jmgoyder

wings and things

Nov 8

Love story 114 – ‘Andony’

by jmgoyder

As a two-year-old, Ming gave much more of his affection to me than he did to Anthony. So, for awhile it seemed like I was the privileged parent. Sometimes I even worried (although somewhat smugly!) that Anthony might become jealous of the multiple kisses I received from Ming, compared to his own daily ration of one, maybe two.

But it wasn’t Anthony who became jealous; it was me! Why? Because, as Ming approached the age of three and began to acquire more and more words, I remained fixed in his vocabulary as ‘Mummy,’ whereas ‘Daddy’ became ‘Andony’.

My envy was made worse by Ming’s clear reasoning when I told him, rather shyly, that he could call me ‘Julie’ if he wanted to.

“But you’re just Mummy, Mummy – NOT Julie,” he said very definitely. He looked at me quizzically, obviously wondering if I understood or not.

“So how come you call Daddy ‘Anthony’?” I asked, hesitantly.

“Coz Andony is my bestest fren,” Ming said. Again, the slightly ironic frown.

I’m ashamed to say that my secret jealousy of the mateship between Anthony and Ming worsened over the ensuing weeks. Then, just as suddenly, it dissipated when one evening the brightness of their relationship clarified itself and I understood.

Ming was sitting on Anthony’s knee, and they were watching cartoons. I joined them, sitting across the room, and, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ming deposit a series of soft kisses onto Anthony’s cheeks, then stroke his head with delicate, though bongo-style, pats.

It had been ages (a couple of days, I think!) since Ming had given me that sort of affection and I felt a mixture of yearning and bright, fluorescent, green envy.

I turned and caught Anthony’s eye. Ming saw the look and, perhaps thinking that I, too, wanted some attention, he tumbled off Anthony’s lap and toddled over to me. Well, it’s about time, I thought to myself.

“Mummy,” he whispered, climbing onto my knee, “I can ownee give you one kiss.”

“Why is that?” I exclaimed – a bit too forcefully perhaps.

“Because!” Ming said, alarmed at my tone but still with that wise-owl look on his face, “Andony is my bewful, bewful son.”

He kissed me benevolently once on the cheek, then hopped down and toddled back to Anthony’s lap, calling back to me over his shoulder, “You’ll be awight, Mummy, you’re a vewy big girl now.”

The day Ming was born

The three of us

The thing is that Ming has no recollection of these days. He only vaguely remembers running from one side of the room pictured above and flying into Anthony’s lap – constantly! He now calls Anthony ‘Dad’. He was glad not be home this morning for the excursion event.

For awhile I wrestled with myself about whether to force Ming to come with me to visit Ants more often but, as a friend recently pointed out to me, not many 18-year-olds want to spend time with their parents anyway so it’s not such a big deal. So I don’t push Ming anymore and I certainly don’t make him feel guilty about his disengagement from Anthony, and, fortunately, Anthony is content to see Ming occasionally or else speak on the phone.

So the ‘Andony’ days are well and truly over and that is okay because it has to be okay.

Family Friendship LOVE STORY

30 Comments »
Nov 7

Spitting the dummy 2

by jmgoyder

Peer pressure is a funny thing. No matter how much you resist it, you end up succumbing. Even when you’re only three and a half years old.

It wasn’t long before Ming’s fourth birthday that he began to realize that it wasn’t just Grandma who disapproved of his dummy (his “tuntun”).

The dummy situation changed rather dramatically for Ming when one of his playgroup friends Dillan came for a playover (Ming’s first ever). As soon as Dillan saw Ming pop the dummy into his mouth, he shrieked with laughter and yelled, “Ming is just a baby, Ming is just a baby,” in that singsong, horrible way children-teasing-other-children do with such sadistic delight.

Ming immediately spat the dummy out, unpinned it and dropped it, before throwing himself at Dillan and wrestling him to the ground. Then, when Dillan started crying, Ming mimicked him by yelling, “Dillan’s just a baby” over and over again, furiously.

I was a bit shocked at the sudden violence of the confrontation and it took a lot of chocolate cake and lemonade to pacify the two little macho machines.

But it marked a turning point for Ming. He knew now that it wasn’t only Grandma who thought the dummy was silly. Dillan’s words had sunk in and now Ming was actually embarrassed about his tuntun – embarrassment being another new experience.

Anthony and I had never worried about the dummy phase; we knew it wouldn’t last forever anyway. But after his altercation with Dillan, Ming started trying to kick the habit by himself. “Oany lemmee have it when I go to bed,” he’d say, sternly, putting it under his pillow.

His self-discipline amazed us. Only once over the ensuing weeks did Ming succumb to a day-time suck, and that was after he had a nasty fall and grazed his knee. But he still depended on that dummy at night-time.

Then, one afternoon, it wasn’t there and we couldn’t find it anywhere (I discovered it later inside the pillow case). Panic stations! I rushed up to the local shop and there was just one left – a pink one. My friend, Anna served me and asked who the dummy was for.

“Umm, we have visitors with a new baby,” I lied, guiltily.

“Okay,” she said, hearing the urgency in my voice.

I got home and Ming took the new dummy out of its packaging and stuck it straight into his mouth, only removing it briefly to murmur sleepily, “You are the bestest mummy in the whole wide world.”

And a month later he was over it. Just like that, he forgot about the tuntun. But I’ve kept that last dummy as a reminder of my great big beautiful baby.

Ming without dummy

I bumped into Anna the other day and told her the truth about this and she couldn’t stop laughing!

Family Friendship

32 Comments »
Nov 7

Spitting the dummy 1

by jmgoyder

From the day he was born until the age of four years, Ming absolutely adored his dummy. He eventually called it his ‘tuntun’ (because Anthony remembered calling his own dummy a ‘tuntun’!) and it was pinned to Ming’s shirt 24/7.

By the time he was two years old we were up to tuntun number 11. Transitions from old, flat, chewed up, disgusting tuntuns to new, fresh, bulbous tuntuns were always difficult though and Ming would shriek, “I want my oooooooold tuntun!” But eventually he would bite and chew and suck the new dummy until it flattened into the shape he liked.

My mother thoroughly disapproved of the dummy, and by the time he was nearly four, Ming knew that when Grandma visited, she would say, “Oh take that horrible thing out of your mouth; you’re a big boy now!” So he became very surreptitious. He would suck the dummy madly until he heard her voice at the door, then he’d quickly unpin it and give it to me, so that she wouldn’t see it. “Quick, Mummy, hide the tuntun from Gwamma or she’ll gwowl,” he’d whisper, panic-stricken.

Sometimes I would put it in my pocket but if my mother stayed for longer than a couple of hours, Ming would soon become transfixed by the shape of his tuntun through my jeans pocket and stare at it longingly. Or he would brush past me and pat it, as if to say, “Soon, tuntun, soon.”

So I started putting it under his pillow so he could go and have a secret suck when he wanted to. It was hilarious – he was like a wardrobe drinker! He’d be in the middle of playing snakes and ladders with my mother and he’d suddenly dash away, up the hallway into his room, saying, “Juss a minit, Gwamma,” over his shoulder, then dash back, eyes slightly glazed, but resume the game with new energy. His secret was safe with me, and my mother never had a clue (until I told her later and she and I would crack up laughing!)

As soon as my mother went home, Ming would rush to his pillow, retrieve the tuntun and pin it back onto himself, then put it in his mouth and suck with great gusto, an ecstatic, dreamy expression almost immediately flooding his face.

I hadn’t thought to confront my mother about the fact that her disapproval of the dummy was affecting her relationship with Ming until one day, after she left, Ming climbed onto my lap, tuntun reattached and said, “I doan like Gwamma vewy much sometimes, Mummy.”

“She just thinks you’re too big for your tuntun, because you’re nearly four now,” I said, giving him a hug.

“Does you and Andony hate my tuntun too?” he said, a worried look on his face.

“Of course not!” I said, reassuringly.

“Thank Gawwwd!” he exclaimed, putting the tuntun into his mouth and looking up at me, his big blue eyes soft with contentment. And relief!

Ming nervous someone will see his ‘tuntun’!

My beautiful mother and Mingy (see the tuntun?)

Family Friendship

18 Comments »
Nov 6

Freedom

by jmgoyder

Anthony’s legs and little Ming.

Ming didn’t walk until he was 18 months old. There was no warning; he didn’t crawl or bum-slide or even stand first. He simply went from sitting to walking, to running, to running away, all in the space of a single day. (Actually, it was a single hour).

On that eventful day, I sat him on the grass as I hung out the washing. He liked to sit and play with the wooden pegs and would happily do so for ages. So I thought nothing of going back inside to make myself a cup of coffee.

I’d just filled the kettle when I heard a shriek and, terrified, I dashed outside, thinking, snake? spider? My panic increased dramatically when I saw that Ming wasn’t where I’d plonked him just moments ago. Unable to comprehend this, I stood stock still and listened intently. Another shriek, just behind me and I whirled around only to spot Ming hiding behind a tree adjacent to the clothesline and giggling with delight. And he was standing up!

“Ming!” I exclaimed, running towards him, at which he shrieked again and toddled away, his fat little legs wobbling with the unfamiliar movement. Stunned, I watched him take around 15 steps before falling gently onto his behind.

I rushed up to him. “You’re walking!” It was my turn to shriek with delight. I sat down beside him on the grass but he immediately got up again and began to run, his laughter filling the air.

And so began Ming’s tearaway phase. It didn’t matter where we were – at home, at the park, visiting friends, he would do just that – tear away, as fast as he could. This phase lasted exactly a year and nearly drove us insane with worry because if we weren’t holding tightly to his hand – something Ming hated – he’d be off! With a channel running through our property, and an unfenced yard, Anthony and I had to take turns doing ‘Mingwatch.’

Of course it was much worse if I took Ming into town to shop. He would not stay by my side for an instant, wanting always to dash away, looking for adventure. I was terrified he’d run onto a road or that I’d lose him in the supermarket crowd. Finally, Anthony and I agreed we needed to buy a child restraint.

This “leash” got us plenty of dirty looks (mostly from parents of clingy children, I thought jealously). And once, walking through a crowd of Japanese tourists with Ming straining desperately against the white leather harness, we became (much to my embarrassment) the subject of enormous hilarity, and curious pointing fingers.

Ming was nearly three when the leash was finally discarded. We’d all – even Ming – become so used to it that it came as a shock one morning when, harnessing him up for a day in town, he quietly said, “I’m gonna buy a new mummy for twenny dollars if you doan let me fwee [free].”

His tone was ominous.

I took the leash off tentatively. “You won’t run away?” I asked nervously.

Ming grinned acquiescence and willingly took my hand. “Thassa good mummy,” he said.

Family

51 Comments »
Nov 4

Ghost train

by jmgoyder

Last night Ming and I watched one of those poltergeisty movies and we were so terrified throughout that it became funny and I couldn’t stop laughing! It reminded me of the ghost train incident of many years ago.

The memory still sits in my gut, raw, un-relinquished – a regret that I can’t rewind and delete. I comfort myself with the thought that all parents do heaps of things unthinkingly, unwisely – don’t they?

Tentatively, I reminded Ming about the ghost train the other day, and he giggled. Momentarily relieved, I assumed he was over it. But I couldn’t help noticing that his giggle was accompanied by a slight frown, a slight blanching of the complexion, even a slight stiffening of the limbs.

He was around three years old at the time. We were having a holiday in Adelaide, when we decided, on impulse, to go to the Adelaide Show.

Ming was terribly excited by the crowds, the fairy floss and the ghost train billboard advertisements. He kept pointing to these and saying, “Ming wanna go on that thing, Mummy – pweese!” He was fascinated by the pictures of ghosts, skeletons and monsters.

So I bought us tickets, told Anthony we’d meet him in the closest coffee shop and Ming and I waited in the queue. This is when I had my first tiny qualm. Children much older than Ming were coming out of the ghost train ride looking a little worse for wear and I got a bit nervous. Then, all of a sudden, it was our turn and we were strapped into the tiny cart and off we went.

Just before those horrible black doors opened and we were whooshed into the 2-minute nightmare, I whispered to Ming, “None of this is real, darling – it’s all pretend.” Why, oh why, didn’t I say this to him earlier?

At the halfway point, he was so terrified that, seeing a tiny crack in the wall to the outside – a sliver of light, a glimpse of another queue – he screamed, “Ming wanna go back!” But it was too late. Our cart was thrust, once again, through another set of black doors, and red eyes, ghostly hands and skeletal breath seemed to touch us as we progressed, surrounded by the bloodcurdling screams of those behind and in front of us.

I held Ming close as he began to cry. His fear was so potent that my own heart started to race with remembered childhood nightmares of spooks, of bogeymen – the dark fear of the unknown.

Then, whoosh, we were back in daylight. It was over. I picked Ming up and hoisted him into my arms. He was trembling. I hated myself.

In the car, on the way back to the motel, Ming remained silent while I told Anthony about the ride, how scary it was and how badly I felt. But Anthony just laughed and said, “I’m sure Ming’ll survive, Jules – you worry too much.”

Then, from the back of the car, came a querulous voice. “Andony?  Mummy and me neeely got gobbled up by the monsters, but we surbived.”

I made my decision then and there: no more ghost trains. Ever!

Family

27 Comments »
Oct 30

A problem is a problem

by jmgoyder

I can’t call a problem a challenge because, to me, a challenge implies something zingily positive whereas a problem is something devoid of zing. It seems more useful to see some of the problems I am facing, with Anthony in the nursing lodge, as problems. I guess I’m not very ‘new age’ – sorry but no matter how many daisies surround a cowpat, it is still a cowpat and it stinks.

So, as most of my ideas of how to cheer Anthony up have fallen fairly flat (reading/showing him the blog, taking old photographs in, buying him the gramophone, going out to lunch, bringing him home etc.), I have decided to establish a strict routine every week and write it down for him, and me, and stick to it. This will be good for both of us because, my own personal turmoil, grief, loss of job, and Ming challenges (yes, I can call these challenges), has caused me to lose all semblance of a routine.

Maybe a whiteboard would be a good idea. I could put it on Anthony’s wall in the nursing lodge and write down exactly what day and time I am coming in, and other plans. I could also write our home phone number (which he mostly can’t remember) so he can ring me for a change. Actually I could also write down the phone numbers of his favourite friends and family on the whiteboard. These are in a notebook in one of his drawers but he keeps losing this, or not understanding it.

Perhaps the daisies will grown into the cowpat and give it a new odour. You never know! Nevertheless, a cowpat is a cowpat and problems are problems, not challenges.

Godfrey has a challenge in teaching the gang ‘Gangnam’ dance moves.

Daffy has a problem with loneliness because he is the only Indian runner duck left.

Animal Family Wings

41 Comments »
Oct 23

Love story 108 – Ming’s tail

by jmgoyder

From the ages of about two to four, Ming wore a tail. At first it was a skipping rope with one handle missing. I’d get him dressed and tuck one end into the back of his shorts and off he’d go. The rest of the rope would drag on the ground as he walked, ran and played. The tail became so much a part of Ming’s identity that if we couldn’t find it there would be a frantic search.

Anthony I got used to shouting desperately, from opposite ends of the house, “Have you seen Ming’s tail?” This became our morning routine!

During this period, even though he didn’t always wear it at home, there was absolutely no way Ming would leave the house without his tail attached. “Where’s my tail?” he would wail. Once, when we couldn’t find it, and then I remembered it was soaking in the laundry sink, I had to ring the pre-school teacher to say he’d be late because his tail wasn’t dry yet. This happened a few times so that even she began to see this as a perfectly normal excuse for being late. She told me once that she’d had to speak to the whole class about not touching Ming’s tail after it had been pulled out once too often and he’d dissolved into furious tears.

Inevitably, the skipping rope split and we had to find another tail, before the trauma of not having one left long-term psychological damage. Not to Ming – to me! I just couldn’t imagine him without his tail.

Ming was surprisingly mature about the disintegration of his old tail after I said that, of course, we’d get him a new one. “I’m sad but I’m okay, Mummy,” he said stoically. “I’m gwowing up, so I jus’ need a black furry one now,” he reassured me.

This happened on a Saturday, so I left Ming home with Anthony (well Ming wouldn’t come to town tail-less anyway). I searched the toyshops all morning in vain. Each time I asked, “Do you stock tails?” I’d get a bewildered response. I could have bought another skipping rope or any sort of rope, but Ming had graduated to black and furry and I respected that.

I rang Anthony who told me that Ming had been weird all day – not himself at all, quite moody, in fact. “He says he doesn’t feel good without his tail,” Ants said, laughing quietly.

We made the quick decision to give him a black woollen tie of Anthony’s that he had only worn once before anyway. “You’ll have to run out to the car when I get home so he thinks I found one in town,” I said. And that’s what we did. When I got home, Anthony and Ming raced to the car but Anthony won and secretly tucked the tie into my bag while we both told Ming to close his eyes and open his hands.

I put the tie into Ming’s hot little hands and he opened his eyes. He stared at it for what seemed like ages before he looked up at me, tucked the narrow end into the back of his pants solemnly and said, with serious joy, “It’s sooo wicked; look, Andony. Isn’t Mummy awfulsome!”

What a relief, and I took all the credit even though it should have gone to Anthony.

I wish Ming remembered these days.

Animal Family LOVE STORY

57 Comments »
Oct 22

Being a mother

by jmgoyder

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.

Family Friendship

63 Comments »
Oct 17

Control

by jmgoyder

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)

  • Does this person keep claiming to know what’s best for you?
  • Do you typically have to do things his way?
  • Is he or she so domineering you feel suffocated?
  • Do you feel like you’re held prisoner to this person’s rigid sense of order?
  • Is this relationship no fun because it lacks spontaneity?

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!

Animal Family Friendship LOVE STORY

47 Comments »
Oct 17

Godzilla

by jmgoyder

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!

Family Friendship LOVE STORY Wings

57 Comments »
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