Burn Baby Burn

Let me tell you about this week's emergency fire drill.

We had been warned in the morning, by our OHS officer, that there would be a drill sometime in the next few days, but he wasn't telling us when.

At around  11 am the alarm started: woop woop woop pause woop woop woop pause...

Checking my handy laminated wall chart with visual representation of the bell sounds (that's it there...blurry.....but can you see the solid red line and the broken one?)

I determined that this was the siren for a 'lockdown'.
"Quick everyone, out of sight of the door!"
The two students and the other staff member hunkered down in a corner whilst I (bravely) switched off the lights and locked the door. We settled in to wait.

The siren continued: woop woop woop pause woop woop woop pause etc etc

After a few minutes, having fielded the obligatory questions from students about whether this was real or a drill, we heard an extremely noisy and chaotic sounding class descended the stairway outside near our window. We all looked at each other.
"Are you sure this is a lockdown?" asked the other staff member. "Perhaps we should evacuate?"
"What? Right into the path of the crazed gunman?" I replied. She acknowledged that this may be unwise so we waited a little longer. We heard more noises outside, children running and squealing, quite a bit of laughter.....
"If this was a fire we would be dead," my colleague observed.
"Nonsense," quoth I,"If it were a lockdown and we'd followed those fools outside we would definitely be dead! Anyway, don't worry, if it is a fire, once they realise our names have not been ticked off the roll, they'll send someone to rescue us."

We waited.

woop woop woop pause.....

After a while the siren stopped. It was very quiet. The children looked at me.
"Everyone must be out on the oval Mrs A," whimpered one.
"OR," I postulated,"They could all be hiding under their desks very quietly like you're supposed to do during a lockdown!"
More minutes crawled past. A school bell sounded.
"There, that's the all clear," I announced, only to realise that it was merely the scheduled lunch bell.
I crawled over to the phone and tried to call Reception to find out what was going on, but they were obviously under their desks too.

Eventually we heard the sound of pupils returning to the building. My colleague looked at me and I at her: "They didn't come and rescue us!" she said.

Later in the staffroom I approached the teacher who would have had our names on her roll.
"What happened?" I demanded,"No-one came to rescue us!" She laughed heartily.
"There was such confusion," she said," I knew where you were and what must have happened. I just handed them the roll and told them you were all dead."

Thanks a LOT!!!!! :-D

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It turned out that the fire brigade now has control of our bells and that they had changed the signal type. No-one had informed us so the laminated safety sheets are all WRONG! Half the school were in lockdown and the other half were careering around the oval in confusion and gales of hysterical laughter. The Principal was NOT amused and (apparently, I didn't see him as I was under a desk) stormed around shouting unintelligible announcements over the megaphone. Heads will roll!!

The classic comment of the afternoon came from a year 9 pupil who announced,
"They should have an alarm that goes FIRE FIRE FIRE FIRE and another one that goes HIDE HIDE HIDE HIDE!!"
Not so silly really.

Unspoken

It's been a very long time since I wrote about, or even mentioned, The Small Boy. Of course,  this is partly because he is no longer small ( it's official, everyone in the family is taller than me) but mostly because we don't see him much anymore.

There is a long story behind this and in the past I would have filled you in along every gruesome step of the journey. As it is I barely know where to start. Suffice to say that when Himself informed me that Small Boy wanted to stay with us this week, my first thought was "what is he trying to avoid?" What does he stand to gain by hunkering down over here at our place (where he is usually bored) and why does it have to be THIS week, when the Honorable Husband is visiting us from Germany???

It didn't take long for us to find out. He is avoiding a school camp.

There is so much hurt in this young man. 

More later.

My Feet They Finally Took Root In The Earth

I have been trying to write this post for 9 days.I have lost the whole thing, fallen asleep in front of the computer  and run out of time to do anything.....so now, here is what I have squeezed out 9 days later...
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Some time ago I wrote about this guy. I wrote about him more than once and in December 2010 I had the very great privilege of attending his graduation ball. Here we all are.

Gene has renamed himself on facebook so I will use that moniker now. That's him, 'Al', on the right. Can you see why I love him? I don't feel so bad about posting this photo now, given that all the lads are over 18 and a pretty regular presence on the internet anyway. The other two gentlemen are also amazing men, with their own stories, but today I want to talk about Al.

After his graduation I connected with him on facebook and found out that he was doing a course in mechanics and expected to have an apprenticeship soon.We messaged each other occasionally and left comments. Then he went quiet.

The week before last, out of the blue, he contacted me. In the past I had always reminded him that I would be happy to help him in any way I could: study, references, course applications etc.
To my complete surprise (and delight) he suddenly popped up and said:
      "Hey Mrs A, I need you' help!"
I lost no time in replying:
       "Hey Al! Wass up? What do you need help with?"
       "Maths Mrs A. I want to learn everything. I'm ready now, I want to learn the basics and be able
         to do calculations and use formulas and stuff...."

Now any of you who have tutored will know that there is a significant per hour price tag attached to the assistance I was willing to give but as I prepared my response I knew that wasn't even in the equation.

        "No worries! What kind of things do you want to cover and where shall I meet you?"

We agreed to meet in the central library on Thursday night. I have got to admit I was anxious. I mean, it has been three years. What would he think when his sprightly, energetic maths teacher from 2010 turned out to be a middle aged pudding? Would it put him off study for ever? Seriously though, would he be committed? Would he even turn up?????

I was late as usual and then I found that the labyrinth of the library defeated me so I had to text him to come and rescue me from the foyer.

He came around the corner and I knew his shape from a distance.  Gone was the backward facing cap, baggy pants around his crutch and sleeveless singlets. Even the dubious symbols previously carved into his tight dark curls had gone. In their place was an attractive, respectable looking young man in a plaid shirt and slim fitting jeans with a conservative haircut and an air of purpose.

We sat and talked for a while. He was off that evening to graduate from his TAFE Course in Business Management.
"So you don't really need my help after all?"
"No, Mrs A, I really DO need your help. I want to do this..."
and he flipped over a folder he was carrying.....
He wants to learn to fly.
"I can do it Mrs A. I believe in myself now.  I don't care what I have to do. If I have to, I will go back to the beginning......"
"You may have to Al..."

He told me where he'd 'been' and what he'd been through. He told me of bad trips and seeing things he never wanted to see again. He told me of holing up in his mum's house and refusing to see his 'friends'; he told me about needing to separate himself from the culture and how his mother helped him keep the toxic friends away....

He told me about how he had found God.
 I smiled broadly.
"Yeah Mrs A, I knew you would like that," he said.
"Cool," was all I could offer. :-)

He had to leave to get to his graduation ceremony but I was so pumped after seeing him  I didn't know what to do with myself, so I went to the pub.
It was completely empty.

I sat with myself and thought about a lot of things. I thought about the last time I had been in that pub, maybe thirty years ago. I thought about how much it (and I) had changed. I thought about what I had wanted to do with my life 30 years ago and I thought about how that had changed and what I had contributed to Al's life.

Life is such a convoluted thing. My own weird journey, my regrets, my disappointments, I looked at them all through the lens of Al. I sat in that empty pub and downed pint  with a quiet sense of euphoria. Maybe, for once, I had made a difference.

God bless you Al. I know our journey will not be predictable, after all you didn't turn up this week while I sat there and waited, but I know God put us  together for  reason. I don't even know if my level of maths will be sufficient for the road you have set ahead for you but if not I will find you an appropriate tutor. Don't you worry about that!

I can't tell you how excited I am to be on this journey with you.

Love ya Al. In a nice, 'not creepy' kind of way ;-)


Growin Up : Bruce Springsteen

If You Love It Let It Go......

OK, so who was the smart a*****  d*** brain who said this then? Very good mate! Brilliant. Sounds great in theory.

I am having a hard time letting my butterfly go.
For one thing, I don't like the directions she flies in. Additionally, her wings are ever so fragile (though she is more from the 'My wings are like a shield of steel' school).

She rightly accuses me of hypocrisy (although I don't think I ever wore anything I had to be taped into) as I was a far from perfect teenager. Many have suggested that I may be reaping a severe case of karma, considering what I may or may not have put my own parents through.

All this is beside the point.

No. Actually. All this is exactly the point.

I am challenged by the  dichotomy of my own teenage (hell....let's face it...my 20s, 30s and even 40s) self and my feelings towards my daughter's developing identity.

It was all so much easier when she was a kid. Somewhere between here and here I was relieved of my Flaming Sword. It's still there mind you, in the background, hissing and spitting in a somewhat lacklustre manner. I can encourage you that, from time to time, I still reach for it.

Like last Sunday night when she came in and started to get ready to 'go out'.
Me: But it's Sunday....
Her: Oh Mum! I worked yesterday so I didn't get to go out.
Me: Ye-es. But...it's Sunday......
Her: Haha...yes Mum...don't worry, we'll have an early night...probably be home by 2 am
Me: (spluttering) 2 am??????? (This is obviously  some strange usage of the word "early" that I wasn't previously aware of).
Her: Haha...Mum you are so cute...
Me: No, you mistake me....don't you have work tomorrow?
Her: Yes but I don't start until 12pm...I can sleep in...
Me: But.....it's SUNDAY

So OK...that bit wasn't exactly me reaching for the sword.

Look, don't get me wrong, the BA is essentially a good kid. She volunteers at the Red Cross shop on Saturdays; she cleans up our kitchen (with a prompt); she gets to work on time; she is a loyal friend and enthusiastic employee. I just wish she didn't view the whole world through the lens of 'personal appearance/read: body image' and the motto 'I party therefore I am'.

I am hopeful that her overseas trip (when she gets to it) will sort out some of her priorities and help her settle to a more worthwhile purpose. It certainly had some effect on me in 1979 when I did my backpacking thing.

Of course her travel plans have been put somewhat on hold by the fact that this young man will be  back from Afghanistan in 2 weeks.

He has been away since March and he will have no doubt changed. I somehow feel that the BA will not commit fully to her overseas trip until she has run the course of things with this very nice, but inevitably 'not quite right for her', young man. Of course, I could be completely wrong and she may marry him and become an army wife.......
NAH....................

Now I wanted to finish with:
For those of you who visit this blog for wise insights into child rearing....could you please come back in about 5 years ad I'll give you the benefit of hindsight :-D;

but I suddenly realised I was thinking about this from completely the wrong angle.

The whole point of the Flaming Sword is that it 'sets things up'. What you do with these precious tiny souls throughout their formative years will have a major impact on their development at this end of the journey. Of course, you cannot really parent to totally avoid drugs and alcohol, you cannot parent to avoid stupid casual sex and you can rarely parent to avoid young men taking their motorbikes down the Norton Summit Rd at high speed (OMG I LOVE that you can just google that!) but you can know that underneath that veneer of testosterone or oestrogen, they are still the babies you nurtured.

Example in point: the other night the BA hopped into bed with me (in her onesie) to tell me she loved me. We discussed some of her friends and their choices, we reflected on her her various employments, we shared the excitement of Army Boy's early return date....

What she does on her 'nights out' is beyond my control. All that I can hope is that she has been imbued with sufficient sense of self to fend off the d*** br**ns and to conduct herself with dignity and self worth. There are definitely girls that age who do this. I know because I was always (sadly) bemused by them..........

Took Eighteen Years To Get This Far

It's been months, if not years,  in preparation. The event of the year! The highlight of the Adelaide social calendar! All singing, all dancing, it's  The Baby Angel's 18th Birthday Bash!

She selected the date some time late last year and started a facebook private event page. I suggested she send out invitations and she looked at me as if I were mad.

Building commenced in the backyard. There was a wall to be replaced, a pool to be refurbished, a pergola to be erected, a patio to create before the hordes of Adelaide youth descended upon us.

Life got busy. School started up again and things seemed more frantic than ever. My new role as the office girl at Himself's business took up the spare moments when I wasn't writing IEPs or Support Plans or supervising the integration of a little lad with cerebral palsy who started in Reception this year.

Building progressed. Ever. So. Slowly.
March arrived. Friends in the UK born around the same time as the BA began turning 18. I noticed their parents collecting photos and comments for their scrapbooks and celebrating with posh parties at sophisticated reception places. I looked out the back window at the dust and stacks of pavers and a creeping unease settled in.

I finally broached it with the BA.
"So what's happening about this party then? Should I be organising some invitations of something?"
"Oh Mu-um (rolls eyes) it's just a gathering."
"What about food? Drink (I presume we are expected to provide some)? Music? What did you have in mind?"
"Oh, just some nibbles and things and maybe a few dozen cans of beer and Cruisers...Oh! Ad you will make your usual cake for me won't you?"

At last something I could relate to. I started to play around with ideas until out of the blue my Middle Sis posted a pic on facebook which was perfectly appropriate for a girl about to spread her wings and take off. So, cake sorted. Sort of.

About this time her dad started texting and phoning with questions about the big party. The big party happening at my house. The big party which occasionally gnawed away at the edge of my brain with annoying questions like "Have you thought this through?" Of course the answer was no so I managed to completely avoid the question for quite some time as the building was delayed, started, stopped and continued to coat the inside of my house with a fine layer of soil. Her dad booked his plane and asked if there was anything he could help with. "Oh probably," I stalled,"but that would require me thinking about it..."

At some point I decided that this occasion required more serious marking than simply a random collection of 18 year old sometime friends, doof doof dancing on my back patio and vomiting into the building rubble. I put it to the BA. "Oh all right!" she announced with exasperation,"we'll ask the oldies early on and then they can all go and my friends can come."
This child has a lot to learn about the art of being a gracious hostess.

With Grandma, Grandad, the two Aunties and all our Baby Group friends 12,000 miles away across the globe, I felt a need to identify dear friends here who had had an impact on the BA through her early years in Australia. I made a number of calls and texts and felt honoured to have around 20 folks agree to come and help me 'cut the proverbial cord'. "Come around 6pm for a BBQ," I blithely quipped," we'll cut some cake, drink a toast and then you guys can beat a retreat if you don't want to have to deal with the mass of irreverent youth descending on the place around 8.30pm."

So the big day drew nearer and nearer. The paving went exponentially slower and slower. Storm water drains needed to be dug; I had big deadlines at school; Himself's business entered a crisis period......I contracted the ugliest case of rhinovirus I had experienced in some time and was laid low for the best part of a week. When I resurfaced we were two weeks out from the party and  the BA suggested we supply bottles of spirits for a 'cocktail bar'. "Dream on baby!" was my response.
Himself had organised to borrow a PA and suddenly the very casual 'ipod playlist' became an item by which the party could be made or broken.

Suspense and anxiety levels started to ramp up. What would I feed them? Would I be able to make a fair stab at this cake I had planned? How would we decorate the back area? What would we put the food on? etc etc etc

Himself suddenly needed to go to Sydney for the week before the party. Great.

The pergola was finished and the paving recommenced. It would be finished by Thursday... Friday.......

I hired cake tins on the Monday before the party and baked the two layers of the cake, finishing at 1am; then I wrapped the lot and popped them into the freezer. "What can we bring?" people asked. What a good question, I thought. I had enough presence of mind to ask one family for a salad and another for some stuffed eggs and yet a third for a potato salad. Beyond that I had nuttin'. I had submissions to complete.

On the Friday before the party, the boys finished laying the pavers.

There were still piles of sand lying around and wheel barrows and all their other attendant tools and mess.

Himself got back from Sydney and commenced decorating the garden with over 50m of coloured flashing lights.

He bought a patio heater as the weather changed, set up the PA and made sure the spa was working properly.

I thawed the cake and started the icing process.

Saturday dawned. In a frenzy of activity Himself went to buy meat for the BBQ, I went to buy food and the BA went to have her hair done >:-(. The boys turned up to remove their tools and the rest of the sand and rubble. They also picked up some trestles from the church for me. I went shopping. I threw random items of 'party food' into the basket: 3kg of cheese and 12 packets of corn chips to make nachos; 4 big partypacks of frozen pies, sausage rolls, spring rolls and money bags, 20 x bulk buy packs of lollies. I sent Himself to buy 'kid drinks' for that part of the evening (I totally forgot to tell him to get any adult drinks so when people arrived at 6.15pm I was without a glass of wine to offer them! Plenty of hideous blue Cruiser things though). But I had finished the last touches on the cake at 5.45pm, so we were roughly ready to go.

I've got to say the baby Angel looked stunning.

Here she is with her dad. Gotta love a fake tan eh?

Her dad, actually, was another story. He texted me earlier in the week to say he'd been having chest pains and had seen the doc to find he had raised cardiac enzymes and had had to go in for an MRI.  On the Thursday he called to say he needed a stent and was booked for the op on the Monday after the party! He always did time these things well. He had root canal work on the morning of our wedding.....

And so the guests arrived (I was in the shower of course). All the most wonderful, generous people who have supported us in our lives here in Oz: Kindergarten Friend who took the BA kayaking on her first camping trip; Dear Friend, daughter of the Quilting Doyenne who babysat for her over more than a year as I went to my regular karate class to take out my life frustrations; Brother of Dear Friend, who partnered her to the second formal of 2012; the Quilting Doyenne who took them both to swimming lessons every Thursday evening for two years; The Bestie and her lovely Mum and Dad; many of her wonderful mentors from our church community; her earliest girlfriends in Aus; two of her teachers who are great friends of mine and have watched her grow and of course A Free Man and his fab family whom we love.

Eventually, I gathered the crowd under the new pergola and thanked them all and told them about the time 18 years ago when I had welcomed the BA into the world in one of those weird anachronistic moments where she was born on one day in the UK and the next day in Aus. I thanked her dad and his wife; I got choked up by thoughts of my mum and dad who would have loved to have been there.... and that was when I realised I was unprepared. I had not written a speech. I totally forgot to talk about my beautiful, feisty, independent daughter. And I forgot to cut the cake. This fact was brought home to me some 30min later as the young 'uns had started to arrived. Not Max grabbed my leg in passing and in perfect 4 year old speak asked "CAKE! When are we having the CAKE??????"

Of course, by then I was preoccupied with: ensuring that the 'arrivals' were genuine guests and not gatecrashers; providing hot food for the starving masses and collecting up the precious champagne glasses from the toast.
Me: (carrying a tray of champagne flutes) Hello, and who would you be?
Boy: Hi Mrs A, I'm G, remember me?
Me: Oh yes, I've met you before at the .*..crash crash crash.....* (as I tilted the tray ever so lightly G-wards in greeting him).

Champagne flutes are notoriously unstable and behave remarkably like dominoes in these situations (that's my story and I'm sticking to it!!!)

I got very few photos of the actual 'revels'.

There was a great deal of dancing around the speakers and a very serious game of 'beer pong' going on. My determined efforts to keep the rabble out of the house failed miserably as they congregated in the laundry, end bedroom and bathroom. We served up nachos and frankfurters (called 'little boys' over here) and my sentinels on the front balcony reported the young lady fertilizing our garden rather early on in the evening (Amazingly, having got rid of all those nasty stomach contents she went on to thoroughly enjoy the party and left at 1am, bright eyed and bushy tailed).

I've got to say, the young people were delightful. They were well mannered, articulate (mostly....) and genuinely just having a good time. The 78 attendees (as per facebook) came and went in dribs and drabs meaning that we had no more than 50 there, all up, at any one time.

There were the occasional downers. The police came at 11.30pm to ask us to 'turn it down'. They were delightful and apologised profusely but we did have to take the doof doof out of the equation, much to everyone's chagrin. There was 'Spew Boy' whom I found collapsed on the BA's bed just after the police visit. Keen to keep the bedrooms alcohol (indeed-people) free, I got him up and supported him down the corridor towards the kitchen where we hoped to get him to drink some water and sober up. Unfortunately, as we passed the bathroom he spied the basin and, I've got to say, he almost made it. Shame about the make-up bag some foolish girl had left on the bench top.
We eventually bedded him down on a fold up mattress on the kitchen floor (no carpet in case of further accidents) with a bucket.  No one seemed to want to take responsibility for him, which I thought was sad. I tried to drive him home later that night but he was unable to coherently give me an address and I was not able to lift him without a crane. We left him snoring on the floor and in the morning he had gone. Apparently he texted the BA to apologise.

Most of the crowd left around 1am, thanking us for having them and leaving responsibly in cabs. Himself wanted to party on and kicked up the spa so 7 of them (4 were staying over) ended up in the spa at 2am. That was me finished and I told Himself that since he was having such a good time, he could see them all off the premises or into bed, cos I had had enough.

At 3.30am my slumbers were disturbed when the BA burst in to show me her birthday present...

 (photo taken the following morning)

Speaking of the following morning.....
                                                                                                                    

And a little visitor, just to remind us that we do live in Australia....

So, I think we can say it was a success, despite my total lack of planning and leaving everything to the last moment as usual. I'm not too sure I'd do it again in a big hurry but I suppose I don't have to.....


Alice Cooper: Eighteen

Turning 18: Cutting The Cord

The first time  we severed the tie was moments after she was born. My sweet, sweet mother, who had no such support when she brought me into the world, took the pair of stainless steel pincers proffered by our wonderful midwife and made the cut as directed:

"Cut here," she said,"you can do it!"

And my mother cut. And my baby was free from me and yet with me.

My father once said to me that nothing altered your life as much as your child telling you they didn't need you any more.
"when you're having a child," he explained,"you do a fair bit of prep, and everyone tells you whats in store...so you have some idea. But nothing prepares you for the moment they tell you they don't need you."

Of course, I know it's not that straight forward. Heavens above, I went back to the bosom of my family at 34, when I was about to give birth to the BA! If you are blessed, as we are, as a family, you will always be connected to the people who grew you, loved you and turned you out into the world. But let's face it, we do have to turn these babies out into the world. And mostly they're champing at the bit to get there....

If you haven't guessed, we're about to celebrate a milestone birthday.

In Australia, the 18th birthday signifies a coming of age.
Driving in SA: 16-17 (recently you can't get your full licence until 18...but only recently)
Voting: 18
Drinking:18

When I was a gal, the 21st birthday was the big event. But this was obviously a persistent hangover (pardon the Freudian slip)  from the days when you qualified for drinking and voting at 21. I'm not actually sure when the 18th took over from the 21st as the milestone birthday, but take over it did.....

And so I am faced with the second cutting of the cord, with all its attendant stresses:
Where is she? What time will she be home? How many of her clothes will she have left behind her in a trail from the nightclub to the taxi...........

Happy Birthday my wild Baby Angel as you flutter into your nineteenth year.

I'm Digging a Ditch Where Madness Lives

Sometimes when things are at their darkest a little ray of sunshine beaks through.

Not that our darkness can even cast a shadow on the circumstances of many people in this world; we are so blessed really. Still, any regular reader of this blog will be well aware of the limitless dysfunction of this family (and these are just a few examples) and I am sure our builders would attest to the same.

This past week has been yet another litany of stress:
Himself's business (why oh why did I get involved? Oh yes, because they needed someone who would remember to pay the bills); mounting unfinished jobs at work which were meant to be completed during the holidays (wooooosh....that was the deadlines passing); the builders (so where do you want this down pipe?); No 1 Son, here for a short spell which has extended to months (not that we mind except that we know he is simply avoiding things); the BA's approaching 18th birthday with attendant monster party (what was I thinking????); a nasty letter from the taxman...
So it was with a delight bordering on rapture that I came home to this tonight.

Why, you ask me? Well, it seems that both my stepsons have worked together, for the best part of a day, to dig trenches in unforgiving clay soil, so that the storm water may be connected up tomorrow ready for the paving to recommence on Thursday. They also purchased the required PVC pipe and assorted joining pieces.
Unsolicited.
Without supervision!
For no monetary reward.
And without killing each other.

Just when you think they are beyond hope....... <3 p="">
Here's the finished pergola awaiting the paving.

When that is done I get to pick up the new outdoor setting, hopefully before May 11th when the BA has her birthday party............

I mean, why do it with time to spare when you can have the enervating experience of biting your fingernails right up until the last moment?