Last week, My Friend John called me to tell me that my friend, his wife, could be dying.  He said that things weren’t really going well, and that she might not pull through.  He also said that he might be wrong.  So I thought maybe he might be the boy who cried wolf.  I hoped he was.

I packed a bag, booked a flight and organised the kids, but with a sense of unreality.  My friend couldn’t die.  She was a machine.  She did chemo and chemo and chemo again, and she was always fine.  She killed cancer when it came up.  She engrafted stem cells.  She was a legend at this stuff.  There was no way some stupid little virus could kill her.

It wasn’t until I got in the car, with the wide open road stretching before me, that I knew it was true.  My friend of so long was dying, and there was not one single thing I could do.

All of a sudden it seemed vitally important to savour the world.  I drove with the windows down so I could feel the air and smell the world.  I had the music pumped with bops and pops that sang of happiness and light.  I tried to drink in all the sights of the land as I whizzed by.  Because I knew this was the last time for a while I would be able to see and hear and smell and feel and touch things properly, and clearly.  I knew what would come next.  Haze and fog and dull.

And the sad.  So much sad.

The sun started to set and it became imperative to get pictures, even as I sped along toward the thing I dreaded most, for this was the last day of the sun with Hayley in it.

And after a while the sun set.  And she was gone.

Today I didn’t really want to go to work.

My sad was so big I didn’t know if I could.

But I did, and I could, and I didn’t cry, and it was good.

A dear friend gave me these:

Thank you Sue

They didn’t do much for the sad, but they did remind me that even if my eyes can only see muted colours right now, there is still vibrant beauty in the world.  They reminded me that I have seen it before, and I will see it again.

And so I wait.

I went away for a bit, and now I’m back.

Altered in ways I don’t even want to think about, but back.

This morning this happened:

At least that’s something.

I’ll tell you about it sometime, but not right now.

The air is too thin.

Oh Hayls

Yesterday I purchased my Sweet Ride, Ouiser Boudreaux, so we lost her maidenhead took her on her maiden voyage, on the Tour de Peregian.  The Tour, as we like to call it, was exactly like the other Tour, other than there were no hills.  Or French people.  Or actual exertion.  We did have rolls though, so: baguettes.

All was well, and all would be well, until we decided we would like to feed the canards (French for ducks) some of our baguettes.  The ducks were there, we were there, glutinous blobs at the ready.  Then we saw this:

Duck are gluten free too

ARE YOU KIDDING NOOSA COUNCIL?

Kiddies can no longer feed ducks at a duck pond.  And they should feel very guilty if they have ever done so before.

Nor can they do any of these things:

Fair enough really.  I mean, it’s not as if you come to a park to have any actual fun.   So I shook my UN-HELMETTED head, and cut another lap around the lake, ON THE WRONG SIDE OF THE PATH, got a bit thirsty and DRANK WATER FROM THE UNFILTERED TAP and then went into the fenced off park area and LEFT THE GATE OPEN.  I told the kids to do the same, but they just went and sat nicely on the seat until it was time to go home.

Yep, livin’ on the edge, man.

I may have played this Ice T on my iPod on the way home.  I may have played super-soft so the kids couldn’t hear the swears.  Still a rebel though.

Are your parks over-regulated?

What rules are just too hard not to break?

We were given tix to see the newest Pixar movie last night;  Cars Planes.  (Thanks Olivia!)

This is not a rave review.  Basically, Planes is the movie Cars, but planes.  I don’t think it is a spoiler to say: young upstart, cranky old guy who comes good, win-at-all-costs baddie, treacherous female, supportive friends and a Never Give Up attitude at altitude.  With a twist at the end.*

The worst news: it was in 3D.  I bloody hate 3D.  I hate the second hand glasses that don’t fit on my pin-head, I hate the vertiginous feeling as things come flying out at you, for no apparent reason.  3D is so distracting.  And really adds nothing to the movie.

But I do love Pixar.  They make beautiful pictures with gorgeous colour.  There were a couple of scenes that I’d love to see at home on my awesome telly (Thanks Darren), without the stupid 3D-iness.  And without any kids in the cinema.  The kid who was kicking my seat through THE WHOLE BLOODY MOVIE will not be invited.

But this post is not about that, it’s about this: our kids bloody loved it.  Whilst I was yawning and trying to stay awake, they were lapping it up.  Liam said on the way out that his “heart was racing through the whole thing, was your’s racing too Mum?”  Apparently it was exciting.  He was quoting lines, and having discussions about what type of planes certain fighter jets were, and then giving reasons why “they weren’t F-18s due to bomb positions , but they may have been Tomcats or Eagles” or some shit.

As they talked about how thrilling the movie was and which character they wanted to be, I started to like the movie. And when I heard how great Dusty was, and how they wished they could fly like that, I liked it a little bit more.  And by the time they were describing how good it was that all Dusty’s friends helped him and how he just kept on trying, I just loved that movie too.

Kids eh?  They might teach us a thing or two, but they sure do screw with our taste.

*There was no twist.  That was a trick.

What’s your fave kids movie?

Do you like 3D?

Some of you might be wondering why have started this blog thing.  Some of you who know me, probably think I have enough going on, what with a couple of kids, husband, busy practice, incomplete BAS, cat with disheveled fur, etcetera.

Well, it’s because of The Menopause.

The Menopause started a few moons ago now, and as some of you well know (I’m looking at you, husband) it has made me the tiniest bit grumpy.  Not all the time, mind.  Just every day.  And night.  And some early afternoons.

Now I can predict what you are all about to say, “You can’t have The Menopause, you’re too young.”   And yes, I know my youthful complexion belies my years, but it is true.  I am newly barren, which means I can now say whatever I damn well like, and do whatever I damn well please.  Further, if you are about to tell me that I don’t technically have The Menopause, due to various silly little details, like actual diagnosis, you may potentially be correct, however those pesky specifics aren’t really of interest to me.  Mainly, because, I have The Menopause.  Which means I’m the boss.  (Plus, Peri-menopause just sounds a bit shit. I won’t have it.)

If you’ve been following along, you’ll know by now I do like a list, so, in the interests of community service, I have complied one, regarding The Menopause.  It will be of use to all you fecund little fertility goddesses, so you will know how to behave, when Aunty Flo no longer comes to visit.  It will also be a point of reference for all you men who are being paused, or will be paused, once the situation arises.  Forewarned is forearmed, and all that.

It is entitled “Things to do when you have The Menopause” and here it is:

• Have opinions on everything.  It is particularly good if they are unpopular opinions.  Blog about them.
• Wear the jeans you want, even if they are too tight, or have gone out of fashion (I’m looking at you CR Jeggings).
• Sing as loud as you like, even if the songs have rude words in them.  In fact, preferably.
• Buy neon pink Converse runners.  Wear them, even if your 6 year old is also wearing hers.
• Talk about taboo topics without getting embarrassed, again, loudly (and in public spaces).
• Forget many things, but especially inconvenient details (otherwise known as facts to the pedantic).
• Repeat your funny stories, even if your friend says “You’ve told me that one already”. Then repeat again.
• Go out to lunch and drink wine, often.  Ensure it is expensive wine.
• Play on the swings, and don’t get off when children want a turn.  They’ll get their chance.
• Break petty rules, especially if they are to do with parking, and particularly if you can get away with it.
• Be flabbergasted at the very age of health professionals.
• Use the word flabbergasted.  Also: cross, crook, tetchy and peeved.  They describe, umm, everyone else.

So there it is, breeders.  You’re welcome.

Cheers.

Fairly expensive wine.
(The others don’t have The Menopause yet)

Which one will you cross off your list today?

Is your health professional really young, like ‘The Bachelor‘, young?