Tag: Family

Each year I love to promise myself I’ll get better at blogging regularly, then fail, then try to redeem myself with the very bare minimum of a year-in-review post. It’s really only so one day, my offspring have some piece of me left to ignore.

*Note: recap focuses primarily on, as Miss Piggy would say, “Moi!” (And French people I suppose if you’re nitpicking.) There’s a bit of family stuff but not too much, not ‘cos it didn’t happen (which it definitely did, and by Bowie, my nerves are frayed), but because my kids tend to value “privacy.” Quotation marks intended. I really can’t connect with youth.

Share on FacebookTweet about this on TwitterPin on PinterestShare on Google+Email this to someone

Being there at the end of somebody’s life feels like standing in a very disorganised airport departure lounge. You’re there together, waving each other off, drying your tears – after all, this trip is to a far-off place with no return ticket baby – and just when you’re feeling relatively at peace about it, then the announcement comes through that the flight has been delayed. “For how long?” you enquire. “We don’t know.” “Well who does know?” “Nobody.” “Will it ever leave?” “Oh yes. Eventually. IT HAS TO.” Except of course, that it’s not really a departure lounge. You’re not…

Share on FacebookTweet about this on TwitterPin on PinterestShare on Google+Email this to someone

I have tried to start this post without typing the phrase “Holy Shitballs Batman”, but am admitting defeat: when it comes to summing up this past week and a bit of this new life, it really is impossible to describe it any other way. So excuse me: HOLY SHITBALLS BATMAN. Ahh. Where to begin? All I can really say is that bringing our 90 year old Mum home to care for is remarkably like bringing home a newborn from the hospital. There is the delight, of course, of embracing a new member that will redefine your family, but also the…

Share on FacebookTweet about this on TwitterPin on PinterestShare on Google+Email this to someone

   Yes please. Call that motherf***ing ambulance and tell them it’s an (admittedly first world) emergency, where dreams and aspirations have engaged in a head-on collision with life, there’s hopes and passions scattered all over the highway of my soul and the biggest casualty is my ego. Whatevs. That shit still stings. So the “here’s the shortest version of this shitfight that I can muster up the energy to recount” version of events is as follows. 2014 was supposed to be the year where my humble little fambily of five moved to Melbourne, to the wondrous Dandenongs (it’s a place…

Share on FacebookTweet about this on TwitterPin on PinterestShare on Google+Email this to someone

So my Mum… This Mum of which I speak is my grandma, who’s raised me since I was 5…man I feel like the author of The Babysitters Club repeatedly explaining my backstory on here as I tend to do…admittedly if her series was being read by a tender but delicious few! Anyway…I digress. Probably cos I don’t really want to write it: but here it is. Mum’s cancer is back. It’s non-Hodgkins lymphoma again. Given the alternatives that were being investigated it is actually a positive outcome. Still, it has rocked me. The past few weeks have been a bit…

Share on FacebookTweet about this on TwitterPin on PinterestShare on Google+Email this to someone