2017

Registered Marriage Celebrant

Today is the last day of 2017. A time of reflection.

My year has been one of amazement. I am amazed I have survived. I am amazed my family have survived. There have been times where I would have liked to stab Dear Husband in the eye with a fork. There are many mornings where Girl Child 9 and Boy Child 6 have copped an earful of swearing fit for a pirate ship. But for the most part we have had a good year.

I look back on  posts such as Cows, God and Lego and I realise that I was on a journey that I hadn’t consciously chosen at the time of writing. In this post I wrote of forbidden opinions never to be said out loud. Lucky I wrote them down.

I wrote that it is great to have ceremonies for births, deaths and marriages it helps people cope. I am unsure if this blog post helped me to tread my new path, or whether my subconscious had already begun treading it. Regardless, I am now a Civil Celebrant who can perform these rituals.

What else have I learned by reading my past blogs?

  1. Sometimes I am too gutless to publish my posts. I have 4 drafts sitting unpublished. Perhaps I am not gutless but trying to please everyone which has prevented me from spewing my opinions on the world. Either way, I have sat on my hands with these 4 and saved you from reading them.
  2. I really like good customer service. I really do. I have had minimal arguments with my DH this year. The one’s we have had have been about his embarrassment that I am not afraid to speak my mind when expecting exemplary customer service. He would prefer to shut up and be fed shit. I would prefer to speak up and be treated like I should be.
  3. I am a product of the 70’s. However I am rather judgemental of people who smoke whilst people are eating or anywhere else that they shouldn’t (in 2017). Don’t get me wrong, I love the odd dart. In fact I am secretly inhaling DH’s second hand fumes as I type, wishing it was my mouth on the other end of that butt.
  4. I am passionate about Boobs. No, I don’t go around perving on them, but if you wish to flash those puppies in public go right ahead. I will cop a feel for you if you are unsure of a potential lump, because that’s what friends do. Please check your boobs ladies, this shit saves lives.
  5. Accept the things you cannot change. Back in January I wrote about grieving those who still walk the planet. My heart has healed somewhat since I wrote this post, but the scar is still a little itchy. I have no control over the situation, therefore I must Let it Go.
  6. Menopause is a force to be reckoned with. The hardest part was realising that I was a nasty bitch and nobody liked me (OK, that is a bit harsh on self), another thing was finding out how it affects my health. Getting the balance right comes down to diet and self management, both of which I seem to have a handle on.
  7. Arsehole is another word for Good Parent. I am a Good Parent!
  8. Love your family. The best thing that happened to our marriage this year (apart from my awesome clinical psychologist) was a game of football. I hate football, but I love my husband. Seeing him run onto that field as an old man (Sorry DH, but you were 46 on the day) and sustain a hamstring injury made us laugh, made our kids see him in a different light and generally made us all feel good.
  9. Life is amazing. Choose Life. Stuff happens that make life a challenge, but faced with the facts of how different life would be without me or any of you, I choose life. Sometimes it is a near miss, like I had, that make us reflect how our little and extended families would feel if we were taken from them. This is what I tell myself when the black dog nips at my heals and I feel like everyone else would be better off without me, when I am too scared to try something new in case I fail, when I understand that I am not my parents and never will be, when I listen to my husband and understand his point of view, when I give my kids time to be kids, and the list goes on.
  10. I am Amazing. This year I studied to become a Civil Celebrant.  As I said at the beginning of this post, I was on a journey this year. Becoming a Registered Marriage Celebrant has made be look within, not only at how I feel about marriage, but also about life in general. Life is full of wonder. Life is full of challenges. We only get one chance at life and we should make the best of it

I have done a lot of self improvement this year. I got treatment for being an arsehole menopause. I got even more treatment for my fucked up head (you would think I could sort this shit out after 26 years since diagnosis). I am proud to have forgiven those whom I thought I never could, this includes myself. Thank you Mum for this gem “Forgiveness is the fragrance the violet sheds on the heel that has crushed it”-Mark Twain (although the internet is not sure he wrote it).

Forgiveness has granted me freedom.

Much love from me to you as this year comes to a close. Happy New Year!

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More About Menopause

As much as I was happy to never ever have another period.  I have found yet another piss off factor when it comes to menapause.

So far I have been told to just accept I’m overweight, cos that shit happens. You can’t do much about hot flushes. This is not true, my acupuncture and Chinese medicine has that under control. You might remember me writing about that in Madly Menopausal Mum. I work really hard on daily meditation and mindfulness so as I am not a fucking screaming lunatic with the potential of becoming an axe murderer. Visits to a clinical psycologist also keeps me grounded.

But now I have been told I have high cholesterol. Like always, I have taken to google to find out what the fuck that means for me as the doctor hasn’t got time to explain that shit. The first thing that struck me is how all the images of menopausal women are of  ladies much older than I. Not sexy rock star young chicks like myelf. The next thing that struck me was…

Guess what?

Few women know that there is a direct link between cholesterol and menopause.

This is life threatening stuff. Given I have family history of heart disease I wish someone had told me this a couple of years ago. You can Read more here.

As usual I’m trying to find the silver lining in this dark cloud. So here it is. I am going to live on water and lettuce leaves. The lettuce will make me skinny. I will then get buy new clothes as I threw all the others out when I was told to accept being chubby.

Just joking. Red wine, dark chocolate and small handfulls of nuts are also on the menu. I suppose I will survive to see my kids grow up. That is as long as I remember my mindfulness and don’t become that axe murderer.

 

Marriage and Stuff

I’ve been studying to become a Marriage Celebrant.

Recently I was asked “Why the hell would you want to do that?”

Bloody good question really.

Bridezillas, mother of the Bride(zillas), blended family moments were all coming to this friend’s mind. She was thinking that it would be horrid to have to deal with. Well that’s what I took from it. But I believe in the goodness of humanity and those “horrid” people only become horrid when stuff goes bad.

You see it’s a funny thing really. As a small girl I suppose I did think a handsome prince would ride up on his trusty steed and sweep me off to his kingdom far, far away. Far away from my family home and having to watch my parents marriage failing. (Thanks Disney).

And there’s the thing. I did watch my parents marriage end and after watching it I vowed and declared that marriage was not for me. I am never having kids. I dug my heals in and said that living together is just the same as marriage and that would be good enough for me.

In my twenties I got engaged. We were in love. We lived together. We were young. We had different ideals. Eventually that relationship ran it’s course and I thank the universe we never got married and had kids. With the wisdom of hindsight, I can look back and see that if I really did want to get married, I would have done something about setting the date and organising the party. Parties are my thing. It’s what I do well.

In my thirties I hooked up with my husband. I can’t say met, because we met many years earlier as we lived in the same small town. We had always known each other and had mutual friends. We were friends. We had even kissed after a party when I was 15 and he was 17.

We used to party and party hard. When we got home after closing we would crank up the music and continue dancing until the wee hours of the morning. A dear friend said to me how he was romancing me. I scoffed. She was right. He rode up on his trusty steed <insert dream sequence here>, OK, reality check. He walked me home with his bike, ready to return to his place.

I moved in pretty quickly, a) because I was in love, b) because the rent was cheap, and c) because I was living with my mum and her partner. I was still in business then, so I wasn’t home that much.

A couple of years later I was working at the club. The business had folded by then, but I still spent a lot of hours at work, and all nights. Dear Husband was out in the main lounge having some drinks with my aunt and her friend. I went out of the dining area into the casino lounge for my smoke break (oh how times have changed!) and he said to me, “We have just decided on the date for our wedding”. A bit weird, as I was not involved in the conversation, but lovely that that was what was being discussed. We had never done the proposal thing properly or anything.

So that night when I got home, to the house we had built together, he proposed. Sort of. Pissed, but he meant it. He wanted to live with me until he was ninety (I pretend to count down to that time), and he wanted to be married. His mum and dad still are married, his views were a bit different from mine.

Months later I was shopping and found a ring for him to buy me. As you can see, none of this process is the traditional fairy tale. I made him pay for it, even though we already had shared accounts and a home together. The following year we got married.

So why and I writing this? What changed? You are probably saying FFS, get to the point.

We changed. We changed for the better. We are now a married couple. When I talk about him I call him my husband. When he talks about me he calls me his wife. It is different. It is a commitment for life (or at least until he turns 90, wink). We fell pregnant immediately and welcomed GC8 into our world 40 weeks later.

We will be married 10 years in November and we have had our share of shit to deal with. But we have done just that. I don’t like him every second of every day, but I do love him. Standing with our friends and making that commitment changed us in a good way. Unlike my first “engagement” I can’t just walk out on him. There is heaps of legal stuff (and two little people) standing in our way now. That legal stuff is what the same sex couples are striving for when they talk of marriage equality.

We stood before our nearest and dearest and we vowed to stand by each other forever.

So to you my friend who wanted to know Why?

I wish to be the person who performs the ceremony to cement the relationship. I wish to share the joy of making the commitment to one another. I wish to share the love with you and your loved ones. I will help write vows and find the words you are looking for. I wish for a lifetime of happiness.

Gold Parent Moment, Number Who Knows?

Gold Parenting Moment!

This morning BC6 climbs into the spare bed with me. I escape there when I can’t sleep.

He looks up at the photo albums in the open wardrobe.

He asks “Mum, have you any photos from when you were little?”

“Yes, some, not many, what do you want it for?”

“We have to take something from the olden days to school.”

Bite lip. He is cute and my son so I try to hold back thoughts of copying Homer strangling Bart.

Go to robe and produce folder Mum made for myself and brother. It contains copies of photos of our ancestors.

Mum copied wedding photos of our Greatgrandparents, grandparents, parents and her brother who died accidentally when I was 3. I have added other snippets of history along the way.

I explain that Miss I is probably looking for more “olden” than old me born in 1972.

He finds his history lesson enchanting and GC8 also gets in on the action. I point out all the belongings I still have which were hand made by my great nan and pop who I was lucky to still have in my life until I was an adult. Wow, they think it’s so cool.

Thanks Mum, that folder of photos is one of the best gifts you ever gave me.

Don’t Call Me Charlie

My kids hate it when they’re having a bad day. I get all theatrical and sing them songs of happiness and inspiration.

Do you remember the song in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory? You know it, “Cheer Up Charlie”. If not, here’s the link to remind you.

https://youtu.be/caMIkwTPBwA

BC6 woke up this morning in a mood to darken the brightest of days. No hugs, eye rolling practice and general moodiness and disrespect. When I likened his behaviour to that of a tweenage girl GC8 rolled her eyes and stated she’s not even that bad (not going to challenge her on that comment as I’m already dealing with one poo head). He then stormed to his room and slammed the door.

As much as I wish my kids were happy, and well behaved, ALL the time, they are small humans. We need our downs so we can appreciate our ups. Me antagonising them with songs just makes them darker and more pissed off than ever. Clearly I need to take a check of my arseholeness (new word) and stop being a bitch to them.

I don’t know why I do it. I hate it when my dear husband tries lame jokes to cheer me up. Sometimes I just want to wallow in my darkness and discontent and our children should be allowed the same rights.

As I dropped them at the school gate thus morning I called after them “Love you, have a great day” just as I do every morning.

GC8 replied “love you Mum, I will”.

BC6 almost automatically replied then caught himself and trudged off, eyes downcast until I was out of sight.

Is it me? Does he reflect the mood I am in? I am in some minor pain and discomfort at the moment depending on how long since I popped a painkiller. My house is filthy because I can’t push a vacuum or mop. This increases my anxiety and turns me into loony, frustrated, psycho mum.

Sorry little dude.

I hope your day gets much better and I get lots of hugs when you get home xx

Madly Menopausal Mum #2

When you feel flat feed it…

It’s been a bloody long time (LOL, bloody, sorry, not sorry for my personal amusement) since I’ve had to purchase the old feminine hygiene products, but I think there is still a hint of a cycle which fucks with my system.

When I’m feeling flat as a tack I feed it. Yep, iron rich lambs fry and bacon.

I possibly will not be adorning this with vegetables, possibly wont even make it to a plate, I’ll carnivore that shiz out of the pan.

As a kid I held the bowl in readiness for the livers to be extracted from the still steaming sheep guts after uncles and dad had cut a few throats. Sounds quite barbaric, but it was just farm life. 

My other job was to roll cigarettes. Three different thicknesses for three different men. I stuck them in their mouths and made sure they stayed alight.

Hells Bells! Imagine asking our precious children to do that now! They would be taken away…mmmm…taken away! 

Kids, wanna learn how to slaughter a sheep?

When Did We All Forget About the Environment?

Well shitballs! Hasn’t the new show War on Waste got us all talking about our environment?

I’m a bit bothered about this. Why? Because I thought we knew a lot of this stuff. I do, and I do my best to reduce, reuse and recycle.

Recently I made a comment on the book of faces regarding how much I despise the Woolworths Marvel collector series. Not because I am mean. Not because I don’t wont my kids to have fun. It’s because I can see the land being filled with more and more plastic the more these types of promotions occur. I get pissed off with the packaging which I often have to gently remind (yell at) them to pick up from the floor and put in the landfill bin. I wonder what I will do with this collection when the novelty wears off. After all, every kid has them, they are of no value, I can’t sell them. There is the possibility of passing them down to a younger child who probably wont want them because the hype is over. 

You might be thinking don’t let them get them Shauna, you are the parent. Well clearly I suck at parenting. But that’s for another post.

The chatter this week is the takeaway coffee cup. Boy has this raised some conversation. Did you know technically we can recycle those cups, except, we can’t. The sippy lid, you go for it. Throw it in the recycle. The cup looks like paper, feels like paper but it has a fine coating of polymer to stop the liquid seeping through. There is no processing plant for these, perhaps we could create some jobs by building a recycling plant.

My Morning Coffee

I knew this. I separate my lid from my cup when I toss it. I make this choice. I am a shit human, or am I?

Many cafe’s have offered the option of filling your environmentally friendly reusable cup for years. Not many people take them up.

Why? Because we are lazy or busy?

I’m not sure about anyone else, but for me it feels like it’s going to take some effort to pull off. I need to change my habits, or maybe the cafe’s do.

I wonder if this would work? A reusable takeaway coffee cup system.

Firstly the cafe need to purchase a stock of reusable cups, probably two sizes.

  1. When we purchase our coffee in a reusable cup from our local cafe the first time we get our first coffee for free.
  2. When we return with our cup the Cafe give us a fresh one and put yesterday’s through their dishwasher (I teach Hygiene for Food Handlers, I have some concerns the consumer will not thoroughly wash their own cup) we get a small discount.
  3. The cycle continues.
  4. Eventually the cafe owners wont need to offer a discount as there will no longer be paper cups.

Does anyone else have any ideas to help the war on waste?

Also, does anyone have number 18 so my kid can complete his Marvel set?