Happiness Is… August. The month of parties, fun and so much family love that it could make a Disney movie look cold-hearted.
I love it for my family, I love it for me… and now I also love it because of Baby Girl.
Cheers to the freaking August, I’ll drink to that, yeah yeah. (Sparkling water at best for me).
:):):)
I’ve been toying with the idea of forgiveness.
Interestingly, this solution, for this very old, old, old problem of mine, came to me while watching an episode of The Bold and the Beautiful. I know a lot of people may snigger and deem it so low-brow to be getting advice from a soap opera… but hey, at least I’m getting it from the most popular soap opera in the world.
In it, (SPOILER ALERT!!!!) Oliver is trying to convince his new girlfriend Ally, to try to let go of her hurtful past and forgive the woman (Taylor) who while drinking and then driving accidentally killed her mother (Darla) on the side of the road, who was at the time helping the daughter (Phoebe) of the woman who killed her.
And now Ally’s Dad (Thorne), so many years later, wants to be with the woman who killed her Mum.
Of course, only in a soap opera. However as I go through life, I seriously realise that the shit that happens on the real stage is far more fantastical than any soap opera can conjure up.
Ally hasn’t been able to forgive Taylor for Darla’s death, and even says she hates the woman; she ruined her life.
In the episode in question, Oliver is trying to help Ally see that if she forgives, she’s not doing it for Taylor, because she still has to live with what she did for the rest of her life – but she is doing it for herself, to have peace, and to move on.
In particular, when he remarked that her holding on to her anger has only increased the negativity in her life, I couldn’t help but see the immediate parallels between the two on the tv in front of me, and a conversation Hubbie and I had a couple of nights ago.
You see, there’s a person, or persons, that have been the thorn (LOL, above) in my side for a good while. Out of respect for all involved, I won’t name names, other than to say that the situation is made difficult because these people are so infuriatingly difficult to get along with, and I can’t get them out of my life. I have a million negative expressions for them, but the kindest words would include:
arrogant
self-centred
narcissistic
selfish
rude
insensitive
narrow-minded
Recently, these people did something very inconsiderate to me. As things go, they are probably unaware of what they did. You might say I have no reason to get mad then. But they are the types that if I, or anyone else, did what they did to me, to them, well, let’s just say our Prime Minister would be discussing it in a special 7:30pm bulletin tonight with a full audience of the public voting ‘yes’ and ‘no’ to the arguments and points of contention being put forward.
They are very one-sided, and explain everything away so it suits them.
I’ve had so much anger and frustration, pain and sadness building up and boiling over in me for the past few days now, that it’s been sickening. I’m consumed with angry thoughts, full of scenarios of me telling them where to go and where I vent ALL of my feelings to them, feelings that have been simmering and building now for years.
It’s happened in the worst week. I’m meant to be busy finalising preparations for baby girl’s Christening – instead I’m busy imagining scenarios of them, upsetting me AGAIN, where the end result is some massive and long overdue confrontation.
I’ve been trying to work out how to get control of my thoughts, and my reaction to it so I can live in peace. So many quotes out there advise that ‘it’s all in your head,’ and ‘you are the master of your thoughts.’ That’s all fair and good, and usually something that I would swear by; in real life however, when something has been stewing in you for ages, and an untold and furious story is waiting to be unleashed from inside of you, it’s fairly hard to take the latter statements to heart and live by them.
When I heard Oliver mention ‘forgiveness,’ something inside me softened. I can’t say how it happened, but it was almost as if I was so desperate for a solution that the answer, and indeed it seems the only answer, made me reach out and grasp it with vehemence.
Could I forgive them? Could I really forgive them, or would I just be convincing myself that I should forgive them, as so many hurts have been involved that it would take years and much concerted effort on their part to mend things, where I could really start to forgive. And that was the thing. On TV, Taylor was crying to Ally and telling her how sorry she was, how sorry she’s always been for what happened that night. My situation, though no where near as dramatic thank goodness, was different, but still very difficult. I was dealing with people who have a chip on their shoulder, believing the world owes them and everyone should bow at their feet. These are people unwilling, I think also unable to change. They have been their impossibly difficult selves for so long, I don’t think they would know how.
However, the thought of forgiveness, and moving on, appealed to me. It’s a hard one – would I be admitting that what they have done to me was ok? That all the hurtful moments I’ve endured with them was acceptable? That they weren’t accountable for the hundreds upon hundreds of slights and mean-spirited words/actions/intentions that have come from their direction? No. Like Oliver said, I was doing it for me. I was doing it so I could move on.
Hubbie had bought flowers home for me last night, because he had wanted to cheer me up – seeing me so upset had made him realise how much of a happy person I was.
That was the other clincher. I was a different person when they upset me. I wasn’t me, and I didn’t like the person I was in their company. Now, sometimes, I may not be able to avoid them all together… but like all those freaking clever people say time and time again, I had to change my reaction to them, rather than change them. Because I couldn’t. Not when they couldn’t change themselves.
What happened to Oliver and Ally and Taylor in the end? Well, at the end of the episode, Oliver had convinced Ally to speak to Taylor – and after she confronted her with more ‘why’s, she came to understand that Taylor had actually helped her Dad heal… and they hugged. With tears.
My ending may be a bit different. I can’t do what all those clever-thinkers tell me to. I’m going to play a very impassive role when around them – kind of blind, ignorant to them and the way they are. I will do that, because I don’t want to amplify the situation… because I’m better than that. But if they push my button –
I’M GOING TO BITE.
Happiness Is… Hubbie. Knowing how to diffuse the bomb that is me.
Last week I was in a huge rush to get out of the house in the morning. I was juggling feeding baby girl while eating brekkie myself, all the while as Hubbie sat very relaxed at the end of the kitchen table, scrolling through youtube and calling out to me each time something wasn’t going right: “this clip isn’t loading,” “how do I stop this now?” “why is this happening, I didn’t click anything.”
Which meant of course I had to get up, multiple times, and assist him.
I grew very, very angry. Not just with the interruptions, but he was just so happy, sitting there, not helping me, that I grew enraged. I knew I could have just said “can you please help me? I wanna get out of the house before lunchtime.” But that would be too easy. So I stewed instead.
Once we were done I practically threw baby girl at him with the statement (note, not question) “hold her.”
And then I started to wash the dishes. Furiously. I threw things around the sink, let things clang and bang, until Hubbie asked “what’s wrong?”
With a deep breath, I told him that:
I was mad that I hadn’t asked him to help me feed baby girl (this was my gentle lead in)
I was mad that he knew I was rushing and hadn’t offered to help
I was mad that he had just left a wet coaster on the kitchen bench, and commented how it might be a month until he put it back clean, unless I of course cleaned it up for him
I was mad that he had left the toaster out from yesterday’s lunch, when I hadn’t needed it.
I was just freaking mad.
I then rushed up the stairs to get changed.
I was brushing my teeth, standing over the sink, absolutely seething. I was almost boiling over, I was that shitty. Hubbie came up from behind me and in an over-exaggerated fashion started to rub my back. Without looking up I kept brushing my teeth, ignoring him, but his action had somewhat lessened my bad mood. He was making fun of me in his way, and that was better than him getting mad at me for exploding at him. It’s hard enough to be so upset, without that person then turning the tables and telling you that they’re upset you gave them an ear-bashing.
He left the room, and came back when I was washing my face. He said tentatively “are you going to bash me?”
And that was the ticker. It set me right off. From being so damn mad, I could have rivalled a volcanic explosion, to suddenly erupting into uncontrollable giggles – I couldn’t believe it. I had been so tense, that something had to come out. I needed some emotional release – and laughter courtesy of my one and only it was.
I continued laughing into my towel as I dried my face, and being in the other room I knew Hubbie couldn’t tell if I was crying or laughing, as he then asked. Just the thought of unleashing on him was so far removed from reality, so ridiculous, that it was all I needed.
He is all I need. With baby girl, of course.
I told him through tears of laughter that I didn’t want to be mad at him, but just “freaking clean up after yourself, and help me.”
And then all was good, just like that. And we left the house soon after.
It goes both ways though. Hubbie once told me, how amazed he was that someone you could be so unbelievably angry and mad with, could make you happy and smile only hours after a huge argument.
There’s no magic potion to marriage, no secrets to wedded bliss. All it requires is both parties to want to reconcile, no matter what happens.
Even when he’s shitty, I’d rather he be shitty in my company, than shitty alone. But that I don’t have to worry about all too much, because he’s a very happy person, and he makes me, very happy.
Happiness. 🙂
(Note: Domestic violence is no laughing matter, and if you are in a relationship where you are being abused or you are the abuser, you should seek help. The above story is so funny because it is something that could never happen in our relationship, both ways. If you’re reading this and you’re not laughing, then you should seriously consider treatment for an abusive relationship… or you may just think the story utterly boring, either way).
Also, one of many:)
Our baby girl. I say to her “I love you,” and lean my head towards her; she leans in too, meeting me halfway in mutual understanding, and we gently bump heads.
I could almost go into her room now and wake her up for a cuddle just remembering our head bumps. But I’m not a stupid Mum that was born yesterday, so I’ll let her sleep.
;p
Dogs and Days. This idea has been flitting around my mind the last couple of weeks. It provides me with hope for the future, yet reminds me that life has its ups and downs, and to be grateful for the wonderful things that come my way, while they are around.
An old clock my sister used to have said “Good times and bad times have one thing in common. They never last forever.” Quite appropriate being on a clock.
Having to be different, I look at the dog saying in another way – not just in terms of ‘your success will come,’ but the meaning for me personally, has always been ‘every one will get a bad day.’ I know it’s not meant to be interpreted that way, and is probably a rather odd interpretation for a glass half-full gal, but if you just think of the way people say it: it’s always a mellow “every dog has its day,” rather than a chirpy “Every Dog Has Its Day!!!” – complete with cartwheels and a full cheerleading routine.
It depends on which way you look at it. You could be dismayed by the thought of good times ending, or be relieved by the promise of a rainbow at the end of hardship. Having gone through a rather difficult year, which has, as it’s gone on become better and better, especially with the meeting of our baby girl, I have to say that the thought of each dog having their day actually makes me feel ok, and grounded.
As much as I’m loving Motherhood (really, it’s cliché but so true what they say: It’s the best, and you don’t know ’til you’ve done it), I see and hear my friends and family out enjoying their lives, being free from major responsibility, and just generally doing whatever the hell they want to do AT THE MOMENT THEY WANT TO DO IT. And I can’t help myself, but I think: ‘That’s ok. They will have their day.’
I’m not trying to be cruel. I don’t mean it in the way it probably comes out. In fact, I can’t wait for all my family and friends to be in the fortunate position we are in and know what a blessing it is to have a beautiful family you are so, so proud of. I’m so happy, I’m rapt. But I guess sometimes I feel like, ‘they don’t understand,’ and it’s probably what our own family and friends with kids wished for about US, before we had kids, and I see all the childless couples out there living it up, and I remind myself ‘we used to live it up,’ and then I say ‘we’ll live it up again’…
We will get our days too. The good doggy days I mean.
I think what really frustrates me, is that if I’m wanting something else, does that mean I’m not happy now? No. It just means as normal, that we want too much. I want too much. I want what I used to have, while still having what I have now. I don’t think I’m that unique, I think it’s the natural order of things to be thinking like this, especially for us Mums. We don’t get many breaks (every sense of the word) and we just wanna every now and then let our hairs down and out and get smashed on cheap wine because we haven’t had alcohol in over a year but then we still wanna come home and be watching our babies sleep before running off to barf up yellow and green bile in the toilet.
But it’s still annoying. Because, as society tells us, we should be content with what we have, and if we’re not, we’re bad.
You know what other discoveries I’ve made in Mumhood? You really do find out who your friends are. And family. I’ve learnt who really cares, and in the case of my cousins, who would drive across town to come see me and baby girl, time and time again… while that ‘close’ friend I thought I’d reconnect with, because she all loves kids and stuff? Well yeah. Just that.
But you know what I think about her? ‘She will have her day.’
I won’t be a bitch, as somewhat gratifying as it would be. When she has her day, I will be there for her. Not saying “I told you so.” Just being. Because I wouldn’t want anyone to feel the way I’ve felt in the past.
I know that Hubbie and I have had a rather big year. A couple of huge ones in fact. And when you go through heavy shit, people tend to leave you alone, and give you space. But they don’t realise that after a little while, you want someone around, you want someone to reach out, and you want to know that someone cares and is thinking of you.
Same goes for having a baby. Apart from the never-ending 1-2 hour visits to meet baby girl, people then leave you alone. They think you need your space – and too right you do. But then they continue giving you that space, past the 2 month, 3 month, 4 month… 7 month marks. And you’re like ‘really? I do still have a life you know.’
And then you realise they don’t yet know. It still hurts a bit, but you realise they don’t know. And that’s ok, because one day they will. They will have their day too.
First in the line of a LONG series.
You know what happened today? There I was, sitting down for a coffee at my local shopping centre with baby girl and my parents. I positioned the pram fairly close to our table, making sure I wasn’t encroaching on any mini passageways around the several tables and chairs around us.
And these two women arrived, squeezing past the space between my pram and another table, and they look over, expecting me to move the pram over some more.
Firstly ladies:
– move it to where, my lap?
– there is sufficient room where you’re walking
– one of you is on the elderly side, and the other is on the heavy side, so wouldn’t it be smarter to walk on the other side of our table, where the pram isn’t?
– and lastly, the path you chose was in no way more advantageous over any others, as all you were doing was selecting a table. Seriously. You just tortured yourself and pissed me off en route.
You can say what you will, but honestly, if it is going to be difficult for you in any reason to move around, why do you already choose a path half-inhabitated by a pram?! This has been happening so often lately, people will just gravitate towards my parked pram, and then want to squeeze by.
Why are there so many stupid people? Why don’t they think?
Argh!!!
Every so often I find myself getting deep on the same question: how much of our lives are pre-destined, and how much of our lives are, well, in our hands?
It’s usually some hard decision I find myself having to make, or something rather huge happens, and I’m there thinking ‘did I attract this? Or was this fate?’
It’s a really hard topic I find myself thinking about, and the thoughts and possibilities go around and around in my head until I come to the same conclusion every single time: that I don’t know anything, other than what it is I believe in, and that is –
-that there is a portion of our lives that we can’t escape from, and
-there is a portion of our lives that we can choose to do what we like.
It’s a bit of me, doing what my Mum says I can’t do, and that is sit on both chairs at once. You might too think I’m sitting on the fence with my viewpoint, but it’s the only way I find it to be true. In my life I have felt times where something happened out of the blue, completely out of my control… and then there have been other times where something has eventuated from my hard work, determination and focus.
I haven’t always had the ‘destined-determined’ outlook though. In my earlier years I naievely believed that everything that happened was meant to happen, and even if you didn’t try, if that tree was meant to fall down, it would split in half without you even bringing an axe to it.
There is a sense of relief in the belief that we are not accountable, and that no matter what we do, it won’t make a difference. However as freeing as it may sound, being removed from any responsibility, we have no freedom in this scenario, and is this really a way we want to be living?
I confuse myself at times. I remember when I chased down a part time job back in my uni days, and wonder if I had still gotten it if I hadn’t called the area manager several times, showing him how keen I was. Then another voice in my head said ‘maybe that was meant to happen.’
I remember the hours-long debate I had with then my pre-Hubbie, about the philosophy subject driving me bonkers – that we had no free will, and that all of our present actions were a result of our past deeds, therefore eliminating freedom of choice. I remember the night clearly, because we went round in circles for hours in his lounge room, and even physically went round, as I have a clear recollection of sitting on the top of their couch, and I have no idea why.
 At the end of the day I believe a larger part of our lives, are left in our hands. Working out what part that is though, as you’re living it, is a whole other series of questions.
I’d love to know other people’s thoughts…
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A few weeks ago while taking a leisurely Autumn walk around my neighbourhood, paper cup harbouring warm coffee firmly in my hand as I pushed the pram with the other, it suddenly hit me:
It was all a lie.
I don’t think I fall into the unusual category when I say that the weather impacts majorly on my moods. I live for warm days spent outside in the sunshine, doing absolutely anything at all, as long as it leads to sun blindness to the point that re-entering any interior results in having green vision for about 30 seconds. And on the flipside, I once worked with a guy who expressed that his hatred for Winter led to him wanting to hibernate throughout the entire season. I could certainly feel for him. In my opinion the only time cold weather is good, is when you don’t have to leave the house, with your only job to stay cuddled on the couch drinking warm teas. In that world where time stands still and your life waits for you to get ready – yeah right.
So I was there, walking with coffee as I often do, when I realised just how much I was loving Autumn. It had started out as the kind of sunny day that still made you reach for your jacket with the freshness of a Winter’s chill soon approaching, however as the midday sun beat down on me I was able to remove my jacket, and really enjoy the sensations, sights and sounds that this season had to offer.
Yes, we were having an unseasonably warm Autumn. Weather reports constantly declared new records being broken, and the fact that Winter was so near and yet the weather was pretty damn acceptable, was further proof of that.
But no, it wasn’t just that this Autumn was better than previous ones. I thought of Spring, and then ‘Summer,’ and thought ‘lies, lies, lies.’
Look, this is how it goes: (in case this is the first thing you’ve ever read and you have no idea about climate)
Winter: June, July, August
Spring: September, October, November
Summer: December, January, February
Autumn: March, April, May
Right? Wrong.
I guess this June it’s a bit of an exception, with El Nino or whatever warm spell it is that’s going to be passing over Melbourne making it a warmer than normal Winter, but then again I think ‘ever year it’s a freaking exception!’ With Melbourne weather, biggest joke ever. We’ve had a warm Autumn, and now we’re expecting a warm-er than normal Winter.
This is how it should really go:
Winter: the very end of June, July, first half of August
Little Winter (aka Winter but with more sun): second half of August, September, October, start of November
Spring: end of November, December up to Christmas time
Summer: New Years (it’s always 30 degrees+ at clock striking twelve point), January
Big Summer (aka mother-f!*king scorching Summer): February, start of March
Autumn: end of March, April, May
Win-tumn (aka false pretences Winter that makes you think ‘this Winter won’t be so bad, it’s so sunny…’ then BAM!): start of June
I’m just hoping that this El Nino dude sticks around for a while so this Winter is much more bearable than others. Having said that, being on maternity leave and all, and not having to get up for work like poor Hubbie, I can’t whinge too much. Winter is so freaking bad when you’re getting up five in the morning, and shivering in the car waiting for it to warm up 20 minutes later in the darkness, then walking to work, in the cold, and darkness…
How I miss that, NOT.
I look forward to the warmer months so much, I find I end up starting to dread Winter as early as January, while we’re still in the midst of actual Summer (according to my new climate guide) to the point where sometimes, I can’t even enjoy Summer. Horrific I know. And then at other times, I’m often so peaking in fantastic stinking heat, I have to think hard to remember how it feels like to be cold, and shivering, and even ask myself the stupid, stupid question: “is Winter really that cold?”
Fast forward to today and putting on the heater 6 times during the day. Yes, yes it is.
I hate knowing Winter is just around the corner, knowing it’s ‘coming for me;’ yet when it’s here, there’s almost a sense of relief, like ‘ok, let’s get this over with.’
I’ve survived the first 9 days of Winter, so I should be ok. Sorry, I mean Win-tumn.
I’ve recently come to the terrifying realisation that I can do whatever I want.
It’s rather an odd thing to be fearful of, isn’t it? Don’t get me wrong, I am no ‘natural’ pessimist: I am a self-proclaimed glass half-full gal, I’m infinitely inspired by the beauty of nature and stunningly warm days (of which a plentiful amount of posts will be subject of here no doubt), and just in general I like to smile, have fun, go out and socialise. The ability to do whatever it is I want to do should be something desirable, especially from a person of positive nature. It should be a good thing, right?
Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about my future career goals. A lot. Doing-my-head-in A LOT. Having been on maternity leave for 10 months, I really don’t want to go back to my old job. The reasons?:
– I need a change
– I don’t see myself moving up in that field
– I want a more flexible workload, work that can fit in around me and my family’s needs
– I want part-time work (and I don’t know if my old employer can offer it)
– I promised myself I’d never go back.
That last line was what I said to myself on my last day there, as I entered into my year-long maternity leave. It’s no secret to people that know me: I want to write for a living. It’s my love, it’s my passion, and it so conveniently ties in with the lifestyle and the life that I want to live.
Do I go back to my old job, requesting part-time work, or do I move onto other, more flexible projects… like the direct sales position I’ve been researching?
I never in a million years dreamed that I would want to go into direct selling. But it fulfils my ‘flexible life’ requirements, it means I’d be my own boss (and don’t we all want that?) and I’d actually be promoting a product that’s been popping in and out of my head for years, something I’m actually genuinely passionate about.
Look, my old work may just tell me they have no part-time positions… I’m kind of hoping they do. Because then they’ve made up my mind for me. That’s what it is I’m looking for you see. A sign. A universal sign that will tell me which path to go down… the old familiar path working part-time at my old job, or the new, more flexible path promoting a product I know nothing about in strangers homes, while also continuing my writing dream in my other spare time?
Yes, I could write in my spare time at my old job too. But, but, but… I’m looking for excuses. I think my time there is up. I just need to be sure. I need to get a sign that this is it, and I’m making the right decision.
I’m so scared of making the wrong decision. Either way.
All I can think of is Neil Armstrong’s “One small step for man” speech, and though the creation of this blog doesn’t fall within the same ‘discovering a planet’ category as the above, it’s a step nonetheless, into uncharted territory, where the foot hopes to hit something solid, hovering in a space of no gravity, until, something, HAPPENS.
The foot hits. Something.
Welcome.
smikg 