Heart Be Still - Valentines Day

In all of our 11 years together, I don't think the Husband has only ever given me 1 valentines gift,
He did give me flowers once,
But it wasn't valentines day - that was when  I gave birth to our first child.

I was generally put off by an Ex boyfriend who became an ex after buying me gorgeous expensive longere for V day one year, while this sounds lovely it was tainted by the fact that he bought me an A cup bra when I was a C cup - I would have forgiven him for being male if he hadn't launched into a speil about how the sales assistent was asking him if he was SURE that was my size and he the all knowing one KNEW it was. Bah!

So when I sit down and ponder this 'day of love' I think valentines day is an over commercialised greeting card holiday, A cup bra's and that it would be silly to exchange gifts purely to line the pockets of the retail giants.

But then the women inside me peeks through and thinks... it would be kinda nice to do somthing special... you know, just once?

I will admit that The Husband did propose to me on Valentines Day, oh it was SO romantic! I was making dinner in the kitchen when he walked in and asked me what we were eating, I told him, he replied 'great' and then said "So you still want to marry me, right?" and I was like "yeah..." and he goes oh good and pulls out a ring box from his pocket.

I go into OH MY GOD!! mode and carefully opened the box, inside was the prettiest pair of garnet earrings you have ever seen in your life.

To say I was dissapointed would have been an understatement, but true to form I smiled politely, told him they were beautiful and felt like crying.

THEN the bugger pulls out another box, "just kidding!" he winks at me - and there was the ring.

I think that (and the fact that #2 was on the way) was one of the many reasons I said yes, he can always make me laugh.

So I will give him points for that one I suppose, this year however I went out and bought myself a $5.99 red patio rose from Aldi.

Happy Valentines Day to me  :) And to you!

What was your best valentines?
Do you celebrate this greeting card holdiday?

Its not OK to have kids if your under 21.

At least this seems to be the view of the wider community – the older generation in particular.

A midwife in the hospital where I had my first child in refused to help me learn to breast feed as it was a “natural instinct REAL mothers should have, teenagers shouldn’t bother”.

Filthy looks, and shaking heads were thrown my way when ever my 17yr old self dared to venture out of the house to the local shopping centre with baby Buzz. I used to wonder if perhaps I was imagining it, but then when 14 months later Gucci got thrown into the mix those looks turned into very real, very nasty comments from total strangers.

I remember the feeling of my face turning beet red and wishing the ground would swallow me up, as an elderly lady passing on the escalator nodded toward me and proclaimed for all to hear that “poor little things, teenage riff raff should not be allowed to bring children into this world.”

She didn’t know me, she had no idea of my circumstances – for all she knew they may not have even been my children. God that comment hurt, and unfortunately it was only one of many. Eventually it got to the point where I actually avoided going out because I felt so embarrassed.

Then one day not long after I turned 21, a strange thing happened. My mother in law was looking after the older boys, as I was taking newborn baby Felix to a doctors’ appointment when an old lady stopped me on the street.

Thinking I was about to cop another lecture about ‘today’s youth’ I was pleasantly surprised if not a little shocked when she said, ‘I just had to stop you to say what a beautiful baby you have!’ She gave me a huge smile and told me to enjoy him while he was still so little. Not wanting to ruin the moment by mentioning he wasn’t my first, I thanked her and continued on.

Later that same day I noticed that other old women were not muttering at me or shaking their heads, but instead stopping and cooing at Felix, smiling to their husbands and generally being very friendly and receptive.  

Several days later, I ventured out with the 3 boys and was sad to see that the looks had reverted back to ones of dismay by the general public, and over the next few years when all the children were with me, I was frequently asked “how many fathers?” by people I had only just met.

 It seemed that 21 was the ‘OK’ age to have your first child but any time before that and you were just a teenage slut.

I used to try and explain to the accusing types that I was married and the children all had the one father, and despite my total lack of religious persuasion I even pulled out the “I will have as many children as God blesses me with” card a few times in a desperate attempt to seek approval from the world.

Now at the ripe old age of 27, I am learning that when people comment “Wow, you look too young to have 4 kids!” they are not in fact owed an explanation, my choices were and are my own and my children and I are very happy with the way things are thank you. very. much.

 So rather than launcning into my life story, now I simply smile back at them and say “oh, you’re so sweet!” and let them wonder if perhaps I am actually older than I look.

Were/are you a teenage mum?

How did you deal with the comments?

Have you been guilty of making comments yourself?

Do you worry too much about what people think?

Armed and Dangerous

So in the state of New South Wales if one is a property owner and has had no previous convictions they are entitled to own and operate a firearm for the ‘control of feral animals’.  As we live on a property and The Husband has a ‘Y’ chromosome and no previous convictions, it is apparently his ‘right of passage’ to purchase a gun.

Being generally lazy and not wishing to make any phone calls, The Husband insisted that I, the ex-vegetarian, extremely clumsy, Nerf-fearing, animal lover from way back should also acquire a firearms license, therefore organising the ‘test’ and any relevant paperwork.

Now in order to purchase said weapon of fox destruction, one must first spend several hundred dollars on an overpriced ‘gun safe’ and partake in approximately $100 per persons’ worth of ‘gun licence’ testing.  

The ‘test’ involved going to a seedy part of town with an envelope of cash, and handing it over to a guy in the upstairs store room of the local gun shop.

The man then sits you down on *upside-down milk crates in the afore mentioned storeroom which is full of **hundreds of different guns, and proceeds to turn on a 30 year old video  that teaches you all about firearm safety.  Commonsense stuff like “Don’t point a gun at someone’s face” and things that may be more open to interpretation, such as “Don’t use the gun for any purpose other than for which it is intended”. hmmm...

So at the end of the video we had all learned which end of a gun not to hold in order to keep all our digits and that we should probably not lend our guns out to unlicensed friends with shaved heads and gotee’s named “Hammer”.

Then it was test time. Now thankfully for me, the test didn’t involve naming a variety of guns, ammo or the best place to shoot Bambi’s mother for maximum visual effect. It was in fact, a simple multiple choice quiz and if you have the IQ of a 4yr old you should be able to pass with flying colours.

Once you have passed the test you send away your verified paperwork and go home and twiddle your thumbs while your husband checks the mail religiously for approximately 9 weeks until a little piece of paper arrives saying that the State of New South Wales is blissfully unaware of your clumsiness and that they are giving you the right to bear arms, on condition that you part with a further $200 at your local RTA.

As I have no interest in firearms what so ever, and frankly feel it’s probably a darn sight cheaper to just replace your chickens as required. The highlight of this little experience for me at this point is the simple fact that my little piece of paper arrived in the mailbox over a week ago, and alas The Husband’s has still not.  

Do you have the right to bear arms?

Have you ever felt really weird carrying an envelope of cash into the store room of your local gun shop?

*Ok they had chairs, but there were milk crates propping up the TV.

** There probably weren’t hundreds, but there were definitely over 50.

Hello Blogoverse!

Well it’s sure been a while, I wasn’t intending to have a blog break but due to losing my internet connection, the school holidays and The Husband being off work since November, I just haven’t had any opportunities to blog!

Now the house is quiet with 3 out of the 4 munchkins back at school and The Husband returning to work and the internet is actually connecting for more than 4 seconds at a time, I am taking the chance to stick my head in and say hi.

A lot seems to have happened to you all over the last 3 months and I have heaps to catch up on, so apologies if I don’t get to comment as much as I would like.

We have been busy here too, 2 of the boys had birthdays, we hosted the Christmas Eve celebrations (hubby's family are European) have been to the beach and done a stack of work in the garden.

December also saw our first births on the farm!

We hatched 9 little Muscovy Ducklings, but unfortunately due to a rogue bird of prey we were only left with 3...  We are now organising netting to cover the top before the next clutch hatch.

Sadly we also had to say goodbye to our faithful Border Collie 'Bowie' in January. I got Bowie when I was 15 as an 8 week old pup and found out when he was just 6months old that he had an incurable disease and would be unlikely to see his 2nd Birthday.

But with the help of a great vet, expensive drugs and a whole lotta love Bowie had a very happy long life. He passed away in his sleep shortly after his 12th birthday.

I guess we will see what this year brings us, but I am hoping for a happy one for the family, void of any unplanned kidney operations or health issues in general! I have heaps of plans for the garden, and a hopefully 2012 will see the start of some inside renovations too! 

Well, Happy Christmas, New Year and all of that to everyone and I look forward to reading about what’s happening in your worlds.

Luv Always,

Suzi

Why I dont want my husband to come home

So I talked to The Husband this morning and he said they will take the wound drain out today and that after that he can go home. Which he is really excited about, and would be fine, if he wasn’t confused as hell (keeps forgetting where he is) from the medication, can only walk a few steps with great pain, not to mention he hasn’t eaten a solid meal yet, let alone had a bowel movement AND he still has a catheter in which has to stay in for another 3 days.  

The (major)surgery was Monday morning– I live an hour and a half from the hospital along crappy country roads, and technically another state which means we are not entitled to home care of any kind and it is a freaking long way if anything goes wrong.

How the fuck does one change/remove a catheter?? I have no idea, I am NOT a nurse.

To abate the confusion he reckons he can stop taking the drugs (oxycontin & endone) he stopped the morphine just yesterday arvo. This leaves him with panadol. Now he’s no wuss but panadol? Three days after having major abdo surgery. What if it doesn’t cut it? Once he stops the other stuff then that’s it. He is stuck without it.

So I’m shitting myself as much as I want him home, I want him home when I know he can eat, use a toilet and can take more than 3 steps – it’s at least 50 meters from the closest spot I can park the car to the house – I can’t catch him if he falls, let alone pick him up again. Plus I have to be able to leave him alone in the house while I ferry the kids about.

Sorry about the vent, just scared really, I really miss him but I don’t want anything to happen and I have very little faith in the system right now. I will talk to the doctor when I get there and explain out situation, I just hope hubby doesn't hate me for not wanting him home just yet.

Under the knife

image credit

I sit up on the half empty bed, the left side lays cold and forgotten it suddenly feels so much bigger than it used to. In 10 years I have never slept in the bed without him.

The surgery went well. It lasted 4.5 hours and left him now with a single but very healthy kidney and missing a small portion of his bladder. He has two drains, a catheter, oxygen and two IV’s not to mention a scar the envy of pirates everywhere.

It’s amazing how the night time can be filled with noises you have never heard before when void of snoring from the other side of the bed, the septic usually un-noticeable now sounds as though somebody with a pair of gumboots and a good puddle is dancing outside the window.

The doctor is hopeful that he should be able to come home this week, his ob’s are great and he recovered from the anesthesia in record time. His pain is low too thank goodness but he is doped up to the eyeballs so we will have to wait and see how he copes as the morphine is stepped down.

I think I quite like him on morphine, he repeatedly declared his undying love for me and called himself the luckiest man in the world. As flattered as I am, in the giddy state I left him in, he has probably since told each of the nurses and the 80yr old farting man in the next cubicle the exact same thing.

So if I don’t get murdered by whatever that thing is making growling noises in the distance, I will drive back to the big smoke and sit by his bedside tomorrow, hopefully the night hasn’t brought any challenges and I will have a slightly less spaced out version of my husband, I don't know how much longer I can cope with that much love.

Onwards & Upwards.  

One Phone Call

The view stretches out through the trees, over the horizon and onto the oblivion beyond.

 Villain plays in the background and I am taken back to that concert back in 2000 where the barefooted man placed a gift into my hand, long ago now but a moment burned into my mind, insignificant for me, but a life changing one for him, funny how that happens.

It was 2001; I sat crossed legged on the kitchen bench with the newspaper in front of me and the phone in my hand. It was so damn depressing, I had been searching for weeks for a place to rent, any place. But nobody wanted me, I had quite a lot of animals that I had to bring and nobody trusted my age.

I glanced up at my grandmother sitting in a chair nearby, with her disapproving eyes and her mouth moving in and out rythmatically like some sort of hyped up goldfish, the way it always did when she was annoyed.

I had to get out.

There was one last ad at the bottom of the page, a share house with 3 blokes, the room rent was comparable and the location was right on the bus route. Ok Deep breath. I dialled the numbers.

A man answered; hi I’m ringing about the ad for a room? I stuttered nervously, Oh yes.... came the reply and then I lost it and just blurted out. “ Look, I will give it to you straight because you won’t want me living there anyway, I have a dog, a cat, a 4ft fish tank, a frog tank a bird and a rabbit.... and I’m only 16... BUT I work full time and I can pay the rent....”

There was a deathly silence and I blinked back a tear for a moment knowing that I had just reduced any chance to ashes. Suddenly there was a laugh from the other end of the phone, “Well you can come over for a look, but does your dog get along with other dogs? Cause there are three here already...” I nearly fell off the bench.

There were 2 cars and a Ute parked in the driveway as I arrived the next day at a rather nice brick home complete with massive yard and veranda sweeping along the front.

 I knocked on the door and a bloke about 20 something with curly brown hair spilling out the sides of his baseball cap opened it, ”oh” he said as he looked me up and down made a kind of grunting noise and walked off.

Charming.

I was left standing on the step not sure if I was invited in or not and waited there about a minute or so before a big burley man of around 50 came to the door all smiles, he introduced himself, showed me around and after a bit of a chat offered me the room. I was to move in on the weekend.

As I was leaving he introduced me to one of the guys living there who seemed really nice and pointed out another who was on top of the pergola out the back hammering something – it was the rude bloke from the door, I had kinda hoped he was just a tradesman and not actually living there. Oh well beggars can’t be choosers.

I moved in, time passed and I actually got to know the rude bloke from the door that day, turns out he was pretty nice guy and we became firm friends until I eventually dumped my boyfriend and we made it official. That was 10 years and 4 kids ago and now I couldn’t imagine life without him.

The paths we take, the road we choose to follow its strange how it all comes together just so. Imagine if you hadn’t taken the bus that day? Filled the car at the other petrol station? I know if I hadn’t made that one phone call things would be very different right now, strange how such insignificant actions can change the entire course of our lives.

Has a seemingly small thing ended up changing your life?

How did you meet your partner?