Stranger Danger or Steward Granger?

Steward Granger, my childhood hero, my heart still swoons at his memory. The Brad Pitt of my parents generation, held many a woman's heart to ransom, captivated children around the world with his daring swashbuckling pirate escapades, made ordinary men's eyes roll in annoyance while Mills & Boon rubbed their hands with glee as the muse of all romance novels increased their profit margins beyond staggering levels.

Oh, did I mention he probably saved me from potential harm? and the fact that grown-ups don't play might have helped too.
During my preschool age, in which there was no preschool in those years, I lived a life that most kids would seem like a dream; total freedom.
My family occupied the only house in the middle of what was bushy industrial nation. Our lonely little house was on the edge of a brick works plant which was flanked on 3 sides by untamed bush, on the opposite side new buildings were going up along side a couple that had been there for a while. One road dissected the strange location. There were no neighbours, no human play mates.

I know now how tiring motherhood can be with 5 children, several ring-ins, an overwhelming business and some more study for extra punishment. Then my mum was tired too; she slept for most of my waking hours.
I was too young to understand she suffered depression.

Her only activity was the cranky mornings filled with coffee and a  dozen cigarettes while she cleaned the kitchen, muttering away in her native dutch with some German expletives thrown in between the sentences. I understood both languages, as our family had not long immigrated from Holland. Now we were all learning Australian.

Dad was the engineer and plant manager of the brickworks we lived in, so he was out of bed and at work before 5am. My brothers who were almost a generation older than me, had discovered the beach, were gone by 6am to surf then off to high school or Tech as it was called in those days.

The one good thing about the lack of supervision is that imagination comes out to play unfettered.
If I wasn't roaming the very large area of the brickworks amongst all the workers looking for my dad, or hitching a ride on the forklifts around the columns of bricks, I would be sitting on the floor watching the midday movie which usually showed more than a far share of Steward Granger starring as the handsome daring, romantic pirate or renegade with a conscious.
I was a little, long shaggy haired, bare footed urchin, clad mostly in just knickers, with a see through chiffon curtain cape draped over the shoulders most of the time. After each movie, spurned on by the adventure packed action and high drama, I would race outside with a pirate sword in one hand and  my trusty ship mate, Poppy, our Kelpie dog-nanny close in tow. I would wrap a red bandanna around Poppy's neck to suit the part but the cat had long since mutineered, protesting about the wearing hers.

Like most days while mum lay asleep in a darkened room, Poppy & I went off to our 'Treasure Island'.
Treasure Island was really the scrub across the road, as the road became the sea, the cars became the man eating sharks. Most days we didn't see many sharks at all. We spent hours across the road traipsing through the tight scrub.
One day I wanted to take my little pull along cart with us. Maybe it was overloaded, for it tipped on the side of the road. While I was trying to put everything back in, I didn't notice a car pull up on the opposite side.
A man called out "Hey little girl where are you going?".
"Treasure Island!" I throw up my sword skywards dramatically.
"Well get in the car and I will take you there, it'll be quicker".

Now I thought about that for a second or two. I imagined him driving the car through the scrub to my little cubby house  made from boxes. No, I thought, a car wont fit and it didn't seem like fun because I liked to swish swash the branches out the way with my sword.
"It wont fit!" I called across the road back at him.
"I know another way, can get there by car, down the road a bit then around the corner" he motioned the direction with his hand. "It'll be fun, we'll play together"

I was still thinking about the whole car ride which is never fun with grown up,s as they always tell you to stop talking. Whereas I could talk to Poppy as much as I wanted, she never complained, actually she liked it. The constant licking of approval was anything to go by.

Then a bigger thought popped into my head, grown-ups don't play! they cant! that's what makes them grown-ups!

"Grown ups don't play, they don't know how to!" I yelled back at him. I looked down at Poppy, speaking to her in dutch "I wish this man would go away, I don't want to play with him"

The man called out again "But look what I have got" He was jiggling what looked like a white paper bag from his hand out his car window, with a big cheesy grin.

I looked down at Poppy, whose eyes where darting from him  to me.  Again I spoke to her in dutch,  "He's not normal, he wants to give me a white paper bag, I cant play with that, he's just not normal!"
I was getting rather annoyed with this man.
He called out again "Yummy sweets, I'll let you have them if you let me play with you"

I remember vividly the thoughts that went through my head when I saw the lolly he was holding.



I had seen children eating these things. I naturally wanted to try some as well, when mum warned me of the dangers of eating Australian food. To her,  Australians eat weird food, safe for their children but deadly for Dutch children. She reminded me of how raw herrings were poisonous to Italians. Mick an Italian man who worked with dad wanted to try one. He gagged and cursing so loud, he kept calling out he felt was going to die.
And because at under 4 years of age, you believe everything your mother says.
At that time my mother, like many new immigrants regarded Australian food with trepidation, having spent 6 weeks in an immigration camp, our introduction to Australian cuisine was, well, not very palatable, if anything, completely disgusting. It could have also have been mum's weapon on pester power

I got so angry, what would pirate Steward Granger do to his enemies? I looked at Poppy, pointed at the man and yelled "ATTACK!" at the top of my voice. On cue she bared teeth snapping & growling at the car.
The man took off in his car down the road as fast as he could go with Poppy chasing furiously after him. Once he was gone around the bend she stopped and started back towards me. Every few paces she would turn back in his direction, bark & growl. I can only assume it was her way of saying "And don't even think about coming back here"
I remember not wanting to play any more, so we both went back inside the yard. Poppy found her shady spot and I tiptoed into mums bedroom, slid into bed next to her. She rolled over pulling me into a close tight embrace, I fell asleep in the safety of her warm arms.

Of course years later when the reality of how dangerous that situation was, I often think if he had've shown me a Barbie doll for instance, as I was desperate to have one, would I have been more inclined to get in the car? Since I was quite comfortable occupying myself for long hours at a time, I was ignorant of the concept of loneliness, but what if I wanted a playmate, would anyone do?

Though my mums depression lasted another 2 years or so, it had started just after I was born. The dramatic change of lifestyle, language barriers and the isolation from her own family & friends augmented what she believed was post natal depression. Women suffered in silence as it was a taboo topic, but the attitude is very much different today thankfully. With quick intervention upon recognition, many mothers make a better recovery sooner and without the social stigma that once was.

Bully, Bully, Bully, is it Truly, in an Ideal World- Part 1

Little Miss Mischief is playing the soundtrack of Mama Mia, in the background I hear the eternal words of ABBA's song Money, Money, Money, it must be funny, in a rich man's world.

As a mum, I am heartbroken.
As a parent, I am angered.
As a citizen, I want justice.
As a writer, I want to tell the world.
As a world occupant, it has happened to so many, so many times before.
As an opportunist, I see this as an ideal learning enterprise to review, enhance and implement changes that will benefit all mankind.

As a realist, I have to make a decision because..........

There are 2 empty chairs in a classroom at our local school.
Yesterday, today & tomorrow are school days, yet these chairs will remain empty, devoid of its usual occupants, 2 little girls caught in a battle that cant be won.

Both sets of parents are taking a stand.

One set wants the victim that fought back to be punished.
One set wants the bully to be punished.

One child's word against 6 others.
There are witness's of course, 5 of them; the bully's entourage.

It comes as no surprise to most in the know, the school has decided to punish the victim.
One child trust in her school is shattered as a complete betrayal of justice unfolds before her very young eyes.
A child, alone, guttered, traumatised, catapulted into a very adult world where lies and deceit rule. Bullies very rarely are caught, because they know how to lie so well.

In a 'blind' spot of the school, there are 7 children.
4 of the gang stand guard.
The victim, held from behind in a tight hold by the 5th child is forced to face another.
The victim is so terrified of the impending contact of a fist hurtling towards her, did what she could to avoid the blow.
A  defenceless 7 year old girl now becomes the aggressor; the 'voilent' perpetrator that has a record, There isn't even a mark on the Bully that a microscope could detect.

The bully and her gang raced to the teacher before she could. Strategically, pointing the finger at the real victim, bullies cleverly avoid punishment by acting as a victim themselves. Backed up by 'witnesses' of course, this squashes the real victim's attempt to counter claim. The obliging teacher was no longer interested in seeing the finger marks left on the real victims body as the child is dragged to the office.

The headmaster tells the victims parents that he knows the children lied, but what could he do? his hands are tied; the school is governed by a policy.

He & the other teachers know the children lied! but their hands are tied.
What sort of policy protects the bullies?
Ones written by administrators not child behavioural psychologists, experts in the field of behaviour.

According to many councillors this is how it always plays out, how it always ends up. There is nothing our school or any school can do except punish the victim.

After all there is always 2 sides, and like our country's legal system, the one with the most convincing argument regardless of evidence will always win. Truth doesn't count.

I am a firm believer that there is always an answer, but it helps if,

1) Teachers are not only wiser & more savvy than their pupils but act that way as well.

2) Investigate evidence from both sides anyway

3) Understand that bullies never work alone, nor do they attack a group on their own, let alone children that are much older or bigger than them.

4) The red tape that binds the hands can be cut. There is never a shortage of cutting tools.

For most victims, the school becomes an unhealthy & an unsafe environment.
Legally we cant expose our children to dangerous situations, yet legally our children must attend school.

Once a child has any record of 'voilence', no matter the infraction or the cause, the circumstance, admission to another school becomes almost impossible.

Last night we all rugged and up went for a walk. I know that walking induces talking.
By the time our guard cat Apollo stopped at his boundary a small block from home, she started to talk.
"They lied" she said.
We all agreed
"Aren't we supposed to tell the truth, aren't the teachers supposed to listen to the truth?" she said
Ritch wraps his arms around her shoulders, hugging her close and says
"Yeah, about that, I don't know who started that rumour.." 4 exaggerated coughs cue him to stop...immediately
Drue intervenes quickly "Yes, if people didn't lie, just think, we wouldn't have detectives, we wouldn't have police officers" Zip adds "And, stories, books, movies" with that Ritch adds "forensic scientists, imagination"
"Imagination! is that lying? is that a bad thing?"she exclaims
They all look at me (why do they do that)
"No honey its not a bad thing, its just that without lies the world would be a very different place"
"Can we play I Spy now" she jumps up & down.
We all look at Ritch and with group cursed looks we warn him, keep it simple!
Ritch is the master of I Spy, and not many can identify his object
After many lost rounds to Ritch yet again, he tells Little Miss Mischief how proud he was of her Karate move on the ringleader.
"yeah" she scoffs "should have seen her face! She didn't expect that I could do that", We all laugh at her theatrical impersonation of the girls face.
We are still enjoying mileage by making the fun of the gang of bullies by the time we are on the loop back and meet up with our cat Apollo who is waiting for us, she throws me the curly question



We know that for LMM it will be over, the girls will go after less confident kids.
Yet my anger revisits, we are all angry.
The school's anti bully policy is a complete farce, a joke.
Policies are in place only to deal with the end result of a situation, a band aid for political correctness to stem off litigation, they are never an education in themselves.

When a school or workplace states that they have a strict anti-bully policy, it really means if  caught, regardless of being the bully or the victim, there are no exceptions, punishment is severe. Emphasis is on the 'if caught'.

I am a firm believer too in 

a) Team Sports & Martial Arts b) A loving, warm, strong family home that is Sanctuary for a child

As a now non smoker, I really want a smoke right now.

Part 2 coming soon

Written once again by an author smoke free but on the verge of caving in..........

The challenge draws to an end, or maybe not?

I am in the last week of my annual 6 week challenge. I relinquish my car, whom the family calls Milly, and take up cycling to raise money for Breast Cancer.
This year I will have raised slightly less than previous years, but this year I wasn't sure if I was going to be able to participate at all.
An eleventh hour reprieve by the Doc and I was victory- booty dancing on the spot

By heaven, by hell high water, a broken bone or few, a series of unfortunate circumstances and a dodgy blood supply wasn't going to rain on my 6 week parade!
However it did rain, a lot, literally.

Though I had left it a tad late to pull out the cap and say "please give so others may live", my regular sponsors didn't mind digging deep to help.

Dad the diligent lovely dad he was, wasn't going to let me learn to drive unless I could change a tyre on a car, but he never showed me how to on a bike!
One long lonely road, a drenching down pour and a flat tyre got me thinking. I took the opportunity while speaking with Sarah from NRMA in regards to extending 'Roadside Assist' to cater for bicycles. Sarah might have been laughing at the story but she loved the idea.  I really could have done with the help, that is if help in the guise of a man with a 'Ute in dry armour' hadn't turned up. He had a towel too!

This year has been the first year the challenge has been tough. Physically I am at a low, so a few times I have had to stop, get off and rest; a first for me.

A few spare minutes while waiting for Little Miss Mischief to get her morning act into gear one morning, I chose the time to whip out the domestic goddess in me and clean the bathroom. Remind me NOT to invite her out again.
One slight misplacement and I went crashing face first into the bath tub while one foot slammed down hard on the ceramic edge. The pain, the swelling and the quick emergence of the colour purple spreading across the foot was enough to know I wasn't going to be able to cycle the 7 km's to our local hospital with LMM in tow.
LMM called 000 before I could yell out I was OK,
"Shh" she calls out "I'm on the phone!". I hear her talking to the operator . She lets them know I have fallen in the bath, I can't get out, I am not dead. I'm calling out "give me the phone". I'm panicking because it's not an emergency its just a catastrophe.
She walks in, in nurse mode, 'The lady wants to talk to you" handing me the phone. I realise how wet I am, lying there in the bath gritting my teeth and breathing gasps of pain. LMM holds my hand, stroking my hair, softly whispering it will be OK and can she stay home to look after me.

Explaining to the 000 operator that I am indeed OK, I will call my hubby instead.
He's stuck in a car park called the M7 when LMM calls him. He's luckily on the inside lane, so an easy u-turn and a dash home.
The doctor is in two minds about the type of cast after looking at the xrays. I ended up cutting the cast off a few days later. I don't recommend doing that.

My old bike like everything else, is too tall for me technically. A few falls haven't turned me off, but the cast and sore foot made me realise I needed to do this properly once and for all. A visit to Hawkesbury Cycles has me fitted with a specially designed bike that caters for short people like me or less agile. A vintage step through design, ergonomically enhanced, costing more than registering a car but worth it. Almost effort free to ride.
I christened her "Bessie" a vintage name for a vintage bike. My challenge companion.

I was excited riding Bessie home late last night after a Tafe class. I got to see how powerful her headlight was as I rode through the paddocks on my way home. The gel cushion seat cover my son Drue got me for Mother's Day was even more appreciated. Its a pity I cant get heating, so I rode faster and harder on such a cold breezy night.

Sunday might be the official end of this years chapter and the pledges come in, but I might just let Milly go into retirement for a little while longer as I really am enjoying this.

It's my own way of giving, helping, my little bit of paying it forward. Besides I owe somebody.


I owe to my best friend Maxine. A comrade in arms, a fellow adventurer and the only living person I know that really loved the fact that I was shorter than her. For a good part of the 37 years of friendship we had, she humoured me with her comic genius, her everlasting endearing smile outshone any other. She brightened the world where ever she went.
There's a emptiness so profound, so deep, I wonder if my heart will ever recover saying goodbye.

Dedicated to Maxine Lyons
1961 - 2010

Thank God for Childhood 101 because I am so sick of ERp, SAP,SFA, MySQL,CRM

I am so thankful of Bec Marr of Ruby Ruby Designs for providing so many creative, fun websites that she works on as a graphic designer. Today I was particularly gratefully for a new site that she linked to me just cant be NOT shared.
I looked at the pages, posts and fell into a swirling bath of warm fuzzies. After the last 4 days its any wonder I'm still alive, though I am very doubtful of my sanity right now.


I can see it shred into a thousand tiny shards scattered over a various different location, when Bec sent me this link. After that I saw the footage from Australia's Got Talent of a young  boy who sang me of my chair, my jaw scraped on the ground. After that I knew that there was a really wonderful world out there, and I wasn't going remain in DODIFS mode any more!!.




                                                                                http://childhood101.com

This site is such a magical delight for the senses, I just wanted to wrap myself up in it. I'm so comfortable in the creative world, that it is almost torture to have to deal with 'suits', especially suits with an agenda. If I hadn't left behind a trail of utter destruction today I would have physically escaped with Little Miss Mischief, instead I imagined it.






 I think I've seen 10,000 websites trying to find a process solution for our business. We want an easy web based sales taking system that allows our Reps to see whats instock right at the moment they visit the retailers. As they input the order the inventory is automatically adjusted and the retailers file is also adjusted to not what they ordered.
Quite simply really, do you think I can find anything, anything, anything that could meet our needs. 
 Don't get me started on the plethora of frustrating terminology. I found a blog site called CRM Coach who writes about the software for small business. I like him, he put it in simple language then put the abbrev. in brackets after it. He also went as far to explain what they really mean and how not to get trapped by the sales pitches (I saw through that already).  I even went to the small biz forums to ask for advice. I think I unleashed a hornet's nest, because I was inundated with power sales pitches pushing to purchase their product first before trialing.
All 15 of these guru's had the perfect solution.....not.
I made up a new set of initials... DODIFS, which stands for Dear Oh Dear I Feel Stupid during one particular conversation with a young man was spieling out all the known initials that could ever be used in the software field. 
I was quickly losing my confidence gulping down each & every one these profanities, trying to figure out what the hell they meant!


The first moment he stopped to take a breath, I jumped in with "Sounds great, fantastic, but I'm driving my staff and our processes away from DODIFS mode"
there was a second of silence when he jumped back into 'hyper sell mode- because I have to make my quota this month' and said exactly what I expected him to say "Yes, definitely, we'll make sure that we don't use that system for you". Chuckle, chuckle, chuckle. 
I replied "Opps sorry, um I think it is now DODYFS. Thank you, we are currently compiling a short list of software applications that we think could suit our business needs. As soon as we have finalised that we will contact you".
This was a tutored response from the CRM Coach's blog on how to navigate the smarmy world of software resellers & partners. A really nice way of saying bugger off.


Anyway's I think that I'll let it rest awahile because I did something to make the web cutting machine die, so when my computer started to do poltergeist things the other staff took a protective stand in front of theirs, and the production manager quickly called out from the production room "Don't you dare come in here"


I have this odd habit of killing electrical things when I am upset. Last week it was both the dishwasher & the Dryer. Good timing for the Dryer to commit revenge!. Honestly all I did was look at the thing, and the entire internal engine fell from its housing.




Well another blog, written smoke free by a frazzled work weary "I shouldn't have it any other way" mum

I Lied to my Boss the working mother said

5 years ago my childhood friend Katie lied to her boss.

It was first a feeling of injustice and discrimination that had been festering deep in the subconscious from 5 years earlier.
In a moment of crisis, the lie jumped out of her lips before she knew she said it. Katie laughs about it now but at that time for her it was a serious breach of fairness and she wanted answers.
"It was like 'who said that' it might have been my voice but it wasn't me who said it"
"I am glad I said it" she reflects.
That day was an awakening to the reality of working parents, and why working mothers will always be at the beating end of the stick.

Katie protests that working mothers are more vulnerable than working fathers. The inequality isn't just about the salary, its the hidden inequality. The expectation that working mothers must be completely flawless when it comes to juggling a career with children. Any thing in regards to the children must never comprimise the company that mothers work for. How many times have mother's called in sick, yet it was really one of the kids that was sick. When a father calls in to say he cant come because of a child, then its dealt with completely differently. There's no back lash on dad's like the backlash there is on mothers.

 Older male bosses might be sceptical of working mothers yet female bosses, especially high ranking corporate women are the femme fatal of motherhood. The ones that are mothers themselves having fought and struggled to reach their position are the worst of all.

Within any career or position, the harsh reality is that, you are only as good as your last mistake. Sorry, that is the reality of working for a boss. For many mother's their mistake is usually child related.

The thing is she says, is that you can make a mistake with your children and they still love you. They love you when they see you in the nude, flab and all, they love you when you got daggy clothes on, your breathe stinks. With careers, if you get called away because your child broke their arm at school, then you are considered a liability, even if you delegated and orchestrated the project to other staff whilst running to the car.
It doesn't matter that you can devise first to market systems that are on-sold for millions of dollars with licenses for years to come. It does matter if your child is sick. If the mother is called away, instantly colleagues will see it as an inconvenience, having to take up the slack, even if they never need to; the potential is there. On the other hand, if the father has been called away, most colleagues will go into sympathy mode  "Oh the poor dear, I hope everything is all right".

Right there is the battle working mothers can never hope to win!

That was why Katie lied that day, to protect the last 20 years of a life driven by a career. She also didn't want to appear as a mistake like last time.

Every working woman's nightmare; a phone call from the school. Miely, Katie's youngest daughter, had fallen from the playground equipment and had broken her arm. The brake was that bad, bone was protruding said her teacher. Miely was already in an ambulance on the way to the hospital.

What would you do?
I would leave.......immediately.

Kate sprang into action she said, quickly delegating succession to her team members whilst gathering her bag and keys. Within seconds she had all staff organised, project will not be jeopardised with her sudden exit . Katie might have been the head project manger, but she still had a supervisor she had to answer to. He stopped her in the hall to tell her she couldn't leave. She walked on past him as he was calling out "This is a mistake Katie!"

Whilst Miely was in surgery, Katie asked her husband Ewan, if he had in problems leaving his work so suddenly. He just shrugged his shoulders with a perplexed look and said "Why, my daughter has had an accident, no one is going ask me to stay". What angered Katie was that she was made to feel like the bad guy.

Back at work, the supervisor didn't say much but he did comment more times than most that working mothers are unreliable. Ewan, for a couple of weeks came home with muffins and teddy bears from his fellow workers.
6 months later, Katie was passed up on a promotion she had worked so hard for. Another childless woman from her team, far less competent, was giving the position instead. Katie, being Katie, challenged her supervisor. The decision not to give her the promotion in the end, even though she deserved it was because of her vulnerability as a working mother, it wasn't a good show of professionalism that she had left for her kid he said. "We need you to be 110% dedicated and focused".

Katie laughs "Ewan comes home with sympathy muffins and I get demoted, sort of. Ever since then I have hated muffins! I was so angry!

Not long after she was head hunted for a rival company. She found out later that her old supervisor lost his own job when the CEO found out why Katie left.
"Like I said you are only as good as your last mistake. He might have seen me as a potential liability, but the CEO saw him as a supervisor that ruled by his own assumptions, not in the best interest for the company".

5 years later, Katie having only just arrived at work, received a phone call that the car in which her oldest daughter was passenger had been involved in a serious accident. Siobhan was being airlifted to Royal North Shore Hospital with suspected spinal injuries. She was in a critical condition.

She called out to the CEO as she rushed out the office "I have to go, my husband has been involved in a serious car accident, he has spinal injuries".

Everyone flew to her assistance immediately.

"That was the injustice, the unfairness" Katie's says "That it was OK that my husband was injured, but if they knew it was one of my daughters they would've been far less sympathetic after the initial shock. They would have forced me to make a decision, rather than saying take all the time you need. The bastardry of it was that they were so nice and helpful".

Though Katie quit while Siobhan was in hospital and took a year off to dedicate to her daughter. "It was the fact that I had never driven my girls to school, that I paid some one else to raise my girls. It was the best career move in my life, I wish I had done it this way sooner. I might be a consultant that works from home, I work the hours I want to and I don't have the acerbic mentality to deal with"

I found it really ironic that no one on their death bed ever says "I should have spent more time in the office".