A Birthday Ode to "Super Nanny"

There once was a "super nanny"

Whose tips and tricks were many

She could pacify, burp and settle

My newborn baby who was testing my mettle

A new mum was I and oh so dazed

I turned to my own and saw she wasn’t fazed

She’d scoop up her second born grandson who was so anti sleep

And have him nestle her shoulder and fall into a slumber so deep

All through the endless night

With me my little bundle put up such a fight

Yet Super Nanny cuddled and rocked and cooed

And newborn baby Harrison was soothed

Although three years have since passed

There’s no doubt she’s still classed

As baby Harrison’s Super Nanny

And on this special day we just want to say Happy Birthday Nanny!

Eleven Random Ramblings Relating To Me

Turns out I’ve been tagged in Torkona’s recent blog “10 Things You'd Hate About Me” post, which politely demands me to return serve with my own admissions. Now, normally I love me a list.  There isn’t a day goes by I don’t have a “To-Do” one on the go, gleefully striking out tasks as they are done and dusted (sometimes literally, on dusting day…)

The tricky task however, and why I was hesitant to undertake it, is because you have to make a list about bragworthy boasts. I’ve broken the rules a little and made it more about random facts readers may be surprised to know about me… And because 11 is my lucky number I’ve made an executive decision that’s the amount of truths I’ll divulge (though that stat doesn’t count as one of my list!)

1. .       My love of Rugby League was fostered from 18mths old, perched on my Dad’s lap and I’d name all the teams from their symbol - who coincidentally would be reading the same magazine my Husband is now the Editor of (kismet or what?!) and then spent my teenage years with a bedroom wall was a shrine to footy, watching the 45hours of footy footage on video tapes I’d complied (and give the boys my age a lesson in football trivia!)
   
   
   2.       When I was 16 I was awarded “Female Announcer of the Year” at my local youth Radio Station where I helped run our Sunday football radio show.  Regularly doing radio shifts was a highlight of my teen years!
   
   
   3.       Every single time I go somewhere new for an eyebrow wax I’m complimented on my unique brow shape. It’s my favourite body part. (Well, that and the fact I’m unnaturally flexible - we are talking twisting my feet to touch my head and the like!)
   
   
   4.       At 22 I finally found the courage to shed my oldlife entirely and make a massive leap of faith - quitting my job, selling my car, my worldly possessions, ending a long term relationship all in a matter of months to move to the other side of the world.  I had never lived outside my small town, and had turned down a marriage proposal in the process. Living in London was the most character building time of my life!
   
   
   5.       I travelled solo from London all the way to the depths of Sicily, totally ALONE, at age 23 (this from someone who previously never wanted to stay a single night alone in her life). I’ve stood at ANZAC Covein the still of breaking dawn, and witnessed such wonders of the world as the Eiffel Tower, The Colosseum, and a standing ovation worthy sunset over Santorini
   
   
   6.       I believe(just as my idol Oprah does) that luck is “preparation meeting opportunity” – it’s how I explain some awesome experiences in my life like seeing Oprah live in Australia last year, securing sold out tickets to see my beloved footy team win the NRL Premiership or meeting theDivine Deb Webber.
   
   
   7.       Sometimes finding you soulmate is easier than you imagine.  After travelling the world I finally met mine, who happened to hail from the same childhood hometown as I - yet we never knew one another except for a brief introduction when I was 17. When fate saw to it the time was right, our parallel lives crossed paths and I’ve never looked back. (Oh and we pulled off a kick ass wedding too!)
   
   
   8.       That I not only survived childbirth but that I was blessed with a blue eyed child (never thought it possible with my husband and I’s genetics. Turns out we were wrong!) One day those big eyes will cast a spell on girls worldwide…
   
   
   9.       A creative writing teacher once pulled me aside after class and told me I have what it takes to write that novel that’s been simmering away in my brain for years (even though I’m frustratingly yet to prove her right).
   
   
   10.   I am a sucker for theme parks – it explains why I got engaged on top of the Giant Drop at Dreamworld. Disneyland is my next dream holiday destination!
   
   
   11.   I’m obsessed with the time 11:11. Superstitiously (which sadly I am in so many ways), if I see it I just know I am going to have the most amazing day.

Feel free to share the list making love and share your most random truths too!

Cubby houses: the great Australian (kid's) dream

What is it about kids and the inexplicably magic link they have when it comes to cubby houses?  It’s as if it has become the great Australian dream for anyone not old enough to be mortgaged to the hilt on their own terms... 

My pre-schooler has recently unearthed the simple joy that comes from upending the lounge cushions and constructing a soft walled fortress from which to base himself and his merry little gang of toys (and imaginary foes!).

And while I’ll admit at first the perfectionist in me lamented the destruction of my most sacred room in the house, soon enough I was taken back on a magical trip down memory lane to the days when my youthful imagination would run wild and, like my son, require a special place for me to weave my dreams into play.

Together with my sister, brother and any cousins we could round up, we’d assemble makeshift cubby houses in the backyard at our grandparent’s house, in the shed, underneath the staircase in our house – any spot was fair game to erect our own little kingdom!

Our most daring cubby house creation was when we laid claim to an abandoned chook pen in the centre of the cow paddock at our Grandparents farm. And thanks to the childlike wonder of imaginations in full bloom to us it came complete with a courtyard, covered room and second floor viewing platform – which I might add was a very necessary requirement when you are surrounded by cows and one of your more frightened (city) cousins insisted on keeping watch for any errant bulls that might permeate the wire perimeter.

While Master H is yet to aspire to those lofty cubby house heights it amazes me how his imagination fires into action the minute the last piece of the playing puzzle is put in place. “Watch out, there’s a polar bear coming!” he’ll shriek before diving for cover behind his soft furnishing walls.  Sure, we live in a tropical climate, five minutes from the beach, but that doesn’t inhibit his vivid visions.

Like most three year old, my son usually has an attention span to rival his age. But here’s the thing that I’ve rediscovered since becoming a Mummy – creating cubbyhouses could well be the most fun you can have with your children!

The only thing that thwarts the fun? When mean mummy decides she’d like to reinstate her lounge room to its former intended use at days end.

So, whether it gives them a sense of  proprietorial  importance or just a safe haven to nurture the nuances of their fantasy filled minds, children everywhere should extend their right to lay claim to some sheets, soft furnishings and a few well placed kitchen stools and indulge in some cubby house creating fun.

And on day such as today, where I've suddenly acquired water views thanks to the torrential rain outside, it may also be a Godsend by way of filling in a day stuck indoors. Amen to that!

Were you a cubby house converter or do have a child who demands your lounge cushions double as walls? And can any of your creations compare to my childhood Taj Mahal of cubbies?   

Sleeping on the Job never sounded so good!

Unless you have been in outer Mongolia or anywhere similarly far from the clutches of social media (or my persistent pestering) you will no doubt be aware of a little thing called the Sealy Australia “Sleeping on the Job” competition that after being run from mid August to mid September, came down to a final five of judges choice to see who would be crowned the coveted sleep ambassador for the month of October.

And just like you see on Reality TV, apparent talent will only get you so far. Once the fab five were shortlisted  they are then thrust out to the mercy of the voting public who shall have the final say in whether it’s a yay or nay in terms of victory.  It’s a bit Australia’s Got Talent meets your Federal Election… Perhaps political perseverance will pay off while vying for votes  or perhaps true talent will reveal the rightful winner! It's anyone’s guess but what is guaranteed is that you have to give it your all while you wait to see what will eventuate…

So, for the next 96hrs I morphed into campaign manager mode and began the desperate drive to secure much desired votes to win this (literally) dream job.

I was pitted against superior competition so I knew all stops had to be pulled out. That then equated to me constantly badgering and harassing every single person in my email address book that I’ve ever crossed paths with in my 32 years of life (no matter how briefly and how long it had been since we last spoke!) but also attacked Twitter in earnest.  And by earnest I shall give you an example - I tweeted 167 times in 96 hours on the subject. It would normally take me 4 weeks to issue that many, not 4 days!  I also bombarded Facebook and begged shamelessly for votes and was thrilled to see some friends even made my pleas as their status update to help share the load.

I upped the ante a bit by tweeting my all time idol Oprah, tried my luck for a RT with my fave Kardashian (Khloe) and even sent the Gap Year boys Hamish & Andy an emergency tweet to see if they might help my cause. And when my beloved footy team was bundled out of the NRL finals I even beseeched sympathy votes by way of making up for their loss that people pass a vote on to me.

I blogged about my desire to win, how the past few months have been mentally tough, confidence zapping and causing me to second guess myself often. And how this opportunity would herald the professional writing chance I so badly yearned for.

Even the local paper got in on the act, interviewing me, and I also let the local radio station know of my mission.  I was determined that no stone be left unturned in my quest for success. I did not want to look back with ANY regrets. Even if winning was not to be, I wanted to be secure in the knowledge I gave it my ALL. 

Even though I was shackled to the computer, and that the husband and son felt largely neglected during campaign time I battled on. As each day came to a campaigning close, I felt I needed a long shower to scrub away the lingering scent of annoying lobbyist from my skin (and psyche!).  I honestly began to foster an admiration for public office life and felt relieved my quest for success was only (thankfully) to be short lived

And it was with utter relief and ecstatic joy that it came to be that I was eventually crowned winner of the inaugural Sealy Australia “Sleeping on the Job” competition! With 38.6% of the final vote I was hailed victor.

But like all campaigns there are some significant thank you’s to be issued – firstly to my fellow finalists.  We should stand proud that out of hundreds of entries our collective five were judged finest.  If only we could have all won this most amazing prize….

Some special gratitude goes to my number 1 fellow polling place companion, Susan Whelan, who made draining campaigning far more bearable. We are inextricably bound for life after this taxing lobbying experience and I’m honoured that I’ve gained a friend from it all.  Susan, thank you for the laughs and for keeping me in check, and spurring me on! You and I, lovely lady are due to have a big glass of bubbles together one day soon!

And finally to all who supported me in this crazy campaign, by either casting a simple vote or spreading the word far and wide on my behalf,  I am in an eternal debt of gratitude to you for helping this dream come to fruition.   

Vanquished after a hard fought campaign (and three glasses of Moet later celebrating with the husband!), being paid to sleep on the job never sounded so damn good.

Grateful for a cloudburst of blessings this week

Have you ever enjoyed a week bursting with luck, that it’s as if you’ve stumbled across a Leprechaun at the end of the fabled rainbow?

No? Me neither. Until now.

Never before have I borne the blessings of such a bountiful week. An abundance of unexpected bonuses have befallen me, leaving me brimming with joy and peace from this most amazing last seven days.

Did you now renowned Medium Deb Webber has an estimated 20,000 people on her waiting list? And thanks purely to fate (and being on Twitter at the right time) I was the one who was lucky enough to secure a much sought after meeting with her on Tuesday – and on live TV no less.

Meeting Deb was like a balm for a broken heart.  I’ve carried a lot of grief and guilt for 10 years and she waved a magic wand of healing and has restored peace in my mind.

I’ve had my first ever paid article commissioned, which has given my writing confidence a much required re-boot! It’s been akin to holding my breath, waiting and wondering if this magical moment might ever materialise. And just when you start to succumb to the sting of rejection and feel you might shelve those unreachable dreams, this has happened. The flame is yet to be extinguished after all!

And to top it all off nicely, I’ve been whittled down to the final five and in with a chance to secure a dream job! The gang at Sealy Australia are searching for a “Sleep Ambassador” and I am desperately scrounging for votes to be crowned winner (vote here for Donna Webeck/Central Coast! http://svy.mk/oex6DH 

You can read all about it here, but basically, it means breaking into a world I’ve been longingly dreaming of from afar – to be paid to write professionally! Plus a much needed cash injection, seeing as though I’ve been out of work for a few months now.

So yes, now more than ever there is much for me to bow down to the Gods of graciousness and issue my eternal thanks!

Sometimes the stars just align; it’s as though it’s my time to shine. I’m going to squeeze every drop out of this cloudburst of blessings because who knows when it will all feel so great again?

Dream a little "Sealy" dream for me...

As many of you will know, sleep has been our home's nemesis this year. If its not me having random and really disjointed or spooky dreams, its the child of the house who has adopted "sleep is for the weak" mantra the last nine months.

But dear readers, I am tantalisingly close to having an opportunity for all of this to change!

Recently I entered an online competition on Twitter (god bless social networking!) which was being run by the sleep experts at Sealy Australia. All that was required was to tweet your entry (naturally of 140 characters or less) and hash-tag it #sleepingonthejob

(And y'all know how *verbose* I am. 140 characters is unheard of in my world at getting my point across.  So that alone is a personal victory, that I do have the short & sweet writing ability in me after all :) )

So, like all good competitions, its been whittled down to a popularity contest from here on in. Forgive me while I don my campaign persona and begin begging in earnest for votes. And while yes, it does feel unnatural (and a bit akin to being  a grubby politician scrounging for votes) it boils down to the undeniable fact "if you don't ask, you don't get". Plus its my year to get comfortable with being uncomfortable so if I have to venture out of my comfort zone to coax for votes that is what I shall do. And I truly do want to give this my everything!

To win this wold mean the world - not only is there a cash prize on offer (which would be a GODSEND as I struggle to find employment) but the chance to tip my toes in to the world of professional writing and working with the media. Oh and the awesome people at Sealy will come to the (slumber) party with some lovely new bedding too. Perhaps then we might all get a much needed great night's sleep...!

PLEASE, I beseech you, spare me about 30 seconds of your time to log into this site below and click next to my name (but alas, on one entry per person...) Voting close 5pm Monday 19th September so please get in quick!

Cast your votes here for Donna Webeck/Central Coast http://svy.mk/oex6DH 

And here's a word from my major sponsor (Harrison) who has been promised a special present if he wins. Note to self, he will distraught if I dont come up with the goods...

Eternal thanks - and know you will each feature in my sweet, sweet dreams from here on in!

The day I met the DIVINE Deb Webber (and appeared on live TV!)

Deb Webber, Kerrianne & Donna -
pic courtesy of Deb Webber

This week I am re-defining the definition of lucky: because out of the estimated 20,000 people on the waiting list to meet world renowned Medium Deb Webber, the universe has shined this holy grail of psychic opportunities on me!  And on live TV via the Kerrianne show no less…

I’ve been a fan of Deb’s for years, devouring her work with great interest and have long fantasised how amazing it would be to have the rare chance to have a reading with her.  And after being at the right place at the right time (on Twitter no less!) suddenly this wish was about to ring true!

Initially I was under the impression I was going to be there as part of the audience. That was, until the day before when the lovely KAK producer called to inform me I’d need to be there early for hair and make up and then to do a one on one live to air!

After leaving home before 6am, and being primped and preened in such a way I could grow accustomed to, I got to meet the warm, wonderful and completely engaging Deb.  To ease both our nerves we spent quite a long time before hand chatting and connecting. And I must say right from the minute we began, the accuracies flowed effortlessly from her.

There were the descriptions of my family –she painted an especially precise picture of Master H, who she correctly told me was three, a bundle of boundless energy and that all she could get with him is “talk, talk, talk, talk, TALK! It’s like he never stops!” Truer words have never been spoken! Among other things she picked up the extremely close bond he has with his Daddy, and that it felt like in his eyes he saw too much of mummy but not enough of Daddy and his extreme dislike of carrots!

She was spot on in saying I had three grandparents who’d passed, and one on my mum’s side that was still with us. She also picked up a strong connection between my Dad and his mum, my dear Nan who passed last year. She confirmed she was still “at home on the farm” which was something that brought great comfort to me.

The most mind-blowing of all however was the information she was able to give me on my beautiful friend Adam who passed away almost a decade ago.

She started insistently repeating the word “friend, friend, friend, FRIEND!” which seemed to emphasize he was an important person in my life.  She understood he was male and that some years had passed.  She counted the years out saying, “it’s like 8, 9, 10 years”, and “you were so far away when he passed” and told me I was overseas, which I was.

He kept telling her “I wasn’t ready to go, I wanted to be there for Mum” and he was in shock that it had happened. She knew he was alone, it was so quick and in an unfamiliar place that wasn’t “home”. There were too many dark clouds around him when he took her there so we left and he lightened his mood.  “He’s funny guy, great sense of humour!” Deb told me enthusiastically and he kept winking at her. She also validated her description “he’s tall, messy hair, nice build but not only muscly. Broad at the shoulders but not at the waist. And he dresses very casually.  I keep seeing thongs” –it was crystal clear we were talking about the same person.

I couldn’t have described him better myself. 

Deb suddenly stopped.  She looked at me with such surprise, clasping her chest and gasped “he had a heart attack? But he was too young!”

Sadly she was so right. 24 years of age and gone too soon in such a completely unexpected way. And if you ever needed proof then and there that should be it. It is such an extremely rare occurrence – you could not simply guess that.

Even Adam, typically, was lightening the mood.  When I tentatively asked if he’d forgiven me for not being there for his funeral Deb let out a resounding “No!” and threw her head back and laughed, adding “He’s saying “would you have preferred I waited 6 months to have my heart attack after you came home?” and as strange as that might sound, it’s something I could image him saying. As if teasing would make the serious situation lighter.  He then gave her the symbol for money, which equated to the exact reason why I wasn’t there when I so desperately wanted to be.

At one stage I had to excuse myself and pull myself together. Deb passed on some personal messages to me and to his family and I was shaking uncontrollably and felt like I was about to completely ruin my lovely makeover. Blinking back the torrent of tears that threatened, I gave myself a stern talking to and focused my thoughts on taking 10 deep breaths.  A sense of peace then washed over me - I knew I'd be okay.

Soon enough we were being ushered on to the set of Kerrianne. While I had been so emotional and nervous in the lead up by now I thankfully felt so calm and ready.  Deb has such a wonderful way of making you feel at ease – her nature is so warm and inviting and being in her presence truly is like basking in pure sunlight. Her vibrant energy is contagious.

Pic courtesy of Deb Webber

And I must say Kerrianne was a gracious host, and supremely professional. She certainly made me feel at ease as well. And even if I do cringe a bit re-watching the footage (messy hair, crumpled shirt, gummy smile, my mind screams!) I'd do it all over again. In a heartbeat!  

Days later and my head is still spinning.  However, most resonant is the strong sense of peace; something that I’ve struggled with for almost 10 years. It’s like I’ve finally given myself permission to reflect happily, instead of miring myself in guilt and misery with my memories (even if I’ll admit to a few more little tears while typing this).

Then there is the undeniable truth that you can be gone, but not forgotten. Never more than now do I truly believe that the loved ones we lose far too soon from the earthly world, still stay close to us in the afterlife. 

To the beautiful, brilliant Deb Webber, I thank you with every fibre of my being for this life changing day. So much emotion, so much fascination, so much truth… You have helped more than you may ever know.

Click here to see video: Deb Webber & Donna Webeck live on Kerrianne 13.9.11
Click here to see Deb Webber tour information

Today is the day to ask – R U OK?

As many of you have no doubt heard, today is national “R U OK Day?”, an initiative not only aimed at preventing suicide and de-stigmatising mental health but generally just starting the conversation.  That it is ok if you ARE NOT ok. That it is ok to say you’d like someone to listen, to lean on, someone to ease any burdens you face.

Most importantly though, don’t just limit yourself to asking this question today.  Ask it every day, and actually listen to the response.

Today, I am happy.  I’ll admit it’s not always the case but after the week I’ve had its hard not to be (more on that later!).  Granted, it’s been a tough year and I’ve had my moments of duelling with demons who seem to be determined to destroy my confidence and dreams. But the thing I have found that by acknowledging that you are some perfect “superwoman-esque” human being, it can bring relief.

It took me three years to acknowledge some desperate and dark emotions that I struggled with after my son was born.  And scary as it was to share that story, my heart feels lighter for it. I’ve been able to heal and move forward.

Today I remember all the people touched by suicide, losing people far before their time on earth should have been over. I understand their loss, this cruellest death blow has left a shadow on my world before.

Get the conversation started – you could change a life. Ask, listen, love. Speak.

Where were you ten years ago, when time stood still?

Image from here

It was the eleventh day of the nine month, year 2001.  Sinking back into my office chair after returning from a lunch in the brisk London autumn sunshine, I spied an email pop into my inbox.

There were only two sentences. “A plane has crashed into the WTC Tower New York. There are fatalities”.

Confused, I turned to my boss, who cast an imposing figure as he towered behind me, and made mention of the unusual email I’d just received.  He gave me a look as if to say “that’s preposterous. I’m the Editor-in-Chief of Financial News. I think I’d have been informed of such an event before my lowly PA.” But instead he just arched an eyebrow and turned his attention to his own emails.

And then all hell broke loose in the newsroom.

*****

Anyone who was old enough to remember September 11 will never forget where they were. 

I’d been living in London for almost 5 months, and was 6 days into my newest temporary Personal Assistant position.  Hence the reason my boss assumed it impossible I could have been informed of something so cataclysmic before he.  I was an Aussie girl playing PA in the offices of a London Financial Newspaper.  I didn’t have any contacts.  But apparently the person I replaced did (Hi Sam!) because the email had come addressed to her. And it seemed to have a sense of urgency that could not be ignored.

Seconds later the TV’s came to life, phones began to ring off the hook and the boss had no choice but to believe me.

The newsroom fluctuated wildly from frantic action stations to just shattered silence.  Many of us congregated in the centre of the office, standing quietly, watching and praying as the terror unfolded before us on the TV screens as the newshounds buzzed behind us. 

Soon the staff would thin.  Many had business colleagues in New York (including Cantor Fitzgerald, which lost almost 700 staff members that day) as well as family. Some departed for the pub, in desperate need for a drink. Some made hysterical phone calls and before they swept out of the office in a frenzy.  Many just wanted to go straight home to hold their loved ones tight.   

And when I left work that day, I saw that the thriving metropolis I’d come to love had been transformed in to a ghost town. The perpetually crowded streets of the City of London had been cleared. Terror and the unknown lurked as the world waited for what just might happen next.

That night, after meeting a friend for a much needed stiff drink, I received an influx of concerned texts and phone calls from home.   One warned me not to take public transport - right at the moment I was stepping on to the Tube to make the long trip back to South London to where my sister and I were flat sitting. It was an uncomfortably long and nervous trip home.

We rang our parents, even though it was the middle of the night back in Australia, to warn them they’d witness something horrific when they turned on the TV come morn, but that we were okay. We knew to pre-empt the imminent parental anxiety, after the time we’d been in Turkey and a Four Seasons hotel had been bombed and they’d been wild with worry. (As we’d pointed out, if only we’d been able to afford such luxurious accommodation, instead of sharing one room with about 6 other backpackers…)

They begged us to come home. But if ever the world was on full alert for similar strikes it was now.  We felt relatively safe to stay. 

(However I admit that the next day, as I took a stroll downtown in my lunch hour, under the glamorous guise of collecting my boss’s lunch, there was the unmistakeable sound of a low flying plane directly above me.  I nearly wet my pants in that split second, wondering whether to freeze or run.  Perhaps the lingering fear would not dissipate so soon after all….)

There are so many images that day that stay sickeningly easy to recall.  The minute you realised it was not just an accident, after the second plane hit, watching in sheer horror as the towers tumbled to the ground. Hearing the wails of my workmates, the stark silence on the streets of London, and even my sister’s tear stained face as she sat glued to the TV coverage as I arrived home.  We watched in a cone of silence, weeping tears of disbelief, my stomach churned in knots of trepidation as I struggled to comprehend the enormity of such human loss and devastation. And to this day I still grapple with understanding the how and why…

A decade on, and the date September 11 remains eternally shrouded in a mist of sad remembrance. This is the day where time stood still and life as we knew it, peace in our time, ended. We remember almost 3000 fathers, mothers, sons, daughters who lost their lives. The brave. The innocent.

Lest We Forget.

"To sleep, to perchance a dream..."

Ever wondered what it must be like to dream in full technicolour every night, where you recall every unusual and unrelated dream sequence, whether it be attempting to drive the car from the back seat, being chased down by a bevy of bullets, or at times being the one who is doing the chasing, as if playing the lead role in a Spielberg blockbuster?

Or that frustrating type, when you are trying to shout, but no one can hear you? Or that sinking feeling of utter embarrassment that you are in a public place, sans clothes?

That is me. Every. Single. Night.

It should not be surprising therefore that I never wake up feeling fresh as the proverbial daisy. If I’m not up and down to the non-sleeping monster child son, it is my freakily real life dreams that can spur me into wakefulness in the dead of night, or be so outlandish and quirky that I literally feel bone tired from whatever activities I’ve undertaken during the previous night’s supposed shut eye.

Sometimes it truly does feel like you are starring in some sort of badly written film, where scenes jump around in no logical manner.  One minute I can be hiding out in a trench during a war, machine gun at the ready and the next looking for my lost stiletto heel in a crowded bar in a completely other country.

It’s also not uncommon for me to have someone close to me die in a dream - always resulting in a frantic phone call from me the next morning to said loved one to make sure they still in the land of the living and warning them to be careful. However, it’s happened so often I am sure they are all a bit blasé about these doom dreams of mine by now!

Far and wide though, it’s the occult dreams that really intrigue (and terrify!) me the most.

I recall one I which featured my Pop, a few months after he had passed away; him standing quietly in a crowded room, his large family in attendance.  All but me were unaware of his presence. Sitting with my Nan and recounting it to her, she asked me what he was wearing when I saw him.

“A dressy maroon shirt and black pants” I answered.

She gave me an odd look replying, “That was what he was buried in.”

One of the most powerful dreams however, that still haunts me to this day, happened while I was living in London.  It was a Tuesday night, and I’d gone to bed after a very festive dinner and drinks with my flatmates and friends.  A few of our merry little gang decided to kick on but I decided I’d need a few hours rest before making myself look respectable for work the next day.

Almost 6 months had passed since a very special friend of mine had passed away.  And as vivid as if he truly was sitting on the end of my bed he appeared before me. In my mind’s eye I can still picture with perfect clarity that very moment when he simply appeared in my sleep, almost 9 years on.  He attempted to talk, telling me he had something important to tell me, trying to let me know it would be ok. 

I remember my heart pounding so hard that I could barely breathe, and my mind careening like an out of control car. The situation was far too authentic and I wrestled with anxiety and curiosity until fear won out.  I woke in a terrified sweat and raced downstairs in a flood of tears, incomprehensible as I tried to explain what had just happened to my bemused sister, begging her stay in my room with me. 

I did not sleep another single wink that night, heart pounding I watched the door, the window, the walls, waiting for him to reappear with this message that I was too distressed to hear. 

He never came again that wintry London night.

Four days later, back in Australia, my Dad had a massive heart attack. And while it was very touch and go and we came distressingly close to losing him, he eventually was ok. 

And I knew then why Adam had come calling in my dream.

So yes, while it’s a bit ridiculous for a grown woman to still be subject to night terrors, or some might say to even dare admit to having these types of dreams, it’s all part of the rich texture that makes me unique.  My only concern is that my intuitive little man seems to have inherited this ability.  He can be heard shouting from his sleep, and can recount odd memories upon waking.

Blessing or curse? The jury is still out on that.  While it is nice to be able to reconnect with a lost loved one, waking up weary is, to pardon the pun, wearing thin, 32 years on.

Feel free to regale me with your own unusual nocturnal happenings – might make me appear a tad less abnormal!

The First Father's Day - and how far we have (thankfully) come

Disclaimer: I came very close to not publishing this post. It’s likely the most revealing thing I’ve ever written and I hesitated because it has never been something I wanted to admit to. But thinking about the upcoming RUOK Day campaign made me reconsider. If it helps one other new mum feel less alone, and give her hope that this will pass, then it’s worth risking my own pride over…

Father’s Day, 2008; 18 days after the birth of my son.

And it was time to acknowledge the reality that a world existed outside my front door.

I’d had no desire to leave the safety of home, or its nearby vicinity. The act of walking was still painful (hell, even the act of sitting was too!) and being a nervous driver I’d had no want to venture too far a-field. However with my Dad having made a surprise trip from Coffs Harbour to spend Father’s Day with my sister and I, it could no longer be avoided.

Reeling - mentally, emotionally, physically – from the aftershock of birth and the overwhelming knowledge that I was responsible for the most fragile, little person I’d ever known means I have trouble piecing together my memories of that first special Daddy’s Day. All that leapt out from the corners of my mind are the tormenting memories, doused in full technicolour that plagued my beyond exhausted mind.

I should have been excited, that our first major family outing (and Master H’s second ever car outing since we left the hospital) coincided with Father’s Day.

Instead the searing memory of that day remains my own mini emotional breakdown in the back seat of our little blue car.

Pulling into the car park of the golf club, The Husband raced in to sign up for a mid-week game. I was hunched in the back with my newborn, travelling beside him so that he didn’t feel alarmed in this unfamiliar setting. I remember looking out at the endless expanse of rolling greens that seemed to signal freedom from my thoughts, and suddenly I was overcome with an immense and desperate desire to open my car door and just run.

Run and run and run til I could think no more.

Run and run and run to a place I did not know, but somewhere that was bereft of the panic that seemed to choke me, and the fear that ate away at me. Anywhere that I could just exhale because I felt as though I’d been holding my breath from the minute my baby was born.

But no.

I sat, I stayed, and I sobbed. Nestled in amongst the department store size of baby paraphernalia I’d brought with me for this day trip, I wept a deluge of pained and confused salty tears, my hand gripping the car door handle but my heart cautioning me to stay. A little voice from within attempted to pacify me; offering up soothing promises that it would get better in good time; that it wouldn’t always feel this way. As if a hot poker was piercing me, or that my throbbing mind might just combust. I’d never known such a vast and conflicting array of emotions were possible to experience all at once. I promised myself if I could just stumble through this darkness, I’d never allow myself to feel such pain ever again.

Arriving at my sister’s home I gratefully handed over the bundle of baby to an eager Poppy. As soon as I could excuse myself I went to lie on my sister’s bed. Wide eyed and watching the clock, I wondered how long I could get away with being absent from the festivities. I was bone tired, but too anxious to sleep. Exhausted not only because I had a restless baby who disliked breastfeeding and sleep, but also from trying to put on a brave face when all I wanted to do was cry.

*******
Fast forward (thankfully) three years on and we celebrated Father’s Day with not only a lucid, happy Mummy who is desperate to put a million miles between her and those raw reflections, but also a 3km hike to a picturesque local lookout. I was quiet most of the trek, reflecting back on those still sensitive memories, that, because of my "elephant-esque memory" are sometimes all too easy to conjure back into existence.

So often on that bushwalk this morning I wanted to turn back, tired, sweaty and unwilling to make it to the top.

But the husband cajoled me, and he cheered for me when we finally reached our lofty destination.

And it dawned on me, that has also been the way in which we’ve lived the last three years as Mummy & Daddy to our beautiful boy. If I am locked in any sort of emotional or mental tussle, he will bolster both me and my flailing confidence, leading me through to the side where clarity and sanity prevails. He is the family cheerleader, morale booster and glue that keeps our little unit tight.

Similarly, just like the interminably long walk we took today, it too represents how far I’ve come since that day, 3 years before…

Happy fourth Father’s Day babe, thank you for carrying us on your shoulders and back into the light.

The Long Winter of my Discontent

It was a form at the Dentist’s office that did it. One little word, which left me filled with a sense of inadequacy.

“Occupation”

And I had no idea how to answer it.

If that wasn’t difficult enough, even Master H has honed his own interrogation skills, asking me a few nights later, “Mummy, what do you do for a job?” – and, with that original innocuous inquiry still ringing in my ears, I almost cried that I had no answer for him. He knows what Daddy does, he sees his picture in the magazine and understands that is where Daddy goes off to each day and, in his opinion, “makes money to buy petrol”.

But me, I don’t know what he sees.  And I’m starting to lose sight of the image as well.

Both are simple, harmless enough questions to ask, but right now it is the most feared inquiry you could make to me.

Since May, when my husband accepted an awesome work promotion, it became clear for the good of our family I’d leave the company I worked 6 years for and find a job closer to home.  I’d always thought of myself as very employable. I’ve never had trouble getting jobs since I started my first part time job when I was at school.  My skills are good, I have a great CV and a couple of kick ass References.

However, it’s now September and I am no closer to locating this seemingly elusive opportunity.

Job hunting is humbling and humiliating all at once.  The once self-assured opinion you had of yourself eventually starts to erode and your confidence crumbles.  You question constantly “what is wrong with me?” and it becomes very easy to succumb to self-loathing.

With the dawn of each new day, I start out full of confidence and hope, announcing to the universe that that this day will bring something new and exciting to me, that good news is but an email or phone call away. Like a prospector, I search, filtering the possible from the impossible, and dutifully send off my cover letters and CV’s for anything I am qualified for.  But as the hours click over and it creeps closer to day’s end, with still no results to speak off, the merciless eddy of self-doubt swirls and lures me into its unyielding embrace. 

And now that I am putting pressure on myself to make some money writing, my passion for prose has started to wane.  When it was for fun, it wasn’t so hard.  Now the “bean counter” within me is screaming “you need to make money, and this is your only opportunity to do it via something you’d always dreamed off so you had better make this chance count!” And it cripples me, often to a point I find myself paralysed by expectation and perfectionism. The result?  Procrastination. Writers Block. The cyclical thought that I’m kidding myself if I think I might be able to carve a career out of this.  It cuts at me. And more self-loathing soon ensues.

But then when I hear myself whinging about the situation I think “who on earth would want to hire anyone who sounds as miserable as this?”

The universe, which has been a great ally of mine in the past with achieving dreams such as going to see Oprah live in Australia last year, is obviously all ears.

I’m clearly sending the wrong vibes out.  As Lady O orates “you become what you believe” and it’s no wonder I am not succeeding.  Because I believe I’m a resounding failure right now.  And that must also be the message that the Universe is hearing.

In an ideal world (and one in which I owned a money tree) I’d happily keep plodding along, putting myself and my writing out there but I have a sense of urgency about me now.  I need to get back to having goals and purposes that equate to earning money.  I need to stop flailing about in this land of limbo, I need to know the direction in which my life is heading.

Its character building, I get that. The universe is seemingly testing my mettle, or perhaps, optimistically, biding its time on my behalf until the perfect role reveals itself.  I’d sincerely like to think it’s the latter – and that it shows its face soon!

Now that winter, cold, dark, depressing winter, has slunk off for another year, I feel not only warmth returning, but slowly a renewed invigoration is seeping back into my mind.

So, farewell to the long winter of my discontent and a hearty hello to spring.  May you hold many exciting opportunities for me!

NappyDaze goes Global, joining forces with Café FeelSecure!

If you are looking for me today I can be found over hanging out with some of my international peeps.  The cool kids at Café FeelSecure, who are part of the USA We Feel Secure website and I have struck up a little student exchange program of sorts, and I’ll be making regular "flights" to their site. (Alas, if only they required me to wing my way to America to be there in person to click "Publish"...)

Click here to read my intro to their readers and feel free to pop in and show them some love!  They truly are a global franchise who love to hear from parents worldwide!