Malay: Thank you for finally featuring me in one of your posts, Julie. I have been waiting rather a long time.
Malay: Next time, get the hose out of the way and please get your light settings right!
Malay: Newkid was okay but I am a survivor, Julie.
Malay: I would prefer it if you would refrain from photographing me with Prince from now on.
I have often wondered this because, almost by definition, a blog is a public thing, isn’t it? When I first began blogging, a bit over a year ago, it didn’t take me long to realize just how public this kind of writing is. Comments from friends and family were encouraging and, like many, I discovered I had a ready-made audience. When people I didn’t know (other bloggers) commented, I was initially astounded but gradually I began to explore their blogs and became accustomed to the reciprocal dynamics.
A week ago, I re-started my romance novel blog. Originally this had contained posts about my life with husband, Anthony, then I decided to incorporate these into this blog and the romance novel blog lay dormant for awhile. Then, suddenly realizing I had an already written draft of a novel for Harlequin Mills and Boon that needed editing, I decided to re-motivate myself to do this editing by blogging it, bit by bit by bit. So far I am halfway through and up to Chapter 6.
BUT, when I got to Chapter 5, I was rather shocked to find that it contained some rather explicit erotic material. It wasn’t pornographic but it was odd to read something that seemed to have been written by somebody else. I was in a quandary, so (not having that many followers on that blog) I asked them what to do and it was suggested that I put an “Adult content” warning on any posts that were risque, so I did, and I posted one of these and hoped for the best. Before doing so, I asked my mother to unsubscribe but I forgot that many people who were already subscribed to the romance novel from way back (when it was autobiographical and PG!) might still be reading it.
My dad, nanna and grandparents are all in Heaven, and have been for some time, but what if Heaven has the internet now? And what if my sisters-in-law see the erotic post and show my brothers for a laugh. What if my previous workmates from the university see it? What if – OH NO! – what if Ming sees it?
Hence I am about to make the romance novel private for a couple of days until I figure out who is still on the reader list. Yes, I am going to do this right now!
My first brother, BJ, turns 52 today which is wonderful because for the next six weeks or so he will only be a year younger than I am – ha!
BJ is a chiropractor, like our father was, and he is now working in the Solomon Islands with his wife and two of his five children (yes, First brother and Baby brother surpassed me long ago in the baby-making stakes).
This is him with our mother a couple of years ago. He has taken to wearing a kilt because his eldest daughter is getting married in Scotland next year and I think he also quite likes the look of his own legs.
And that’s BJ on the left, Baby brother in the middle and me on the right – in our father’s arms.
Both my brothers have inherited our dad’s love of being a father.
Happy birthday, BJ!
As indicated in a previous post, whenever I get to the end of my tether, the first person I talk to is Anthony – always.
I think it is remarkable that when I am the needy one, he becomes incredibly supportive and completely forgets his own neediness.
This is Malay, our only remaining rooster. He has Anthony’s tenacity!
These two guys have a lot in common.
They both like to show off.
They both like to dance on the roof.
They are both gorgeous.
However, the second prince, despite all appearances to the contrary, is much more interesting!
Conversation between Ming and me this afternoon:
Me [timid]: If you could just stop being so angry – please! I think we need to go back for counselling.
Ming [sarcastic]: Oh, of course, counselling because I am a psycho and I need help.
Me: Everything seemed okay until a couple of days ago and now you’re angry again – I can’t stand it and I want it to stop.
Ming: But I am angry. I AM ANGRY!
Me: So what do I do?
Ming: LET ME BE ANGRY!
Okay.
That angry angel has a good point!
Last night I rang Anthony and, instead of the usual commiserative, areyouokay? conversation, I blathered on about a whole bunch of farm/child/other problems I was having. My blah blah blah went a bit like this:
Can you believe it? The peacock man hasn’t come, I can’t find three of the girls so they’re probably nesting in a paddock or killed by the fox or maybe the neighbour has shot them and I am at my wit’s end!
Ming is fighting with me again; I think we should send him to bootcamp – what do you think? I can’t stand it!
Oh bloody hell now this other thing has happened and I don’t know if I can see you tomorrow because I have to …. argh!
You know that old lawnmower – is it worth fixing? What if it blows up? How am I supposed to figure all of this out? What! Are you crazy? How can you possibily help when you can’t walk – oh sorry, sorry!
Well of course I’m stressed – why are you chuckling? How dare you chuckle!
Yes, yes, yes, I know you love me. I love you too. Can we develop a new repertoire – this is getting boring!
Oh, all right, are you sure? Okay. Yes, I feel calmer now – thanks, Ants! G’night.
I miss the patriarch.
I have always found the concept of ‘normal’ problematic. As a child I was obsessively anxious that I might be abnormal and would constantly ask my mother, “Am I normal?” She would always reassure me but I still had my doubts.
As an adult I eschew the notion of normal. It is such a bland, boring word and it hardly ever makes sense on its own. Without context, cultural and social, it is a vacuous concept. Quite frankly I don’t like it and it doesn’t like me.
I’m not alone here am I. But normal rules doesn’t it. It boxes you in with its perfect corners. But ‘abnormal’ isn’t a very pleasant word either so it is a dilemma for children when they are measured on such a continuum with nothing in the middle. The pressure to be normal or the same as everyone else is a ferocious pressure and can torture the child/person who struggles with not being able to fit into the box.
If you are not normal in the stereotypical way, you are not abnormal, you are just different, unique, original, maybe a bit eccentric even. So what.
If you are ‘normal’ well good on you!
I’ve always embraced Ming’s various idiosyncracies. When his pre-school teacher informed me, in serious tones, that he didn’t conform, I pretended to be concerned but was secretly thinking ‘yay!’ Hell, he was only 4! When he couldn’t grip his pencil in the normal way, a psychologist was brought in to see him at the school. Again, I pretended concern but secretly thought ‘does this really matter?’ He was only 7!
Now, however, I struggle with whether it is normal for an 18-year-old boy/man to emotionally detach from his father. I have allowed this to happen because my only other choice was to force guilt on him. It has been heartbreaking to watch this transition from compassionate to dispassionate son. 15-year-old Ming said to the doctor “we will never put Dad in a nursing home!” with his eyes full of tears. 18-year-old Ming doesn’t even want to see Anthony anymore. “It’s not Dad now,” he reasons.
I bought one of those mini photo scanners the other day. My plan is to scan the best of hundreds of photos of Ants and Ming that I took over the years of Ming growing up. I will then organize these into a photo book for each of them for Christmas.
Last night I asked Ming, “Can you reconjure any compassion at all?” and he said, “No, Mum, but I can pretend.”
That is enough. That is normal enough.
Oh, I have been so so excited about Anthony’s, and my, idea for a Christmas present for Ming this year. Ants and I have been discussing it for some time but have finally made the decision to do this (I can’t say what the Christmas present is in case Ming reads the blog; he hasn’t for some time, but you never know).
This will undoubtedly be the last time Ants and I collaborate on this kind of thing, for two reasons: 1. Ants’ dementia is getting worse; and 2. Ming is nearly 19.
I guess it is these two factors that punched me in the face this morning when I drove Ming into music school. I mentioned Christmas Day and said Ants would be coming home for the day and Ming’s reaction to this was so horrible that we ended up having our first row for weeks.
We made up for lost time.
While Ming and I were yelling at each other, I thought of Ming’s Christmas present – the only thing that has elicited a bit of enthusiasm from Ants for ages.
Since this morning’s row, Ming and I have had another, followed by a tentative truce in which he said, “We only have each other, Mum”, and I said, “You wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for Dad.”
And now he is in his room and I am in mine and Anthony’s phone isn’t working.
Ming asked me today what I wanted for Christmas and I said, “Wings”.
After Anthony’s hospital adventure yesterday, the hospital doctor rang me and said that the CT scan didn’t show anything and that she surmises he is having TIAs (mini-strokes) and this makes a lot of sense to me because I have seen him have these strange ‘turns’ a lot over the last few years. When I did a bit of research, all descriptions of TIAs were an exact match so, even though a TIA can’t be picked up on a scan, this does seem to explain these episodes. The trouble is – like yesterday – he just looks as if he is asleep and it’s only when I try to rouse him that it becomes obvious that something is wrong.
The nursing lodge staff want to watch him carefully for a week and I’ve been advised not to take him out, so that’s fine. I mean, I haven’t been taking him out lately anyway, because it is so difficult to lift him and all that. I rang and spoke to him and he said, “Maybe I should just step in front of a truck!” and I reprimanded him but of course who can blame him for feeling like this.
jmgoyder 