The best of both worlds- Breast & Bottle feeding or no need to be a closet Comp Feeder

Some time ago I wrote a blog called 'Breastfeeding and going back to work' on the benefits of 'comp' feeding; I awaited the backlash. Alas there might have been a small amount of complaints, but mostly there were many thankyou's. Thankyou's from closet comp feeders.

Comp Feeding for those not in the know, is where a baby is dually fed both breast and bottle. Bottle fed can be either formula or expressed breast milk.

I was delighted to read an article in the latest edition of Practical Parenting, called 'The best of both worlds', a commonsense approach to comp feeding. I did scratch my head as to why such an important article that could help soothe an anxiety filled situation for most new mothers, would be right at the back of the magazine.
Maybe we haven't quite broken the taboo of Comp Feeding as of yet.

Medically proven that breast milk is best, there is no argument about the importance of mother natures own liquid gold. The longer the breast milk is offered the better, but some breast milk is better than none at all.

The first few days after a baby's birth, is the most vital in getting the important antibodies. Colostrum, the 'first milk'  (immediately available after birth and the first 3 days) is incredibly high and rich in immunity, these antibodies that will help protect our newborn babies from the nasties out there. We are talking about germs.
When the 'milk comes in' around 3-4 days after birth, this milk provides the nourishment that a baby needs to survive.
Most women are under the impression that the first 12 months is the maximum sentence handed down for breastfeeding, actually 18 months to 2 years is the optimus prime when it comes to feeding the liquid gold.

In an ideal world, the goal would be to strive for weaning that is baby led; where the baby denotes when they no longer want Mummy's Milk, which typically for most babes is around 18 months of age  and only having 1 to 2 feeds a day.
In an ideal world there would be no obstacles, such as life, that would get in the way of that goal.
Life has a funny way of getting in the way of ideals.

A mum who is having a less than perfect time at breastfeeding, might give up all together, or a mum that needs to go back to work sooner than wanted might not give it a chance at all. A tired, frazzled, concerned mum on the verge of 'losing it' will feel the need to self correct the situation by ending breastfeeding with a horrible sense of failure and guilt thrown in for good self punishing measure.

What if all 3 situations could be eased and rectified by introducing 'Comp Feeding'. There would be a high chance that the baby would achieve being fed breast milk to the World Health Organisations & pediatricians recommendation of 18mths to 2yrs of age.
There is also the fact that mums might be offloaded the burden of guilt, which is always a good thing. A guilt free mum is a happy confident mum.
As society readily accepts working mothers and mums in jeans in our midst, we should also readily accept and encourage comp feeding as opposed to non existent breastfeeding.

There are many reasons why total breastfeeding isn't successful or tangible, almost as varied as how long a piece of string is. Each situation is unique and should never be judged harshly in comparison to other scenarios. In a lot of cases, Comp Feeding could have been successfully implemented, taking away the emotional trauma, trauma that for some mothers have spent years dealing with.

Comp feeding has benefits for families as well as mum, even if it is just a simple break time for mum. Fathers, often overlooked in the new baby care routine other than nappy changing and general house maintenance duties can emotional benefit greatly when feeding their baby the bottle. Fathers that actively engage from birth in bottle feeding and carrying their baby around in a hammock style sling will bond closer to their child earlier and make a far more confident parent in their own right. Dad will parent effectively, dad style.
Grandparents, siblings, aunts & uncles, cousins or friends or who ever makes up the greater family circle will also benefit greatly with the bonding of feeding.

Most mother's will substitute the most difficult feed of the day for the bottle, which statistically speaking is the 'devils hour' feed, anywhere from 3pm to 7pm. Mum is by this time of the day very tired, maybe dehydrated (a significant problem with milk flow), older children to cart around to after school activities, dinner to be prepared etc. Handing the baby over to either someone else to bottle feed if the baby is fretful or have some one else do all the chores, but return to breastfeeding for the feeds that are enjoyed, can eliminate so much stress and pressure rather than throwing it all away because its just too hard.
One of our graphic designers Luca, has successfully comp fed her 13mth old baby since she was 3 months old. I remember Luca fretting about her struggling with breastfeeding and the rigours of a busy family and work life, when I suggested that she should try comp feeding, rather than giving up breastfeeding all together. Luca replied "Can I do that?"
Luca has continued to enjoy what she calls 'our special morning/ evening time' with her bub.

I am certainly all for 'outing' closet comp feeders. I too, practised comp feeding for 5 of my children. If I had the guts to comp feed my first child, he too would have been breastfed till  he weaned himself at around 18mths like his younger brothers & sisters did, except for Little Miss Mischief who was 3 and a half, when I decided I should start to encourage booby disengagement . Unfortunately for Ry, my beautiful chocolate eyed first born son, after months of battling the loosing battle, and feeling lower to the ground than an ants knee, I gave up. 

I give up, I give in, I let go, lets begin (from the immortal words of songbird Colbie Callait) I gave him the bottle and packed away my boobs, wrapped tightly in wilting cabbage leaves. I felt so guilty that I couldn't do such a simple natural process such as feeding my son. I had lost my mothers right of passage.

After #2 was born, which I triumphed breast feeding quite easily, I was angered by the fact that the guilt was so incredibly needless. I felt guilty about feeling guilty when I didn't really need to feel guilty in the first place.

There are a lot of reasons why some women cant breastfeed at all, and those, who have successfully breast fed, should never lay blame or instill guilt, because woman who couldn't breastfeed have done enough of that already, OK.

Withdrawal Symptons; more unpleasant than you think at a smoke free blog

Here I sit broken hearted, came to write, but I just can't get started.

Give it another try darling hubby says................

I wrote
.......The Troll emerged from his cave rambling about nonsensical nothings splashed with a dash of crazy. I could do nor more than return to sipping my tea and continue enjoying an imaginary cigarette......

Over my shoulder he read, than ended it with "look you've got it. You can do it" as rolled his chair back to his side of the office. With his back turned, I snarled at him,  I wanted to throw something really, really heavy at his direction. If I knew I wouldn't miss, I would have given it a shot. Luckily for my darling hubby, I am the worst pitcher I know. At this moment I really don't like him either, because he his more right now about anything than he has ever been.

Giving up smoking was essential, if I wanted to continue living that is. A heart attack will do the trick; change the ignorant assumption that 'it won't happen to me!' trick that is.

With perfect blood pressure, perfect cholesterol levels and the fact I haven't had a flu since 2004, I wont mention the almost daily crucifying headaches, because they don't count, I was in perfect health. I could continue to smoke 40+ smokes a day and run like the wind till I was at least 92. That's how I figured it to be. I was wrong, but I was lucky.

It has been 4 weeks, 3 days, 12 hours and something minutes, since my last cigarette, though I have smoked at least a multitude of imaginary ones since then. I am also so sick of Wrigley's Extra chewing gum....blah!. By the way, has anyone lost 10 kilo's in weight recently, if you have, great! I have found it for you, and could you please pick it up ASAP, its a real drag carrying it around.

I need cigarettes to unlock the words that ramble in dangerous, out of control directions in my head, hence the 4 blogs, 6 unfinished (but could be finished literary works of sheer genius) novels and the 3 people, whom I dodge their phone calls, because I haven't been able to finish the articles that they've wanted since before Christmas.

If I could just smoke while I'm writing, I wont smoke any other time, I promise.

Maurie, my darling hubby, hit me with the reality checked awful truth. It stung, it hurt, it was cruel.

He looked sternly at me and pounded directly at me "If you stopped writing today, you won't shatter peoples lives, they won't be devastated, you wont ruin peoples lives, they'll move on to the next 10,000 writers out there and they will continue to live. If YOU died, then you would shatter our lives, there we would be devastated, those who love you the most will be forced to continue with their lives with a hole in their heart that possibly may never close!"

Hmm, he had a point that I couldn't argue against. Sniff, sniff for the insignificant writer. Maurie was right, but he didn't need to be that right, even though he too has given up smoking as well.

As a parent we obligate ourselves to give up our vices for the sake of our children. Simply, we love our children so much that we want be better people for them, to be there for them, always.

I gave up smoking when I was 21, the very moment I found out I was expecting my first child. I had smoked since I was 13 and had tried on so many occasions to do the impossible, give up smoking. A positive pregnancy test was an instant solution.

At 13, I was whisked away from my parents to attend an exclusive boarding school for gifted children. Hailed as a junior prodigy, the masterpiece that had everyone buzzing with excitement was written at 2am one morning, in the covert darkness of my parents garage while puffing away on cigarettes I had stolen from them.
Needless to say, the school waited with abated breath for me to produce another masterpiece for the schools impressive portfolio that never came. With no access to cigarettes, the creative was drought stricken. Had they known that was all that was needed to unlock the words, they would have eagerly snuck in the contraband, as they did for other students, but I didn't realise the connection myself.

With the coming of my first child and the many that followed, I was too busy being a parent to consider ever smoking again. Always ignoring the sporadic 2am wake up of words streaming through my mind like a Japanese bullet train; for they were usually gone before I could collate them to paper anyway.

Just after the death of my father, on New Years day,  some years ago, I was left with a handful of half empty packets of smokes. My house, the venue for that years party, and as per usual there were the few standard, cliched NY resolutions. Alone later in the day, I was left with temptation that hadn't tested me in more than 17 years.
It began a tight, strongly fuelled marriage of smokes & words.
Within the year I had 2 novellas published, written a synopsis for a business that had won them so many awards that I still have people lining up to utilise my wordsmith qualities.

A few terrifying painful minutes alone in a very public place, was the demise of that marriage. Outside the ladies toilet,  my son was waiting, wondering, 'Gee, Mum's taking a long time' while he was puffing away on his own cigarette. My son no longer smokes.



 I did it though, I said goodbye to 40+ smokes a day, a truckload of rampant obnoxious words and my daily companion; the headaches from hell, in an instant.

I have done it because I love my children more than I love myself. Smoking might make me a better writer but it doesn't make me a better parent. I will always be a parent first.


In advance I offer my apologies for all future mundane, routine, smoke free blogs.

When Workcover isn't interested in employee's safety

When you think of Workcover; an Australian government authority, you could be forgiven that you'd believe this government agency is all about the safety of Australian employees within the workplace. This is not entirely correct as I found out recently.

Luckily no one was hurt to find this out, it came to light within a tense conversation I had with a rather obnoxious tyrant of an inspector.  He came storming up the stairs unannounced, throwing a flimsy business card at me, pulled out an generic officeworks notepad and started to fire away questions. I was taken back by the bizarreness of his actions, I thought, who the hell is this bloke anyway.
He demanded our complete attention, all work stopped, that meant no orders could be finalised and dispatched, which violated our very strict operating policy.
He drilled, he pursued, he hammered, he terrorised before I could stop and really look at his business card.

He had my production staff cowering in terror while the office staff made an escape down the stairs when his back was turned. Two staffer's quickly swapping their cool Havianna thongs for court shoes in the process. I did say no thongs to be worn, but it was very hot and one staff member is going through menopause at the moment which did get me into trouble. The extra fan I brought from home a couple of days prior, to help bring her some relief during hot flashes didn't have a tag on the lead, hence the fine. She murmured 'arsehole' under her breath whilst he was handing me the infringement notice. I gulped when I saw how much the fine was. It's a fan I use at home normally which doesn't require a tag by law. The next menopausal employee will have to suffice with the airconditioning we have.

While he was going through the process of inspection, at the back of my mind I felt a growing sense that something was amiss with this person, something didn't feel right about this whole scene. Something not right at all.
He started to ask me about  prestart & and end day protocols. Having gone through a terrifying armed holdup a little over 2 years ago, which left a deep emotional wound not only in myself but in both my daughters who were present that fateful evening, I held back the tears of pain to explain what happened and how we now have a very strict policy on staff safety before and after hours.

His response was contritely apathetic "I am not interested if you escort your staff to their car after hours, or you have a secret code for emergency if they have been threatened by intruders, I want to know if you have a prestart meeting every morning outlining known safety hazards for the day!"
With that I said " You do know that women having finished work late at night are in more potential danger of being attacked or possible killed than by the absence of tag on a temporarily used domestic table top fan? You do know that some staff carrying the days takings have been ambushed causing detrimental emotional carnage for years onwards?"
he replied as he lazed back on my chair he commandeered while zipping up his fly in a condescending manner that made me feel more than uncomfortable "Workcover isn't interested in that at all" was his retort.
"Really? How very, very sad that Workcover isn't interested in the true safety of employees" I shook my head.
I thought of the fines produced that day from small businesses everywhere that were breaking protocols innocently. I left the offending fan at work while I waited for the electrician to come and tag it, at least my employee can still have some extra comfort during the hot flushes. I had already been fined. I also thought about the $3 million fine that filled Workcover's coffers after my son's accident and how little was the tiny speck of compensation he received, though his life would never be the same again. I also thought how the company he worked for folded and the livelihoods of 30 other men was extinguished as Workcover became all the more richer for my son's tragedy.
I would have thought that it was far more logical to have rehabilitated, educated and assisted the company to be safe in all aspects of operation rather than executing it.

A similar execution is now raining down on a dear friend.

Workcover must have released their 'dogs' in the vicinity of our area for a snoop operation as a friend,  business owner and employer was also overrun by the workcover militia at the same time as us. The last month has turned her from a bubbly, happy, a much loved employer and person in general, into a dithering mess, now on suicide watch. What has she done wrong?
No faulty equipment, all leads tagged, all bars of soap in the toilets and washbay have techspec sheets pinned to the wall, anti allergy sheets in the lunch room, a full time employee that has been trained as a first aid officer, a full metal first aid kit with padlock, fire extinguishers, exit signs visible, an emergency evacuation plan, O, H & S folder, coffee, tea, chai and hot chocolate provided. My friend has a lot of love and respect for all her staff, and they in turn for her.
My friend's husband was called by a concerned staff member after hearing his wife on the phone to the Workcover inspector in a hail of tears wondering if she died in the next 21 days would her family then still be liable for the $15,000 fine and 6 months imprisonment. If she died would all the trouble go away. It was the final straw after being forced to submit a piece of paper more than 5 years old. A historical piece of paper of no value that she no longer had in her possession. She had 21 days to submit the no longer existing, expired piece of paper.
He collected his inconsolable wife from her office and hasn't left her side since. He is wondering how it got this far?
"For f@%k's sake he says to me it's a frigging piece of paper from 6 years ago and I am losing my wife because of it!!".

It might be the retrospective piece of paper that has my dear friend unraveling at the seems, but it started with a hand rail that was 3mm too close to a wall. A minimum clearance for those who might be unfortunate enough to have fat, chubby fingers, but a woman walking alone at night to get to their transport home is of no concern for Workcover.
My dear friend was given the option of demolishing an entire wall and rebuilding it 3mm further away. Her husband used a winch strap and buckled the rail inwards, away from the wall. The rail is now significantly bent, unsightly, but it passes. Then came the lighting issue, then came a folder which was named "The Methods Manual" by my friend, but it should have been named an Induction folder.
Couple of times a week he came in with notices for this, that or whatever, each time she went home biting her nails. Each time she managed to fix, find or resolve.

He finally found something that he could fine her with. He wanted to see a workers compensation  insurance schedule for every year that she employed staff. My friend did what every one else does, throw out the expired insurance cover and file the new one. Her insurance company helpful as they were, could only supply the last five years of cover, finding the whole request odd themselves. With frantic phone calls back and forth, the inspector seemed to lighten up, seemingly satisfied.
A few days grace, with a return to normal work routine along with major catch ups, a letter arrived in the mail with the formal notice of the fine of $15,000 and 6 months imprisonment if the old insurance covers were not produced within 21 days. My friend buckled.

The iron clad lady of justice had come calling, shod with shoes of malice.


I had been suspicious about our inspector's actions so I did some research. There is a handout available directly from Workcover called "When Inspectors call". Much like the audit charter  booklet I was handed by the tax audit officer at the beginning of our tax audit last year, it gave very clear guidelines and expectations about the whole process. This booklet is an invaluable source of information, easy to read and understand and it must be handed to all employers that are being inspected.
Sadly for both inspectors we are dealing with here, neither seemed to be aware that there a few rules inspectors must stick too.
I had already confronted my inspector about a few things, I haven't seen him since.

Workcover Inspectors can come unannounced, but they must show photo id. If they cannot produce a photo id, then an employer can exercise their right not to allow them onsite until confirmation with Workcover can be obtained.
They should be accompanied by an industry professional (always a min of 2 people) an inspector should never be alone.

The first time visit mostly involves assessment. The role of the inspector is to also provide information, education and advice on the requirements of OHS or workers compensation law.
Provide advice on the development and improvement of systems to eliminate or reduce the risk of injury and illness. For small businesses, stumbling with the anally retentive protocols of OHS will be offered a Small Business Starter Kit (catalogue No. 50)

Inspectors according to this compliance manual should only initiate prosecution action against negligent or reckless offenders.

Employers also have the right to appeal any infringement notices if they feel it is unreasonable.

This manual might just be the saviour for my friend to win the appeal. She's definitely not the murderer that could be freed on a mere technicality, but an innocent woman whose normally sunny demeanour has been crushed by a series of unfortunate Workcover events.

Joy Joy of Christmas and all the ballou

The one thing about Christmas I raised my older children with, was putting the kibosh on the whole Santa thing. Santa is not real, but the original story is. The original Santa lived in Europe hundreds of years ago, a baron or a lord who loved to tinker with toy making. I loved the story, I love the fact that his legacy has lived on, albeit changed just like Chinese whispers and urban legends.
Though my older children understood the concept of gift giving, accepting the Santa myth, Little Miss Mischief's attitude is a whole different story. She utterly refuses to believe the truth behind Santa, angry that I have placed presents under the our Christmas Tree.
Scoffing to her older sister the other day "Mum, has put some presents under the tree, well that's just not right!".
My heart sank in the last week of school when the students were asked to write a letter to Santa. Her letter as she read out to me was

Dear Santa,
I would very much like a Horse please.
Could you please leave him in the backyard instead of under the tree, as I wouldn't want him to pee and poop in the house, it would make too much mess.
I have tried to be a very good girl this year I hope you think so too.

Thank you and Merry Christmas.

She wrote it so neatly and adorned it with beautiful drawings, a great deal of effort and time went into this beautifully crafted letter. Right at that moment I wanted to kill her teacher.

Monday, oldest daughter 'Zip' took Little Miss Mischief shopping for some pressies and some sister to sister time. Stuck in a long queue, LMM couldn't understand why Zip was buying presents for the family. Zip went into a long lecture about the beauty and love of gift giving and Santa was not really real, when a lady behind them interrupted the conversation with "I hope you don't grow up like your sister, because that would be a very bad thing. Only Santa brings presents for good children".
Zip sore red, and there was steam streaming out of her ears from sheer anger. I got to know about it when she fumed over a sedentary Chai in the kitchen upon their return, the rest of the world got to know about it beforehand via facebook mobile. I spent the time whilst they were at the shops wrapping LMM's presents, they were now under the tree and LMM was a tad more angrier about the growing stash under our magnificent tree. I guess watching the endearing Christmas DVD's over the last couple of weeks hasn't helped either.
We all spoke in turn with her about the meaning of Christmas, none of us at all successful, until her older brother Ritch might have just said the right words as she 'got it' after listening to him. She came bounding out of Ritch's room with "Dad, we are going shopping tomorrow, as we haven't done that together, and you need to buy some presents. I will help you, OK? it will be so much fun".
Maurie gulped.
Yesterday, after getting dressed in her favourite pretty clothes at 5am she was ready to go 'hit' the shops with daddy. Daddy was snoring away in slumber land.
I held her off till 6.30am when she presented her father with a high protein breakfast of bacon and eggs in bed. "Cant have you irritable for a day shopping!" Role reversal here I think.
8.30 am they were off for a day of Christmas shopping together.
Zip and I were free to do some major errands, Little Miss Mishief free, yay.

When they both got home later in the afternoon, she threw me my swimmers and towel and ordered me out the back door for a swim in our pool. There was some wrapping to do. She pushed me out the back door under strict orders not to return till she said it was OK. The water was very cold.

When she came out a little while later, she had me so close to tears of joy when she said with such a huge beaming proud smile "You are so going to love what I bought for you, so much that you'll want to squish me tight and love me forever, you are so going to love it!".

Over pillow talk with Maurie last night, he said how she went straight to a jewellery store and picked out a ring, before Maurie was even inside. I lost both my wedding and engagement rings 3 months after our wedding which hasn't sat very well with me. I have lamented over the loss terribly, and LMM knows. The ring she picked out had a price tag of over $5,000, which Maurie had to talk her out off, with your mother will kill me aspect. He assured me that they found something very beautiful that she loved even more. I can't wait, not for the gift itself, but for the love that has gone into it.

A very Merry Christmas everyone!!!!!!!!!!

Women are from Venus and Men aren't, thats why men are always in the Dog House

JC Penney:beware of the Dog House

My epal Frank sent me an email with the above link of JC Penney: Beware of the Dog House. Laughed myself onto the floor while watching this so I just had to share it. Just click on it to watch the 4 minute clip.
I think most couples in particular the men could really relate to this video clip.

I can remember some years ago when my husband Maurie was placed into the Dog House for an almost eternity for the severest infraction a male could ever commit; Not Noticing the glam new Hair Cut!!!!!.

I had limp, waist length, deadpan straight blonde hair with a fringe that was too long. My hair was dowdy and I looked and felt just as dowdy, well overdue for a proper tidy up if not a complete overhaul.

I left Maurie at home in his office working away, while I found a hairdresser that could fit me in. A rarity in itself, we have 13 hairdressing shops to accommodate our tiny little town, they are always booked out for days on end, but that day the universe opened up to my needs, with a cancellation at the last minute, I was in.
2 hours later I emerged, the hairdresser having convinced me out of my decision to shave it all off, with bouncy layers of shoulder length honey coloured  hair with soft highlights of copper to accentuate the layers. I looked fabulous, gratefully leaving behind 12 inches of hair on the floor of the hairdressers. A lot of hair really, a lot.
Before I even got in my car to drive home, 5 people had commented on the fantastic new haircut. I felt remarkably uplifted and there was a spring in my step to rival the Easter bunny as I bounded up our garden path into our home.
Going straight to his office, we spoke facing each other. As the conversation wore on with Mr Oblivious, as I silently nicknamed him, my heart sank further and further. He hadn't noticed, nix, nothing. He hadn't noticed that 12 inches of hair was missing, or the simple fact that it was now a completely different colour and a totally different shape.
With subtle hints such as the dramatic flick of my head, toying with it's now short ends, fingering the top layers of the hair to lift the hair for further bounce, as I spoke with him, delivered his lunch, a cup of tea, the phone, some paperwork throughout the rest of the day, he didn't notice. My demeanour got sharply colder as the day wore on.......

When I am angry or upset the house gets cleaned with a thoroughness to rival sainthood. When the kids arrived home from school the house was spotless and my lips were a tight thin line of anger and disappointment.
Zip was first to arrive, as soon as she opened the door and saw me she screeched an excited "Love the new hairdo mum, wow you look amazing!".
I heard a loud "Do'h" excrete from Maurie's mouth which was still in the office along with the rest of his 'I am incredibly stupid' body. Seconds later, Ritch came through the door with the exact same reaction as his sister. Maurie was not game enough to leave the office.
Drue and Ryan weren't that far behind either, both went 'WOW" instantly. Drue scanned the house and realised by the looks of it something was amiss with his mother. It didn't take a genius to work out why.
He walked into Maurie's office finding him there plastered at his desk with his face buried in his hands, "you didn't notice mums hair cut did you? Oh man are you in the dog house big time!".
Not lifting his face away from his hands Maurie's reply was "Women are from Venus and men aren't ok".
Maurie slept on the couch for the next week.

After that near grounds for divorce fiasco, Maurie never missed a hair cut, that is until this year when I found out why he never missed such an important event.
Zip is always the first to know whenever I go get a hair cut, she would text message Maurie and the boys "Warning! Mum has new hair cut!". The boys, just to be on the safe side would forward the text or ring Maurie to make sure he didn't blunder again. Of course I was none the wiser.

So a few months ago, when I had a scheduled appointment for a hair cut, Zip promptly texted all the members of the family. I arrived at the hairdressers only to find that it was the wrong day. Not to worry my hair wasn't that bad, it could wait another week, I took the time to see a friend who was having some trouble with her business, so I was away for a couple of hours. Arriving home each of the family in turn said how great my hair looked.
I was confused because I hadn't done anything different with my hair?.

Tim walked in after dinner, he didn't say anything till he started to look for his phone that he left behind the day before, as he turned it on, the ting of copious messages rang through. After reading a couple, he looked up at me and said "Um, your hair looks really good,"
SPRUNG!!!

The Gift of Giving on a Microscopic Budget

It's the silly season and it's also Christmas.
My son is online asking me what I would like for Christmas. All I want is my family together, good times blended with good food and I'll be happy. It will be good food if my son Drue cooks.

That is easy he says, but I can't wrap it and put it under the tree he comments.

Each year since my oldest was born, the kids pick a label from the charity tree in our local shopping centre and get a gift for that person before they start to buy anything for their family or friends. I like the idea of giving someone in need a smile for Christmas. Someone you will never see their face when they open the gift you gave, I hope each year it puts a smile on their face.

This year I picked a label that said 'Mum, Dad, Boy 5 & Girl 7'. What does one give to a family that lives locally that are really doing it tough? In all practicality food hamper might go down well, clothing perhaps?
I decided on entertainment. I know from experience when the world around you is shattered the ability to step away from it even if its for only a couple of hours can be uplift any one's resolve.

I remember a year of not being able to take my children to the movies, when all their friends raved about the latest movie they saw. It was a choice of being able to eat for the week or go see a movie? which really meant there was no choice. Though the kids never complained, my heart sank at our situation, if a parent couldn't even afford to take their kids to the local cinema on cheap Tuesday night, even once in the year, it must be desperate.

With some great kids movies coming up for the school holidays I bought a family pass and put it in the envelope. It looked pathetic, this thin thing. Zip suggested a movie munch box, because a movie without the munchies is like rain on your holiday. So we bought 4 lots of sweets & chocolates, placed them along with the tickets into a large gift box. I felt better now.

Last year, walking along on one of my evening walks, overheard a young couple in their front yard lamenting about the cost of plants. Their new acquired first home was hitting the budget more than they expected. The garden would just have to wait a long, long time. The young woman seemed to be on the verge of tears. I have at home so many seedlings and cuttings that I usually give away to our local charity garden, I am sure they could miss a few for once. A week before Xmas, Drue and I delivered at just past midnight, just like Santa, except donning dark clothes instead, driving up their street with no headlights on, we put 3 trays of plants on their front lawn. Each of the 30 fledgling plants had label with the name and whether it was for sun or shade.
A year has gone by, all the plants were planted and the garden is looking great. I didn't cost me anything to make someone so happy.

In what was our 'Year of Living Perilously Close to Nothing' we had the best Christmas ever. Zip made me a CD rack. I only had 5 cd's but she made the rack to hold 10. A small plank of wood found in the shed, some nails for the dividers, and paints from my studio to embellish it, I still use it today, now that I have 10 CD's. Drue made a booklet of hand drawn vouchers aptly named "Son on Call", which gave me tickets to trade in for various things such as mowing the lawn, hanging out the washing, tea in bed, making dinner etc. Each voucher had quirky drawings and funny sayings. It was a gift that lasted most of the year.
It seemed to me we were trying to prove to each other that the lack of money cant stop happiness from appearing. There was no bickering, sooking about the gift received, but not really wanted, no fighting at the shops for parking, no time lost on impossible queues, no historical skeletons came out of the closet. We enjoyed what each of us creatively and ingeniously came up with.
We had everything poverty couldn't buy;  happiness.

Do kids really need to have that very expensive present?.
Does your love and devotion to them only amount to the value of the price tag? if it does, then the true meaning of Christmas is lost, Christmas should never be conditional.

I know one condition that will be added to Drue's annual "Son on Call" voucher book. The movie date ticket will have the rule "No Chick Flick's". Last year I embarrassed him with handing in the 'Movie Date with my Mum" voucher for him to take me to see the Twilight movie Eclipse. He sank so low in the seat with his hoodie pulled as far over his face as possible, terrified of being recognised. He might have been annoyed at my choice of movie, though he still upheld his promise to take me anyway, but his snoring was annoying!

Blended Family Reunions

Last night, as a blended family we celebrated my/our oldest daughter's 21st Birthday. OMG! how did that come around so quick!.
My ex husband along with our girl chose a restaurant in Sydney's Leichhardt suburb, called Tuscany. Usually a tad over an hour from home, it took us more than 2 hours in a gridlocked road called a freeway accompanied by torrential rain.
Before we left, Zip was running late with the demands of being dressed to the nine's in a stunning, yet daring outfit and all things a young beautiful girl needs to do to look even more beautiful. Then again it's her night and it's her birthday.
The 'boys', her older brothers, came online before we left to talk while I was braiding a squirming Little Miss Mischief hair. Simultaneously, one hand typing, one hand braiding, feet were trying unaided to slip into a tight pair of slingback shoes under the desk, I had it all under control.
Ritch emerges from his bedroom, having prized himself begrudgingly from his computer to actually get dressed, asks if he looks alright. Scanning his flannette shirt and daggy shorts, I tell him "upmarket darling, scale it up a bit". Scratching his forehead with a 'do I have to' look he comes back a second later, having changed only his shorts.
Men don't like getting dressed do they?

Finally on route, the car pelted by bullets of heavy rain, I'm glad they chose inside seating. It isn't very long at all when Little Miss Mischief asks "Are we there yet?". Sigh, insinc we all say "NO!"

For 2 hours, the family is sardined in Milly, my car. For 2 hours I hear Zip scoffing at Ritch's attire, both of then in turn, snapping at Little Miss Mischief wedged in the middle of the two, bouncing around more than a cat on a hot tin roof, the ting of constant text messages, the ring of phones and a radio not offering any sort of music that any of us enjoy at all.
At one point all of us bar Little Miss Mischief are talking on the phone, she's not happy with that, "Why don't I have a phone too?" she sooks. Ritch and Zip argue with her that she's only 7 and doesn't need one, she promptly returns a list of classmates that have mobiles. It seems every child in her class has one except her.
Milly begins to fog up, there's a little too much heat in the car.


Maurie, behind the wheel answers his phone (its' OK we are not moving at all) from a business partner, I answer a call from a friend, Sarah, who is in Port Douglass on a family sabbatical of road tripping around Australia. I am following Sarah's blog about up rooting her family from their luxury home and lifestyle in exchange to a life on the road with Vera, their camper van. All is not going too well for the newly aspired family of gypsies.

We finally arrive to a town that's come to life, people are everywhere. This is the part of city life that I miss, the hub, the hive of people living and entertaining, of being out there. A miracle happens; we find parking immediately and the 2 hour frustrated commute is just as quickly forgotten.

For a white linen napkin restaurant, unexpectedly Ritch blends in completely with the other patrons, Zips way over dressed, but serves to be delectable eye candy for most of the men in the restaurant. Mum, dad, step dad and step mum are so proud of our girl that I can feel a Stevie Wonder song coming on "Isn't she pretty, isn't she wonderful....."

The restaurant fronts the famous Norton Street, though open to the elements from the front we are protected from the rain by the large canopy. Across the road was once the SoHo gallery were I had an exhibition some years ago, it's now an all night book store. Many buses drive through the famous street, all the drivers are dressed in Santa suits, bellowing out reverie from their window, little Miss Mischief is excited about all the Santa's, racing out onto the sidewalk to greet them back. There are many groups of people from hen's parties, bucks parties and a few obvious birthday parties. The atmosphere is alive and electric.

The food is divine and the company even better. The one grandparent left, Nan Betty is there, not long flown in from England. For Betty, my ex mother in law, seated next to her new daughter inlaw, she is glowing from her new lifestyle of jet setting widowdom. Most of my ex husband's family are now scattered across Australia and the globe, Betty has many places to visit when the whim arises. For Zip & Ritch there are Aunts, Uncles and cousins, plus a step sister on the very long table, there are plenty of people to talk to. Little Miss Mischief dances around all of them, asking if they are her cousins too.
Technically she doesn't belong to my ex husband's family as she is mine & Maurie's daughter but she is warmly welcomed by them all.
I'm glad that both my ex husband and myself 'buried the hatchett' years ago, because if we hadn't, then this fun night of celebrating together would not have been possible.

To my beautiful, darling, gorgeous daughter, Zjarie my 'right hand man' for most of her life
Happy 21st Birthday Sweetpea!
May the road rise up to meet you.
May the sun always shine where ever you are.
May luck walk with you every step of your life.
May life present you an answer whenever you come to a fork in the road.
May providence smile when you smile.
May the Midas Touch always be at your fingertips.
May your beauty last longer than naturally fair.
May love warm your heart and cool your woes.
May your life be an uplifting roller coaster ride
May the sunset and each morning sun be as beautiful as you are in your long life
May love and happiness live in your life as much as I love you.


In future years both my ex husband along with our new spouses and myself will need to get together for occasions our children will put us through, such as wedding's, birth of grandchildren (fingers crossed) birthdays etc. For many people that have divorced parents, events like these are an emotional nightmare, often resorting to double celebrations or even secrecy.
A friend of Zip just recently engaged is going through this type of nightmare. The whole joy of their happiness is being marred by warring parents. After a couple of weeks of heated phone calls, the bride to be on the verge of a total emotional breakdown, the groom to be called all the parents (both sides are divorced) and laid down the law
"We want the people that we love and matter the most in our lives to celebrate this wonderful time. Stop being so incredibly selfish, self centered and cruel. Come to our engagement party as proud loving parents, but your issues are definitely not invited, not wanted, they are the partners you can keep at home".
Well the phone went quiet he said,  the official engagement party is next month, lets hope his young, wise words of wisdom work.