As you can see from the following pictures, I have discovered the secret to good photography. You will have to read below to find out how I accomplished this.
The secret to good photography is to get someone else to do it. These are courtesy of Elen Wood. Thank you Elen!
Queenie is our oldest peahen because I purchased her and King as adults. All of the other peafowl came as littlies. Queenie and I have a rather special relationship although we do disagree on some issues. She is a rather radical feminist whereas I tend to waver. She has successfully negotiated a relationship with her husband, King, whereby he only visits when she says yes. King understands because he can see how hard Queenie is working on training the younger peahens. King’s method of training the young peacocks is to play tag around the house.
I think the reason that Queenie and I get on so well is that we are both contemplative. I love her!
I watched two of Ming’s favourite television shows with him tonight, we ate pizza, and we laughed together.
What a wonderfully simple way to reconcile our differences and rebond. I haven’t watched television for months and now I am addicted to two shows – take a guess which ones!
Due to our circumstances, I think the three of us – Ants, Ming and me – have made our love for each other too complicated, too intense, too anxious.
We need to lighten up and get back to the simplicity of watching television together.
Okay, I will tell you what the first show is: Home and Away. I am not giving away what the second show is/was.
Television is quite relaxing isn’t it!
Simplicity rocks!
Until five years ago, when Anthony’s health began to deteriorate dramatically, I think I was a pretty good mother to Ming. I kicked the football with him, played games with him, listened to his young teenage philosophies, rescued him from a school he hated and attempted home-schooling, took him to a psychologist when he became depressed, watched Black Books and The IT Crowd with Ming and Ants so we could all laugh together. But at the same time, things got much worse in terms of Anthony’s health and Ming and I began to share the ‘night shift’ of helping Ants to the loo, sometimes 3-4 times per night. I only asked Ming to do this once a week but it still took its toll on him emotionally. For me it took its toll physically and I ended up in hospital for a week with a severe asthma flu caused, the drs said, from exhaustion and sleep deprivation. It was at this point that my job at the university began to curl away from my grasp because, as soon as I was well again, I had to become a fulltime carer for Ants and the rest is history.
Tonight, Ming and I had another horrible row and we talked around in circles until I finally hit the nail on the head by asking him if his anger and frustration might be because I had stopped being a mother. He hesitated before saying to me that it had all been Dad, Dad, Dad, for years.
Oh the heartache of realizing that this beautiful son of mine/ours stopped being a child at around 14 because I unwittingly stopped being his mother and, instead, kept asking for his help with Anthony. Of course he was never neglected or unfed or abandoned. Of course he was adored, appreciated and cared for, but my preoccupation with Anthony’s deteriorating health was all-consuming and, yes, Ming is right – it was all Dad, Dad, Dad, until tonight. From now on it is going to be Ming, Ming, Ming.
This word is often the first you utter as a toddler, but it is also the first word you become fearful of. It can be said to you, but you cannot say it back. You can’t say it back when you are a little child because you are a little child. You can’t say it back when you begin school because you are a schoolchild. You can’t say it back to your parents, your teachers, your coaches, your relatives, your friends … because you are not allowed to, no matter how many times it is said to you. So you grow up and you get your first job and the situation repeats itself until you think that maybe you will never, ever be able to say your first word again. And then, 20, 30, 40 or 50 years into your life, you suddenly realize that it would be rather a handy word to use in some circumstances. So you try it out, very gently, and it works- it works! Then you try it out, less gently, and that works too and this surprises you because you have always been too fearful of using this first word. It is a beautiful word.
No.
Last week I said ‘no’ to Ming and today I said ‘no’ to Ants and, instead of being catapulted off the earth into nowhere, the three of us are still here and my two men have survived my ‘no’ with incredible ease. Of course there is more to this, as my previous blogposts imply, however it is the end result that really matters. I have learned to say no, Ming has learned that I am the boss and Anthony has begun to accept that he is in a nursing lodge permanently.
To celebrate my newfound love of the first word, I went out this afternoon and took some pictures (something I haven’t done for ages) of our beautiful white peacock who seems to think he is the first word bird!
I asked him if I could take just one more photo. He looked at me, turned around, flew high up into the wattle tree and cawed his answer down to me.
No.
I don’t think I have ever used the word ‘awry’ before so it looks a bit odd when I write it. When things go awry = when things go skewy, veer crookedly off the planned plan, transform pleasant into unpleasant. Awry is my new word for what is happening, unhappening and happening again.
This morning one of Anthony’s nieces and her husband travelled an hour and a half to come and see him. Initially, the plan was that I would order us all lunch at the nursing lodge and eat there, then I realized that there was a restaurant on the beach around a block away so I organized for Ants to be ready in a wheelchair and we would all walk down. So J and D arrived at the farm, we caught up with each other and had a coffee, then drove in to the nursing lodge.
On arrival at the nursing lodge, Ants was in a wheelchair ready but looking angry. Even though I had told him yesterday that D and J were coming and he said he’d like to go to the restaurant, he’d forgotten and was quite cross with me for not telling him. Nevertheless we set off with D pushing the wheelchair. The restaurant was pretty ordinary, nothing flash, and Ants immediately said to me in his new mumbly voice that it was pretty rough but we all ended up having a nice meal and yet Ants remained angry and kept having little conversations with me that I could hardly decipher except that his anger was potent.
I got a bit of a shock because Ants is never angry or rude or ungracious or cantankerous but today he was all of those things. On the walk back up a rather long hill to the nursing lodge he refused to be wheeled in the wheelchair and insisted on walking – very slowly – holding my hand. He somehow got to the top of the road panting a little and D, J and I finally convinced him to get back into the wheelchair. It has been months since I have seen him walk this far and it was obvious that he was trying to prove he could do it in front of J and D. Of course I realized this at the time and I would have had all the patience in the world if he hadn’t been so aggro.
We got him back to his room and transferred him from the wheelchair to his armchair, had a bit of a chat but it just wasn’t working; he was still angry and when I sort of told him off in a flippant way he said it wasn’t J and D, it was me he was annoyed with. Oh great, I thought. So I explained we had to go but then he insisted on walking us all out. I tried to stop him because he was exhausted, but, as usual, I relented, fetched the walker and we all slowly made our way out. We all tried to stop him coming out of the front door but he wouldn’t stop. J and D said their goodbyes and walked up to the parking lot to wait for me. Once they had walked away, I burst into tears and said to Anthony, “Why? Why are you so angry with me? I organized this lunch for you with D and J who we haven’t seen for ages and you were just horrible, especially to me. Why?”
This anger thing is new. Oh great – what fun. Yesterday was total confusion and today anger. What next?
Yes, yes, I know it’s the Parkinson’s Disease Dementia crawling around in his brain – I know that and I am not complaining because I understand and empathize and his homesickness is like a constant haunting taunt for him and me, and I love him so much but he really hurt me today and maybe taking Anthony out, or home, is a bad idea – unsettling, disorientating, confusing. Maybe I will have to give up.
Awry.
I latched onto a couple of quotes from two articles that I found on Monday and, when I read them to Ming yesterday, he was blown away. The first comes from this source: http://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/healthy-connections/201007/help-my-controlling-behavior-is-ruining-relationships
“How does a person become controlling? It is basically a method of coping with the anxiety they feel beginning very early in life. Some had parents who couldn’t quite fulfill their role as strong caregivers and seemed to be weak or incapable.
A child in this situation, as early as age 3, may begin to prop up their parents and become a little adult very early on. If the stress continues, fear increases and the use of attempts to control what they can, becomes compulsive and unconscious. It is more likely to happen with children who are helpers, and/or leaders by nature, often first born boys or girls feel proud of themselves for helping and it is encouraged or reinforced by parents and other influential adults. They may also have a tendency toward anxiety, worry and perfectionism which will only make it worse.”
The second quote comes from this source: http://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/emotional-freedom/201010/how-deal-control-freak
“Controllers are often perfectionists. They may feel, ‘If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself.’ …. Controllers are also controlling with themselves. They may fanatically count carbs, become clean freaks or workaholics. Conventional psychiatry classifies extreme cases as Obsessive Compulsive Disorder–people are rigidly preoccupied with details, rules, lists, and dominating others at the expense of flexibility and openness.
QUIZ: AM I IN A RELATIONSHIP WITH A CONTROLLER? (from Emotional Freedom)
If you answer “yes” to 1-2 questions, it’s likely you’re dealing with a controller. Responding “yes” to 3 or more questions suggests that a controller is violating our emotional freedom.”
I wasn’t sure what to expect when I read these quoted excerpts to Ming so it was rather lovely when he listened without angst and it was very interesting to see his jaw drop in recognition of himself and me. I guess you could call it an epiphany.
It was during our first session with the counsellor last week that she suggested we might have control issues, so it was the word ‘control’ that stuck in my head and is why, after things went haywire on Sunday, I googled ‘control issues’ and found the above two articles. What would we do without google – ha!
“So I’m a control freak,” Ming said with a certain amount of relief and a tinge of pride.
“Yes.”
“And it’s because I couldn’t control Dad’s sickness and your misery, and my back and all the shit?”
“Possibly.”
“So what do we do now?” Ming asked.
“Well, we’ve already taken the first step, kid.”
“What do you mean?”
“I am the one in control now so you can just freak off!”
His pealing laughter filled the house and my heart had a lovely little nap.
Sometimes I just want to go back in time!
It is the beginning of my third day of being Godzilla since my tranformation on Sunday night and I am gaining a whole new perspective from my great height. One of the interesting things I’ve realized is that I have never been the boss here. It has been an old-fashioned sort of marriage with Anthony making all of the decisions to do with the house, garden, farm etc. Mostly this was fine with me and I deferred to him because (a) he was an older man; (b) I married into an already established home; and (c) I didn’t mind or care about the garden and house decisions.
Don’t get me wrong. Ants was never bossy or overbearing; it’s just that as a retired dairy farmer, he naturally took responsibility for all the home stuff and I went out to work and pursued my academic career. But now, when I look back, I see that I did not make any of the decisions. He did. For example, I couldn’t simply ring up and get someone to help us repair a pump or a fence or an electrical fault. This was always Anthony’s territory. Occasionally this would drive me mad and we would argue, but not often. Usually I would just give up and leave it to him.
On the other hand, we did make some decisions together – a new mirror, carpet, a car, new tiles for the kitchen, Christmas presents for Ming, and we had enormous fun doing so, but the final word was always Anthony’s. He was the boss. I was under the thumb, but the thing is, you see, I didn’t mind and anyway I was preoccupied with my teaching job and my writing.
As his health began to deteriorate dramatically (nearly 5 years ago), I wanted to buy a ride-on lawnmower to make it easier but he wouldn’t let me and that was that. I wanted to get reticulation but he wouldn’t let me and that was that. Many of my female friends were amazed at my lack of assertiveness and autonomy; after all Anthony was never dictatorial or bullying or nasty – it’s just that the power was his from the outset I guess and so I have never felt any sense of ownership in terms of this home that I love, this farm that I love. In fact all of my toiletries are still in a travel bag under the sink in the bathroom; I have never unpacked them!
Blip ahead to now (8 months since Ants went into the nursing lodge and 7 months since Ming’s scoliosis operation), the dynamics shifted subteley and I found myself under someone else’s thumb – Ming’s. Initially, I was so proud of him for taking on this role of ‘man of the house’, and he took the reins of control with alacrity. But several weeks ago, this arrangement began to fall apart – his bossiness exhausted me, and the bossier he became the more defeated I became. To top it off, my sorrow about Anthony kept clashing with Ming’s anger about Anthony and we began to avoid each other.
Of course there is a lot more to this but on Sunday it all came to a head and I finally realized I was actually being bullied, and I drew the line and took back a control that I never had in the first place. For a kid who is unfamiliar with the word ‘No’ this has been an interesting transition, so we are both experiencing brand new roles and it is rather wonderful! I love being the boss and today I have a lawnmowing man and his son out here getting the place back into shape and teaching Ming how to do stuff and I orchestrated it, I made the decision – me!
Even Godfrey, the Godzilla of ganderdom, has a new respect for me. Yeeha!
I have been struggling to write about something for a couple of days because, despite the fact that I am fine with being honest and open about stuff in this blog, on Sunday our family situation became, for me, unbearable and I gave up. I couldn’t write about it except metaphorically (the ‘despair’ post for eg.)
That’s what happens, I think, when you have been enoughed enough – ha! But, on Sunday night, I realized that being this cringing wimp wasn’t helping so I gave up giving up and got angry instead.
I became Godzilla and it was very satisfying! I said NO, I said I am the boss, not you, I said enough is enough.
The teenager from hell suddenly reverted to his usual angelic personality and it has now lasted 48 hours. There is hope.
jmgoyder 