Be careful not to lose more than just your race - integrity is as important as a Gold Medal

There is no doubt James Magnussen went into the 30th Olympiad with the weight of a nation bearing down on those broad shoulders of his.  Some of it was no doubt self inflicted, and a fair chunk was likely whacked on thanks to a healthy hype machine that has a home in the Australian media landscape.

Not a happy loser

So the disbelief of not even placing in the 4x100m Freestyle Relay must have more than left him reeling.

BUT still, as a parent of an impressionable, young sport loving son, who is in the midst of a serious grapple with bad sportsmanship issues, I found it very unsettling to watch Magnussen's reaction to the shock relay loss.

Sure, I can certainly appreciate he was completely, utterly devastated. He'd have no doubt dedicated every ounce of his core to this moment in time and it must have been beyond shattering to have come up short, especially when you have been touted by your fellow countrymen & women as a sure thing.  But the detached, dismissive demeanour displayed during the pool deck interview left me more steeped disappointment than the fact they'd lost.There would have been countless impressionable kids watching, and here they were being given an unfortunate lesson in how not to handle unexpected defeat.

Of course I have no idea how crushing the frustration at failing must have felt, and if I were he, maybe it would have been my natural instinct to act the same way. But the way he stood back from his fellow team members, literally disconnecting from the fray, just left me shaking my head in dismay.

Perhaps this unexpected loss will fire "The Missile" right up to launch like a bag of illegal firecrackers come next event. Perhaps after the dust has settled on the aftermath of the relay, Magnussen will reassess how he handles future media engagements. And perhaps there will be less unfair expectation hoisted high upon those broad swimming shoulders. He is only human, and ergo open to make mistakes as easily and as often as the rest of us. Maybe that was what the whole after event fiasco will boil down to - a simple human response to something that shocked him to his core. Whatever the case I only hope that this does not translate into a young swimmer somewhere in Australia seeing this and modelling their own attitude to winning and losing on this act alone. Because children as young as mine are watching and learning - exhibit A would be the fact my almost 4 year old morphed my lounge-room into a makeshift gymnasium today, complete with dining room chairs stacked side-by-side to be the audience arena and was intent on performing all sorts of leaping inspired tricks he'd seen on the TV!

So, if any moulding is done by the young, let us hope it is in the shadows of the way Magnussen will no doubt bounce back - because I imagine he will be blasting off with all the might of his Missile moniker come next game day. And whether he wins or not, I only hope it shows those like my easily influenced son it's not how hard you fall, its the picking yourself up, dusting yourself off and not giving up that makes you a winner regardless of any medal ceremony.

Onwards with online shopping!

*This is a sponsored post

Source: google.com via Donna on Pinterest

Ah shopping, one of life's greatest little pleasures in my books. Whether it be window shopping, or with a dedicated list in hand of items in need, I have to admit over the years it hasn't taken much cajoling to get me cruising the aisle of my local shopping centre.

It was always much enjoyed hobby (if one can stretch validity that far!) but all of that changed the day I became a fully paid up member of the parenthood club.

Shopping soon loses its gleam when you have to suddenly share the experience with a less than enthusiastic small counterpart. It didn't matter if it was when the small bundle could be trundled about in a pram, the gloss of going about your shopping business solo is gone. Fast forward to the age where the confines of your stroller seem to please your toddler about as much as Carbon Tax and it is really time to reassess.

That's why online can truly be a Godsend. Thankfully most businesses these days have embraced the online frontier so there is no need to feel cut off from the retail world altogether.

Even the recent annual toy sale extravaganza have cottoned on to this requirement. The Big W Toys department offered the blessed opportunity to bag a bargain right from the comfort of your own home. You mean I don't have to wrestle for that Cars 2 toy with 37 other mothers, spend an hour of my life in a lay-buy queue (while still trying to control said offspring) and can even save on petrol in the equation? Please, pass my my ugg boots and my laptop. Online shopping you are a winner in every way in my eyes!

Heavy Hearts

As the sunlight streamed into my lounge room in the early hours of this morning, and I shared a cuddle with my son, I found myself working up the courage to ask him a question – a question which I did dread actually knowing the answer to.

“Baby, when you are at school, do you play with other kids or are you always playing by yourself?”

There was a pause while his gaze stilled, and his big blue eyes rounded in thought.

“Um, by myself”

And there it was. The response I feared.

Heart now firmly lodged in my throat I continued on with my gentle questioning.

“Why is that? Do you ask anyone else if they will play with you? Be your friend?”
Nodding, he replies “I do that but they keep saying no.” This was on the back of him telling me two weeks before that some little boy had told him not to play with him “because I wasn’t cool mummy”.

Deep breath Donna….! What the heck do 3 – 5 year olds know about cool?!

Alarm bells were ringing as well, as this was coming from a child who LOATHES going solo - I should know, I am home with him the other 5 days of the week where I am constantly fielding endless requests to keep him company - 24/7 if he had his way!

Afraid my emotions might betray me (I’m a sensitive sook at the slightest of times), I tried to keep my tone light.

“Well, keep asking, keep sharing, keep playing nicely and you will make friends, I promise.” I vowed, surely sounding more secure than I felt.

It’s the fourth week since we changed daycare centres for my son, and as the instigator of this action, the guilt weighs heavily on my shoulders. Even though he'd been happy enough at his former school, with a lovely assortment of little friends, my plan had centred on the premise that as it didn’t have a high number of students who would go to his eventual primary school (if any at all), we would be best make the change to one which would. And as it conveniently happens, it is also the centre within spitting distance of my front door.

I’d figured it would be best to go through this awkward transition now, rather than a year and a half down the track when big school commences. My hope was that this would prove to be the way to have an established base of little friends to help support each other through the big switch.

At least, that was the theory I had continually comforted myself with.

So, we walked hand in hand into his daycare this morning, me still weighed down by my heavy heart - my son, excitedly skipping along beside me - and I said a small prayer that someone makes this a better day for him - well, ok, for me. As we pulled open the classroom sliding door and stepped inside a little boy began to wave enthusiastically to my boy, shouting a happy hello.

And finally, the morning's heaviness had lifted from my heart. If only for now...

Seek and you shall find (Or at least that is the theory!)

"Ready or not, here I come!" is the excited cry I hear from deep within my covert position, deftly crouching in the inky darkness of the cupboard in our Study.

From this surreptitious position I can hear my 3 year old offering a running commentary as he performs rounds of the house: "Are you in the bathroom Mummy? Hmmm, no, she's not in here! Are you in the bedroom Mummy? Nope, cant see you in here!"

And then.... Nothing. It's suddenly all quiet on the Western Front.

Without warning, or notification from my son, apparently the game is all over red rover. All that remains to be seen is how long it will take him to want something, to realise Mummy is actually still missing.

In this house it's no secret my son has an attention span to rival the longevity of Kim Kardashian's marriage and this game proves to be no exception. On some occasions I have been left to languish in this clandestine corner of the cupboard for a solid 5 minutes or more. And while it is not always the most comfortable of areas in which to secure an unscheduled time out from your day, on some days it is better than the alternative - ie not a minutes peace even to pee alone is granted!

The other amusing trait I've noticed Master H display when Hide & Seek is the favoured activity of the day, is that almost without exception, he will hide in the EXACT SAME SPOT that I have just vacated. Without fail, I tell you! And then he has the audacity to be surprised and upset when I find him so soon. Sure, like any obliging parent, I go through the necessary motions of pretending to hunt for him in other hiding spots in the house, but ultimately, to his dismay, he is found. Plus there is the small fact he hasn't quite cottoned on to being quiet as a mouse when in captivity. His giggling squeals of delight heard from any corner of the house are quite the giveaway..!

Other times when I again find myself at the mercy of this game - and when my son is not quite so distracted by a TV show or toy he has stumbled across mid search - and I am actually found, he concurs that a change in rules commence.

'Mummy, next time you hide under the bed covers ok?" he commands, clearly with no plans as future Captain Cook type explorer in mind.

And when I protest and say that is not in the spirit of the game, he will have a little grumble about the time it takes to find me. Apparently a quick game is a good game in his books. Something I should likely be thankful for, as well as the unexpected extra moments of solitude and peace that are offered during those moments of hiding, especially the times when I am not so quickly "seeked"!

RIP Brave Little Talin

Talin's hand painted rose - a symbol of hope

I sat and sobbed at my kitchen bench this morning, those big, heavy, ugly sobs that wrack through your body and make you think your chest might just explode. News filtered through that the brave little boy I blogged about early last month, Talin Hawkins who at the tender age of 5 was diagnosed with an aggressive - an therefore tragically inoperable - brain tumour had succumbed to this battle and passed away.

I'm not sure why this story of a stranger struck such a chord with me - perhaps it is as simple as the empathy you bubble over with when you become a parent, and you easily find affinity with any tale that involves a small child. This was a little boy who was the same age as my nephew, lived within suburbs of him, and was once as fresh faced, cheeky and innocent as any other child his age. He became like my little moral, subconscious compass - at times when I was sweating the small stuff he'd pop into my mind and I would remember... What have I to worry about really in comparison to what his family were suffering through so bravely, so openly, always with positivism and hope?

I kept watch over Talin's facebook page compelled to keep he and his family constantly in my thoughts and prayers, hoping that there would be some sort of miracle come to pass that would see this sweet little boy returned to full health. But so sadly, this was not to be the case. 3 months and 4 days on from his mother receiving the most horrific news of this completely unexpected illness and his family were being forced to say their untimely goodbyes.

Facebook has been awash with sympathy - you might notice many of "Talin's Rose" paintings popping up (like I've displayed above) on your page to help honour his memory. And if this is the first time you have come across this story, please watch this beautiful piece on Talin's tale here - then go and hug tight someone you adore. Go and chase that dream, go and live your life while you have breath inside you and health to define you.

Farewell little Talin Hawkins, aged 6 years, one month and 3 days... Although that is not nearly enough time for which to have graced this earth, I am sure your presence will be forever felt. Fly freely with your angels wings, far from pain, secure in eternal love x

  

Brat Bans - Seriously?!

Source: Uploaded by user via Donna on Pinterest

Imagine being told you were not allowed to dine in a particular restaurant, because accompanying you was a child under the age of 6? Or being kicked off a plane as the grumpy stewardess had decided your 19month old child was laughing a little too loud for her liking? And worst of all, visualise what it would be like to have a complete stranger come over and slap your child in a department store, all because she was ruining his shopping trip?

I know - SERIOUSLY?!

Oh yes, ridiculous as it sounds, it has all happened in the US and as a result "brat bans" are a hot topic of conversation.

This was the theme of today's Dr Phil Show (well, something had to replace my Oprah TV addiction, didnt it?!) and the thing that irritated me the most is the fact that all of the people who were interviewed for instigating or defending these bans – the restaurant owner, the air stewardess, the waiter, the fellow patrons – WERE CHILDLESS! Therefore they have not had the pleasure of dealing with a full blown tantrum of epic proportions in a public place, they have not had the privilege of trying to persuade a mini cyclone of destructive intent to keep calm, to behave, to do as they are told. They have not enjoyed the opportunity to trying to placate their overtired, or overstimulated offspring with what feels like a thousand pairs of beady eyes of conviction being cast your way, as if you have willingly signed up to be judged in a public arena on your parenting skills.

Nope, instead they just want to espouse their unsolicited advice in the most unhelpful of ways, by assuming they have the right to dole out discipline to children or discrimination to those who’ve chosen to have a family and dared to leave the four walls of their home.

Take the “Wal-mart Man” - he claimed he was just trying to get the attention of the tantruming child by “patting” her cheek – because at the age of 4 the child ought to know the difference between right and wrong he states. Yes, in a parallel universe where illness, diagnosed behavioural issues or broken sleep do not exist, that sounds plausible for sure…

You know what, if my son is mid meltdown mode in a public place I can guarantee you I am the one who is loathing it the most. I am the one who is most mortified, most ready to flee the scene. Trust me when I say I don’t relish the thought of dining out much with my child either (therefore we don't do it often), yet if it got to the point where it was affecting the enjoyment of other patrons, I would up and leave in a heartbeat. But mid flight, where it is impossible to have an impromptu evacuation, cut a parent some slack. If they are anything like me they’ll have not only said a thousand Hail Mary’s that the flight go smoothly (for all concerned) but have packed what they hope to be a fail safe bag of tricks and endless supply of snacks to keep said child amused. Failing that, if anyone dared say anything to me I’d happily hand my child over to the person who had the nerve to complain and offer them the opportunity to do better than I was trying to do. Because clearly, they must know everything about parenting, right?

I know I am far from the perfect parent, and my child (like any other) is prone to misbehaving at times. But guess what, he is also prone to being oh so good too! Regardless, I am doing the very best job I know how in the circumstances in which I live, and with the tools that I have at my disposal. And I hazard a guess that the other parents targeted in this Dr Phil show were exactly the same. Don’t discriminate against a parent just because their child might be having a bad day. We ALL have them, children included.

I understand that fellow diners, travellers, shoppers all are entitled to enjoying the activity that they are pursuing with a relative degree of peace and pleasantry but for the love of all things communal, understand this – YOU ARE IN PUBLIC! There will always be a certain level of noise, unwanted or not. If you don’t like it, perhaps consider not dining out, not travelling, and take up online shopping just like you seem to think is socially acceptable for parents to undertake instead. Or look into locating the set of The Truman Show. It might be closer to your required level of unrealistic utopia that you seek.

My son, the marketers dream...

There’s something that happens this time of year that is guaranteed to bring with it blessed silence to my home :

The delivery of those, thick, glossy pages and pages of catalogues that herald in TOY SALE TIME!

Happily my son will sit and flick dreamily through each page of each catalogue, soaking in all the pictures of goodies he covets so. Hell, I even packed them with me for a recent trip as I knew it would be another fail safe tool to assure peace on the plane! 

Before long he’ll have selected his favourites too – problem is there is usually enough chosen to last him through 5 Christmases and birthdays!

While I’ll readily admit I have a catalogue preoccupation that sees me do a little weekly happy dance of joy when I see them sticking out of my letterbox, I think a lot of the “selection obsession” has been inherited from his father. Yes, he too enjoys the art of perusing the pages but for good measure he likes to incorporates a little family tradition into the art. This act, simply labelled “picks” means you each get to select one favourite item from every page that in a parallel universe, where I had a fortune to rival that of the Kardashians, means we'd probably be able to open a toy store all of our own!

So thank you department stores for this little slice of sanity that these marketing tools bring me. While many parents will be happy to receive these just so they can be financially prepared for the Holiday season, for me, it is more about the fact it buys me much more than bargains.

It buys me rare peace and time in my day - and I say hallelujah for that!

When the stench of death is strong enough to make you live life...

Source: monk3y.tumblr.com via Katie on Pinterest

In a spacious, sun light dappled room, those who are nearing the end of their tenure are gathered. For some, a small smile still plays on their lips, anchoring them in happier times. For others, they have been set into recline – and therefore decline - they stare out at the world with vacant eyes, faded hope fraying at the edge of their greying lashes. The stench of death, swirling at their feet like an oxygen thief, lingers unseen…

You see, I found myself visiting an Aged Care facility recently, my Nan’s 94 year old second husband’s final home. It is a paradox in every sense. Haunting and happiness appear to go hand in hand. The spaces are clean and bright, the staff are angels, but the old souls appear as if they’ve returned to their dressing room after a completed innings, and are but waiting out the final leg of the game.

A visitor will walk in, and one set of previously downcast eyes now begins to gleam. It’s like an intravenous shot of happiness and hope that can spring life instantly back into an aging step. But those others who remain their solo settle back into their little bubble of silence.

And I cannot imagine what it must feel like to be left alone with so many “if only’s” rattling around in my lonely head. It is enough to give this visitor a kick up the bum to live her goddamn life while she still has the energies and capacities to do so...

So this is written with the pure intention to be a personal reminder to myself. Don’t be left staring vacantly out through the polished glass window, weighed down by wondering a million what-might-have-beens. Don’t let that stench of death start to suffocate you until you can settle back into your years with a self satisfied smile and say “I lived a good life.”

Live the life you deserve, for it is never too late to be everything you always wanted to be. Yes, the clock's ticking, and no, time will not always be on your side. Take that first step away from that window and towards being everything you want to be.