Depression, the gift that keeps on giving......

It has been almost a year since my last blog post, my how time flies when you're not having fun!

A year, I tell you! A horrid year of battle. With whom? Sometimes it feels like the whole world....but mostly with myself.

A battle to get up every day, to go to work, to do my job, to be a mum, to function at all...

But I did, every stinking, rotten second of it, I functioned! Not always well, but I functioned for the kids, nobody else, just the kids.

Is the Black Dog gone? HELL NO! But I still function, I just do, do not feel, just do. I can however, see a streak of light in the tunnel ahead.

The pessimist will say it's an oncoming train, the optimist, a wonderful new beginning. I just say it's a tiny streak of light. A tiny streak of light is far preferable to the nothing, darkness that has been....me.

I still cannot feel, cannot allow myself that luxury. I used to feel two things; utter sadness or numbness. I choose numbness, it allows the aforementioned functioning.

But my interest in things returns, slowly, in miniscule drips, but it returns. My interest in writing, in doing a crossword, in organising the garage.....slowly.

One day at a time....

Fear & hope.

My boy is gone. Just like that, quick as a wink, gone. Not coming home ever again.

He has moved in with his father. I am shattered, bereft, bewildered & more than a little sad. I am also miffed, confused & plain pissed off with both of them.

But I miss my boy.

I fear for him, living with his dad. I fear the example he'll be shown, I fear him becoming an alcoholic, I fear him becoming attached to someone who didn't contact his child for over a year & it all falling apart on him. I fear him being shown all the wrong ways to lead his life.

For the first time this year, I didn't see my son on his birthday, his nineteenth came & went, with no more than a text message. He didn't want to come home. I think he was with his dad on Mother's Day, I got the excuse he couldn't come to see me, he was stuck in the city. I know he wasn't.

I fear I WILL lose him forever.

I fear my other children becoming alienated from their dad. I fear the level of resentment building against him, by them already.

I fear a fractured family, siblings with so much baggage & so much damage between them, that it will never & can never be repaired.

I fear my children will not come to me at Christmas, Easter, birthdays for a happy family gathering, bringing with them significant others, spouses & in time, grandchildren. I fear having to arrange to meet them, minus one...

I fear the worst.

I hope my fears are unfounded. I hope my imagination is running amok. I hope such things abhorrent to me, never come to pass.

I hope I see the life I've always wanted for my children. I hope they, in time, love each other. I hope my boy learns the value of family. I hope his selfish, sociopathic tendencies disappear with age, wisdom & life-experience.

I hope it will all turn out just fine.

Some mother's do 'ave 'em

This Sunday is Mothers Day in Oz. No biggie, it won't stop the economy, resurrect Elvis, calm down Beiber fans or rid us of global warming. It IS really just another day...

For me, however, it's an almost magical experience! I truly feel the love & appreciation of my offspring. It's although, for one (or part thereof) day, they truly value me as the person who loves them unconditionally, does so much for them, is both mother & father & who is so extremely proud of them. I may even have a argument-free day. For me, it's not about gifts, rather FEELING the lurve.

Plans have been made, I am banned from bedrooms at certain times, a shopping trip is scheduled in & hushed conversations are taking place in darkened corners...

All promising to be a wonderful day, including cold toast in bed, followed by more than likely cold coffee, as I will have to open pressies before eating... It's just not the done thing to wait!

This particular Mother's Day, however, I expect to hear nothing from my eldest. No card, sms, kiss on the cheek, or even an appearance. He didn't bother with Easter or Christmas & has been asked to vacate the premises, permanently.

He is playing the 'let's punish mum, by not coming home' game at the present. I know where he is (I have my sources), he is well & safe & trying to tick me off. I shall not chase him this time. Rather, let him take the initiative & when he does, let him know I've missed him & I care.

So, I shall prepare my special Mother's Day high tea, for my own mum & let the younger three spoil me with their well laid plans. Yes, I will be disappointed, but I WILL NOT let it ruin my day, or the other family member's day.

Who knows, he may surprise me? I doubt it.

Girding my loins......

The troth twixt ‘em..

I was determined not to, wasn’t really interested, but alas, I caved & like millions of others, watched The Royal Wedding. Not because it was the Royal Family, not because I wanted to see the dress, not because there wasn’t anything else on telly either. It was because I, like every other (most, anyways) female on this planet, loves a wedding & moreso, because of my OVER-BLOODY-WHELMING-MATERNALISM. I am SUCH a mother, I could kick myself at times!

The way I thought of it was thus: I have seen this young man grow up, right from birth, to his independence. He has faced challenges many have not. Privileged, yes, but also extremely sheltered, protected & hidden from ‘normalcy’. The death of his mother, a cruel blow that no child should ever have to endure. Perhaps because I feel sorry for him, or feel like he has been a part of my life, I wanted to see this extra-ordinary young man married & happy. I will never meet him and am by no means a Royalist, but the mother in me needed to know he was ok.

Anyhoo… I am amazed at the amount of people questioning the language used during the ceremony! So many asking what troth & twixt mean. Excuse me for appearing pompous, but I, (being no English scholar) could easily work out the general meanings by relating troth to betrothed, being a promise & twixt to betwixt, being between or amongst. It saddens me that today’s younger population don’t seem to have the vocabulary to nut out such meanings or phrases.

Abbreviating words for fun, speed or necessity in limited space is fine in this world of sms, msn & the like, I do it myself, but my mistakes are intentional or meant as a play on words. I really cringe & am quite dismayed that behind this new ‘cyber’ language, a firm grasp of basic English just doesn’t exist in many cases, let alone 'Old English' as The Bard penned.

Perhaps the Dept. of Education should take a serious look at their planning or parents should actually converse with take a greater role in increasing the vocabulary/language/conversation skills of their children. I see kids too lazy to look up a dictionary, Google a meaning or at times, care enough to want to know. It seems instant gratification is their way of life, as if effort has been bred out of them. If they don’t know a word or phrase, use another! Done, dusted & fixed, but nothing new learned.

I don’t know the answer, I do know however, my heart is a little heavier when I consider what is really happening to these future generations...

The Prodigal Son..

I have a black sheep, not of the woolly variety, rather the eldest spurn of my loins/offspring. The arrogant, aggressive, overbearing, LARGEST of my children. Plenty of problems over the years, both for & caused by this particular quarter of my brood.

I had him seeing a paediatric psych at an early age, for anti-social behaviour (diagnosed with anxiety & fed anti-depressants for the condition), have suspected on more than one occasion he may, ever so slightly be on the Autism spectrum (but I’m no expert..) & have coached him for many years on social queues, language, acceptable behaviour etc… Even now, at age 18, he admits to not understanding what people say or mean when they talk.

All his life he clashed with his father, I tried (in vain) to get father to see the good in his son. He is SMART, so academic, it’s not funny, he was athletic (albeit rough on the footy field & black listed by the DDJFL). He was actually head-hunted by division one football clubs, such was his size & skill on the field. He is amusing (when the mood strikes)...Alas, as far as father was concerned, there was not much good to be found. Few father-son activities really occurred.

As prodigal got older, I had father, being not such an effective parent & prodigal being the self-proclaimed ‘protector’. Prodigal tried to step into father’s role, to discipline his siblings & generally rule the roost. More clashes ensued, a battle of wits, although son was the wittier….

Fast forward a number of years:

Prodigal starts drinking (turned up drunk to school), he stays out at night, starts hanging around with a bad crowd, smoking cigarettes & self-harming (smashing up knuckles on brick walls & cutting himself).

Father then moves out, prodigal stays at home & with TONS of support, I make progress. I am the parent, not him! I set the rules, I allow the friends over to my home, supervised (& they get a piece of my mind when needed). I say “no”, A LOT! There are consequences to his actions. I think I have my boy back….

We have travelled rather well over the last two & a half years, there have been ups & downs, of course. I have had to call in the ‘tough love’ on occasion (which has been tougher on me, than him), but hey, MY house, My rules & there are younger children here…I managed to get him to finish his secondary schooling (boy, was that an effort) & now he works full-time in management, running the shifts at McDonalds. Not too bad *pats self on the back*

There are days/weeks when he is horribly rude & utterly disrespectful, both to me & his siblings. There are also days/weeks when he is helpful, courteous & kind. Last week was a VERY bad week, this week is a good week, we have a commonality & I am his ally.

Perhaps my boy has grown up? We shall wait & see....

Question?

I’m finding the whole blogging experience to be exhausting (but therapeutic) at times. My preferred method is to type merrily onto a Publisher document (ah, Publisher, how I love thee) & transfer on to my blog. There is a method in my madness, firstly I am on limited stupid Bigpond wireless internet & it saves my usage & I can re-hash what I write before uploading to the great beyond…

The problem I seem to have is thus: I am writing EPIC posts! Pages & pages of expunging, purging, backgrounds to my stories, memories which pop into my noggin as I spew forth my drama-of-the-day.

So I’m thinking right about now, I could give Tolstoy a run for his money & if he could write War & Peace & have it published in separate volumes, can I? Apart from the fact that I'm so much better looking than him, probably smell better & have a clean shaven face...

Is it proper Blog etiquette to post in parts? Being a newbie, I want to know if this is the done thing, or considered rather blasé & or distasteful.

Feedback please??

Sorry I opened my big mouth!

Here I sit, covered in MDF dust & liquid nails, eating a cheese & onion sandwich or two. In the garage I have set up; my cordless drill, electric sander, jigsaw & workbench. Feeling so very blokey at the moment!

Junior has to build a 'sustainable' house model for school, so as you do, when you're a complete glutton for punishment exceptionally helpful mother, you go the whole-hog. An exact, scale replica of the very first house we ever built, straight off the plan (bar the bay window in the lounge room, too fiddly).

I have discovered I have a penchant for the jigsaw, going swimmingly in the cutting department. The Liquid Nails however, is detemined to defy me at every God-damned turn! Knew I should have stuck to silicone to stick the mofo wonderful little model together.

Windows are a bit crooked, but junior assures me they look good (she would say that, lest I down tools & give her cardboard boxes to construct with).

All this on a Sunday which, truth be told, I would rather be lying in bed, watching bad tv, or snoozing. Usual aches & pains & holding my head up to keep the disc in place is IMPOSSIBLE when I need to look down, or lose a limb to said power tools...

I am, admittedly, THE most 'unco' looking tradie, ever to walk this earth. Here's a giggle for you: I'm wearing trackies & moccies (old ones, of course), an old jacket, holey t-shirt, neck-brace & wrist brace. Haven't done the hair today, so it's all "look at me, I just had a good night" (sleep that is..)

It is cold in the garage, it's raining outside, I DON'T WANNA, but I will, for my baby girl, who deserves this epic, kick-arse project :)

BTW, her sire is a builder & could have possibly knocked this one over in a matter of hours. The fact she didn't even ask him, speaks volumes to me...