Tomorrow I shall make my escape.
I am going to my sister Tees house, down in Sydney .... I haven't been to her house since April, since I was very pregnant. Since the pre-cancer days. (Pre-cancer days! How I miss you!)
I. Can't. Wait. I need to sloth and not cook and read BLOGS and get my google reader sorted once and for all. I need to watch Tees cable and fart freely* and ponce around the Eastern suburbs in my gold sandals, pretending I am someone.
Now I just need to wrap up all the little pressies I bought for Tiger .... with little notes from me. He can open one a day, just so he knows I am thinking of him. He has found the transition of his big brother living here again a bit hard, lately. They have been clashing, and I see Tiger get upset because he just hates how much power the older sibling has. I get triggered badly, because of my own childhood issues .... sometimes, something innocent or even just "kid-like" can alert my bullying radar. I hate bullying, hate things not being fair. I've had to rope stepson in a few times, nicely, but just let him know I am on to him.
I was worried, about leaving Tiger here with stepson and Mr TC .... so I have done what every good parenting book would say ... and resorted to bribery. I told stepson that if he takes good, proper care of his little bro ... ".. and I mean proper! Because I will KNOW if you don't." - Then I will bring him home a set of earphones he wants for his iPod. (For, he always wants SOMETHING. But, don't we all!?)
Here is Tiger and stepson, mucking around directly under the Harbour Bridge:
I am an arsehole mother lately. It's true - I am. To both Tiger and Monkey. I am short on patience, frustrated, a little bit yelling. I really need some more Mo in my Jo. I need to love them and be nice and know how lucky I am.
I have had a post brewing about my feelings for Monkey, for months now. But I have been too gutless to write it yet. I will, because it keeps tapping me on the shoulder, demanding to be written. It's muck, that I need to shine a big fuckoff light on. It's hard and it's sad, that he got so tangled in the cancer web when he was born. But it was the truth then ... not now. Things are different now.
Last weekend, I made us all drive down to Sydney. To park at Manly Beach, and catch a ferry over to Circular Quay. (Circular Quay is where the Harbour Bridge and Opera House are.) Tiger called it a "Fairy" (as I did, when I was a kid). He kept asking if we could buy fairy floss to eat on it.
We had a pretty cool day. Meaning - we were all getting along well. It is so dysfunctional, my family. Usually, one of us has the shits. The others rally around and try to pull the shitty person out of the slump. We take it in turns to be the shitty one.
So this day, no-one was particularly shitty. We were all happy that Mr TC was feeling so good - if he feels good, we all feel good. A few more weeks, and it wil be the longest amount of time with no chemo in him. YAY.
I LOVE this photo ... however, I don't love the gut overhang flapping over my jeans:
For more Show and Tells, check out Mel at Stirrup Queens HERE.
*Ummm, I fart freely anyway. I have to - if I didn't I would blow up like a blimp and float over the Southern Hemisphere forever. Mr TC is disgusted, because, obviously I fart louder and stronger than him. He thinks women shouldn't fart. Obviously, he married the wrong woman.