feel it when you say it. Hand on your heart feel it.

* I am here for you: Like, right here for you any time of the day or night… BUT only say it if you really mean it because when you try to reach out to someone and that first person you try isn’t there then you rarely try someone else.

* I am here to listen: And then listen! Listen with ears and hearts open. Laugh at the funny memories, grieve with them during the painful ones, hold their hand, pass them a tissue and hug them when that moment is all over. Listening is the greatest skill human beings can acquire and we all can do it better.

* I wish I had the right words. Just know that I love you. Own it. We know you aren’t mind readers to be able to deliver the right words but the pain you go through when someone dies is immeasurable and love is the only thing that gets us through. So love us through it ok?!

* I remember when…: share your favourite memory of their loved one. A happy one. One that will remind them of love, laughter, happiness. Don’t force it. Don’t pretend. Just remember their loved one with tenderness so that moment of happiness fills their heart with joy for a little while.

* Say nothing. It is golden. Saying nothing but a gentle squeeze, a loving touch. But saying nothing doesn’t mean avoid at all costs. Saying nothing doesn’t mean pretending it never happened. There is a difference between a heart felt nothing and a I-can’t-deal-with-this nothing. Always lead from your heart.

REMEMBER: You can’t fix it. You cannot take away their grief or put a timeline on it. Everyone grieves differently and just because you see them laughing, momentarily, a week from death doesn’t mean they aren’t crying, in solitude, for the next 12 months. You cannot put your own grief on top of someone elses. You do not have the right. And remember… Grief is a process. There are many stages of grief and none of them can be solved with a cliche life quote from Pinterest.

Only support can help the process.

Only love can help heal the pain.

Much love.

DRK xxx

*** Aside from some editing this was written in 2013. It has sat unpublished because I wasn’t ready to let go of it. I wanted to so bad but I didn’t understand how to or even why I should have to. But I understand now. I understand that holding on and not forgiving people only hurts me. Only holds ME back and only makes my pain last longer and feel harder than it needs to – than it needed to be. 

I post it today not to cause trouble. Not to make people feel bad. Not to get responses. I post it because after much growth and self awareness I realise my story is just that. I’ve carried guilt and shame around with me for so long and it has affected me in ways that you can not believe. My Mum has her own guilt as I found out yesterday. My Dad, I’m sure has his too. But I don’t  know why because to me they were amazing parents who did everything in their power to help him. To prolong his life and to make the life he had safe, fun and as carefree as possible. It is clear that we all have our own versions of guilt and who hurt us during this time. 

I post my experience for others who feel the same because if I could just help one person grieving let go of the guilt, the injustice, the anger. To forgive quicker, to feel normal and comforted in their grief and to not allow these parts of our stories to hold them back for as long as I have then I’ve done something good with my life ~ one love, DRK xxx *** 

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The ‘Sometimes’ Thoughts of a Parent

Sometimes I feel like I am missing out. I’m sorry to say it but I do. It’s so normal to feel this way yet we aren’t allowed to say it out loud as we are deemed ungrateful, spoilt, jealous. I had kids young and then I continued having kids until I felt old. And one day, before I know it and probably before my youngest has left home I will be a grandparent which is wonderful and all but then I’ll still be here. Doing what it feels like I have always done.

Not much.

A stay at home mum.

A taxi driver.

A cleaner.

A cook.

None of which I excel at. Or so it feels. It’s fucking ruthless though.

And I sound ungrateful. Yet it’s real. I’ve just watched my newsfeed tell me how wonderful other peoples lives are. They’re living the dream. Living abroad. Travelling the world and only now settling down to have babies. People I went to school with who were smarter and more committed to their future than I ever was. I wanted things now. Like a baby. Like a marriage. The first one didn’t work so why not do it again. The furtherest I have travelled is Bali when I was 11, hardly self-sufficient. Then Melbourne a couple of times. I am not worldly. I’m not even sure if this is what bothers me. I’m not convinced that I want ‘worldly’ in my nature.

I haven’t set myself up financially. My husband did that. Don’t get me wrong I worked. I worked my butt off in many jobs while being a single mother. And when I finally got myself secure in a permanent job selling real estate, and doing quite well, my hubby came along, swept me off my feet and asked me for two more kids. Which I gave him for love. But I also gave up what I’d hoped to be a forging career. But maybe I am not cut out for that. Maybe a career is not my thing. Parenting is. And of course I am going to tell you that I would never take it back. And I mean it. My kids drive me bonkers and make me question everything there is in this life but they also give meaning to my life … But somedays I have to first peel back a few layers. And somedays I worry – do they even like me? Do they wish they had a better/funner/more organised Mum? The stress of raising little humans into big humans is fucking scary. What if I fuck up? What if I have already fucked up and there is nothing I can do to change it?

When I go to my school reunion late this year – who am I? Who have I become? Where are all my great stories? There is only so much kid-talking you can do before yawning begins and they find someone far more interesting … And less drunk. Is this an achievement? The fact I have had five kids? Is this the biggest achievement I have made in my life? Again, I know this sounds ungrateful. I know to people without children this sounds like fingernails down a very ugly and very selfish chalkboard. But I am asking it anyway.

My responsibilities lie at home. My house. My husband. My kids. That is my job. My career. Somehow this doesn’t satisfy the burning for something more. The desire to be doing something else. But then I remember that even if I do something else this will always be here – but harder. There will be just as much to do except with less time to do it if I devote my time elsewhere, to me. To something I want to do.

I am a Mum forever. I know how lucky I am to say that. But what else am I? It’s a rhetorical question. Just a thought after a relentless day.

One love

DRK xxx

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Life is Short

“Life is Short”

I say this often, mostly to myself, but I’m not sure if I’m living it in the right context.

This saying first came about for me, cementing itself into my world when my brother passed away from cancer. I was around the age of 24 with two children, a third on the way and in a complicated marriage. I don’t remember being particularly mature for my age even with 2-point-5 children and a marriage under my belt. I was still making bad decisions and still very unhappy within myself for many different reasons.

When my brother died of cancer I was shattered. I was full of grief but also full of guilt and regret. Why hadn’t I told him I loved him? Why didn’t I spend more time with him? Why didn’t I realise how short life was. Especially once it’s up. Once it’s up that’s it. There’s no more of that person in your life. No more chances to say “I love you”. To hug them. To tell them who they are to you. I regretted not telling my brother I loved him for a long time. I know now that I was scared to tell him because I thought if I did then it would be an admission that things weren’t good. That he wasn’t going to make it. I honestly believed he would just jump out of bed one day and yell “Just joking! I’m all good! Tricked you all!”

I was wrong.

Love

Recently, in November 2015 my Pop became ill. I made a pact with myself to spend as much time with him as possible. I didn’t want him to feel alone. I wanted him to feel safe in the last few weeks/days of his life here on Earth. I told him I loved him. I said goodbye. I was there as he passed. I have no regrets.

7 weeks later as my Nana quickly deteriorated. I made sure I stroked her hair, held her hand, put my hand on her heart to immerse its beating in my own and looked her in the eyes when telling her I loved her. I loved that she still managed to say it back to me, I’ll never forget it. I’ll never forget the sparkle in her eyes. She wasn’t scared. I hadn’t frightened her with my words. She just felt loved. A few days later she passed away too. My heart broke but I have no regrets – she knew I loved her.

Then only a few weeks later we lost our neighbour to cancer. Our neighbourhood isn’t just a regular neighbourhood we are all close and his loss is deafening. When I’m hanging out my washing or playing with my kids he is no longer in his backyard talking to his “girls” (his chickens) or fluffing about in the garden. He is no longer climbing over the fence to have a beer with my parents. He is no longer on the other end of the computer two doors up asking me for help on some internet issues always with his bad grammar and no use of capitals. I was going to see him the night before he died but he was already in bed so I didn’t. He was gone from this life the next day. On my daughters 18th birthday. I told him in one of our last Facebook messages that I loved him. No regrets.

I started writing this blog a few days ago but I was struggling to find the words. Then I’ve been hit today, like a slap of pin-pricked realities in the face, by two friends. One on a fucked up cancer journey and the other just about to have her 11th wedding anniversary except without her husband by her earthly side as he died 5 years ago. Both of their status’s to the world were different and unique to them but both of them had the same underlining content. Gratitude.

BE FUCKING GRATEFUL PEOPLE.

Grateful you have a partner to annoy you and leave his socks at the front door. Grateful that you have a headache you can fix with a glass of water and some panadol. Grateful that even though the kids are driving you crazy and the clean house is now a mess that you have healthy, active kids who love your love and presence… And fuck the house. This gratitude doesn’t mean guilt either. It doesn’t mean you should feel guilty for being frustrated or pissed off at these things from time to time. This is life and this is living after all but we should be grateful more of the time than we are pissed.

“Life is Short” can be summarised just with this one word. Gratitude. Being grateful. Being thankful. Looking for the good in what you have in your life and being thankful for it. Showing those you love in your life that you actually do love them. That they are your living, breathing world. Life is short because once it’s over it’s over. There are no second chances. But there can be regrets, which will for some turn into lessons. I spent 10 years regretting my brothers passing – regretting the lack of love I showed him. But I learnt from that never to do it again.

“Life is Short” has a new meaning for me today because when I first adopted the popular quote into my life I did so in a negative way but today it means gratitude. Happiness. Laughter. Love. Presence. It means saying it and feeling it and not being scared of it. It means showing my kids more presence and honesty. It means listening to my husband and learning more about him and what he needs. It’s about being there for people who need a part of me that I am capable of giving – love translated in any way, shape or form. I’m not perfect and I’m not going to ride the perfect bandwagon from here on in but I am going to give more of myself. More of the ‘me’ that is truly me. The heartfelt, sensitive me who loves deeply but has always carried a barrier for protection.

My protection is removed but perfection is not my status either.

To my family and my friends – I LOVE YOU! To all the people who have come into my life in a positive way, I love each and every one of you. You have touched me. You have honoured who I am. You have left an imprint on my life and in my heart and I am forever grateful for that. I love you. I really, really do.

My heart hurts today and my tears are flowing. Sadness? Still some regret? Missing those I love? Guilt? I’m not sure. Maybe just a heartache.

One love,

DRK xxx

Please don’t forget to tell those you love just how much they mean to you. Show them. This is the message my friend wants you to hear. To really hear. The message we all need to hear. Often.

Read her amazing, raw and honest post here on her Facebook page…. You’ll need to find the post “Water your own F**king Lawn!” Thank you Kym xx

 

Joie de Vivre

I had this tattoo imprinted on my right arm to always remind me of my mortality. It was a tattoo in honour of my brother. I have had it a few years now and become ‘used’ to it rather than moved by it. But it will now again remind me. “Joie de Vivre” ~ French; exuberant enjoyment of life

 

 

Parenting Like a Bitch

Becoming a Mummy is one of the most exciting and scary things to do in the world. Exciting because you are combining magic beans with magic cuddles and creating a magic mini human – with many other exciting ways to become a mummy too I know. And it’s scary because well, because you’ve seen it go pear shaped for many – especially those irresponsible mummies with their uncontrollable children in the supermarket. Right? 

Wrong….

Shall we take off our rose coloured glasses and get real here…. Yes, let’s do that.

Parenting is going to suck big time some days!

We’ve all had visions of the type of Mum we would be. We’ve also thought long and hard about how cute and agreeable our children would be and then … Well, then we actually become real life parents.

What we all need to know on those days where it sucks harder than a baby on a cracked nipple is that we are ok and it is ok to feel like we suck at this.

This post is for the days when being a Mum feels like it’s the hardest, most unrewarding and frustrating thing in the world to do. This is your virtual hug from one mumma to another.

SOME DAYS

Some days your mini-human will sleep for a total of 5 hours in a 24 hour period and it is not in one block of blissful sleep but broken into many much smaller-sized portions and always when you have shit to do.

Some days you will be puked on, peed on and pooped on a million times before you have even walked out the door and it’ll be the first time since your bundle arrived that you’re actually out of your PJ’S before lunchtime and you’ve even managed to do your hair and make-up… Sort of… It’s just not until later you realise you didn’t wash the conditioner out of your hair and you only put mascara on your left eye. Just rock it. Own it.

Some days you will post a cute pic of your baby on Facebook with hashtags like: #havenofuckstogive #luckythiskidiscute and you will mean it …. In an endearing way of course.

Some days the mini human is going to tear apart your soul while tearing up the supermarket aisle and you will be the poor mummy copping the stares from the very judgemental supermarket people. Supermarket people really are judgemental bastards aren’t they?! While we are talking supermarkets let me have a word with their marketing teams on behalf of all parents – why must you put everything we don’t want our children to have or eat at their eye level?! Why not hide that shit elsewhere and let everyone keep their sanity and shop in peace!

THE IDEAL

You may have in your mind a perfect picture but please know perfection is an expectation that you should wipe off your list right now – along with the perfect birth plan, the perfect sleep routine, the perfect child. You are giving birth to a human. A human who comes with their own needs, wants, personality and sometimes they’re even upgraded and come with devil horns… Doesn’t matter if you asked for the upgrade or not there are no refunds here! There is also no manual and the sooner you realise perfection is not in your control the sooner you will really enjoy parenthood… And it should be enjoyed. Imperfections and all.

“Perfection is an expectation that you should wipe off your list right now…” ~ Superwoman & Her Dirty Red Knickers

SCRAP IT

If you’ve pictured bliss – scrap it.

If you’ve pictured perfect Mummy, perfect Baby – scrap it. Delete it out of your mind now and forever.

If you’ve pictured only homemade organic food – scrap it. There will be days where preparation of organic food will be as hard and as overrated as the first crap you dared to push out after delivering that organic baby and tearing from one end to the other. 

If you’ve pictures breast feeding bliss and naturalness – some of us need to scrap it. There will be cracked nipples for many new mummies and as natural as breastfeeding is it is still not the easiest thing in the world to do for a lot of women. Totally ok. You are not a failure.

PARENTING LIKE A BITCH

Parenting like a bitch means that you ask for help when you need it. There is nothing weak about asking others for help.

Parenting like a bitch means before you go to bed in the evening when you’ve had one of those days look in the mirror and deep into your bloodshot eyeballs and say to yourself out loud like a crazy bitch “IT’S OK. I. AM. OK!”

Parenting like a bitch means you offer support to all those other mums doing it tough. Give them a hand when you are capable of giving it.

Parenting like a bitch means that after offering support which will be politely declined coz we are all so stubborn that you open your arms and your hearts to the troubles and tribulations of every other parent out there. You don’t have to take on their shit and you don’t have to save the world but being a good listener is heart healing. Trust me.

Parenting like a bitch means dropping the judgement. Dropping the anger, dropping the comparisons and choosing to just be real. Understand that every child and every child-parent relationship is different. Heck, I have five kids but only three of them toe the line most of the time! All five of them have been brought up the same. Same morals, same values and protocols for surviving. Yet two of them live by their own rules. It is what it is.

Parenting like a bitch means there will be moments in your life when you just want to pack up and walk the fuck out. Hell, you don’t even care for packing up – you’re done with that too! But generally once you’re at breaking point magic happens. The baby rolls over for the first time. Or the teenager randomly does the dishes. Or the non-verbal two-year-old drops his toy and clearly says his first word “Fuck.” It’s moments like these you look away, your once tense shoulders start shaking violently while you try to restrain yourself from wetting your pants in laughter … Oops pelvic floors. Wetting your pants is optional… Sometimes… Ok its not optional. You are a grown woman wetting her pants while laughing at her two-year-old son swearing.

From one Mummy to another – are you doing ok?

One Love,

DRK xxx

If you or anyone you know is suffering from Post-Natal Depression please contact your local GP, or someone you trust to talk with and get help. You can also visit PANDA.

Here’s some information from their website on PND:

The signs and symptoms of postnatal anxiety and depression can vary and may include:

  • Panic attacks (a racing heart, palpitations, shortness of breath, shaking or feeling physically detached from your surroundings)
  • Persistent, generalised worry, often focused on fears for the health or wellbeing of baby
  • The development of obsessive or compulsive behaviours
  • Increased sensitivity to noise or touch
  • Changes in appetite: under or overeating
  • Sleep problems unrelated to the baby’s needs
  • Extreme lethargy: a feeling of being physically or emotionally overwhelmed and unable to cope with the demands of chores and looking after baby

When Offspring Fly

The wings I’ve helped shape for the past 18 years have opened up and flown the coop. To say I’m feeling pretty tragic is on target. And to say I am shocked that I even feel this way is a huge understatement.

Only 1 month short of my 18th birthday I found out I was pregnant with my girl. I had organised a pub crawl, yes I’m a class A bogan through and through, to celebrate my legal stance in the community. But instead of getting totally plastered I ended up legal and totally sober. Everyone on board my bus had a ripper of a night- me not so much.

Four nights ago I celebrated my daughters 18th and partied like it was mine… again… except this time I was 100% not pregnant. I celebrated because I’d made it! She’d made it! It felt like a victory! A bloody fucking marvellous victory! I sucked back copious amounts of jelly shots that I had prepared earlier – I had made two different versions, apparently, strong and extra fucking strong. I guzzled strawberry daiquiris like lolly water and finished off with vodka and soda – which by that stage tasted like water and it was probably water that the bar staff were charging me $10 for!

I crawled into bed at 3am. Something I haven’t done since I was in my 20’s and I’ve suffered for it every day since. But oh what a night! What a memory! What an achievement! 

One child down four to go! I can only hope and pray that they all fly the coop with their heads on their shoulders, confident and happy little birdies like their big sister. But something tells me I’m not going to get it that easy… I think it’s karma 😬

One love,

DRK xx

This was written back in February 2016 – it’s been hiding in my drafts since then. Perhaps I couldn’t face that it actually happened but then again I obviously wrote it during my hangover so I probably forgot I’d even written it!

Oh and for the record my speech that I had planned in my head turned out to be a very shortened, powerful version of my actual speech. Here it is: “She’s not pregnant!” To which everyone cheered of course! Thankfully she’s not much like her mum! X


This was my offspring begging me to go to the pub with her and her friends … and leave behind my house full of guests … who were there to celebrate HER birthday … at 9:30!

For My Nana

This is my reading from my Nanas funeral. I’m posting it here as a keepsake and as my promise to remember her for the rest of my life.

On the morning of the 27th January the world lost a feisty, stubborn, proud and loving woman – traits many of her family members have inherited – me included! A woman who fiercely loved and protected her family. She was a true nurturer and she was proud of us all regardless of the mistakes she witnessed throughout our lives, mine especially.

Her hugs were powerful, her stories often on repeat and just two months after her beloved husband, my Dear Pop, passed away she left this world to be with him. We all knew she wouldn’t be far behind coz since when does Nana give Pop any peace and I think it’s fair to say two months was long enough!

There are many things I will remember about my Nana and so would many of you. Kelly remembers the cheek pinches and how she used to say “I could eat you and suck on the bones!” But when I say it it just doesn’t sound as sweet.

I know I will remember her for the rest of my life. This is my promise.

Nana, I will remember those hugs you gave me where you squeezed me so tight know matter how old I got. So tight that I didn’t think I could breathe.

I will remember your smell – a mixture of roses and moth balls – on your clothes, in your home, on your soft porcelain skin.

I will remember how you always confused your only two granddaughters names in every conversation… I was called Kelly, Kelly called Cristy, and on an occasion Kelly called Evan. It didn’t matter what name you called us we always knew who you meant.

I will remember the bits of advice you gave me about love, about life, about children, about making mistakes and moving on.

I will remember your bright and colourful outfits and jewels that were always matching, your style was forever fancy.

I will remember the funny speech bubble stickers on all our photos and your creativity with scrapbooking and knitting – especially those sexy knitted socks that I wouldn’t dare to be seen in 15 years ago but would do anything to have a pair made from you now.

I will remember the squeals of joy as you cuddled a baby, any baby. I will remember your passion for your beloved Eagles and support for their Benny Boy. You were always keen to give a second chance.

I will remember how you taught me to play chopsticks on the piano which I never quite mastered as good as the other grandkids.

I will remember how your face lit up every time the great grandies came to visit, the littlest ones especially. You had a massive love for little babies, a trait Kel and I have inherited from you and considering between us we’ve produced 10 of your 20 great grandchildren I think we’ve done you proud in that department. You even tried to convince me that my babies just got cuter and cuter the more I had so I definitely needed a sixth! But that is one piece of advice I’m going to ignore.

More recently I will remember your eyes and the way they would open wide and sparkle every time you said “I love you”, even in your final breathless days. I will remember that I loved you fiercely in return, I have loved you all my life.

So today we say goodbye and we love you Nana. Don’t give Pop too much curry up there for getting there first, let him read his paper in peace and once you finish squeezing Jeremy in your biggest Nana-hugs give him another one from all of us. We miss him.

We hope Heaven is ready for you, our bright beautiful spark, Nana xxx