Twenty years is a long time

Today is 20 years since my father passed away.  I was 14, he was 49.  It's a long time.  There are a lot of things in my life, and in the world in general, that he has missed out on.

We are having a memorial this weekend to finally inter his ashes - he's been on the shelf and in the shed for 20 years, poor guy!  It's funny, I don't miss him constantly, it's not like a pain or an ache, but more like a sensitive muscle that just twinges every now and then if I think about it or move the wrong way...

He would have been a great Granddad. He would have been a menace on Facebook.

Anyway, in the spirit of remembrance, here's an unfinished piece I wrote a couple of years back about the day he died.

The end of the chapter

It’s winter.  The air in her bedroom is cold, but R is warm, sandwiched between several layers of duvet and the womb of her waterbed (don’t hassle her, it’s the ‘90s, they were cool then).  It’s morning, early, but not too early, quiet but for the click-click-click of the dog’s claws on the wooden floor of the hallway.  He wants to go outside and R can hear him but she doesn’t move just yet.  It’s the last Friday of the school holidays (dogs have no respect for weekends and holidays) so she’s savouring her lie-in.  One arm snakes out from beneath the covers to grab her current bedroom book (she has three on the go – one for the bedroom, one for the living room and one for the bathroom) and flick on the bedside light.  She is quickly drawn back into the world she reluctantly left the previous night, when her eyelids could no longer resist the beckoning advances of her cheeks.

Time - argh!

I have so many draft posts in my folder it's crazy - and no time to finish them!  Fear not loyal readers (ha!) I will be diligent and set aside some time soon to complete and schedule some posts.

In the meantime, a wee gem from my 5 (and a half) year old:

Kid: Mummy, do you know what icecream tastes like when it's all melted?
Me: Um, milkshake?
Kid: No Mummy, plain milkshake.  But good try.

Nauseous or nauseated - and does it matter?

Readers of my blog will know that I'm a logophile - I love words. I'm also passionate about grammar, punctuation and syntax.  Many people glaze over at this point, but I'm certainly not alone, as evidenced by the numerous grammar debates, jokes and memes cropping up all over the internet. (If you've never watched one of the Jack's Films Your Grammar Sucks videos, you are missing out!)

What I'm not yet sure about is how much of a purist I am. While I, like many others, nearly wept at the announcement that the Oxford Dictionary was adding to the definition of "literally" to allow it to also mean "Used for emphasis while not being literally true", I do accept that common usage changes over time, and sticking rigidly to archaic conventions is unnecessary. In saying that, the day that "would of" or "yous" gets added into common usage is the day I stop speaking English.

Working at a University I am particularly careful about my grammar, even in emails and informal documents, and can spend hours (ok, maybe minutes) deciding whether to use "forums" or "fora" as the plural.  There are also all kinds of debates about this on internet. Even so, there are times I come across something I haven't previously heard of and then it gives me pause - if I have been using a word incorrectly for 30-odd years, and most other people use it incorrectly without obfuscating their meaning, is correct use of the word necessary?

A Short History of my Vagina

Time! It is not currently my friend.  Working full-time with a 45 minute commute, looking after a five year old, trying to do my masters, writing for the student magazine, editing my ex-husband's book and carrying on a new and wonderful LDR all suck up the majority of my time.  But I will be back in gear soon!

In the meantime, please feel free to check out my latest published work!  It's called "A Short History of my Vagina".  Go on, you know you want to...

http://www.waikato.ac.nz/fass/mayhem/issue1/OnyxLily-AShortHistoryofmyVagina.shtml

The Incredible Immunity Girl

The Kid never gets sick.  Except, you know, cancer, but even then, she wasn't actually ill with it.

Sometimes I feel bad about it - the other working parents I talk with are always commiserating about the constant stream of bugs their kids pick up from daycare and/or school - coughs, runny noses, tummy bugs, chicken pox, hand foot and mouth - and how many days they end up having to take off or work partly from home.  I nod along sympathetically, but I can't really join in because The Kid has had maybe one day off from daycare, and one day off from school since she first started at nursery just before her first birthday.

Chicken pox swept through her daycare five or six times while she was there, and her best buddy got it.  The two of them were always hanging out head-to-head, so if she was going to get it, she should have got it that time.  But nope, nothing.  I'm vacillating between getting her vaccinated for the pox, and hoping she just has some sort of natural immunity...

The Kid has a book called "The Incredible Book-Eating Boy" by Oliver Jeffers (which I highly recommend) in which the eponymous character throws up (too many books).  I had to explain to her what throwing up was, because she has never done it!  Actually, that's not quite true. Just before she turned one, we got home after work/nursery one evening and as I got her out of her car seat she threw up straight down my cleavage.  She wouldn't eat that evening, threw up once more (smiling and happy all the while) and by the next day she was fine.  I, on the other hand, spent the next week flitting between bed and bathroom, more ill than I've been in my life. Thanks Kid.

When she was at Preschool she was often upset that she never got one of the coveted iceblocks (ice lollies), which were kept in the freezer for first aid purposes (fevers, tummy bugs etc - it's amazing what flavoured frozen water can cure!)  Once when I was haranguing The Kid to wash her hands after going to the toilet, and said to her "If you don't wash your hands you'll get sick, and you don't want to get sick, do you?" she replied "Yes I do, because then I'll get an iceblock at Preschool!"  Possibly not the effect they were aiming for.  The day she got stung by a wasp on an outing was possibly her best day ever because on returning to centre she convinced a teacher that a wasp sting was iceblock worthy.  When I came to pick her up she came running up to me and said "Guess what Mummy? I got stung by a mosquito and I got to have a WHOLE iceblock!"  She was clearly traumatised.

The Kid certainly doesn't get her immune system from me. I was always getting ear infections and sore throats as a child, although it improved immeasurably once I had my tonsils removed, at age 7.  At 14 I was diagnosed with an autoimmune condition called sarcoidosis of the larynx and spent the next 15 years on steroids to control it.  That is inactive now, but has morphed into another autoimmune condition called uveitis, which affects my right eye.  Uveitis can be one-off, recur sporadically or be chronic.  Mine is chronic (yay, me!)

The Kid's Dad is obviously responsible for her robust health.  He has never been in hospital as a patient, not even when he made his first entrance to the world. He often complains that since meeting me he has spent more time in hospitals than he ever thought possible. I like to introduce people to new experiences... ;)

I do count my lucky stars, touch wood and many other cliches that I have such a healthy child.  It certainly makes the life of a working parent much easier. Speaking of cliches, "famous last words" and "tempting fate" are suddenly coming to mind... ;)

Those down days

I have never suffered from persistent depression.  I know many people who have, and do, and struggle with it on a daily basis.  I think my mental health is generally pretty good.  But every now and then I have one of those down days where my head feels like it's full of marshmallows and cotton wool, my eyes struggle to stay open, there are tears lurking fully formed in my tear ducts and a permanent lump in my throat.  Any small thing is likely to make me cry.  The day seems too hard to do.  Too hard to be.

On these days I would really like to find a smallish cubbyhole, climb in, close the door and shut the world out for the day.

It usually lasts only a day, so I know I'm lucky.  And I've never been so down that I've been in danger of harming myself, or anyone else for that matter.

Today is one of those days.

Getting comfortable in my skin again...

Way back in early January 2013 I outlined my plan for a brand new fit and trim me.  So that didn't really happen.  As you'll know if you've read last month's post "The Big News", 2013 was a year of introspection, decision making and finally some big changes.  But I was fairly despondent for a lot of the year while I figure stuff out, so it's probably not a huge surprise that the weight loss and fitness regime fell by the wayside.  It also added to my despondency - despite not really making any changes, I was upset that I seemed to be putting on weight rather than losing it!

So by September/October 2013 I was hovering around about the 70kg mark.  Not overweight for my height (according to my BMI anyway), but near the border.

In early November, when I made some decisions and embarked on major life changes, I also - suddenly and without planning - kicked myself back on the road to being comfortable in my skin.  I am not of the opinion that skinny = happy by any means, and I don't care what anyone else looks like, but for me, being 10kgs heavier than I feel like I should be meant that I really felt uncomfortable in my own body.