Eleven

Let's get one thing straight right at the very beginning of this post. Actually, let's get two things straight. One, I write the birthday blog post for them, not for you. You just get to come along for the ride. And two, one thing never changes from year to year and that's this:

MY KIDS ARE AWESOME.

I'm one hell of a lucky person to have them as part of my life, so I have no shame in telling you all about their awesome-ness. Enjoy. 

I just adore this photo. All my favourite people, being silly.

Claire, Alexis, Julian (at Taronga Zoo)

Claire, Alexis, Julian (out to lunch in Melbourne)

Claire, Alexis, Julian (at Jenolan Caves.) I included this as proof that they don't always smile and look sweet on command. Sometimes they revolt against the papparazzi.

All of a sudden I find that once again it is May, the time of year when I sit back and think, "Holy Mazoly, you guys are a year older, I think I blinked and missed it AGAIN!" The older you three get, the faster time seems to move - which is in keeping with the pace of your lives but certainly not the speed at which I would like your childhood to go! This year has gone by so quickly that I'm finding it quite difficult to even remember half of the adventures we had, but rest assured they were many and varied. You all learned to ride bikes, you all learned to ski, we endured (and loved doing) the mother of all road trips, and in general our family had one hell of a kick-ass sort of year. Your Dad and I have been raising you exactly in the manner we always said we would - with love, with care, with good intention, with patience and with a sense of humour. You all seem to have survived - no, you've THRIVED - under those conditions, so I think we'll just keep on keeping on, even though some days are more interesting or challenging than others.

Alexis - my first born sunny, funny, beautiful Lola girl - you are gorgeous on the inside AND on the outside. You're the only person I know who can take all the right things in life seriously - from the sorting, cleaning, and care of seashells you so carefully picked on the beach to the math homework you used to hate but you've discovered you can excel at when you decide to put your mind to it.  My most favourite thing about you is how very much 'in the moment' you are all the time - you notice things other people don't. You have insight into people or situations that other people don't. You are so very aware of people and places that you often force the rest of us to sit up and take notice rather than just keep moving. That just one person can make a whole lot of others actually stop and pay attention to the world around them is an incredible talent which you are hugely lucky to posess.

You've really surprised me this year, Alexis. My shy, awkward little girl is suddenly trying out for the school musical (with no prodding from me), asking if she can go on endless Girl Guide excursions and camps, volunteering to sing in front of people, telling stories of her day punctuated with giggles and "Wait, wait, I've got to tell you the FUNNIEST bit!" It's as though this year you finally learned you have a voice and how to use it. My all-legs-and-arms coltish little girl has turned into quite the amazing pre-teen, emerging from her shell and announcing to the world, "HERE I AM!" The child who hid behind her teacher's skirt and had to be dragged up on stage has learned that being noticed can be a source of joy. You've finally decided to speak up when the other two try to railroad their talking over yours (which is often), you stand up for what you believe in, and you make it very clear that you are a girl who will not be messed with. There are still times when you would rather NOT do things - and you're terribly clever at avoiding them and kicking up a fabulous fuss about it  -but on the whole you have grown this year into the kind of girl we all would like our daughters to grow up to be. Confident, kind, smart and able to do a handstand (and may I say, you're damn good at all of those. Especially the handstands. Yes, I'm jealous.)

I'm pretty sure I gave them a brother so they had someone to lean on in times of exhaustion.

Julian, Alexis and Claire..enduring yet another of my "Seriously, just smile! Once? Please?" moments.

Autumn haircuts. They did not get the awesome hair gene from me, sadly...

This is actually a fabulous collage of photos of you, my boy - because it shows almost all of the things which you love to do! Cook (or more accurately, obsess over food to the point of distraction), play music and sing off key (I forgive you. Dad and I are crappy singers, too,) Scouting (especially the dirty-camping running-around-being-foolish-boys part of it) and just being YOU. The only photo missing from this collection is one of you with a book in your hand - and that, my son, you definitely got from both Dad and I. You have had an absolutely amazing year, Julz.  You've really come into your own in terms of your hobbies and interests. Someday you'll appreciate why even though it's not all that fascinating to sit through yet another basketball practice in a freezing gymnasium, I'll do so just because you asked me to. You really CARE about things, and you want me to care, too. So I do. A lot. Because I think you're worth it and I'm really proud of you for having the nerve to say, "Mum, this is important to me." You're still an overly emotional sap - but that's okay. You openly cry at movies with me, and feel real sadness when you get to the end of a really great book - and I think the intensity with which you feel things is a positive trait. To be able to love and be loved as much as you are is a gift - no matter how embarrassing it is when I give you big ol' squishy hugs in front of the rest of your basketball team.

You and I have spent an enormous amount of time together this past year, mostly thanks to our "shufflin'" - twice a week you and I (and the dog) spend half an hour or more walking together in the cold morning light. You're usually in shorts and t-shirt, happily walking along while I've got fifteen layers and a beanie on and I'm just trying to stay warm and not complain. Some days we talk. Others we stay silent. It doesn't really matter - it's the being together part which matters to both of us. I've discovered on those walks that my boy is quite funny, in that wonderfully Australian dry humour sort of way. I've also discovered that you have a lot to say - you just choose your moments well - and you're a great storyteller. There have been a few frustrations this year too - you wouldn't be Julian if there were none - but we are all learning that the Julian we know and love is a complex person. How boring life would be if you did not challenge us once in a while! You, my "sunny son son" - are going to be interesting to watch as you grow older. You are such a hugely intense person, about everything - that it's going to be a challenge to teach you to just relax once in a while. I'm not too worried though, there are countless mornings and countless kilometres to walk side by side with my son during which I can teach you the meaning of life (Although I suspect there may be a few lessons which I'm taught by you as we meander along.)

Miss Claire all bundled up..

The only girl in the world who knew ponchos were cool (before they became cool again.)

One of many of self-portrait photos I found on my phone and camera. I especially love the eyebrow action.

Oh Claire. Claire, Claire, Claire Claire....and if I said that out loud, you would right away reply with, "Oh, Mummy. Mum, Mum, Mum, Mum, LOSER." And then you would probably laugh hysterically and give me the biggest hug in the world. Other people just don't understand our whole "you're a loser" joke - which makes it particularly funny when I drop you at ballet and shout out the window, "See ya later, loser!" and you yell back, "Yeah, whatever loser! Love you, loser!" and then all I can see is your little purple-leotarded butt wandering off to class and a trail of open-mouthed mothers who heard that exchange. You're such an interesting person, Claire. A girl of contradictions, in so many different little ways. You've got an awesome command of language - you're a brilliant writer, often have fantastic verbal commentary, and you adore reading...but you only ever want to mow your way through novels well below your skill level or read trashy magazines. You love being social...but will almost always choose to stay at home rather than go out. You're a born and bred Australian ... but you have a distinct American accent (Wasn't me! I didn't do it!) (I blame the Disney Channel.) As a baby and child, you refused to give anyone a hug...and now I've got a sore neck from the amount of hugs you demand all day long. You can sometimes be quite shy ...but you love to take endless self portraits, and you spend a heck of a lot of time on "The Claire Show" in whatever mirror is handy (especially the mirrors on the car visors.)

You, my loser daughter, are a great kid. You did come out of the womb as an 18 year old - but then that's what I love about you. You've always given me a bit of a run for my money - you're smart, you're sassy, you're always right (even when you're wrong.) I adore that about you.  Like your siblings, you have some quirks which make you distinctly you...let's not talk about the hurricane which leaves a trail so we all know exactly when you've been somewhere. We also won't talk about the whole being-on-time obsession (but just quietly, I think you love that it makes us all crazy.) Your year has been just one of quiet achievement. You've continued to enjoy school, and enjoy dance, and you've just been a good kiddo this year - Kiki, I hope most of your years are like that. Just keep on being the fabulous person you are...but once in a while, clear the hairs out of the bathroom sink, okay? (It's making your mother crazy.)

Dressed up for Purim. Oh wait, this is what they normally look like. :) 

Life for our family as we know is just one long series of adventures - which is pretty much how we all like it. Some of those are adventures of the 'let's go climb 1000 steps into a dark cave" sort, and some of those are adventures of just navigating the trials and tribulations of life with 3 kids, a dog, and (soon) two guinea pigs. Not a day (or sometimes, an hour) goes by that I am not grateful for the laughs you give me, the tears you make me cry (for whatever reasons), and the immense joy you bring to my life. My life - OUR lives - would just be so quiet and empty without all the noise the three of you make. Thank you all - for the messes you make, the songs you sing, the endless chatter, the laughter, the chaos, the fun and the madness which is our family life. The three of you are the most fun I've ever had - which is exactly as it's meant to be - and that's what makes you the most awesome kids that ever were.

Happy Birthday, kiddos. 

Influence

This week I had the opportunity to chat to some Year 10 kids about what it's like to have a career in hospitality. I was a bit nervous about it, but not for the reasons you might think (although it's safe to say that 15/16 year old kids are a wee bit scary.) I was giving these talks at a private school - a private school known for educating the children of some of Australia's wealthiest and most successful families. Families where the expectation might be that you are going into Dad's business, or going to become a doctor, lawyer, or some equally well-paying profession. So there I am, showing up in my chef coat (because of course I needed to look the part, didn't I?) and I'm thinking that I'm probably the only trades person there, and that if I'm lucky I'll have 2 kids at each session.

When I walked in I was told that there were people there representing every profession from plumbers to QCs - and I suddenly felt a little bit better about it all. It was also really nice to have a reasonable group of kids show up to my chats, so at least I wasn't sitting there all alone and whistling tunelessly.  I even found myself quite enjoying the experience. Sure, I cursed (shit. oops!) and sure, I rambled a bit, but basically I like to think I imbued these kids with a sense of just how much I love my job and my industry.

One of the topics I was meant to cover was opportunities for travel - eg, did my job have any travel opportunities, and if so, what might those be. I gave a whole spiel about how cooking is one of very few professions which can be taken almost anywhere in the world, and that a formal qualification is not really necessary. Let's face it, in every country, in every economy, people NEED to eat. You don't necessarily NEED a web designer or a lawyer or a shop manager, but you do need to eat. Having a skill related to food means it's pretty easy to find a job - might not be exactly the job you want, but finding gainful employment when you have a transferable skill like food preparation is pretty easy to do. It's also a great job to do while you are doing other things, because food is a 24 hour a day business - so it's not all that hard to (for example) get a degree during the day and cook at night.

I give this whole spiel and one kid pipes up and says, "But surely that's not really true. You can't cook ANYWHERE in the world. There are some countries where you could never get a job."

"Sure, that's possible - did you have a specific country in mind?"

"Yeah, India. They don't eat sweets in India."

I wanted to say something witty here, I really did. Instead I gave him the real answer, which is that Indian culture is actually VERY well known for it's sweets (in the extreme, actually. Five seconds in any Indian bakery will tell you that.) I also pointed out that even if they did not eat sweets, there are plenty of hotels in India which cater to people who DO eat sweets - so, trust me, gainful employment in hospitality in India IS actually possible.

He had the good grace to look at least a little sheepish and I'm hoping that I educated this kid just the tiniest bit - and if not, well, I hear being a lawyer is a pretty good profession. :)

Party

This past Thursday night I held a big, fat, sweet and sparkly party to celebrate the first anniversary of moving the business to a stand alone shop.

It was a huge night for me. HUGE. Not just for me but for the business as a whole. I looked pretty fucking fantastic. The room was filled with people who love me, who love the work my business produces, or who don't love me or the business yet but will as a result of that party. It was just one enormously great night - the food was great, the atmosphere buzzing, the love and excitement was just overwhelming.

The business - and the event - were total triumphs.

Sitting here typing this a few days after the fact, I'm actually not feeling hugely sweet and sparkly about it, and I probably should be. I actually feel quite bittersweet about it. I feel much as I did when the triplets turned a year old. There was of course the overwhelming feeling of relief that we'd made it that far - the day they were born I very clearly remember looking at these 3 kicking, pink squirmy things and thinking, "WHAT THE HELL DID I GET MYSELF INTO?"  I felt an enormous amount of pride that my three scrawny babies had turned into chubby-cheeked pre-toddlers. There was the incredible sense of achievement that the children, DH and I had all made it to the one year mark with our sanity still mostly intact, and all of us were happy and healthy. Not, of course, that there was every any doubt about that, but... you know. When the kids turned one I felt as though I could finally, finally just EXHALE the tiniest little bit.

The birthday of the shop brought up all of the same emotions - relief that the rent is still getting paid, pride that the business is growing as it needed to in order to justify the new location, achievement that it's been such an awesome year.

Even with all of that happiness - there is a small part of me which was sad then, and is sad now. It's a little overwhelming - and a little sad, too, that the 'firsts' (for this business anyway) are gone now. Just memories of exciting times and shiny new things. It's been such an incredible year, and in some ways so emotionally and physically exhausting - but tomorrow I'll wake up and need to do it again. And again the day after that and the day after that and the day after that. Small business ownership, like parenthood, does not just stop one day. Nobody throws you a big lunch and gives you a gold watch in recognition of your service. It's just you, toughing it out, every single day.

It's hard, lonely, exhausting work. And I love it, I really do - otherwise I wouldn't be doing it in the first place. I'm hoping the business follows the same pattern as the children have, which is that they've grown beautifully with each passing year, have become a hell of a lot more fun (but a hell of a lot more challenging) as time has marched onwards, and the rewards for my hard work are many and frequent. I'm pretty certain that if I managed that with my human babies, it shouldn't be too hard to manage it with my shop baby.

...and if Biz Guy (and my brain) have anything to do with it, I suspect the bigger first I'm celebrating is really the first of many successful, amazing adventures in business. My human babies are busy getting on with the business of growing up, as is the business baby.. It's probably high time *I* got on with the business of growing up as well.

Emzeegee Does Not Share Well With Others

I'm going to tell you a secret about motherhood which nobody else is going to tell you. To be fair it might be a secret about parenthood which is not specific to mothers, but since I only know that *I* feel this way, I can only speak for the mothers (which of course means that secretly all mothers in the world feel this way too.)

Disclaimer: all of it is a first world problem, all of it can be solved with better parenting, and I'm really just having a big fat whinge. But, hey, it's my blog and I'll whinge if I want to.

With that being said, here is the thing about parenting which nobody tells you: sometimes it really sucks to have to share stuff with your kids.

As mothers were are supposed to be selfless. We're supposed to want to give the children the shirts off our backs and the food from our plates. Actually, we're genetically programmed to do so - to protect them, shelter them, feed them, nurture them. It's fair to say that I do all of those things with great aplomb, but what I fail at is actually enjoying sharing everything with them. I just don't enjoy giving them everything which is mine, and I don't feel guilty about it. Sometimes I just want my own stuff to be MY OWN stuff.

So, it irritates me when I'm enjoying a (well earned, carefully considered, I-went-to-the-gym-to-justify-this) piece of chocolate or bowl of ice cream and one of my kids asks me for a bite and I feel obligated to say yes. Saying no would qualify me for the Worst Mother In The World Award, and I'd feel so damn guilty saying no that the ice cream would then taste like pencil shavings in my mouth. Worse still is when I put said treat down for a moment, and in that moment some kid decides to appropriate some or all of said treat for themselves. If they DON'T ask first I at least have cause to get shitty with them, and if they DO ask, see above comment about pencil shavings.

I can't stand the fact that if I'm not actually using my phone for some reasonable purpose (because contrary to popular belief it's not actually welded to me), my kids have pounced on it to play some idiotic bird-flinging game - so that when I actually DO need to use said phone, it's battery is flat and it's under a pile of clean but unfolded laundry, thus rendering it useless to me and the essential facebooking I need to do.

I hate that when the need strikes to have a Slurpee (which is fairly often for me) and the kids are in the car, I find it very difficult to buy one for me and yet nothing for them. Because if I DO decide it's only me who is getting a treat, I then have three plaintive cries for "just one sip, please?" and I end up with no Slurpee for me. Or only those bits at the bottom which require you to smack the bottom of the cup to get them out and you hope this does not end up giving you a Slurpee face washing. So a trip to 7-11 which should cost me less than $4 costs me like $15. Which is an expense I can't justify at the moment, so most of the time I do without or I just drink my Slurpees in secret like an alcoholic. I'm literally drinking Slurpees on the sly. How ridiculous my life has become. *dramatic sigh*

For my birthday last year my friends gave me a subscription to 'Who Weekly' magazine (in the US, it's 'People' magazine). It arrives in the mail on Friday, and was meant to be a way of forcing myself into some quiet, indulgent time every weekend. I figured if I had access each week to a deliciously trashy mag, I'd find the time to slow my life down just that tiny bit and enjoy that small indulgence. Instead I get home from a crazy week and my magazine has been read by all three kids ("Mum! Did you know Kim is dating Kanye?") AND it takes several askings of various innocent-looking kids before I can locate the damn thing....and then the pages are messed up. Don't they know that half the joy of a good trashy magazine is being the first one to crack it open?

It irks me on Sunday afternoon if they complain that it's been a boring weekend and they did nothing all damn day. Fuck off. I practically give my right kidney for a Sunday when I don't have to do anything, because on Saturday I've gone to work most of the day while DH has ferried the kids (and the cakes) all over town. I hate sharing my quiet Sunday with people who want to be out and about doing stuff. Want to do something? Go vacuum something or go play with parked cars. Just bugger off and stop trying to share my space.

If I buy something not-so-great for me and bring it home (read: ice cream)...chances are either I've got to eat it in stealth mode with DH, after 11pm, and wash all the incriminating evidence right then and there OR I'll go to get some out of the tub only to find that the tide on the tub has gone out and I'm scraping in the corners and praying I'll find an errant chocolate chip because the crafty little buggers got to it first.

There are plenty of other things I hate having to share with my kids. The socks my son helps himself to from my drawers. The squishy soft winter scarves my kids 'borrow' from my closet and then I never find again. The perfectly over-washed pyjamas the kids feel the need to cuddle in between my wearing them so that I can't find them from one night to the next. The toilet rolls which run out every ten seconds because apparently my toilet is the best one in the house. The hair balls in my shower which are left their courtesy of my DD who is trying to grow her hair down to her butt. The $10 in my wallet I was saving for a nice lunch with a friend which then goes to the "oh Mum I forgot I needed $10" emergency late on Sunday night. You get the idea. There are myriad little things which I'm supposed to share with my kids which I do not enjoy sharing AT ALL.

Life with children is filled with blessings, and adventure, and love, and blah-dee-blah ridiculous amounts of awesomeness. It is. Most of the time. It's just that sometimes I'd like to eat a bowl of ice cream without having to be hiding behind the couch. It gets kinda stuffy back there.

Suffer the Children

A big part of the intermittent nature of my blogging is that my Mom is unwell at the moment. Over the past several weeks, some friends of mine have also been dealing with parents who are unwell. Some have chronic illnesses, some only temporary discomforts, some have parents who contracted various diseases and are likely to not survive for much longer, some are dealing with parents who are not specifically ill but who have reached an age where they can no longer live by themselves. I've got a pretty wide age group of friends, so this means that for some of them, this is happening at the expected time - meaning they are in their 50's and their parents are in their 70's or 80's. For some (like myself) it seems to be happening all too early. I'm only in my 30's and my Mum is in her 60's - several decades too young for either of us to have to deal with this. My sister and I have had to make decisions about things I never thought I'd  need to...but then I suppose we had to bury a father many decades before we thought we might need to as well. Time waits for no man, or so the cliche goes.

The details around the responsibility for these situations are vastly different as well. In my case, the care of my Mom falls entirely to my sister because I am tens of thousands of miles away. In other cases, my friends are single children, or single children by default (as is the case for my sister) and so they bear the burden of the day-to-day tasks whether they like it or not. In some cases they might be one of many siblings, but the only one with either the time or the mental strength to take care of things, and in some cases there are plenty of siblings to share the load.

What strikes me as interesting in experiencing my own situation and observing that of others, is that having to swap roles from child to adult is extremely hard. It doesn't matter how strong or weak your relationship is with your parents, or how much you felt they either raised you right or raised you wrong. What matters is that awful realisation that they won't live forever, that they won't be the main decision makers in a time of crisis, they can't be the one you turn to for guidance about how to deal with all of this.  When you're dealing with an elderly or sick parent, it's suddenly YOU who needs to be the parent. You might need to do the little things; drive them to appointments, fill prescriptions, make phone calls, organise meals, pay bills. You might need to do the bigger things; choose a course of medical action, intervene on their behalf to get them access to care, make decisions on when to go to hospice and when to keep fighting. Of course we all know intellectually that Mom or Dad isn't going to live forever. After all, living and dying are part of the normal course of events. We know too that there is no 'timeline' for these things - some will die young, some will die old, some will defy odds and some will become statistics. Regardless of the details, the simple truth is always there: we don't expect to have to be (and frankly, don't really want to be) the ones taking care of our parents.

There is no nice way to say this, so I won't even try to sugar coat it: having to swap roles from child to parent FOR one's parents is by far the hardest part of the life cycle. Maybe in some ways even harder than dealing with their death. Depending on the timing, some people are trapped in the middle, needing to parent both their children AND their parents and in some cases meeting the same needs (feeding, dressing) for both ends of the life spectrum.

I could write an entirely different blog post about the responsibilities children have to their parents. For example, one of the blogs I read (very sporadically, she does not blog much) is about a former successful professional pastry chef who abandoned her career to look after her ailing mother. Her mother shows no signs of passing on but requires full time care, so her mother has become the centre of this woman's universe. Not only does she no longer work, she also is forced to live away from her own partner and children in order to take care of her Mom. I'm not going to pass judgement, I'm not going to say if I think she is doing the right thing or not - I'm just going to say that it's such a sad state of affairs, that the life of this woman is put on hold. I guess there are some who would say that earlier on, the mother's life was put on hold as she raised her children and ran a household.  How many women do I know that stopped working and chose not to pursue their dreams because they felt raising their children was far more important? Plenty. Is it then those children's responsibility to do the same when their parent needs them to? Honestly, I'm not entirely sure.

In regards to my own situation, someone who I respect very much said to me, "At the end of the day, your Mom is a grown-up. She is not your responsibility."  The words were very hard to hear. I'm not sure I agree with it, mostly because they imply (to me) a fairly selfish standpoint, and I believe that family members are ALWAYS our responsibility, grown up or not - but I'd be lying if I said that it did not give me pause a number of times.  At what point in time - if ever - does our responsibility to our parents end? Are we supposed to sacrifice our own lives for their care? Are we somehow selfish if we choose not to?

Becoming the parents to our parents, at any stage of our own lives, is a hugely painful experience.

The irony of all of this is that, as children, we can't wait to grow up. As adults, we wish we didn't have to.

Best. Flight. Ever.

I recently found myself on a trip from New Zealand to Melbourne with no reading material. I know, hardly the stuff of  nightmares for anyone, right? Actually, for me to be on a flight with no reading material IS a nightmare. I find those stupid little TV screens on the backs of the chairs quite headache-inducing, and most of the time I have little or no patience to watch movies anyway. So either I start watching something and get a headache so I give up, or I start watching and the next time I look at the screen, the boy who met the girl has already divorced the girl and somehow I missed the middle bit.  As someone who flies at least once a year, I rely entirely on books to keep me occupied for those seemingly interminable hours spent above the Pacific Ocean. (Yes, yes, I know I should buy a Kindle...we're not going to get into that debate today, all right?)

I'm also someone who reads at a reasonable clip (and by "reasonable clip" I mean I can finish about 3-4 fairly chunky novels a week, reading only for the half hour or hour before bed and a bit on the weekend.) I had taken a book with me, but I'd finished it in the airspace somewhere between Los Angeles and Auckland, so I found myself facing a 5 hour flight home bereft of entertainment. I popped into a book shop in Auckland to see if I could find something suitable. There was the usual assortment of chick-lit, thrillers, myriad self-help books and 'how to make a million dollars without really trying' type books. None of it really appealed to me, probably because I was in a decidedly contrary mood at the time. A sales assistant saw me wandering and asked what I was looking for. "Honestly, I have no idea," I replied, "Other than it needs to be compelling enough to last 5 hours, a quick and easy read, and not depressing. I can't handle depressing." She smiled and said, "I've got a great book which meets all that criteria," and walked away. She came back a minute later and said, "Have you ever heard of '50 Shades of Grey'?" "No," I said. "Well, take this book. Just trust me. It'll *definitely* keep you busy," and she pushed it into my hands. I didn't bother to read the blurb on the back, I just said, "Have YOU read it?" "Oh YES!" she enthusiastically replied. "And so I'm assuming you're recommending it because you enjoyed it?" "OH YES!" she said, rather forcefully. "Just trust  me," she said. Well, nothing ventured, I paid my NZ $18 for this book and headed off. Shoved into the bottom of my bag, I didn't really think about it much after that.

Eventually I got onto the plane and discovered that the two people sharing my row of three were Mr Huge and Mr Enormous. I was in the window seat and both of them were already sitting down. You know that feeling of dread you get as you watch the people walk by, hoping like hell none of them are coming to sit next to you? That was the feeling these two men had (not hard to see it, it was written all over their faces) as I approached. Sadly, I had to make them get up so I could get into my seat - it was quite an effort. The two of them proceeded to remain standing until the very last second that they were allowed to. This isn't because I'm so big (I'm not) but because the effort to get into and out of the seats in the first place was quite an experience and I suspect neither wanted to sit in those seats a moment longer than they had to. I'm not being judgmental here. I TOTALLY understand that feeling all too well. So I sympathized and squished myself into a small a space as I could. I just about had my face smooshed up against the window in order to give them as much space as I could. I've been in their shoes. It's beyond awful. (Someday I will share the story of the flight to Paris with DH. Suffice to say my hips still hurt when I think about it.)

So there I am, squished into the gap between the arm rest and the side of the plane, and it's kinda hot and stuffy in there and I've got 5 very long, very dull hours in which to keep my mind occupied. I pull out my book (thanking god I had the where with all to buy it in the first place) and I read the blurb. "Bugger," I think, "Another chick lit book. Urgh."

At this point I'm hot and sweaty and bored - with nothing to lose, I crack open the book and start to read it.

The first several pages are pretty boring, standard chick-lit stuff, and pretty poorly written - but then I've been known to read the back of cereal boxes, so...I'm not picky. I kept reading.

Oh.

My.

OOOOOHHHHH.

MMMMYYYYYYYY.

Well. Yes.

I can see why the book shop lady was so enthusiastic about her recommendation.

I finished the book while standing at the baggage carousel waiting for my luggage, having not removed my eyes from the pages from way back when I was smushed into the seat back in Auckland. I nearly ran into several people as I walked off the plane, through security and so on. I literally did not put it down.

I can say with some certainty that it was an engaging, easy read which was certainly not depressing. I can also say with some certainty that I very much regretted being stuck in that window seat (a means of escape and some privacy would have been...quite useful), and that in the ensuing weeks DH has been quite pleased with my choice of leisure reading as well.

(I'll let you go Google the book title and see what you come up with.)

Best (and yet somehow most frustrating) flight ever.

Almost Elevenses* and I Need A Drink

It's T-minus two weeks until I write my favorite blog post of all, the kids' birthday post.  That post takes me quite a while to write, in so far as I spent a fair amount of thinking time considering what I'd like to say and how I'd like to say it. In my mind I replay the events of the past year, and I carefully consider which elements of our lives and our kids I'd like to air publicly. I'll also come up with a couple of key phrases or concepts I'd like to include. Then I sit down to write that post, and I forget entirely all the really clever phrases I'd come up with, I can't find the digital photos I really wanted to use, and I just blurt out whatever is in my head. I also use whatever photos I can find stored on whatever computer I happen to be using at the time. What you end up with is an unedited version of triplet parenting as I see it.  What I end up with is usually a whole lot of tears, because I'm one of those ridiculously sappy people (although to meet me in real life, you wouldn't actually believe that.) I literally spend the entire writing of that blog post trying in vain to see what the screen says, because my sight is all blurry from the crying and carrying on. I'm just so damn proud of them, and so grateful they are in my life, that the background violins begin to play and I'm off on another crying jag before I've even finished a sentence.

I then of course engage in self torture, because it's one of the few posts which I will edit, so I re-read and then I cry again. Then I hit the 'publish' button and I read and re-read it over the next few days or weeks and so I cry some more. It's actually a little bit ridiculous. I've got a habit of linking to the other birthday posts at the start of each one, which of course makes me need to go and read those as well..and I don't need to tell you the outcome there.

In short the entire birthday post thing is an excuse for me to sit and cry like a complete crazy lady. Happy tears, but tears nonetheless. I do it because the sole purpose of this blog was to chronicle my life and their lives, and to miss out on the major milestones would somehow be a little...mean...of me, wouldn't it?

So it's that time of year again, and already I am gathering pictures and words in preparation for the Great Birthday Blog Post of 2012.(Although I'm not sure why I bother to prepare when I chuck it all out of the window anyway...) Stay Tuned (and send tissues.)

*Elevenses - in other words, they are nearly eleven. I wrote the first birthday post when they were five, so after  6 times doing this, you'd think I'd be used to it, wouldn't you?

To Have or To Hold

Among the many ways DH and I are different is in our attitude to food - in specific, fancy, expensive, glorious, tempting foodstuffs. I've got to HAVE it, he's got to HOLD it. Let's say he and I walk into a fancy chocolate emporium and each buy a bar of our favourite chocolate. Me, I'm eating a bit on the way home, I'm putting what's left of it in the cupboard, and within seconds the damn thing is singing it's siren song and I've got to eat it. If it's very lucky, it might enjoy one more day of relative comfort in my pantry but that's about it. DH on the other hand, will bring home said bar (untouched), stick it into the back of the pantry, and never bother to touch it again. It doesn't matter that it cost more than the GNP of a small Indonesian island. Nor does it matter that it's his favourite of all kinds of chocolate and he would have leased (never sell, no ongoing revenue that way) his first born in order to get his hands on some. He just won't touch it. It just...hangs out there, taunting me. (Why is it that chocolate only seems to speak MY language and not his?)

This whole "hold it" thing DH has means I find shrivelled bits of (expensive, French) cheese in the fridge, bottles of wine well past their cellaring date, and rather wrinkly bits of (expensive but local) smallgoods in the drawer. For him the importance is in the holding, for me the importance is in the having.  I actually find this whole concept really interesting - because DH grew up in a family where the fridge was, while not bare, certainly more utilitarian in nature. I grew up in a house where, if you wanted to find something, it necessitated emptying half the fridge to find it, and along the way you'd find a bunch of interesting things to eat (and probably some stuff which should have been thrown out ages ago.) Now, we're the opposite of our upbringings.

DH derives some sort of comfort from just having the  stuff around, and I derive some sort of comfort from actually consuming the  stuff. I just can't see the point in spending my hard-earned dosh on something delectable and then NOT enjoying it. I also don't understand the idea of filling a fridge with a bunch of stuff you won't use, or will let go bad. It breaks my heart to think about throwing out heaps of floppy celery or squishy tomatoes or cheese with crusty edges - when, with a bit of effort, I could have made any one of those into something, while not necessarily glorious, certainly edible. In addition to all of that, I'm an emotional eater, which means that when I get in a certain type of mood, NOTHING in my house is safe. Nothing. Not even the dark chocolate (blech) which I don't like but DH loves. Not even the years-old jelly beans. Not even the cereal with the healthy bits in it. I can't keep a bunch of treats in the house because I will inhale them faster than you can say, "I think I'm getting my period."


The end result is that our fridge, because of our meal planning (and because I'm chief cook around here), is pretty barren-looking.  Of course, to me it's not barren at all, because I know that in that "nothing" it has the makings of several dinners, and enough shelf space to fit in five packed lunches every day- but the average person might look at it (especially at the end of the week) and wonder if we were not on some sort of strange condiment-and-lettuce diet.

So is my - thing - about keeping a utilitarian fridge about my hatred of waste, my innate ability to create something out of nothing, am I totally lacking in self control or am I just a cheap bastard who won't spend money on "unneccesary" stuff?

Probably all of the above.

In the meantime....I avoid chocolate shopping with DH.

Universe, Shmuniverse

A year ago I posted how I feel about All That Universe Bullshit. If you missed it, click on it and go read it. It's short and will take you about 1 minute to read.

I'll wait here while you go and do that.
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Okay. Thanks. You needed to read that because you need to know the background of my discomfort. Tomorrow I'm going to spend an entire day in a seminar with a guy whose entire life centres around telling everyone all about "All That Universe Bullshit." He practically invented it, or something. Seriously. I have to be honest here, it makes me uncomfortable as anything because it just seems so far removed from my usual grounded, tangible, hard-work-is-what-makes-stuff-happen ethos. At the same time, I voluntarily paid to go, AND I'm giving up an entire day of work (at the end of the week no less...and the end of the week is sacred to cake makers) to go and listen to what he has to say.

I suppose I did it because I'm curious, I love to learn new things, and this arena is really something I only have played with around the edges - so I figure I'll go along and soak up the knowledge and enjoy the experience. That, and the small fact that in the past year, the Universe has provided me with an embarassment of riches, a plethora of blessings, and I've got shitloads to be really, really grateful for.

But, you know. Universe, shmuniverse.

Tomorrow night's blog should be interesting.

Broken

This week, the three most vital things in my life decided to break down all at once. My husband, my smartphone and my back (not listed in order of importance.) (Or maybe they are...).

First to go down was DH, who put his back out and now has some sort of evil sinus-y head cold-y thingie. Unlike most men, he does not ever suffer from Man Flu, he suffers from the "my right arm just fell off but let's all pretend like nothing happened" syndrome. It takes an act of god to get this man to take care of his health issues, plus he has a pain threshold whereby probably even HE would not notice if the arm did in fact fall off.  Unforunately for me, *I* am the one who suffers when he is unwell - what can I say, when you get used to someone being able to function no matter what (even with only one arm intact), it makes you just a wee bit dependant. Plus it freaks you right the hell out when the guy who can survive a nuclear war says, "I think I might just need to lay down for a moment." 

As far as DH is concerned, the only people who "lay down for a moment" are dead people. So you can see my just...slight...bit of alarm here. Plus the LAST time he felt a little 'ping' in his back, it was a week and several thousand dollars in shoddy American medical bills before it was sorted out (but that's a story for another day.) Plus I'm absolutely shit at giving sympathy, and I didn't need to be reminded of that.

Second to go down was my smartphone. You would think I could cope without this thing, right? It's a PHONE after all. Um, no. My life is in that phone - or more accurately, my ability to manage my life is in that phone. I am a ridiculously over-the-top communicator, and this device being broken almost rendered me mute (oh now there's an  overstatement for dramatic effect!) The phone itself decided to throw a tantrum (and my work email and texting capabilities in specific were being petulant children) and this was making me CRAZY.  When you find yourself Googling the solution to your phone problems, and you find yourself trawling through endless forums about specific phones, desperately hoping you will find one which does NOT say "the only answer is a factory re-set"...you've got a problem. Actually I would have said it's the people who design and participate in said forums who have a problem, but I'm so damn grateful to them, I want to kiss their pathetic little have-no-life nerd asses.

Third to go down (because things break in threes, don't they?) was my back. I've blogged before about my hip dramas, but yesterday my back also decided to get in on the act. I haven't had any (real) back issues in a long while, and so this one was a particularly frustrating thing to deal with. I am no good at being no good - in fact for a moment there I almost (okay I did) suffer from Man Flu in every sense of the word. Oh, the whining and moaning! I unfortunately do not have the same pain threshold that DH does (quite the opposite) - I am in fact a big fat wuss.

It took less than 48 hours for all of these things to mostly solve themselves. DH is still crook but he's DH, so he'll cope, right? The phone got fixed thanks to not only the geek forums but my own geek-ability to understand what the hell those forums were talking about, and the back is on the mend thanks to a great physio and some even greater anti-inflammatories (and a very nice chocolate ice cream on a stick. And a Slurpee. Or three.)

Just a few days ago (before all these dramas began) I commented to Biz Guy that I thought I was calming down about a lot of things, that I was just getting less manic and insane about life in general. That I've had these three dramas happen, dealt with them all, and didn't either eat a whole packet of Oreos or fall into a heap is testament to that calmness.

What can I say, it only took me 36 years to fully embrace the basic truth of life: shit happens.

Hopelessly Devoted

Claire's comment on my camping post got me thinking about motherhood. (If you missed it, she commented that my camping experience indicates that I'm a devoted mother.)

My Mom went back to work shortly after each of us children were born - and she would tell you that it wasn't a matter of money, it was a matter of not wanting to be a stay at home Mom. I felt much the same way about it, actually...when the triplets were six months old, I got a call from my boss asking me to make a decision about coming back to work. I laughed and told her the decision was made long before those children were even conceived. I love and adore my children, but I know I'm just not suited to being a stay at home Mom.

I think the mothers (and fathers) who stay at home with their children full time are the most selfless, amazing people on earth - and cliched as it is, I don't know how they do it. It's a level of devotion I can't see myself attaining (because I'm not able, nor am I inclined to.) 

What, exactly, defines a devoted mother? What separates good mothers from bad ones? I tried to define this for myself and came up with nothing much - because I'm thinking that to be a truly BAD mother, you've got to be neglecting your kids' basic needs of food, shelter, and education. Suppose you provide all of those, but no love and affection. Are you then a bad mother because you are giving them all they need to survive but not giving them love (which I would argue is also necessary for survival)? Or are you a good ENOUGH mother because you're giving them what they need only on a very basic level?

..and what if you are a mother who simply does not have the means to provide the food, the shelter, the education, but you love your children? Are you then a bad mother because circumstance has kept you from being able to provide, because after all, one can't eat love for dinner?

I might be opening an enormous can of worms here, but I'd love to hear what you think about this (and go on, all you who read but never comment, this is a good a time as any to out yourselves from lurker-ville.)

The General Public

Phew, it got all serious in here for a second, didn't it? Just to reassure you all that I am still as cheerful, optimistic and grateful as ever (and to lighten the mood a bit around here), I'm going to share some of my "did they really just say that?" moments from work:

1) Email exchange:
Dear X, Thanks for your order, I received it and payment was processed, I'll get that out in today's post.
Dear M, Thanks for the prompt service, I appreciate it.
(one day later)
Dear M, I got my order, thanks!
(one day later again)
Dear M, I'm still waiting on my confirmation, your website said I would be emailed a confirmation of my order.

2) Phone exchange at 4pm:
Her: Hi, I am the PA for (insert name of person I've never heard of.) I need a (lots and lots of details) cake because I've *finally* convinced (person I've never heard of) not to bake the cake herself.
Me: Okay, great, we can do that. When did you need it for?
Her: Tomorrow morning at 10am.
Me: I'm really sorry but there is no way we can create (lots of details) cake for you by tomorrow morning. However I can create (lots of other options.) I can also recommend some other cake makers but you might struggle to find someone who can make something so detailed in that time frame.
Her:  Yeah, we figured that we would run into this problem. I guess if I don't find anyone this afternoon we'll just keep calling tomorrow morning until we DO find someone.

(Why she thinks her chances will be better on the DAY OF the event? God knows. Me, I'd be finding a new PA.)

3) Email exchange:

"Hi, attached is a picture of a cake I want. I got someone else to quote on it but I want your price as well. Can you please send me a quote?"
(Attached picture is of a 5 tier HUGE wedding cake.)
Me: How many people did you need to feed with this cake?
Her: How should I know? As many as the cake in the picture will feed.
Me: Hard to estimate size looking at a picture, but I think you would get about 200 servings out of that.
Her: Really? We're only having 15 people. No wonder the last quote was so expensive.

4) Email: Hi, I'm having a party this weekend and I'm wondering, can you send me some pictures of cakes I might like?

Answer in my head: I'm good, but not good enough to have ESP as to what you might like.

5) Phone conversation:
Her: What sort of cupcake flavours do you offer?
Me: We've got 9 (list them).
Her: Oh so nothing interesting then. No bubblegum flavour?

Answer in my head: WTF? Bubblegum flavour cupcakes?

6) Email: Can you give me a quote on the cake picture I've attached? I want it exactly like that, only where it's purple I want white, swap out the circles for squares, make the flowers into hearts, and I want 6 tiers, not 2. Oh, and I'd also like to change the cake topper, and the green leaves can just be taken off, and if you could make the cake rectangular that would be great. But I want it *exactly* like in the picture."

7) Email at noon: Hi. Can I pick up a birthday cake this afternoon?

In my head reply: No, because you've proven yourself incapable of picking up a PHONE to ask. This is a MAJOR pet peeve of mine, people who want something very short notice (as in, less than a few hours) but email a request through rather than call it through.

On the whole, people are generally nice and understanding and lovely...but lately we've had a bunch of people (like the above) who make you scratch your head and think, "Seriously?!" Never a dull moment...

Dude Looks Like A Lady

Since we're (still) on the topic of men and women - have you ever noticed how men tend to want to solve things, and women just want to talk endlessly about stuff? I think somewhere along the line a stray Y chromosome made it into my body, because I want to talk endlessly about stuff but only if it comes to a solution.

I am terribly at endless talking and not reaching a resolution. This of course makes me either a great friend to have, or an extremely annoying friend to have, because I can be really helpful, but neither do I want to listen to your shit ad infinitum. I see a problem - my own or someone else's - and I have an immediate need to fix it, or at the least make some sort of decision about it.I just can't talk about it in circles (but to be clear, I can in fact talk the paint off the walls, just not when there is a specific problem which is crying out for a solution.)

At the moment, this 'fix it' part of my personality is causing me no end of grief - because along with it comes the unfortunate behaviour of choosing to ignore those things (or people) that I cannot fix. There are a few specific situations in my life which I can do nothing about - not because I haven't tried, but because the situations are either out of my control, or the people involved in them need to do their own fixing. I've been asked my opinion on how to solve these issues and gladly given them...but now I no longer can bear to hear about them. I just can't keep listening to the broken record of complaints, whining, sadness, anger, hurt and frustration - and so I basically just turn off my involvement in those situations. I walk away. I engage in a form of self protection and I distance myself entirely from the people and the situations. I'm choosing to do so because I just can't let that negativity into my space...much as I think letting it in is probably the right thing to do.

Just writing this down is actually making me feel horrible - because I like to believe I'm the sort of person who sticks with you when the chips are down. I feel as though letting that negative energy into my life would just...cripple me. I have a tendency to take on other people's issues and in these situations, I know that doing so would be the quickest way to the bottom of a bag or ten of cookies and I do NOT want to go there. So, I'm choosing to be selfish and walk away.  I hate that I'm doing it, but to do differently would just be...unfathomable to me right now.

(By the way, I hate to be all vague and whatnot (because how irritating is that?!) but it's unfair to the people who are involved to air dirty laundry which does not belong to me.)

Intellectually I know that the best thing one can do for a person in need is just to listen - really listen - and let them vent whatever they need to vent. Hell, there are many times when that's all I really want to do myself. "I don't want you to solve it, I just want you to hear it," is a sentence I've said to DH countless times and yet I'm finding it pretty close to impossible to be the listener I want and they need me to be.


Right now, I just can't 'be there' for the people who need me to be there, and the disappointment I feel in myself is painful as hell. I'm actually not sure which is worse - the pain of the situation itself, or the pain of knowing I'm behaving like a complete selfish jerk.

I want to solve things. I can't. It sucks.

Too Little or Too Late? Maybe Neither?

In that last post I talked about how I used to (and still would) take on any number of jobs if we needed the money, and how I think that behaviour is very much about the female instinct to protect. Here's where I start to question if that's a good thing or not, and in fact if that instinct is on some level keeping me back from success.

I recently heard about a cake business not dissimilar to mine which is taking off at a million miles an hour - opening locations all over Australia, investing a shed load of money into marketing, and basically going at it in a very no-holds-barred sort of way. I'll admit that when I initially heard about this (and continue to, they're making massive waves), my immediate reaction was to be jealous of them. Not so much jealous of their success, because I think that remains to be seen, but jealous of the enormous pair of balls they must be hiding in their chef pants. These are balls I do not have.

Let me stop myself for a second and say - I quite often meet people who think that I do in fact posses said balls. So it's probably a matter of perspective, but for the purposes of this post you need to understand that I do not think I have the (basketball sized) balls people seem to think I do. Anyway, to get back to my story, I'm really impressed by this company and how quickly they seem to be rising to the top. I then started to wonder why I didn't follow that same sort of timeline. For all those years, why did I only give 50% to the business? For all those years I kept on cooking part-time, which kept me from devoting 100% of my effort to getting the business off the ground. Even now, sometimes it feels as though it takes me forever to do things which other people achieve in a heartbeat. I find myself thinking I've missed the boat on a couple of industry trends that I really should have been on top of. Why is that?

I think it's because my need to survive is far stronger than my desire to succeed. Let me explain. When I started the business (and until just over a year ago), I was still working as a chef. The reasons for that were simple, we needed the money and I needed to look after my family. Going into the cake business as a full-time thing was way too far out of my comfort zone, because I could not guarantee that any money would come out of it, and I couldn't guarantee that we wouldn't LOSE money out of it - and my family needed money to survive. This was of course especially true given DH's work history. Going into business full time required me to let go of my ability to safe-guard us. So, I put a big fat chef-shaped bandaid over the problem of us needing money and I just worked like hell in two part-time endeavours because I felt I needed to - the 'full time' business would just have to wait. At the time it seemed SO black and white - no way could I go into a risky business venture (which in retrospect wasn't all that risky) when my family NEEDED me to bring in the income to do things like...buy groceries. 

While I am not one to live with regret (because that's a real waste of time, isn't it?) I do sometimes think that if I were not so determined to protect us all, if I'd just said "FUCK IT" and risked my family's security - I'd be so much further along the road than I am... wouldn't I?

Truth is, I don't really know. I don't think it's as easy as I make it seem.  In some respects I'd love to be the "play hard, win hard" sort of person, but in my heart of hearts I know that's just not who I am. I operate out of love, I protect the people I love - and to me those things are non-negotiable. I'm thinking that I'm not really alone in this respect. Like I said in my earlier post, I think the protection thing is inherently female anyway.  So the question remains, then - is the cautionary way in which I do things about who *I* am, or is it the nature of women and their need to protect? Or is it perhaps a bit of both?

Then the question becomes, is being cautionary really the right sort of thing to be when one is owning a business? Or maybe it's the BEST way to be when owning a business. Is having that 'slowly, slowly' safety net keeping me from achieving things, or making me MORE able to achieve things? Am I missing the boat on some things because I'm not willing to make risky decisions and move very fast, or am I in fact ensuring my long term business survival by taking things a little more slowly? I don't think there is a wrong way and a right way to approach business - and for me the 'gently as she goes' method seems to be doing bloody well, thanks very much - but...I still wonder what I might be achieving if I did actually posses the giant balls people seem to think I have.

But then maybe it's all just a matter of perspective.