Golden crust on an apple pie

Sinking.

 

Drifting.

 

Sleeping.

 

Feeling.

 

Heart Beating.

 

Who am I?

 

Time for a hair cut.

 

9 lives.

They say cats have 9 lives, lucky for cats.

Unlucky for us non cats.

I am sitting here today after yesterday's entry and trying to drum up something in my head that is doable.

The words of the sunscreen song whirling around in my mind, over and over.

" Don’t feel guilty if you don’t know what you want to do with your life…the most interesting people I know didn’t know at 22 what they wanted to do with their lives, some of the most interesting 40 year olds I know still don’t. "

It doesn't make me feel any better.

 

So of course, I google ' the prefect life' because apparently I google everything these days. Seriously. I do.

( At this point in time I wonder if Mum is ever embarrassed by me, If I was my Mum would I be embarrassed by a child who googles 'the prefect life' and then unceremoniously dumps her baggage, regularly, online?... ...probably, except she'd definitely use an adjective like uncouth to describe the whole deal)

 

At the top of the google search page I found 5 things a palliative care worker says her patients say before they die:

1. 1.) I wish I’d had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me.
3. 2.) I wish I didn’t work so hard.
5. 3.) I wish I’d had the courage to express my feelings.
7. 4.) I wish I had stayed in touch with my friends.
9. 5.) I wish I had let myself be happier.

I absolutey and utterly understand number one. It makes me feel even more determined to commit to something right for me.

The problem being, I don't know what the right thing for me is yet.

Also, I called Collette. From this blog post - you'll know that means I am ready for cold hard facts.

She's good at that.

And telling people who push in to get to the back of the line.

But mostly I am still just as confused as I was.. As I have been. My whole life.

 

Cake, it's delicious.

I'm going to be 25 this year...

Bring on the quarter life crisis.

If you ask anyone who knows me, they might tell you that I am very non-committal.

O.k -- they probably won't. Because that would be rude, and you'd probably be gossiping if that sorta topic came up. So stop.

But..In general, I would say; I am well and truly over some things within twelves months .. O.K - not some things.. 99.9% of things.

However, I need to buoy myself up a bit.. Because I've decide I can be a Wife/Mum and do work/study..because I am woman and I am strong and I can have my cake and scoff half of it before I need to share.

Also: I am a bit depressed that next year is my 10 year reunion and I still haven't committed to anything much...

Oh! Side point.

* So Hunna is having his 10 year reunion in November and I was all like. Hang on, I'm due to have mine next year.. How does that work? You're like heaps older than me ( ok, heaps meaning 2.5 years ) and he was all " I was one of the oldest in my class " ---that totally makes sense as an answer ( it doesn't)

Then I realised his school went to year 12 and mine only went to year 10.. Problem solved and so I told him.

And he goes " wow, you just blew my mind.. I've always wanted to know why my school was called Newcomb Secondary College.. Not just Newcomb College"

True story.*

Back on point.

There are three things in my life I can think of that I have committed to:

 

1. My marriage

( 4 years )

Seriously, I'm here for eternity.

 

2. Motherhood

( 3 years )

Again. Eternity.

 

3. ...

 

O.K, make that two things I can think of.

Anyway, the point. The point is...

I don't know what I want to do. And it's all good and well to say ' Hey, Pray about it' but I seriously don't know what to specifically ask.

I would actually really love it if someone said, go to school - get this degree which leads to this job and you'll be fulfilled forever.

I love doing everything.. and nothing. But do I love anything enough to do it for more than 12 months?

I will all ready be on my 6th job. Third degree. 50th idea for life pathway..

How do you know what you want to do?

And don't say find something you love and do it because I will hurt you.

 

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I need feminism because:

There was a time when I feared the thought of feminism. I felt that all feminists were radicals, felt that they were constantly screaming oppression, never wore make-up or shaved their underarms.

That the word feminist was out dated now the era of bra burning was over.

I thought feminism could never fit in with my religion, that it wouldn't suit to be a feminist and a Mormon. To me, they were two very different ideals.

One night I was watching a program on 60 minutes about a British woman living in France who caused an uproar by saying she is a beautiful person and then deciding to live as a trophy wife.

Her name was Samantha Brick.

Mum and I were sitting watching and Germaine Greer appeared on the screen.

After the segment Mum grumbled an unapologetic " ugh, shut up Germaine Greer " - I wasn't shocked at the slight.

But it got me thinking. What does feminism mean to my Mother? A woman who lived in a time when the biggest feminist movement in history was playing out.

Of course I don't always agree with Germaine Greer, in this instance I severely disliked the fact she scathingly said " because she's just not a great beauty " and then " people discriminate against her because she's a pain in the arse"

Although I'm not perfect, remarking rudely about people's looks or attacking them is one of the things I'm trying very, very hard NOT to do.

Because, really, what gives you the right?

But more than that, the segment got me thinking. Germaine has a point.. But Samantha Brick has a point too.

I am constantly seeking validation from Hunna, Do I look beautiful? Am I beautiful? Does this look good? to make up for my own insecurities.

Was I raised to never say " I look great" and then did I eventually just start to think I am not beautiful because admitting it would be prideful or boastful..

When people compliment me I mostly cheapen their compliments with a huge massive ' BUT' and point out faults.

" Jess, I love your jacket "

" Oh, ( surprised) thank-you ( I look down embarrassed ) but its nothing flash"

I have occasionally gone to the other extreme.

" Jess, I love your jacket"

" oh! I know " ( other person is shocked at my bravado)

But why can't I just look them in the eye and appreciate it and say " Thank-you" ?

It also goes the other way. People often put a big ' BUT' in the middle of their compliment.

Here's one I got the other day.

" Jess, Boy is so placid - he sits so well in sacrament BUT I bet he's not like that at home "

( I was confused for a second and desperately wanted to rebut: actually he is pretty amicable most of the time )

" Yeah.." ( awkward pause because I lied by agreeing )

Later, I was reading a blog by C.Jane who is also a Mormon - this particular entry explains exactly what I have been struggling with.

Am I too expected to just hand over the remote?

Why do I feel so guilty about not feeling completely fulfilled in my role as a mother?

I constantly pep talk myself, "Boy is only young, there is a time and a season, do this now for our family and you can work on your hopes, and dreams later when it's your turn."

How is it that I constantly try to do what's best for Boy and Hunna and our financially shallow pockets but not what I need?

If I did go back to school or work, would I be a better wife/mother? Or would I be time poor and a worse wife/mother?

How would doing any of this fit in with my role as nurturer. How would it fit in with Mormonism?

Just over three years ago, when we first moved to Victoria and moved in with Hunnas parents - I was four months pregnant with Boy and I started looking for work.

I was able to work, being pregnant doesn't incapacitate me, I worked right up until we moved. I felt like I still had plenty to give.

I was very honest in my applications and stated I was pregnant, I didn't know if I would leave permanently after Boy was born or just take a few weeks off. I thought I would decide how I felt as I went.

I applied for many, many jobs.

I never got a reply. Apart from one. From a woman who had advertised for after school care.

She stated that my résumé was immaculate and that I sounded like I would fit into the job perfectly but because I was pregnant they wouldn't be able to employ me as they were looking for someone a little more long term.

It confirmed what I already knew- why I wasn't getting any replies. I was sad that she never asked if I intended to stay on after baby was born or facilitate any more options.

But I admired her for being the only one honest enough to say what every one else was thinking.

It was a blow to my ego, and it made finding somewhere to accept us into a rental very difficult because an apprentices income is not very appealing on an application.

The situation was made even worse one day when Hunna's brother ( who, at the time was also living with the parents ) approached me and asked when we would be moving out.

I shrugged sadly, now not knowing what the future would hold. I was now 8 months pregnant and still couldn't find work.

He said rather callously " What do you do all day? You should look for a job. Then you could move out "

Sadly enough, " why don't you just move out" was a phrase I got very use to hearing over the next 2 years.

Today while I was on facebook I found a link to ' I need feminism because'

Here's mine:

I need feminism because as a SAHM ( stay at home Mum) I can't get a new phone or a car loan without my husband signing every form and being guarantor on the contract.

I need feminism because as a young SAHM people have stigmatised me and implied I must be dumb or illiterate or bogan for choosing to have a baby and not finishing University.

I need feminism to give me courage to help deflect the negativity that is constantly thrown my way for choices I make.

So I am beginning to think.

Is feminism really out of date and is it possible for me to be a Mormon and a feminist?

 

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Sink or swim

All my life I have felt like I am swimming.

Most of the time I am swimming painstakingly slow. ( I am a terrible swimmer) I struggle along, trying different strokes to help ease my journey along.

Often my destination feels so far away. For all the effort I put in, a current pulls me off in a direction I don't want to go.

Sometimes I get tired and my ribs start to hurt, my lungs start to ache and every time I strike out it feels as if my arm is hitting hard cement.

As my arms start to bruise and turn purple from the effort I inevitably panic.

Suddenly I stop moving forward.

I start thrashing about, flailing and throwing masses of water into the air as I gasp and scream and swallow water and resurface, over and over again, in a desperate attempt to save myself.

Later, after the initial denial. I accept I am drowning.

I come to a point where I know that it's too difficult to swim anymore and allow my body to still. I empty my mind. I let the water envelope me and I allow myself to slowly sink into the calm blue waters beneath me.

It is usually at this point - when I finally will my life into the hands of God, that I have an epiphany and I suddenly remember how to float.

I adjust my weight and spread my arms and legs open, my body begins to rise and I bob to the surface.

I breathe deeply and keep my eyes tightly closed because the light is so bright.

At first, I float- with my ears lulling in and out of the water. Hearing gulls and wind and water and bubbles swilling around.

Then slowly, ever so slowly, I regain my energy. I open my eyes. Turn from my back to my stomach and noticing how much closer the island is now than it was.

I find the will to swim on.

Last Sunday I was thrashing about. My thin arms trying ever so hard to keep me afloat, my lungs screaming for air, my legs kicking with all their might.

I woke up with a terrible headache.

And a terribly ominous grey cloud hovering over me.

It followed me out of the bedroom into the bathroom where it suddenly started to rain. Heavy. All over my parade.

I went back to bed. I needed to be alone.

Because what's a girl to do, except accept that it's not her day.

I tried sleeping it off, but it didn't work.

Later, when the headache had subsided, I got up again. Got into the shower and tried to start over.

The hot water, the hot water which has the amazing power to wash away all feelings of doom was gone.

In its place were ice cold, heavy, grumpy inducing droplets of pain.

Each droplet of freezing water pummelled my neck and back like icicle knives as I stood there glowering.

I got out.

There were no towels. I had inconveniently forgotten to hang the washing out the day before. And as it happened, the day before was towel day.

I stood, freezing, naked and dripping wet on the tiles in our bathroom.

I had a temper tantrum. One where I might've stomped my foot defiantly like a three year old and screeched rudely out the door at a passing Husband to dry me a towel. ( I'm not proud of this )

Then I clambered into the bath. Put the plug in, huddled underneath the tap and cried.

10 minutes later, while still shivering and wailing, I heard a shuffle behind me.

Inside the door - a note.

" I lub you "

I finally accepted I was loosing the battle against my emotions and suddenly felt better.

I turned the tap on, it would be nice to say scalding hot water rushed from the tap and washed all the cold and pain away, but it didn't. It was barely warm.

But I was rejuvenated enough to come up with a plan, which involved boiling the kettle, and I finally lay back to float in a toasty bath thanks to Hunna.

Only to be interrupted by Boy wanting to get in too.

And I didn't mind, not one bit.

 

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The Shower of Baby Bell

Showering Collette with Love

So I am finally blogging about the baby shower, I bet you thought from the heading baby Bell was born and having a shower - well he isn't - so here it goes:

Collette is having a baby, so we organised another baby shower for her ( her third to be exact ) these are the perks of living / working at different ends of the state.

These are the perks of gestation:

Everyone came to see her eat massive loads of hubba bubba when she spelt anatomical birth related words incorrectly .. 

And smell delicious urine samples.. and eat chocolates from a potty.

Or maybe they came to celebrate and the other stuff was just an added bonus.

Anyway, it was loads of fun. 

And we don't mind playing daggy cliche baby shower games in Tasmania which makes it all the more fun.

Thanks for having a baby so we could have another excuse to celebrate and eat loads of junk Collette.

4 years x

Yesterday afternoon Hunna walked in with a gorgeous bunch of flowers.

 

I sat in awe at his suaveness while Boy sat on me ( he had interrupted a wrestling match )

 

And still I didn't twig.

 

Then I got up, took them as he offered them to me and said " They're lovely, what are they for?"

 

He looked at me quizzically and replied " Our anniversary "

 

Yes, that's right. I am the date queen. Celebrate is my middle name.

 

I did remember, last week, but since then - I forgot.

 

If he had forgotten, I wouldn't have even noticed.

 

The funny thing is, usually he is the forgetter and I am the rememberer.

 

Maybe four years has made us more similar than we realise!

 

Come to think of it, I don't think we were that different to begin with.

 

 

Four years means:

 

Surviving the great post office debate of 2013

Winning by not cheating in board games but convincing you I still do.

Sitting all over one another because we have no couch.

Making box shelves.

Never loosing Guess Who, Ever.

Never winning checkers, Ever.

Eating out and staying up late are O.K; sometimes twice a week.

Ironing and folding clothes is not as important as family time.

Odd socks are beautiful. Especially on small feet.

Holidays will always make us super happy and super sad when they're over.

Embracing a receding hairline is better than shaving it bald.

Two is better than one and three is just as fun.

Love conquers all, seriously. It does.

 

 

There have been so many moments over the past 4 years to cherish and I am glad there will be an eternity filled with more moments ahead.

 

*p.s: glad at least one of us remembered.

 

Love ya guts Hun. X

{Tutorial} Jar Tumblers

One of the crafty ideas I had for Collette's baby shower included making some glass jar tumblers for everyone to drink out of.

I found this tutorial on pinterest here. But when I went to get grommets from the hardware store a pack of four grommets was $4.95. 

I went home and had a look on ebay and found I could purchase them online - this method would cost $7 for 100 ( not including postage ) and take two weeks to come ( I didn't have the time or patience )

So instead I headed down to spotlight to find some eyelets and an eyelet punch, because I knew this would be a quicker, much more affordable option.

I also took one of the straws I intended to use because I couldn't be bothered measuring them, instead I just poked it through the different eyelets till I found a size that fit nicely ( my eyelets are a large)

There is only one problem with using an eyelet over a grommet. The eyelet punch would only reach 1.4 cm from the rim of the jar lid, which meant the holes needed to be fairly close to the edge and there was not choice to have the hole in the middle, like I have seen with other jars.

I made 25 jars all up for about $10.

.   .  Jar Tumblers   .  .

Here's what you need:

Empty pasta sauce jars with lids, washed and labels removed.

Spray blackboard paint

Eyelets big enough to fit a straw in and a punch.

Drill 

Chalk

I couldn't decide what colour I wanted the eylets to be.

I bought gold ones but after punching them through decided to paint them black as well.

How to:

Drill a hole no more than 1.4 cm away from the edge of each lid.

To make this easier grab an old piece of solid timber, place the lid flat on the timber, hold it with one hand and drill right through into the timber below.

Once all the holes are drilled load your eyelet punch with eyelet and press firmly to secure.

Now you can spray paint them and once they're dry they are ready to be used.

Get guests to write their name on the top so they know which tumbler is theirs.

Viola! 25 Jar Tumblers.

// Back to Home

Boy and I are back from Tasmania.

Here's a short picture montage of the things we did.

 

When we first arrived we spent three days with Mummy Gibson, and finished the organisational things for Collette's baby shower.

 

I'll blog about that soon...ish.

 

( honestly, I am sick and you know what I am like.. When I mean soon, really I mean, " I'll blog about it eventually.. Within 10 to 12 months ")

 

 

Then we spent a week with Collette, we always love to have a good laugh when we visit the Bell family.

 

 

Especially when that laugh involves Boy and his plethora of hilarious faces.

 

 

{* n.b: this is not a tantrum, Boy wanted to go and I said " we are just paying" so he sighed and lay on the ground. }

 

Unfortunately I got sick at the end of the week, which ruined things a little.

 

It has actually been really liberating NOT being sick for so long. (Five months is a bit of a WIN on the no vomiting front for me..)

 

We thought since last time I went for two weeks without seeking any major medical assistance that we'd head down to the hospital at 3am to make sure I wasn't going to experience a repeat burst appendix episode/ bowel resection.

 

Although, I did point out, I only have one appendix. Which is lucky for me. And everyone else on the planet.

 

The problem was solved and I swallowed a medical cocktail called a Pink Lady and after having a numb tongue and not swallowing from a numb throat from said cocktail I was sent on my way...To spend the next day and a half vomiting..

 

Apparently one experiences gastritis or inflammation of the stomach from alcohol, cigarettes, spicy food and stress. Unfortunately - I don't do the first two. Hadn't eaten any of the third in a fair while.. So have to put the whole episode down to the fact that Collette stresses me out. A lot. ;)

 

 

 

Luckily I magically recovered around 7 am Saturday morning and by 7pm I was on my merry way, back to the loving arms of Hunna.

 

Boy, as always, was a real champion. He is very self sufficient. Including, helping himself to the apples when I am laid up in bed, the pregnant lady is sleeping and he is hungry.

 

Although apparently food isn't an excuse to wake up anyone but needing pillows to make his own bed downstairs is.

 

Like I said. Champion.

 

* extra: I am loving the new A Beautiful Mess App. that helps edit my Instagram photos.