tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-57927909782199020082024-03-14T06:32:27.949+11:00indisputable topcat"Some people never go crazy. What truly horrible lives they must lead."Topcathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07281866717498277448noreply@blogger.comBlogger241125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5792790978219902008.post-66331403531409758332010-05-13T14:58:00.007+10:002016-05-15T22:38:50.909+10:00Welcome to Topcatland<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<em>"Come in. Snoop aroouuund."</em><br />
<br />
- Ace Ventura, Pet Detective<br />
<br />
This blog is made up over 200 posts, written between 2007 and 2009. It started off as an IVF blog, morphing into a pregnancy blog, until it was hijacked by my husbands diagnosis of cancer in May 2008 ... five days before the baby was born. Which is where the fun <strong>really</strong> started.<br />
<br />
Instead of deleting this blog, I'm leaving it up. Like, a museum. A testament of IVF, recovery, fear, chocolate, and cancer. I have closed new comments on here, but you can catch me on my other blog, <a href="http://edenriley.blogspot.com/">edenland.</a></div>
Topcathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07281866717498277448noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5792790978219902008.post-64945303534709392442009-04-29T20:19:00.003+10:002016-05-15T18:05:26.883+10:00Bulletdodger Part II<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Apparently he's ok.<br />
<br />
We have both been so worried, he just seems to look really yellow again. Even Max noticed, said, "Dad, your eyes are yellow." And he was yellow last year, before we found out. So we have both been freaked out and fucked up, expecting the worst.<br />
<br />
The doctor reckons he is fine ... felt him all over for any signs of tumours, and gave him a blood test.<br />
<br />
The blood test should show elevated levels of something, if it looks bad he will get a phonecall. If not, he just goes back in August for a check-up.<br />
<br />
It's still worrying - what if there are tumours growing, somewhere? And we don't find out til it's too late? Why is he yellow?<br />
<br />
Thanks so much for the good wishes ..... you all rock. Again.<br />
<br /></div>
Topcathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07281866717498277448noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5792790978219902008.post-30968620139349495002009-04-23T22:48:00.004+10:002016-05-15T18:12:38.535+10:00Legacy<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Two weeks, I have been trying to remember my recently-changed password to this blog. Finally I remembered it tonight: ANGERISSUES.<br />
<br />
HA!!<br />
<br />
So Dave has postphoned his oncologist appt TWICE now .... it is next Wednesday and so locked in. I'm going with him. Dave thinks he might have cancer in his shoulder - for once, I am the one in denial and he is all scared. I'm pretty annoyed. We have already BEEN HERE. We don't need to DO IT AGAIN. There's just no way he can get cancer back again, no way no how.<br />
<br />
Back in December, when we got the "all clear" .. there was this small black thing on the scan, in one of Daves shoulders. I remember asking what it was, Dave laughing, and the doctor blowing me off, saying it was "most probably nothing."<br />
<br />
He has a very sore shoulder .... he has been extremely active, hopefully he's just pulled it or something. Right? Right? <span style="font-size: 180%;">RIGHT???</span><br />
<br />
That's all I have to report, really. That is why I've been hiding and not commenting ... I feel a tad frozen. Also, the recent deaths of babies in blogland sent me for a six. Totally anxiety ridden.<br />
<br />
I just wanted to let you know.<br />
<br />
I will be back next week after Daves appointment ... if it is bad, I am not telling ANYBODY .... except here.<br />
<br />
But it won't be bad, surely. My brain won't let me think there's a chance it's bad ... instead, my brain tells me to shop/eat/spend/exercise. Anything to take me away from myself. I HATE myself.<br />
<br />
Goodbye.</div>
Topcathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07281866717498277448noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5792790978219902008.post-32460681974261588492009-03-24T22:57:00.003+11:002016-05-15T18:12:18.641+10:00Top of the Cats<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Hello.<br />
<br />
Remember me? The one who used to blog with wild abandon. HA.<br />
<br />
I just checked my stats, and notice that people have been checking in here. That's nice. I'm confused, don't know what I am doing, life is hard. I can see why I set up my other blog, but there is a limit to what I say there.<br />
<br />
I wouldn't, for instance, blog about the post natal anxiety/strange feelings I've had lately. Monkey is getting so big now .... PRAISE JESUS IN A CLOUD.<br />
<br />
Dave almost dying from cancer combined with me full-time looking after a newborn who cried a lot .. and my precious Max - I actually think it's done something to my brain. I don't feel well.<br />
<br />
Monkey is now on cows milk. A little early, but he has been eating three square meals for six months now. He is ready. I am ready for him to start daycare just a few days a week so I can work uninterrupted. And do all the house things, shopping, cooking, etc. Like a regular person. I need to work. I need my brain and sanity back. Faaaaarrrk.<br />
<br />
Pam got a BFP. I'm elated for her.<br />
<br />
I'm so scared that Mr TC's cancer will come back and he will die. He says he has strange heartburn lately, which is what happened when the tumours were growing before. Maybe I need to shut up and stop catastrophizing. He has a check-up in April, but has already said he will NOT get a scan done. Why? Because he doesn't want to know. We're so distant. We all got lost. I wonder if he'll ever "come back" to the family again.<br />
<br />
I cried, later in my car. When I realised the real reason for my birthday party ... it was not for my 37th at all. It was my 40th birthday, three years early. In case Mr TC is not here in three years. I'm terrified. I've been living frozen terrified for so long now. It's not healthy. This life, man .. it's not the one I ordered. But it never is, really, is it. </div>
Topcathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07281866717498277448noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5792790978219902008.post-24160527414083348212009-02-16T12:25:00.001+11:002009-02-16T12:27:15.120+11:00It's Not You, It's MeI'm going to stop posting here, for a while. It's getting confusing! I promise to let it all still hang out, over <a href="http://edenriley.blogspot.com/">here</a>. I'll just word it better, HA.<br /><br />xoxoxoxTopcathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07281866717498277448noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5792790978219902008.post-81489918410493239682009-02-12T11:58:00.004+11:002016-05-15T18:15:09.163+10:00Hello Again.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I get mortified every time I come here, recent posts are just so angry and terrible.<br />
<br />
All I can do today is write two articles, cook dinner, and pick Tiger up from school. My head is mush. I don't meant to WHINE ..... but the last month has been the hardest, since May last year. I KNOW I have been having a breakdown. Fucking cancer, fucking everything.<br />
<br />
__<br />
<br />
Last weekend, as soon as I found out about the fires, I rang Mr TC to see if he was ok. He was at his mums house with stepson. My toe was black and purple, but I cried on the phone to him and told him I can't argue with him anymore. Just come home.<br />
<br />
We haven't gone away together since our honeymoon - four years ago.<br />
<br />
___<br />
<br />
Thank you so much for your wise wise love and encouragement. You have helped my family get well again. I would go camping with ALL of you, in a heartbeat. XOXOXOXOXOXOOXOX</div>
Topcathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07281866717498277448noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5792790978219902008.post-61058376855504460602009-02-07T11:12:00.004+11:002016-05-15T18:16:58.970+10:00SNAFU<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
So.<br />
<br />
I can't believe the shitstorm surrounding me at the moment!! There was a facebook fiasco with an ex-boyfriend, who kept getting drunk and writing WAY inappropriate comments on my wall. I gave him what-for, and unfriended him. This is from the only school whose reunion I am going to this year ... will be VERY interesting to see what happens.<br />
<br />
Mr TC ran over my foot this morning. In his ute. We were in the middle of an argument, he drives off and RUNS OVER MY WHOLE RIGHT FOOT. The tyres have left an imprint. I know he didn't mean it ... but I am beyond furious. Am taking the boys down to stay at my sisters, and after I log off here I will bite the bullet and organise some couples counselling. Because, I want to sit in a room with him, and have someone else there as my witness. Our marriage ... oh it's a long story. It hasn't been all wine and roses. Actually it's been no wine, a lot of fighting. Violence. It's been seven weeks since he got the all clear from his cancer treatment ... I brought it up yesterday, he asked me was I still going to be harping on about his cancer in five years. Tells me to just get over it already. Ummm, I'm trying!?<br />
____<br />
<br />
I love people who have also been burnt by the Fires of Hell. By infertility, loss, grief, cancer, addiction ..... all the big fat juicy stuff. You go through that shit, and you cannot remain small-minded and stupid. You change. You get wisdom and perspective and courage, now THAT is the shit that makes a character. If I didn't know people like you existed, I'm not sure how much faith in human nature I would have right now.<br />
<br />
Ok I have to go now. The baby is grizzling, Tiger is pale, I need to find a good therapist, and MY FOOT HURTS.<br />
<br />
I swear to God if I can't do pump class, there will be hell to pay.<br />
<br />
This life .......she be MESSY .</div>
Topcathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07281866717498277448noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5792790978219902008.post-35700672078155355842009-01-16T22:22:00.004+11:002016-05-15T18:22:28.635+10:00Ummm, Hi.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I found a house, it was SO nice. Cute three bedrooms, back deck. But, I have no money ... of my own. So, I have to go on benefits and be a single mother, and take two boys away from their dad. I applied for a personal loan at the bank, for five grand. So numb and fucked off at Mr TC. He knew things were bad ... he starts to back pedal and be all lovely. It's just not ok. Things are not ok.<br />
<br />
We had words for THREE HOURS today. He took time off work. So much was said, man. I told him I just want to be a FAMILY, live simple, go camping. Parent our boys together. Said I was so SICK of processing all his emotional work for him. He didn't know what that meant ... to be honest, either do I. I just know I do it. I don't understand some dynamics at play. He grits and gets through and I'm left with the fallout of doing behind-the-scenes work? I am not a saint by any means - christ no. I'm a moody arsehole. But I feel like I sacrifice a lot of myself for him to achieve what he wants to achieve. I want him to be happy! He's been through so much - we both have.<br />
<br />
And somebody else got the cute house ... (I left it up to the Heavens. If I got my application approved, I would have moved out. It would have been a Sign. Yes I know I'm a tad off-kilter. This is Crazyweek, obviously.)<br />
<br />
So I stayed, for now, anyway. The fighting has GOT to stop, I'm trying to find a good couples counsellor. I'm so tired right now.<br />
<br />
I will check in on all of you over the next few days. I miss you. You are not vague, hazy figures in the computer. You are all my friends, and I thank God you came into my life.</div>
Topcathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07281866717498277448noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5792790978219902008.post-65821943696159817242009-01-11T22:26:00.003+11:002016-05-15T18:49:59.353+10:00Who's on First?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I miss Topcat. Her wild swearing ... her nervous breakdowns. *sigh*<br />
<br />
What to do? I can't leave this blog hanging, like spacejunk. Can't delete it, either. It's like a minefield of emotional explosions, that I simply cannot <strong>bear</strong> to go back and read, but can't say goodbye, either. She got me through.<br />
<br />
Slowly but surely, though .. every time I posted here, I felt paranoid ... watched. Which spun me out badly. Until I got to the point where I thought, fuck this .. I will start a new blog in my real name, giving the haters absolutely no ammo. Can't hold it against me when I shine my crap out into the light. I'm still finding my voice over at my new digs .... finding a way to be comfortable sharing my fucked-upness. And I am fucked up.<br />
<br />
I have a very long history with depression, and have been winning the battle for the last ten years, fucks sake. But right now, it hits me with waves of bleak. If I believed my head, life is simply not worth living right now. I feel like a walking raw nerve ... it is just so fucking awful. But I am also given the tool of immense clarity around it, so I can see it for what it is. My thoughts are simply not real, I am so glad that I can see that. Sometimes I get a second wind, but I can get a bit manic?<br />
<br />
I will be seeing my doc about it this week. I think I've finally run out of adrenaline ... spewing! It's hard to read. And write. And mind the baby. And hold a pen. And drive my car. Everything is hard. Fucking bullshit. I haven't spoken a word about it to Mr TC. It's fucking crazy shit ... he's started doing 2K runs every morning, "Top 'o the world, Ma!" And I'm struggling to turn the fucking kettle on to make a cup of tea. People EVERYWHERE are telling him how amazing he looks. Today he goes, "Geez hon ... did I look that bad?"<br />
<br />
And I felt that awful feeling in the pit again and I just turned to him, and said "Mate, you were about to DIE. You looked FUCKED."<br />
<br />
He was so shocked. All the way through chemo, I told him he was looking pretty good. For he is such a proud lion and it affected him so. I showed him a photo of him, Monkey and Tiger in the bath. He was bald, and so so sick. "DELETE IT!!!! FAAAAAAARK!!!"<br />
<br />
"Told you you looked fucked.'<br />
<br />
Anyway. I have decided to keep this Topcat blog. She dug too deeply under my psyche to let go. I will post here every now and again ..... especially when I have a big rant that is so off-kilter and waaaaaaaaaaaaaay politically incorrect that I have too.<br />
<br />
At the very bottom of my puny brain, is the unspeakable thought .... <em>yeah, I'll need this space if Mr TC gets his cancer back.</em><br />
<em><br /></em>
I am not a morning person but you have to be when you have children. Monkey has just started sleeping through the night! Yesterday I just wanted to go to the gym, burn some pressure off. I'd done all the fruit and veg and grocery shopping, in the heat. Prepared their dinner. Pureed Monkeys batch of veggies. Folded washing, homework, etc. I'm struggling, man. The gym is saving me right now. I don't fucking drink, or smoke, or do drugs. This LIMITS my feel-goods.<br />
<br />
I was trying to do something to help myself, put myself first. I feel like I am living his life, his dreams, his house. I am flat broke and yet we are married but I do all the things? What's a woman worth?<br />
<br />
Tiger has had intensive swimming lessons this week, every morning at 9.30am. I'm so flabby. Can't believe I lost weight after the baby, only to put more on!! Childcare at the gym is great, and it's the same people from Tigers school, I know them and they know us. A bright and cheery room ... I can totally leave Monkey there for an hour. I can take out a three month membership for $200, and the childcare only costs $5.<br />
<br />
There are parts of me that are broken forever. It is my job to look after those parts of myself .. and I've really neglected that.<br />
<br />
Some people in the world just fuck their childen over. I refuse to do that to my kids. Point blank. Obviously, I fuck up in some areas, but Tiger knows I will always tell him the truth. I spoke to him about how he feels when me and daddy argue - told him how sorry I was. He shrugged - his exact words were - "Well, I used to cry about it til I was three. Then I thought, it's got nothing to do with me. What am I crying for??"<br />
<br />
__<br />
<br />
There's a heat wave here. I love it. I wil never, ever complain about being too hot. I'm lying on my bed, sweating, at 9.40pm. I'm sleeping on top of Tigers bunk bed again. I love it. God I adore that little boy with my entire being.<br />
<em></em><br />
<br /></div>
Topcathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07281866717498277448noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5792790978219902008.post-59233129029098106892008-12-22T12:31:00.002+11:002016-05-15T18:54:07.524+10:00Dec 2008 .....with a Bullet<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
My <a href="http://edenriley.blogspot.com/">new digs.</a> You visited. Thank you.<br />
Oh my God thank you so much for your emails - AMAZING EMAILS. I had no idea, that all of you people living in Constantinople were there, reading along. All with your own stories - of heartache when your own hubby died ... or your son with addiction ... or your battles with babymaking. And I loved finding out your real names too ... how weird is it! Plus, some people even sent PHOTOS. Fucking awesome.<br />
<br />
Tee and Rex have built up their own relationships with stepson, and love him like one of their own. We are spending the nights at Tees and going to Rexs house on Christmas day. There will MUCH revelry and laughter.<br />
<br />
I have a migraine, Monkey just had canned custard for lunch, and Tiger and I are eating processed potato in the shape of smily faces. I have writing work to finish off. I STINK of B.O. .... I need botox under my armpits, to stop the sweating. I might have to accidentally put my face under the botox needle heh. My house is a mess and I have piles of wet washing to hang out. The Christmas tree is DEAD, Long Live the Christmas Tree. I need to repaint my toes, shave my legs, build a gingerbread house, change Monkeys nappy, and take Tiger to the park.<br />
<br />
I love all of you.<br />
<br />
I utterly adore the living hell out of my brother ... but suddenly I have more sisters than I ever thought possible.<br />
<br />
XOXOXOX</div>
Topcathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07281866717498277448noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5792790978219902008.post-91559212294582156692008-12-19T21:46:00.006+11:002016-05-15T19:05:31.255+10:00The River in My Heart<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Most of my adult life, I have hated, loathed, despised, anyone knowing my business.<br />
<br />
Which is why I set up this blog. (What, did you think my real name was To<span style="font-size: +0;"></span>pcat?) Actually, the reason I named myself Topcat is .... drumroll .... I found a cool pic of Topcat on the net.<br />
<br />
(No <strong>wonder </strong>my grandmother always called me a deep well.)<br />
<br />
Ummmm, here's the deal .... I have a new blog. <em>In my real name.</em> See, Mr TCs cancer made me turn everything upside down on the bed and shake the shit out of my whole life. We thought he might not make it. What does it all mean. Who am I. I am in pain right now. Answer? To write it.<br />
<br />
And I wrote it, and you read it.<br />
<br />
Certain Shining Lights of Love have been placed upon me in my life. The joy when my beautiful Tiger was born. Then Miraculous Monkey arriving.<br />
<br />
And ...<br />
<br />
You. Lifting me up, from the minefield of 2008.<br />
<br />
Thank God I had to do IVF to get pregnant, otherwise I never would have started this Happy-Go-Lucky blog, that turned into my main lifeline. Reading your comments this year, I got filled up with your Love and Hope. I'm so grateful.<br />
<br />
Even if your name is Mauve and you live in Greenland (next to Flicka!) and you landed here by googling "manhands farting" and you've only ever read and not commented one word. And you sit by the fire each night and tsk tsk that that Terrible Topcat is on the Warpath AGAIN. The way I see blogs working ... the blogger gets stuff out, the reader comes and reads, offers love or support or a silent prayer or a silent fart .... the act of reading someones words and just wishing them well, somehow makes a magic difference.<br />
<br />
This year, I wrote. In my worst, dirtiest, most awful days of my twenties, I would hold on to this slim, tiny morsel of an idea that maybe, just maybe, I would be ok and get through and stay alive and end up writing.<br />
<br />
I did, and I have, and I'm crying because it's real. Recovering from "stuff" is real and I will never stop being amazed by that. Life is here right now - bigger and better and more amazing than I could ever have dreamed, shitty fucked up as it is sometimes, I still feel amazed and grateful at it.<br />
<br />
A few months ago, I ended up writing the text for a childrens book, that looks like it will get published sometime in the new year. When I think of writing, it feels like there is a river in my heart. I need to grab this feeling and jump on .... come out of the blogging closet. I don't know why I just do. It seems important.<br />
<br />
The truth, did indeed, set me free.<br />
<br />
Of course, at my new digs I can't write as angrily and rudely as I have done here. However, I think I'll just be more imaginative and creative about my political incorrectness.<br />
<br />
Indisputable Topcat? She is me, and I am her. She will live in my heart forever, for she has been the doorway to get to where I am going. And I don't even know where that is!<br />
<br />
Now, I dont like change ... when I was a kid, my auntie had her kitchen remodelled, after 15 years of it being the same. I cried myself to sleep that night, praying for her old kitchen to be back there in the morning when I woke up. It wasn't. God I was sad. God I was weird.<br />
<br />
But, there is a LOT of despair written here .. and maybe I just needed a fresh start.<br />
<br />
I will update two, for a little while, then gradually just write in the other one. I would love it if you came to visit. (Please! I have no comments yet and it's been awfully lonely over there!)<br />
<br />
I told Mr TC what I was doing, and I have his full support .. and permission, to write about him. I asked stepson if he minded me writing about him, his exact words were ... "Sure! I don't give a fuck!"<br />
<br />
In fact, I'm heading over there right now.<br />
<br />
Care to <a href="http://edenriley.blogspot.com/">join me?</a><br />
<br />
(Don't forget to email me, especially if you live in Constantinople or Timbuktu)<br />
<br />
xoxoxoxoxoxo</div>
Topcathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07281866717498277448noreply@blogger.com21tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5792790978219902008.post-4104313179193390262008-12-18T23:45:00.006+11:002016-05-15T19:08:06.012+10:003dp Best News Ev-ah<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_FZw2hOJIGQA/SUpI7s64VMI/AAAAAAAAA1Y/NYfuG-pTdkM/s1600-h/PC110025.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5281113703552931010" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/_FZw2hOJIGQA/SUpI7s64VMI/AAAAAAAAA1Y/NYfuG-pTdkM/s400/PC110025.JPG" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 300px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
<br />
<div>
Oh my goodness ...... <em>these boys!</em></div>
<br />
<div>
Newsflash to self: YOU ARE INCREDIBLY BLESSED.</div>
<br />
I am so happy these days I can hardly stand it. I'm letting myself feel joy and elation and love. It's seeping through all the cracks and shadows. We are all renewed. Monkey has started sleeping through. He is so happy. Coincidence? I don't think so.<br />
<br />
He does so many little cute things I am only just noticing. He will eat us out of house and home ... look, he even eats his pram if I don't feed him enough! -<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_FZw2hOJIGQA/SUpI7BrProI/AAAAAAAAA1I/ZmFE-LtNBdA/s1600-h/PC040003.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5281113691944627842" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/_FZw2hOJIGQA/SUpI7BrProI/AAAAAAAAA1I/ZmFE-LtNBdA/s400/PC040003.JPG" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 300px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
He seriously loves his food .... exactly like his father. He is seven months old today, and for three months already he has been eating proper solid food, three times a day. Haven't told too many people that, as some pooh-pooh it. But, I couldn't NOT feed him. He was hungry! He would watch us eat and squirm and get so cranky. Sometimes he gets so freaking hungry, that he starts crying before he's even swallowed his next spoonful! I've lost count of all the food he has tried ... pumpkin, corn, carrots, squash, lentils, chicken, beef, apple, pears, banana, yogurt, custard, leek, you name it. Why look ... in this next pic, he is a BABY POSSESSED -<br />
<br />
"Give me the food. <em>Give me the goddamn food and no-one gets hurt!"</em><br />
<br />
<div>
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_FZw2hOJIGQA/SUpI7cE1H0I/AAAAAAAAA1Q/Qsao4k5kCq4/s1600-h/PC020050.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5281113699031260994" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/_FZw2hOJIGQA/SUpI7cE1H0I/AAAAAAAAA1Q/Qsao4k5kCq4/s400/PC020050.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 300px;" /></a> </div>
<br />
"Mmmmmm. Uh huh. Oh yeah. Do it to me DO IT. This. Is. The Shit. Well, it will be in a few hours HA!" -<br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_FZw2hOJIGQA/SUpJ2-3MB8I/AAAAAAAAA1g/KqrVfNzOlUw/s1600-h/PC020051.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5281114721981564866" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/_FZw2hOJIGQA/SUpJ2-3MB8I/AAAAAAAAA1g/KqrVfNzOlUw/s400/PC020051.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 300px;" /></a> <br />
____<br /><br />Thank you, thank you, for your love and support. I have something to share with you all, soon.<br />
I have changed forever. This year - has marked me in a way that will never be undone. NEW battlescars, to match the old ones! Not feel so afraid.<br />
<br />
XOXOXOXOX</div>
Topcathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07281866717498277448noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5792790978219902008.post-75911349901521309962008-12-16T21:11:00.000+11:002016-05-15T19:12:08.200+10:00... and they lived happily ever after.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I'm now officially changing my husbands name to The Bulletdodger.<br />
<br />
No sign of tumours. All gone. "Cancer go bye-bye" was the text I sent to my sisters this afternoon.<br />
<br />
The doctor was his usual limp self .... talking something about a "trace" of something they found up in his chest region (near his lungs, like I thought). But he "thinks" it's ok. I know Mr TC won't get a second opinion on that, and if I asked him he would look at me like I was crazy. I just hope the doc is right.<br />
<br />
Told us there is a 20% chance Mr TC will get some form of cancer back, at some stage. It's funny - I think those odds are FANTASTIC. However, when I had to do an amnio last year, there was a 0.2 percent chance there was something wrong with the baby - I was terrified. Go figure.<br />
<br />
So what the fuck was the point of all that for? I mused aloud, in the car on the way home. Mr TC started rabbiting on about work, and money, etc. I said what we have learnt from it is that life is so precious, so fragile. We just have to live in the moment. Can't we just do that? Please can we do that.<br />
<br />
He doesn't need to go back to the doctor for another four months.<br />
<br />
I have reached a new, insane level of tired. Every cell in my body has exhaled. Even my marrow is tired. We got back home this afternoon, and Mr TC had to go back out again.<br />
<br />
I was left by myself, feeding Monkey in his highchair with nothing but a bib on - no nappy, praying that he wouldn't decide to take a crap halfway through his jar of store-bought baby food. He didn't. I looked into his eyes ... they are the most intensely blue eyes I've ever seen. What came out of my mouth, over and over and over again?<br />
<br />
"Welcome home, Monkey! Welcome home. This is your home!"<br />
<br />
Like I should have welcomed him almost seven months ago. I cried, but not many tears came out ... as they were from my deepest well, where I held my saddest pain. Concentrated tears.<br />
<br />
This whole experience is long-drawn out trauma and I can't wait to breathe again.<br />
<br />
___<br />
<br />
I need to say the hugest, most massive thanks, to you. For continuing to come here, and read and support me. Especially the last few months, when I fell off the world for a bit, and floundered around. I disconnected from everything. Hopefully, the storm has now seemingly passed.<br />
<br />
I am so sorry if I have offended people by not returning comments. I know when I visit someones blog and take the time out to comment, I kind of would like some acknowledgement.<br />
And I have not always done that in return. I almost stopped writing here completely.<br />
<br />
But I didn't, and here I am and there you are. And that's all that's left of the Wicked Witch of the East.<br />
<br />
We won this years cancer battle. Goodbye, tumours. Hope you shut the door on your way out. I hate you.<br />
<br />
As for the future? Only time itself knows. I don't know. Doc said it could come back - in six months, or six years. Or never.<br />
<br />
But, you know what? Mr TC could get hit by a freaking bus. So could I. A plague of locusts might come and eat our eyes straight from the socket. A tornado could rip us all to shreds.<br />
<br />
<em>I. Don't. Care.</em><br />
<br />
Because every single day, from here on in, is a BONUS. Every day. I vow to stress less, stop being such a bitch, appreciate life more, and to not forget the clarity that this year has brought.<br />
<br />
The Bulletdodger is calling for the pancakes I promised to make, as a celebratory dessert. He has already had a celebratory quickie, in our walk-in-wardrobe with the kids walking around the house wondering where we went. Ha!! Told him he never needs to have an affair.<br />
<br />
SO, my Blessed Peepage - thank you so, so much. I love you.<br />
<br />
Now go give your loved ones a kiss. Immediately.<br />
<br />
Tell them Topcat sent you.<br />
<br />
XOXOXOXOXOXOX</div>
Topcathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07281866717498277448noreply@blogger.com41tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5792790978219902008.post-34501262871787876642008-12-15T10:35:00.003+11:002016-05-15T19:24:44.267+10:00Schmircus<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Yesterday, Mr TC was feeling well enough to go to an actual BBQ, with other actual PEOPLE. So we went. It was strange, being social again after hiding at home for so long. I sat next to an old lady, and had Monkey on my lap. She turned to me and said, "Oh my! Look at that babys eyes! Beautiful! He loves his mum, you can tell."<br />
<br />
I was surprised. "Really?"<br />
<br />
I thought, wow, he loves his mum? He hasn't had the best six months either. I often wonder how differently I would have parented him had Mr TC not got sick .... I suspect I'd have had a truckload more care, patience, and love. Fuck. Sucks that I waited and yearned so many years for this baby, and then Everything Happened. The crying and the screaming ,, from all of us, really. The nights are still so bad I just gave up. It used to be just me and him up every hour on the hour while his dad was upstairs in the chemo wing and I was trying so so hard to parent Tiger as best as I could, shield him from everything that was going on.<br />
<br />
Now Monkey comes into bed with us. Which is setting him up for bad habits I know - but I can't handle it anymore, trying to placate him or control his crying. Aint nothing controlled about wanting to throw your crying baby out the window at 2am.<br />
<br />
So in bed with us he goes, until next year when we are all back at work and school and settled again.<br />
<br />
If I scratch the surface, it's easy to see that I've had a touch of post-natal depression. Probably other stuff. I wondered it often ... am I depressed, or do I just not give a fuck? I go in and out of it, still. I think it's finally abating now. God I hope so.<br />
<br />
My Tiger is the most wise and knowing boy I have ever met. I adore him.<br />
<br />
Anyway, so yesterday, the old lady kept turning to me, saying "Oh what a handsome boy. Is this your first? He loves his mum!"<br />
<br />
And it made me feel special, that he loves me. Even when I kind of failed him a bit, back in the Fiascos Darkest Hours.<br />
<br />
I am not failing him now .... he is happier, and less irritated. More content. It's a hell of a lot easier to parent a contented baby than a fussing one, I swear.<br />
<br />
The old lady again turned to me, and, as if seeing me there with Monkey for the first time. "Oh! What a beautiful baby! Is he your first? My goodness, those eyes. Ohhhh, he loves his mum!"<br />
<br />
Finally it dawned on me that she had dementia. I answered all of her questions again, and didn't mind, not one bit.<br />
<br />
I really needed to hear, over and over again, what a beautiful baby he was, and how much he loved his mum.<br />
<br />
___<br />
<br />
We went to the circus on Saturday night - the first time we have all been out together as a family. I even got a sitter for Monkey. We were SO excited. Naturally, halfway through we got evacuated from the Big Top because of a severe storm warning, and had to go home.<br />
<br />
No circus for the cancer family. So annoying - Tiger was SO disappointed, and we had to come home and pay the babysitter after forking out $200 bucks for the freaking circus tickets.<br />
<br />
Reminded me, yet again, that you can plan all you like, but things will happen as they will.<br />
<br />
__<br />
<br />
Mr TC has had a personality transplant. Oh my GOODNESS he is being so mindful and caring and loving. So lovely. His smell is back! He smells like a man - a big, tough guyo. I didn't even notice his smell was missing, until it came back a week ago. That musky, sweaty man smell. LOVE it. I have missed it so ... all the hiroshima bombs that kept getting dropped on him every three weeks wiped him clean of all human-ness. I keep going up to him, grabbing him and smelling him, deeply. "Oooooo, yeah. Big tough guyo smell!"<br />
<br />
He swats me away, but I know he loves it. I kind of feel like I make him a better man. Dunno how or why. Just feel it. When we first met he wore overalls and I had more money than him. And he had three kids. I took a lot on. Guess it's all about balance and compromise.<br />
<br />
We ended up talking the price down and booking a nice house near the beach, for a week in January. Tomorrow, we are going down to the big shopping centre and doing Christmas shopping. Then, at 3pm, we have an appointment at the Big Hospital, with the Big Kahuna Doctor. Woe betide him if he tells us bad news WOE BETIDE. I would be so cranky that he made us wait almost three weeks to tell us.<br />
<br />
As it is ... if it IS bad news, I will cry and rant and rave and stomp my feet, have three tantrums, tell the doctor to get fucked (yes, I will) wail and curse God. <strong>Then</strong> I will deal with it.<br />
<br />
If it is good news ... well fuck, won't that be the shit?<br />
<br />
XOXOXOX</div>
Topcathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07281866717498277448noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5792790978219902008.post-88394809490510205932008-12-09T19:30:00.007+11:002016-05-15T19:30:02.774+10:00Hello it is I, Arsehole<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Mr TC goes out every night. This is nothing new, but sometimes I'd like to go out too. Do .. something? Work, work, busy busy hectic. Everything is exactly the same - if not more manic, than before he got sick. His days are a manic mess of madness. I wish his cancer and chemo changed his perspective on his life like it has mine.<br />
<br />
For months I've been saying we need to plan a holiday for January. Now there's nothing left to book! No - thing. Unless we drop a mere three grand for a fucking beach house somewhere. So.<br />
<br />
Maybe I take the boys and I on holiday somewhere. I'm not joking.<br />
____<br />
<br />
Still recovering from Tigers party. Oh. My. Lordy. The jumping castle. The pinata. Pass the parcel. Twenty screaming seven-year olds running around my house. Next year? He can take a mate to the movies. Maybe two mates, tops. It was good, though. He deserved every second of happiness, to be made a fuss of. His friends are all still talking about it at school, saying how "awesome" it was.<br />
__<br />
<br />
The pesky PET scan results? Mr TC walks in with them last week, sealed in an envelope.<br />
<br />
<br />
Me: "Well, open it!"<br />
Him: "I can't! It says don't open them. The appointment with the doc is on the 16th - he'll open it then."<br />
Me: <em>Laughing, trying to grab scans.</em> "Seriously, open it."<br />
Him: "NO! It says I can't."<br />
<br />
I freeze, incredulous. "Are you SHITTING me? Are you FOR REAL? You had a mass of tumours, which hopefully are all gone from the chemo - and you're not going to have a look? You're going to wait two weeks? Since when the fuck did you start playing by the rules!?"<br />
<br />
Him: Sulkily "Do I have to hide them in my ute?"<br />
Me: Sighing. "Do I have to give you a blowjob to find out if you still have cancer?"<br />
Him: "Deal."<br />
<br />
Fifteen minutes later, we walk out of the bedroom and I rip open his scan. We studied the photos, and put the disc in my computer. (First, he puts it in the DVD player. Why is it, after I tell him that only my computer will read the disc, I have to sit there watching his futile attempts at getting it to play on the TV? Why? Why?)<br />
<br />
For the second time in our lives, we watch his 3-D cartoon self slowly spin around. Our consensus? We tentatively think there are no tumours. I am a bit worried about his lungs, there seemed to be some hazy blackness in there, but he reckons they are fine. We shall know for sure next Tuesday. Meh.<br />
<br />
____<br />
<br />
<br />
Party pics ...<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_FZw2hOJIGQA/ST44oBHC7MI/AAAAAAAAA0g/7FjGU6AjL1k/s1600-h/PC060001.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5277718073468710082" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/_FZw2hOJIGQA/ST44oBHC7MI/AAAAAAAAA0g/7FjGU6AjL1k/s400/PC060001.JPG" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 300px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
<div>
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_FZw2hOJIGQA/ST44o-JQU9I/AAAAAAAAA0w/qslit_piNEk/s1600-h/PC060005.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5277718089852539858" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/_FZw2hOJIGQA/ST44o-JQU9I/AAAAAAAAA0w/qslit_piNEk/s400/PC060005.JPG" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 300px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
<div>
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_FZw2hOJIGQA/ST44oQIxAOI/AAAAAAAAA0o/1Tm4MBAV-og/s1600-h/PC060020.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5277718077502456034" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/_FZw2hOJIGQA/ST44oQIxAOI/AAAAAAAAA0o/1Tm4MBAV-og/s400/PC060020.JPG" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 300px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
<br />
The Mario cakes, complete with Starcoins and different levels ...<br />
<br /></div>
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_FZw2hOJIGQA/ST46noy46yI/AAAAAAAAA1A/ZomLOyrYsUA/s1600-h/PC060036.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5277720265964972834" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/_FZw2hOJIGQA/ST46noy46yI/AAAAAAAAA1A/ZomLOyrYsUA/s400/PC060036.JPG" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 300px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
<br />
Happy Birthday, big bro!<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_FZw2hOJIGQA/ST44pGmLNPI/AAAAAAAAA04/ffnS6fsnzcI/s1600-h/PC060040.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5277718092121322738" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/_FZw2hOJIGQA/ST44pGmLNPI/AAAAAAAAA04/ffnS6fsnzcI/s400/PC060040.JPG" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 300px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a> </div>
</div>
Topcathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07281866717498277448noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5792790978219902008.post-17042817831326523082008-12-05T22:32:00.010+11:002016-05-15T19:33:43.016+10:00Like, a Total Update<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I have been missing for a while, haven't I? Sorry. I know I'm not my usual chin-hair describing self. I have felt conflicted, torn. My vivid imagination has me with ten stalkers, knowing the town in which I live. Some random guy was outside my house recently, and I thought, "OMFG HE IS HERE TO KILL ME!!" But he was just taking his dogs for a walk. Apparently, that is not illegal.<br />
<br />
Big things are occuring. The end of the Year that Was. Waiting on the Reading of the Scan. Working from home as well as working in the home. Looking after a six month old baby who tries every last ounce of my patience, and has done since the day he was born. My GOD HE IS A HARD BABY. Kicks the shit out of me, every single nappy change. Needs to be held 24/7. Eats like a freakin racehorse.<br />
<br />
He had his first go on a swing today ... for the first time in days, he seemed content. I am SO getting him a swing for Christmas.<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_FZw2hOJIGQA/STkW3u37VvI/AAAAAAAAA0Q/p3OF4WUjuGQ/s1600-h/PC050014.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5276273585172469490" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/_FZw2hOJIGQA/STkW3u37VvI/AAAAAAAAA0Q/p3OF4WUjuGQ/s400/PC050014.JPG" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 300px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a> (Note Tigers ever-present Peace Out sign).<br />
<br />
I realise I have just bitched about a six month old baby. *Insert obligatory "I love my baby" statements HERE. (I do ... he is insanely gorgeous.)<br />
<br />
My beautiful stepson has come back to live with us. It is FUCKING AWESOME. At the risk of totally jinxing the fuck out of myself .... he is kind, hardworking, thoughtful. He has a job, and a completely wonderful outlook on his life. We joke and laugh together ... often. My God, I underestimated how much I love him. I met him when he was seven ... Tigers age now!! Stepson is now sixteen. I see my influence in him ... traces of myself in things he thinks and says, and it clean blow me away. I think of Pam and her W, and the amazing shared history they are creating.<br />
<br />
My stepson has a positive, optimistic future planned ... the complete opposite to me when I was his age. I'm gobsmacked. And really, really proud.<br />
<br />
__<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_FZw2hOJIGQA/STkUnpxPMcI/AAAAAAAAA0A/BleSiYwlcT0/s1600-h/PC020049.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5276271109901070786" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/_FZw2hOJIGQA/STkUnpxPMcI/AAAAAAAAA0A/BleSiYwlcT0/s400/PC020049.JPG" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 300px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
We are still in Tigers birthday week .... I have made SUCH a big deal about it. I cancelled his party last year because I was having an amnio done. This year .... I am throwing him and twenty friends a massive, fancy-dress, jumping castle extavaganza. Come one, come all. The Mario cake sits in the fridge, garishly decorated. Pass the Parcel is wrapped .... each with a lollipop and then the main prize is a Magic 8 Ball. Naturally, before I wrapped it I asked Universe if Mr TC was going to be ok. "All signs point to a yes." <br />
<br />
Good enough for me. It was so strange, to wave Mr TC goodbye this week, as he drove off for his PET scan. I pretended everything was fine ... but when I played Mario for two solid hours straight, not even stopping to piss ... I knew something was up. <em>Husband just going to check if those pesky black tumours are all gone la la la.</em><br />
<em><br /></em>
I have tried, and failed miserably, to make a paper mache pinata. Stepson is in the kitchen right now ... at 11.30pm on a Friday, making another one from scratch. (It may have something to do with the $25 bet we made on who could make the better pinata. Subtle manipulation, perhaps?)<br />
<br />
I've got all the food ready, chips and fruit and drinks. What really got me ... were the lolly bags. I counted each toy, balloon, musk stick. Two snakes, one marshmallow puff .... all decorated with ribbons and stickers. Had a production line set up in my bedroom - <br />
<br />
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_FZw2hOJIGQA/STkUnySWn6I/AAAAAAAAA0I/-WqydIM-S20/s1600-h/PC040005.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5276271112187453346" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/_FZw2hOJIGQA/STkUnySWn6I/AAAAAAAAA0I/-WqydIM-S20/s400/PC040005.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 300px;" /></a> When they were all filled and ready, they looked so beautiful. I sat back, gazing ... and started to cry and cry. Shedding my fear again. Feeling relieved again. We made it this far. Mr TC is feeling better and better. My son GREW UP this year. I can't remember the last time I read his spelling words out to him, or played kids scrabble. But you can be sure as fuck he has the best lollybags you have ever seen in your life. He deserves a big deal made. Today he was reminiscing about "last year, when it was only us, mum ... remember?" He wished it was still like that, he told me later.<br />
<br />
Sometimes, I do, too.<br />
<br />
I have been so hectic and busy. Hardly been in blogland at all. My Who magazines are stacking up UNOPENED, still in their plastic wrapper, waiting to be devoured. (Tee got me a subscription for my birthday, back in March). <br />
<br />
So tonight, while Mr TC and stepson were at soccer, and Monkey and Tiger were *gasp* SLEEPING ... instead of tackling Mt Laundry, I decided to shove it all into baskets and hide it in cupboards tomorrow ... so I could indulge in this ...<br />
<br />
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FZw2hOJIGQA/STkW4NFaEOI/AAAAAAAAA0Y/lKXZvenu9nk/s1600-h/PC050021.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5276273593282072802" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FZw2hOJIGQA/STkW4NFaEOI/AAAAAAAAA0Y/lKXZvenu9nk/s400/PC050021.JPG" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 300px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
Please note the M&Ms are a party bucket, which I cracked open. I read that trashy mag from cover to cover. And it felt GREAT. And I'm gonna DO IT AGAIN.<br />
<br />
So. That's me. But that's enough about me ... what do you think of me? HAHAHAHA.<br />
(You have no idea how ashamed of myself I am for not checking in with you. I've had to turn comments off this post, otherwise my shame would fill my whole body up like toxic helium and <em>I would be the fucking pinata.</em>)<br />
XOXOXOXOXX</div>
Topcathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07281866717498277448noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5792790978219902008.post-22112558790074167962008-12-03T10:14:00.002+11:002016-05-15T19:34:04.057+10:00Aint no Saint<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I need to stop hating people. I have turned into a bitter, sarcastic, jaded BITCH. The mums at Tigers school are scared of me. No joke. The phone does not ring so much anymore. Part of me thinks, good ... fuck off, but then, another part of me says it's time to re-join the human race. Get over yourself already. Like attracts like. Be better.<br />
<br />
I choose to remind myself that not all people are arseholes.<br />
<br />
Most .... but not all.<br />
<br />
_______<br />
<br />
"People are often unreasonable and self-centered. Forgive them anyway.<br />
<br />
If you are kind, people may accuse you of ulterior motives. Be kind anyway.<br />
<br />
If you are honest, people may try to cheat you. Be honest anyway.<br />
<br />
If you find happiness, people may be jealous. Be happy anyway.<br />
<br />
The good you do today may be forgotten tomorrow. Do good anyway.<br />
<br />
Give the world the best you have and it may never be enough. Give your best anyway.<br />
<br />
For, you see, in the end, it is between you and God. It was never between you and them anyway."<br />
~Mother Theresa</div>
Topcathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07281866717498277448noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5792790978219902008.post-84509546615806296892008-12-01T22:02:00.004+11:002016-05-15T19:39:14.012+10:00Sometimes the Sun and No More Always Looking<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I should not be typing this. I had been planning to write this post, this auspicious post ... but I should be icing Tigers cupcakes for school tomorrow ... wrapping his pressies ... drumming up freelance work ... being busy and productive.<br />
<br />
But, I looked at my blog stats, and someone came to my blog via googling "SOMETIMES THE SUN AND NO MORE ALWAYS LOOKING." In capitals, shouting and demanding. And I related to it's bad grammar, and for the umpteenth time today I thought of the date today, and what it meant, and how much I have changed.<br />
<br />
Exactly twenty years ago today was the worst day of my life. Most traumatic, awful, fucked up bullshit day. It was the day my dad killed himself. Technically, he was my stepdad ... but after eleven years, and after my real dad had died four years prior ... I called him dad and thought of him as dad. Confusing.<br />
<br />
He was a shit stepdad. Pretty fucking crap. But he loved my brother so much and that was enough for me. I love my bro. We talk a lot. We tell each other everything. I worry for him. I worry a lot.<br />
<br />
Tigers due date was this date. (He wasn't born on this day, though). After so many years of hating this date, I had an amazing reason to look forward to it. It changed everything.<br />
<br />
Twenty years on, I have proof that time indeed does heal. Not entirely ... I have scars from that time that will remain forever. Sometimes I feel tough, and proud of my scars. Other times, I feel so sad and fucked up. Meh.<br />
<br />
Now, I don't feel that much towards my stepdad. I sit here, trying to have respect, trying to write out some positive aspects of his personality ... what he taught me, things I can hold on to.<br />
<br />
Nothing.<br />
<br />
Once, when I was about ten, I entered a Fathers Day radio competition. You had to ring up and say on air, what your dad did for you. I got on the air ... the announcer asked me what my dad for me. I stammered, and stumbled - realising to my horror that I could not think of one thing. Not one. I had to make something up. I told her feebly that he fixes my rollerskates. (I was quite the rollerskater in my youth. I still have a pair today.)<br />
<br />
I didn't win. He never would have been bothered to fix my rollerskates anyway.<br />
<br />
Actually, he did teach me a few things ....<br />
<br />
1) How to fix his drink in the evenings. Johnny Walker Red Label Scotch, with dry ginger ale.<br />
<br />
2) How not to be a step-parent<br />
<br />
3) When you light a fire, start from the back first. That way, you won't burn yourself as you light it at the front.<br />
<br />
4) Suicide is wrong. On so many levels. DO. NOT. KILL. YOURSELVES. When he was just eight years old, my brother lost his beloved dad. He talks to me about it. I tell him about how my real dad is dead. But I wasn't as close to my real dad as he was to his. Ugh ... dead dads, everywhere!<br />
<br />
In conclusion, thank you, stepdad. For teaching me how to light fires.<br />
<br />
But I taught myself how to put them out.</div>
Topcathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07281866717498277448noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5792790978219902008.post-26559165963524923992008-11-30T23:18:00.004+11:002016-05-15T19:41:51.589+10:00Hay While the Sun Shines<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I've worked out what seems to be wrong with Monkey ... <em>he's scared!!</em>
<br />
<em><br /></em>
<em></em>
The poor little sweetheart. If he sleeps through, til about 4am, he's fine. If not, and he wakes up any time before then, it's a screaming frenzy. It happened just then ... I went in, and he grabbed my hand in a panic and drew it close. He's so scared, and wants me near. I stay near.<br />
<br />
We'll just fumble our way through, as usual.
<br />
<br />
In other, even more fearful news ... Mr TC is worried. He doesn't look good, has a big lump on his face, and today he asked me to feel his tummy for any tumours. His scan is in a few days, so I guess it's just on his mind. It must feel very strange, after chemo, waiting on scan results. Is that a lump? Am I sick again? Why do I feel so crap? Who was the second gunman on the grassy knoll?
<br />
<br />
Mr TC wins the husband of the year award this weekend! Both mornings he has got up to Monkey, took him and Tiger out for a walk, and at 9am, arrived back home to wake me up .. with a soy latte AND the paper for me. Motherfucking hero! Then, we just had family time all weekend! And, he was interested and thoughtful, bought me a bunch of flowers, and told me how sexy I look lately!!! WTF!<br />
<br />
Last week, Tiger said "Mum, I really want to see the movie Australia." So last night I took him. Just me and Tiger, on a date. I vowed to spend more one-on-one time with him. Time is hard, these days. Parenting a baby, small child, stepson, wife of a sick guy, trying to work from home ... no wonder I kept blowing fuses. I had to pray and be gentle with myself, all weekend. Feeling SO much better.
<br />
<br />
Now, as for watching the film "Australia" last night ... let's put it out there, I do not think Nicole Kidman can act for shit. I see her on the screen, and think, oh look ... a wooden, stilted person who is trying to act. HOWEVER ... Australia was fucking wonderful, and she was really good in it! I was so, so proud to see the film focus on the whites' treatment of Aboriginal Australians.
<br />
<br />
It's the most expensive movie ever made down here .... us Aussies have a nasty habit of cutting down all our <ahref all_poppy_syndrome="" en.wikipedia.org="" http:="" wiki="">tall poppies</ahref>, all the people who make it "big" and daring to give things a go. Baz Luhrmann has been castigated for audaciously naming his film, and the press are itching to call it a flop. But it won't flop. I loved it. Tiger loved it ... I was so proud of him, sitting there next to me. He was enthralled, and didn't get bored once. I kept kissing him and stroking his arm. Fuck I adore that boy ADORE.
<br />
<br />
Afterwards, we played air hockey, pinball, and a shooting game with rifles we re-loaded and hunted grizzly bears in the forest. PISSING ourselves laughing.
<br />
<br />
I had the best weekend. We are so fortunate. Yes I have felt the Big Fear around Mr TC again, thoughts flying around our heads. Yes the news of <a href="http://www.theage.com.au/articles/2008/11/28/1227491787319.html">Patrick Swayze </a>jolted us both, sitting at the park today, reading the newspaper together.
<br />
<br />
There has been <a href="http://news.smh.com.au/national/mourners-farewell-tragic-tathra-trio-20081126-6hlh.html">so much </a>sad news, lately.
<br />
<br />
I had the strange, unsettled feeling that I had travelled back in time from the future to today, so I soaked and drank and inhaled it in ... I kissed and kissed and kissed my boys, all weekend.
<br />
<br />
Whatever happens, I am one blessed motherfucker. I don't want to forget that.
</div>
Topcathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07281866717498277448noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5792790978219902008.post-44475223235029421732008-11-28T21:30:00.002+11:002016-05-15T19:43:40.522+10:00The Terrorist<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Every single night for the past seven nights, Monkey has awoken and screamed, screamed and screamed. Fed, changed, patted .... finally, if I walk around and stroke and whisper to him, he has drifted back to sleep. Until he screams again.<br />
<br />
Poor old Michael Finnegan Begin-again. That was my brothers favourite song when he was little.<br />
<br />
Ummmm - I'm tired? I have ended up giving up and hopping into the single bed with him in his room, holding him close. His piece de resistance was last night, screaming blue, bloody murder for three motherfucking hours straight. Nothing would help. Nothing seemed wrong. His crying was <strong>trying.</strong> I ended up shooting myself in the head, and am typing this from hell. <em>(Tee and Rex ... Dad says hi!)</em><br />
<em></em><br />
Not really .... but close.<br />
<br />
He cried every time I tried to make him have a nap today, and putting him to bed tonight was a freaking nightmare. I was trying to get writing work done for my new job, had a deadline ... and just fucked it up. She sent it back to me three times to be re-written. She wasn't happy. "I'm usually really good!" I wanted to say. "I promise!"<br />
<br />
I wailed to Mr TC, gnashing my teeth. Cried to stepson. Sniffled with Tiger.<br />
<br />
Hello controlled crying ... how YOU doin'?<br />
<br />
I've always thought that I could never, ever do controlled crying. With Tiger, a mere whisper of a murmer and I would run in to his room. Monkey? Poor sweetie has had crying issues since day one. Obviously my head is trying to make it somehow my fault, but I am beginning to see that sometimes babies just CRY. It is what they DO. And, I get the feeling if I do not nip this in the bud now I am sharpening a MASSIVE rod for my back. My back is stooped enough as it is.<br />
<br />
So fucked. I need to work on myself more ... lately I have grown more angry, bitter and venomous than I have ever been in my whole life. It doesn't feel very nice, my dreams are getting dark, and my Higher Self is sitting out on a rock ledge somewhere, twiddling her thumbs, bored as all fuck.<br />
<br />
I guess I'll read some baby books tomorrow, because I have utterly no idea what the fuck I'm doing. Seriously.<br />
<br />
GOOD NIGHT</div>
Topcathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07281866717498277448noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5792790978219902008.post-19201299134805583952008-11-26T20:59:00.005+11:002016-05-15T19:44:58.527+10:00And the Nominees Are ....<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_FZw2hOJIGQA/SS0ePN6kjLI/AAAAAAAAAzo/72Zj2UcVTUk/s1600-h/Award_150px.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5272903985502915762" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/_FZw2hOJIGQA/SS0ePN6kjLI/AAAAAAAAAzo/72Zj2UcVTUk/s400/Award_150px.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 101px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 150px;" /></a><br />
<br />
About two millennia ago, the kind <a href="http://despitemotherhood.blogspot.com/">Rachel Inbar </a>nominated me for a Kick-Arse Blog Award. Actually, it's Kick ASS Blog Award, but we all know arse has an R in it. Rachel sometimes leaves a comment here, which I do appreciate. Once she left one on a particularly disturbing post - probably about heroin use (mmmmm, heroin) ... she said how "boring" she was. Rachel you are not boring ... I wish I was more sedate, more even-keeled. Like you!<br />
<br />
So, I'm passing the award on to a few bloggers. Now, I don't really like doing this, because I don't like to be exclusive. I'm sorry if I hurt anyones feelings - if I could nominate 57 people then we'd be sweet. So, I've decided to give a shout-out to those people who I have only started to read recently. Say, when my life got all fucked up back in May. A lot of people have come here and given their support ... I am eternally grateful. I'm so sorry I've not reciprocated much lately. My motherfucking useless modem hasn't helped. The very raw truth is ... lately I have wondered if I am:<br />
<br />
a) Having a breakdown<br />
b) Am depressed<br />
c) Have post-natal depression<br />
d) Want a divorce<br />
e) All of the above<br />
<br />
So that's my excuse. I could sit here and write a post on all my angst and demons, or I can take the motherfucking focus off myself and direct it to some others.<br />
<br />
AHEM.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://palemother.blogspot.com/">Palemother. </a>Oh my God she is so wise and mysterious and cool. She has fish on her blog that you can feed. <em>She knows stuff.</em> She "gets" people. She has beautiful children. She can spot dysfunctional family habits at 10 paces. She. Rocks.<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://vacantuterus.typepad.com/">Flicka at Vacant Uterus.</a> I thought she really did live in Greenland! I am an idiot! Flicka is real and raw and post pics of sparkly hair clips she has put in to cheer herself up on a fucked day. Her hubby Sarge and her have been through the wringer, back out, then around again. They adopted Sam, who is Monkeys peep. Flicka, never stop blogging. Please!<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://annacyclopediaisworkingonit.wordpress.com/">Annacyclopedia.</a> She makes BORSCHT, AND she is cool. Hot hair. She looked around for a Womans Circle, couldn't find one .... <em>so started one up.</em> A person who IS the change they want to see in the world. Anna has taken a few beatings, lately. (From life ... not her hubby.) I told her recently that she is going to be an AWESOME mother someday. And she is. And I will be here, willing and cheering her on. I heart her.<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://makeustronger.blogspot.com/">G at Makes You Stronger.</a> Hands down, has the best IRL name EVER. The fires of hell have burnt her. And yes it's making her stronger but I wish it didn't have to happen. She deserves EVERYTHING GOOD to now start happening. Truly a Kick-ARSE blogger.<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://wellbewaiting.blogspot.com/">R.A.W. </a>(PWP) I think about RAW all the time. She is taking a break from blogging .... but her generosity and warmth meant so much to me at a really hard time.<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://mrsspock.blogspot.com/">Mrs Spock</a> A wonderful and wise peep, who genuinely gives a shit. She totally must have known I was doing a thousand cries today ... for she emailed me <a href="http://sendables.jibjab.com/view/6P2DFZBvt0e2Vaqwovdc">THIS.</a> Can't believe she took time out to edit pics of me and Monkey. Made me laugh and laugh, freakin' hilarious. She is wise, kind, and thoughtful.<br />
<br />
<br />
A special mention to <a href="http://thenewlifeofnancy.blogspot.com/">Nancy</a> ... although I connected with her last year, I cannot NOT give this award to her, for her blog truly does Kick some Serious Arse. Nancy is unshockable. She stirs the pot ... went to a scrapbooking convention and women <em>grabbed their children tighter</em>, probably due to her cool tattoos. She's opinionated, strong, and very fucking pregnant.<br />
<br />
<br />
I've already gone over quota - I wish I could choose more. Thank you for your support, all the peeps above and beyond, out here in Blogland. Your positive thoughts have helped me through the mire. XOX<br />
__<br />
<br />
<br />
I'm still mortified at the pic I posted yesterday. (Thanks for the lovely anti-uglynose comments AHEM)<br />
<br />
Here is another, to prove that I <strong>actually am cool now. </strong>(Obviously Mr TCs tattoos help with my cool quotient).<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_FZw2hOJIGQA/SS0q4EFM6nI/AAAAAAAAAzw/ICv0iqQEeHk/s1600-h/PB090004.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5272917881377319538" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/_FZw2hOJIGQA/SS0q4EFM6nI/AAAAAAAAAzw/ICv0iqQEeHk/s400/PB090004.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 300px;" /></a><br />
At least my fucking nose looks semi-decent in this one. I smell coffee .. IN BRAZIL.</div>
Topcathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07281866717498277448noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5792790978219902008.post-41887959078498031892008-11-25T08:45:00.005+11:002016-05-15T19:45:27.392+10:00This morning, when I should have been working, I found the glasses I used to wear in high school, put them on, took a photo, and posted it on my blog.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div>
Yes, yes I did.<br />
<br />
No WONDER I never had a boyfriend in high school. I cannot BELIEVE my mother made me wear them. I am re-enacting photos taken of me as a teen .... the face is smiling but the eyes sure as hell aren't.<br />
<br />
*<br />
*<br />
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*<br />
*<br />
*<br />
*<br />
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*<br />
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*<br />
* </div>
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_FZw2hOJIGQA/SSshdhmFUoI/AAAAAAAAAzg/UuxAcpz2PXg/s1600-h/PB250004.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5272344579885322882" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/_FZw2hOJIGQA/SSshdhmFUoI/AAAAAAAAAzg/UuxAcpz2PXg/s400/PB250004.JPG" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 300px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
<br />
*** Admiring my own handiwork and congratulating myself on being SO hilarious, I was studying the picture for a while. For too long.<br />
Ummm, MY NOSE LOOKS LIKE A CAULIFLOWER. How can I be 36 and never TRULY know how big and ugly my nose is???? </div>
Topcathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07281866717498277448noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5792790978219902008.post-86812646607859017472008-11-24T12:42:00.003+11:002016-05-15T19:49:18.570+10:00The Big Reveal<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
"I got lizards and snakes
<br />
Runnin through my body.
<br />
Funny how they all
<br />
Have my face."
<br />
<br />
- Sweet Dreams, Tori Amos
<br />
<br />
<br />
The day before I turned seven, I slipped up some thin, rusted metal stairs outside our house and sliced my shin straight open. You could see the bone. Blood curdling screams …. I remember my mother running outside with lots of teatowels. She said later that she knew she needed them because of the awful sound I was making. Sitting in the doctors surgery, I got my leg sewn up with no painkillers. It was horrific … I ended up with seven stitches, one for each year I had lived. I still have the scar, I can’t stand to touch it. Every time I look down it’s there, smiling creepily at me.<br />
<br />
One day next week, Tiger will wake up and be seven. He will open all of his birthday presents. Then, his dad will hop in his ute and drive down to the BIGGEST hospital, and get a PET scan to finally see, if all the tumours have gone. Like on a home renovating show, being blindfolded and waiting for “The Big Reveal.” We have to wait until around the 16th of December for the scan to be read.
<br />
<br />
I can’t believe that Universe would give Tiger bad news for his dad on his birthday.
<br />
<br />
Obviously, I have feelings around it. Everyone asks me when the scan is, and can’t believe we have to wait so long. I’m actually fine with the waiting. For here, in Waiting Land, lies the possibility that his scan will clear .. like a two week wait holds the possibility of being pregnant.
<br />
<br />
It feels like the worst is already over – we are now just mopping up the aftermath. My marriage has taken a huge beating, and I know we need to re-connect somehow. Can we? We drifted so far apart.<br />
<br />
But, whatever happens … the shock and trauma of it all has worn off. We got used to chemo. Monkey is bigger now. Life marched on, like it always does.
<br />
<br />
I’m having huge dreams. Huge. I do a lot of spiritual work and healing in my dreams, I always have.<br />
<br />
____<br />
<div>
</div>
<br />
<div>
Last week I was with Tee, and we had parked in a big carpark where everyone fights for a space. Walking back to the car, we noticed that a car had parked illegally behind me. So we were stuck. It took me SO MANY FUCKING tries to get my car out. I told Tee I wanted to smash the fuck out of this idiots car, slam into it like a monster truck rally. She goes ... "Do you want to leave a note?"</div>
<br />
<div>
</div>
YES.<br />
<div>
<br />
We dealt with our anger appropriately, and left the note. Laughing so hard so I could a photo of it, to post here and show the internet.</div>
<br />
<div>
</div>
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_FZw2hOJIGQA/SSoJIl-utEI/AAAAAAAAAzY/MvGxEUlfGdU/s1600-h/PB190078.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5272036357029409858" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/_FZw2hOJIGQA/SSoJIl-utEI/AAAAAAAAAzY/MvGxEUlfGdU/s400/PB190078.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 300px;" /></a>
<br />
<div>
<br />
We felt SO much better.</div>
<br />
<div>
</div>
Lately I have felt my skin crawling, like I can’t stand living in it. I went to a meeting in Sydney last week … fucking awesome. One guy shared before me – about how he can’t stand himself lately. I SO understood. He was talking … “I mean, I’m just so sick of my own bullshit. My defects, my fucked-upness … I can’t stand myself. I really can’t. I hate myself. I just want to vomit all over myself.”<br />
<div>
<br />
Everyone PISSED themselves laughing.
<br />
<br />
Yesterday, I looked at Mr TC and he looked sick again. Yellow, like how he looked before we found out he was sick. It rocked me to the core, the possibility that … well, you know.
<br />
<br />
Soon we shall all know. </div>
<br />
<div>
</div>
<br />
<div>
</div>
<br /></div>
Topcathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07281866717498277448noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5792790978219902008.post-84059380124344681082008-11-19T15:06:00.008+11:002016-05-15T19:51:40.615+10:00Happy Half Birthday<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_FZw2hOJIGQA/SSOpv2uwxOI/AAAAAAAAAzA/yr-jSv-wmJ8/s1600-h/PB180069.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5270242628564206818" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/_FZw2hOJIGQA/SSOpv2uwxOI/AAAAAAAAAzA/yr-jSv-wmJ8/s400/PB180069.JPG" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 300px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a>
<br />
<br />
<div>
I got to Sydney and promptly fell apart.</div>
<br />
<div>
But I don't want to blog about that, about how I feel a huge ball in my chest, and I, the recovering, in-tune person that I am ... cannot for the life of me work out what is wrong. But I am not ok. And in that ... the admitting that I'm not ok, makes me feel so relieved and better. I am NOT OK! I feel SHIT! Post-traumatic stress? Depression? Anxiety? All of the above? Who the fuck knows .... I just know that I am <strong>not ok</strong>. Paradoxically, that makes me ok.</div>
<br />
<div>
I don't want to go home tomorrow, but I have to. Then again, I don't want to stay here, either. You know that feeling where you don't want to be anywhere?<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
Yesterday I walked down to glorious Bondi Beach, Monkey in his pram, soy latte at hand. I felt emotional. So much has happened. What a most intense year it has been. But, I am SO SICK of myself. Just get the fuck over it already. </div>
<br />
<div>
</div>
<div>
<em>My baby turns six moths old today!</em></div>
<br />
<div>
I told his naughty, wonderful cousins that we are to have a Half Birthday Party for him tonight, after dinner. We shall sing "Happy Half Birthday, to you ....". I bought cupcakes. (He won't have one, we shall eat them in his honour.)</div>
<br />
<div>
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FZw2hOJIGQA/SSOkq3exVRI/AAAAAAAAAy4/Bmy8dckdobM/s1600-h/PB190079.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5270237045308085522" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FZw2hOJIGQA/SSOkq3exVRI/AAAAAAAAAy4/Bmy8dckdobM/s400/PB190079.JPG" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 300px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a>
<br />
<div>
</div>
<div>
I feel like somebody has pushed their hands through the clouds and handed me a six month old baby. I have a baby. He has not been my priority. I solemnly swear, from now on, that he will be my priority. I whispered in to his ear, today .... "Mummy is going to watch you and listen to you and love you so, so much!!"<br />
<br />
Cancer is a thief.<br />
<br /></div>
</div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
I give him three thousand kisses when I put him in the car, and seventeen thousand when I get him out again. I marvel at his big little feet (like blocks of cement, he has feet like his mama). People stop me in the street, to comment on what a beautiful looking little guy he is. His hair has gone from red to golden ... my Golden Boy. He rolls over, but is not interested in crawling yet. My Laz-e-Boy. Just like his mama! He can cry real tears, kicks like Ian Thorpe in the water, has been known to eat and crap at the same time. His personality is starting to come out ... he is really "here".
<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
At mums most favourite cafe in the whole world ... <br />
<br />
<div>
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_FZw2hOJIGQA/SSOpwKjjcFI/AAAAAAAAAzI/7dL-tI7VUU0/s1600-h/PB180071.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5270242633885904978" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/_FZw2hOJIGQA/SSOpwKjjcFI/AAAAAAAAAzI/7dL-tI7VUU0/s400/PB180071.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 300px;" /></a></div>
</div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
<div>
I love him.<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_FZw2hOJIGQA/SSOpwf5VTWI/AAAAAAAAAzQ/9ruYXlLU8Yk/s1600-h/PB180076.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5270242639614397794" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/_FZw2hOJIGQA/SSOpwf5VTWI/AAAAAAAAAzQ/9ruYXlLU8Yk/s400/PB180076.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 300px;" /></a>
</div>
<div>
I am so relieved, to love him so.</div>
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He looks at me adoringly, and breaks my heart. Tori Amos once sang that she has enough guilt to start her own religion. Hello.</div>
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The next six months will fly, so quickly. If I am thirsty .... then I shall drink <strong>him</strong> in, this most spectacular, amazing little human. I am blessed to have him. I feel blessed to love him, and not ever want to let him go.</div>
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Happy Half Birthday, my Wonderful Monkey Star. Thank you for teaching me The Way. You are heavenly, and magical, and sacred. I promise to celebrate that, my sweetheart guy. I am so sorry, about everything. I am flawed ... we all are. But I love you deeply. And that really is all that matters.</div>
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forever,</div>
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Mum
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XOXOXOXOXOXOXOX<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_FZw2hOJIGQA/SSOkqujwlLI/AAAAAAAAAyw/cSQF1oaJwpI/s1600-h/PB110017.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5270237042913088690" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/_FZw2hOJIGQA/SSOkqujwlLI/AAAAAAAAAyw/cSQF1oaJwpI/s400/PB110017.JPG" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 300px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_FZw2hOJIGQA/SSOjwq2xOxI/AAAAAAAAAyY/eUG3DfwW8Ts/s1600-h/PB110012.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5270236045486668562" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/_FZw2hOJIGQA/SSOjwq2xOxI/AAAAAAAAAyY/eUG3DfwW8Ts/s400/PB110012.JPG" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 300px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a>
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Topcathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07281866717498277448noreply@blogger.com28tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5792790978219902008.post-20577234087018996852008-11-16T21:44:00.004+11:002016-05-15T19:53:51.020+10:00The Feet on the Fairy<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FZw2hOJIGQA/SSACoqd1ygI/AAAAAAAAAx4/rrvizsfo2AU/s1600-h/PB080031.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269214461640952322" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/_FZw2hOJIGQA/SSACoqd1ygI/AAAAAAAAAx4/rrvizsfo2AU/s400/PB080031.JPG" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 300px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
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Tomorrow I shall make my escape.</div>
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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!)</div>
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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.</div>
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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.</div>
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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!?)</div>
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Here is Tiger and stepson, mucking around directly under the Harbour Bridge:<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_FZw2hOJIGQA/SSAFYyjOFGI/AAAAAAAAAyQ/aX-YZuPQzr4/s1600-h/PB080008.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269217487467975778" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/_FZw2hOJIGQA/SSAFYyjOFGI/AAAAAAAAAyQ/aX-YZuPQzr4/s400/PB080008.JPG" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 300px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
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I am an arsehole mother lately. It's true - I am. To both Tiger and Monkey. I am short on patience, frustrated, <span style="font-size: 78%;">a little bit yelling. </span><span style="font-size: 100%;">I really need some more Mo in my Jo. I need to love them and be nice and know how lucky I am.</span></div>
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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.</div>
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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.</div>
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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. </div>
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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.</div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_FZw2hOJIGQA/SSACoflIj4I/AAAAAAAAAxw/HxSIBWVYAUE/s1600-h/PB080024.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269214458718752642" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/_FZw2hOJIGQA/SSACoflIj4I/AAAAAAAAAxw/HxSIBWVYAUE/s400/PB080024.JPG" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 300px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
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Look - the Sydney Opera House is growing out of Monkeys left ear! Clever boy! </div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_FZw2hOJIGQA/SSAFYSKc1pI/AAAAAAAAAyI/xA09E-WslLU/s1600-h/PB080019.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269217478774150802" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/_FZw2hOJIGQA/SSAFYSKc1pI/AAAAAAAAAyI/xA09E-WslLU/s400/PB080019.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 300px;" /></a></div>
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I LOVE this photo ... however, I don't love the gut overhang flapping over my jeans: <br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_FZw2hOJIGQA/SSAFYOBEBqI/AAAAAAAAAyA/mU8SyCQACLY/s1600-h/PB080023.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5269217477661034146" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/_FZw2hOJIGQA/SSAFYOBEBqI/AAAAAAAAAyA/mU8SyCQACLY/s400/PB080023.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 300px;" /></a><br />
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For more Show and Tells, check out Mel at Stirrup Queens <a href="http://stirrup-queens.blogspot.com/">HERE. </a><br />
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*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.</div>
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Topcathttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07281866717498277448noreply@blogger.com14