Stop! Hammock time!

All work and no play makes Leisa a dull girl...or something like that.

I'm my mother's daughter. I like to get all the things done! I have a tendency to think of all the things that need to be done and then fill up my days doing all those things until I come to the end of my holidays and think, "Good Lord I'm exhausted! I need a holiday to get over my holiday!"

As I lay here in the hammock I can hear my mind ticking over...

I should really weed that back section next to the carport.

That kale needs harvesting.

I should really turn that veggie patch over...what can I plant in the middle of summer?

That front garden looks like a jungle! Tomorrow I'll get out there and get into it!

I should really go through my wardrobe and cull some of my clothes!

And on and on and on it goes....

I've done things today. I've been for a run, tidied up some of the house, done two loads of washing, made my bed and braved Kmart to buy a little paddle pool to cool off in. But now I've stopped, lay in the hammock and decided I'm going to just lay here and read a couple of chapters of A Clash of Kings. After that I may contemplate my navel and come up with a plan for world peace.

In any case...I need to remember just to stop sometimes.

How about you?

Holiday projects

I'm at the point in my holidays where I don't know what day it is. In other words, I have reached nirvana, the state of eternal bliss. Time is stretched out before me like an endless sea - well, that's what it feels like to me and I dare you to tell me otherwise! Clothes are selected for comfort instead of style so I spend a lot of time in comfy shorts and well-worn tshirts. Thongs (flip-flops for all you readers from the northern hemisphere!) are optional.

So, I have set myself some goals. First, not pictured, is to finish Chloe's quilt. I've set up my sewing machine in a little corner nook of my room and will determine to finish it before work starts again!

Second, I'll tackle that pile of books! According to Goodreads I only finished three books this year! Shameful! I'm almost halfway through A Clash of Kings so hopefully I'll knock that over in between other projects and when I take a rest in the hammock.

Third I'd like to get that crochet done for a friend!

Fourthly, I'd like to make myself a blanket in red with grey accents. Red is the colour of the moment!

And in between all this I plan to smash my 12km running goal! 

It's going to be a wonderful summer!

The first five

I find myself drawn to the first five photos in my baby album. I look at them almost hungrily...which kind of sounds strange...but I do. They mean a lot to me. They are labelled, 2 weeks, 1 month, 2 months, 3 months, 4 months. Then it skips to 7 months. I wonder about five and six. I assume those were the months the penny was beginning to drop because my parents received my diagnosis when I was six months old. Three of the five of them I am with my mother. I look at her young face and I know she had no idea. I look at my little self and I can see the features as plain as day; even in the one where I'm only two weeks old, hands clasped together, eyes shut tight. I can see it easily. 

But these pictures mean a lot to me because ignorance is bliss - not that knowing really changed anything. There's some kind of innocence about them that I can't quite explain - as though, for five short months, I didn't have achondroplasia at all. 

And for some reason, I look at those five photos and I think, "That's when I didn't have achondroplasia at all."

Where we experienced the true meaning of Christmas

I realised just the other day that this has been the first year since 2005 where I have walked through December 18 without a thought about the day or the date. No PTSD, no flashbacks, no heart thumping in my chest. Having started this post though I have to admit to feeling some anxiety as I remember but it doesn't hold the trauma it once did and for that I am grateful.

December 2005 was the time our Chloe had an anterior fusion of a lumbar kyphosis. In laymans terms that means that she had surgery on her back where an outward curve was slightly straightened and stabilised with titanium rods and screws. Yes, it's as big as it sounds. After a week of being in hospital they encased her torso in a plaster cast and sent her home for Christmas.

Those days she was home were not fun for her. I won't write all of what happened but by December 18 I was concerned enough to bundle her into the car and drive like a madwoman up the Monash to the Royal Children's Hospital. The staff took one look at my pale, grey girl and rushed her into Emergency.

The cracking of plaster to reveal a horribly emaciated Chloe, the strangled, "I can't!" when encouraged to take a deep breath, the colour of the carbon-dioxide laden blood they took from her, the hiss of the bi-pap as they forced oxygen into her, the X-rays revealing a collapsed left lung filled with fluid and squashing her right lung which was displacing her trachea, the muttering of the nurse, "how is this kid still breathing?" Tubes being inserted here, there, everywhere. This mother holding her daughters hand repeating, "You can do anything! You can do anything!" like a mantra. 

These are the memories I have but choose not to write in detail because they still haunt me to this day if I dwell on them for too long. One thing about Emergency they don't tell you. The mother is invisible. The staff only have eyes and ears for the patient. Everyone else doesn't exist. For that I am so incredibly grateful...but as a mother, it's also incredibly hard.

I've never been so afraid in all my life...nor have I been so afraid since. Eventually things stabilised and we knew she was out of the woods when someone blew up a latex glove and drew a face on it. I knew she was going to be okay when her doctor looked at me in the face and assured me that she wasn't going to die.

Our girl was taken to the ICU where they drained a litre and a half of milky, pink fluid off her chest. Her breathing became steady and deep and for the first time in days she was able to rest. 

We weren't allowed to stay with her that night. There are no parents sleeping by bedsides in the ICU. Beautiful friends who lived nearby gave me a bed for the night but as soon as first light came I was out the door and back to the hospital.

As I entered ICU I was greeted by my girl. My Chloe. She was pink. I hugged her and she was deliciously warm. She looked at me and said, "Mum, I'm so glad this happened to me because if it had've happened to anyone else I loved I would've been so much more scared."

My Chloe. That whole statement just sums her up completely. We are so blessed by her presence on this earth.

Yes, we spent Christmas on the ward at the Royal Children's Hospital that year. How blessed we were! We were so touched by the hundreds of volunteers who gave up their own Christmas Day to be a blessing to families spending Christmas on the wards. Volunteers who handed out presents so generously donated, volunteers who lovingly prepared Christmas dinner for families and friends. Carol singers, celebrities, entertainers all making the rounds to spread some Christmas cheer.

Family members gave up part of their day to spend it with us on the ward. Our little room was filled with Christmas cheer as presents were spread around a miniature Christmas tree which slowly became buried. 

Some family members who were unable to visit gave up their time to serve others that day. My sister in law went out and helped out at a soup kitchen, serving Christmas dinner to those in need.

It wasn't the Christmas any of us ever expected, but it was a truly happy one and we felt so incredibly blessed. We were all acutely aware of the fact that we had dodged a serious bullet that year and were so grateful for everything that happened. Life is so precious...and we simply celebrated the gift that is life.

Chloe was released from hospital on January 7, 2006. She came home pink and well and wonderful. We captured her homecoming in a photograph that still adorns our fridge to this day.

I think their faces say it all.

Chloe is the one in purple.

*note: Chloe had experienced a complication known as Chylothorax. As the surgery had involved accessing the anterior side of the spine, the incision was made through the chest wall. Sometimes the thoracic duct is accidentally severed during this type of surgery causing lymphatic fluid or chyle to leak into the pleural cavity surrounding the lungs and heart. This is what happened to Chloe. After the fluid was drained & the tear allowed to heal by having a strict no-fat diet, she made a full recovery. * 

In which she wishes she could hibernate

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This Mama Bear is tired. So incredibly tired. I wish I was a real bear, living in Canada or wherever bears have lovely, long winter naps and sleep through Christmas.

Not that I hate Christmas. Far from it! If I could take the whole of December and January off to fully bask in the goodness of the season I would; but I can't. And everything and everybody has their final break ups, Christmas parties, concerts, gatherings and get togethers over the last week of November right up until Christmas Eve so, in the words of Truvy (Dolly Parton) from Steel Magnolias, "I'm busier than a one armed paper hanger!" 

And I can say that because I'm "in the club" - kind of!

This Mama Bear also decided to hand make a lot of her Christmas presents this year too....so I'm pulling a lot of late nighters. Silly me. I have a quilt to get finished and wrapped by Christmas Eve....and I have a sinking feeling that it's just not going to happen. Luckily there's a Plan B. I found it yesterday.

I need to remember that if I'm going to go all out in the Make & Bake Christmas stakes I need to start getting my act together in February so that I can have everything done (hopefully) by the beginning of December. As it stands now I have an entire quilt to put together and I still have squares to cut - after this I will have cut 588 squares. Yes, you read it right - and that's not counting the 20+ squares I totally stuffed up!

Because family members and gift recipients actually read this blog I can't post pictures of the hand made goodness so you'll have to wait till after Christmas Day!

The desire to hibernate is also due to the fact that there are things that have happened and are happening that have made life seem just way too big. There are times where I feel, "I'm too old for this sh*t!" whilst at the same time thinking, "I'm not grown up enough for this sh*t!"

After my last foray into the world of radio broadcasting I spent a week feeling incredibly angry that after centuries of "my people" being given away as GIFTS, seen as oddities, sources of amusement to kings and queens and commoners and guinea pigs for doctors there are some pockets of society who still hold to this idea and there will be those of similar stature to myself who would willingly offer themselves up to be part of it. For a while I agonised how to try and stop this and I found myself getting more and more stressed by it.

Then I let it go. I can't stop it, nor is it my job to do so. For some reason the care blew away on the wind as one would blow dandelion seeds. I am not them. I am me and what they choose to do with their own bodies and physicality has no bearing on me. I will continue to live just as I have always done. I will grab each opportunity and run with it. I will get out there and be part of the community as much as possible and trust that as I do so people are being educated in a positive way. There are times where this is rewarded. Yesterday was one of those days where I had a most lovely conversation with a father and his adorable four year old son as we walked across the road to the bank together. Their willingness to ask questions made me respond with an open heart and after the encounter my face couldn't stop smiling.

I need to keep remembering times like those. All the time.

Two more days. Two more days until I have three weeks of unfettered freedom. Well...that's the way I'm looking at it anyway.

One for all

J's housemate is praying for us both to be united under the one roof. This man is Muslim. For some reason this has touched my heart. A lot. 

My religious upbringing drew definite lines in the sand between who was right and who was wrong; who worshipped in spirit and in truth and who did not; who worshipped false gods and who worshipped the one true God; who was going to hell and who was not. 

Since leaving organised, corporate religion my heart has been opened to a much better way. I truly know now that God is love and wherever love resides there he is also. Love doesn't follow a formula or a schedule, love doesn't have set rules and right or wrongs. Love does not differentiate between culture or tradition. Love does not expect you to live up to a certain standard before it is given. 

This man doesn't even know us very well. He doesn't know me at all...and yet he prays and shows love. I am simply blown away by his kindness.

I cannot express the freedom I feel. It is like I have been caged all these years. When I gave myself freedom I know I stayed close to the cage, needing it's security whilst I found my feet. I'm finding my feet now and I'm beginning to explore places much further away now. They're not scary, as I thought they would be. They contain hidden nuggets of truth that assure me that God is still in his heaven loving me wherever I'm at.

I am free.

Batton down the hatches me hearties!

This morning I discovered that the neighbourhood pains-in-the-butt had decided that our house needed decorating sometime last night...or in the wee small hours of the morning. It's kind of a shame I don't share their artistic tastes. 

As a glass half full kind of a gal I gave thanks that it was just thick sharpie ink and not rotten eggs, grabbed a bucket of water, some Ajax, a scrubber and the hose and worked at clearing it off. It wasn't hard and the windows are once again sparkly.

As I was cleaning though I noticed that the window screens had dents and marks in them -  as though someone had dried to jimmy them off. This did disturb me, especially given that these windows are bedroom windows. 

So I went out to Bunnings and bought some lengths of dowel and wedged them into the window tracks so that they can't be forced open. I also went to the police station and filed a report. Honestly, I'm not expecting them to investigate it, especially seeing I've washed the windows, but at least I've filed the report, along with photographic evidence of the graffiti tag.

I don't necessarily think this is because it's our house as I've seen this particular tag around town quite a lot, but still I am shaken as I feel quite defenceless. I wonder what the statistics are regarding home invasions/burglaries and disability?

I guess all we can be is alert and vigilant regarding keeping our home secure. I've fortified the windows throughout the house, made others aware, notified the police. I'll leave outside lights on but the fact that this happened to the FRONT of the house which faces a busy road is quite disturbing because of the brazen nature of it. 

Still, I refuse to walk through life afraid. The numbers who are for us vastly outnumber those who would try to victimise us. I feel supported and cared for and feel confident they would fly to our aid if needed.

Light House

I've been silent on the blogging front lately. There's always a measure of guilt when this happens for the simple reason that I feel that if you intend being a blogger then you should commit to that somewhat and update at least once a week. Yes I do this for me, my own therapy...but I also do it to be read. I'm not going to deny that. Let's be honest, bloggers write to be read and if you're not going to write people aren't going to hang around waiting until you do - although I must admit I do tend to leave people on my blogroll even though it may be months before they update. I love their stories enough to hang around just in case.

Just because I haven't been writing doesn't mean I haven't been writing some kind of narrative in my head. I'm normally inspired when running. It's like my head clears out all unneccesary dross and begins to see things clearly. It formulates ideas and puts them into cohesive and interesting sentences, attaches photos and even films a video with accompanying inspirational soundtrack and VoiceOver. Silly really. 

Sometimes I wish I could be an observer of my own life, writing notes and putting them out there on this blog so that the "dwarfism awareness" message can be fully told. I guess I'm just busy with the actual doing of a very average life to spend much time documenting that for those people who have just given birth to a child with dwarfism. I know though that our stories - the stories of we adults with dwarfism living very average, "normal", happy lives - are vitally important to these people and their families. We are like lighthouses in the dark, showing them the way and assuring them that all will be well. 

And it's the fact that we live our "average" lives that is so reassuring. I don't really think they care about whether or not there are short statured people in parliament, or leading in their field of medicine or surgery, or the managing director of their Very Important Company. No. These parents want to know things like, "How did you learn how to tie your shoes, negotiate the playground, cope in a public restroom, drive a car, cope with people staring, conduct yourself in an interview?" They want the daily things, the mundane, the things that most people take for granted day by day. They're interested when I post a picture on Facebook showing the type of seat that I find the most comfortable on a train. They feel reassured when they read about me participating in a Fun Run along with 22,000 other Melburnians. They want to know where I buy my clothes and who alters them to fit me.

Over the past few weeks I've been reflecting on my past tendency to almost withdraw from life simply because I was tired of being noticed. I realised I didn't do myself, my family or the community any favours. The kids and I have discovered that since coming out of a "safe" private school environment and entering public school and a more public arena we receive less harassment and more friendliness. The more we're out and about, doing our thing, participating in community and public events, the better it is for us. 

I have become more confident as a result. In the past I would have been scared to participate in a Fun Run and would only reluctantly do so if I had company. Now I register because I love to run and I don't mind that I do it on my own. I don't care about what people might be thinking. Why was I once so presumptuous to believe that I knew what they were thinking? They could see me and think, "She's short. I wonder if she'll last the distance?" or "Good on her!" or "I'm glad I wasn't born like her!" or "Oh! Great haircut!" or they may even be looking right through me and are wondering what they'll cook for dinner. My point is, what does it matter anyway? I'm here! I'm alive! I love it!

And I guess that's the face I want to show to the world. I want to show the face of a person who is filled with more light than she could have possibly imagined, who lives and loves and adapts to a physical world that isn't always built to her specs. I want to show them someone who is getting out there and being "average" in a not so average body and ROCKING it! I want to show that I'm approachable, friendly, teachable and that I deserve respect in the same way every other soul on this planet does. 

I believe it's possible; in fact I know it's not only possible but is actually happening right now. 

Promoting Dwarfism Awareness just by being me.

Schoolyard tactics

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I made the fatal mistake of stumbling upon Free Jinger and GOMI the other day.

It got me both sad and riled so I started writing the following under the title of "The World Is A Big Schoolyard".

The world is a big schoolyard. I've finally worked that out. I can't believe how long it's taken me to come to this. I'm not saying that everyone stays in the schoolyard. There are a vast number of people I know and love who no longer reside in the schoolyard but have moved on to maturity and with mindfulness. However, if you just scratch on the surface of adulthood you see it's still there - the schoolyard politics and hierarchies and competitiveness and jealousies and terrible, horrible bitchiness that grows and spreads like a cancer devouring (or trying to) the goodness in its path.

I just don't get it. Why would you have a forum totally dedicated to hating on bloggers? Why would you troll on other people's sites that they tend so lovingly just to feed your own hate and jealousy and then bitch about it to others? If you don't like a blog, if you want them to "Get Off My Internet" then it's simple - JUST CLICK AWAY! Then they're not ON your internet are they? Practically every blog I read and love is featured on GOMI. And the bitching! Nasty, hateful, spiteful stuff. Awful.

I guess it's part of the reason why I've been so quiet on the blogging/diary front lately. I just don't do hate. I don't do bitchy. I have never been able to understand it and I have handled it badly when it's been directed towards me. (no, I wasn't featured on GOMI as far as I know. They seem to leave writers under the disability category alone...kind of.)

Which got me thinking a lot about my family of origin and wondering what we would have been like if I hadn't have been born with achondroplasia. Would we still have the same acceptance and attitudes towards difference if we hadn't had first hand experience of difference ourselves? I ponder on this a lot. I remember early years when I didn't know I had a difference. I remember starting at children/young adults who were different and my mother calling us on it. I remember a boy being cruel to a little girl with an intellectual disability at school and I couldn't work out why. She was just a little girl as far as I was concerned.

I remember a young man named Paul who had an intellectual disability. It concerned me when I was three or four as I knew he was much older than me but he was acting a lot younger than me. After he and his mother got out of our car and we were driving home I said, "That boy's not proper, Mum!" Funny how I knew to wait until they were out of the car to make a statement like that.

I remember a young woman with an intellectual disability who lived across the road from us. Sally was in her 20's...or maybe even early 30's. She came over to our place many, many times and played Totem Tennis with us. You'd see her walking the streets with her dog...who was not desexed and constantly (so it seemed) on heat. Consequently there were a whole pack of male dogs with them. We kids knew that Sally was a grown up but acted like a little kid...and that was ok. We didn't tease her for it.

Once my little brother and I did tease her though because we thought she wasn't wearing any knickers. Truth be told, she possibly had a massive wedgie. Mum tore strips off us. We were sent to bed without dinner. Our teasing had nothing to do with her disability and everything to do with the fact we thought she had a bare bum!

Sally came to a sad end. Years later when we moved away we heard news reports that Sally had wandered off from her residential care facility and had become lost. She died of exposure.

A kid in our neighbourhood once yelled at my brother, "You're just picking on me because I'm black!" to which my brother replied, "No! I'm picking on you because you're a little turd and you're annoying!" Racism meant nothing to us. My little brother shouldn't have been picking on that kid anyway, but his race had nothing to do with it. (for the record....that kid was an annoying little turd!)

I guess the point I'm trying to make is that these are the actions of children.....and children grow up....or they're supposed to. Meanness and nastiness and bias doesn't compute in my family. Not accepting people because they look different, think different, act different, have different values, religious ideas doesn't factor. When we encounter such nastiness the common question is, "But why???"

Which is why I can't understand those who don't move on from childish ways....and continue with the schoolyard tactics of bullying and teasing and bitching and hurting others simply because they can......and these days they do it from the "safety" of their keyboard and screens. They don't have to witness first hand what their nastiness does.....which to me is the penultimate of cowardice.

So.....please.......if you don't like a writer's content, if their lives make you gag, if you can't stand seeing one more picture of their perfect children, if you don't like the way they are living their life, or educating their children, if you don't hold to their same religious beliefs or lack of......then for the love of all that is good......CLICK AWAY! Don't leave that snippy comment. Don't bitch about them on a forum. Just don't go there. Let them live their lives and you go and do the same. Spread a bit of goodness into the world by wishing them well and moving on.

We have enough hate in the world. Hating is easy. Challenge yourself to taking the better road. Live and let live.

Halloween

We entered into Halloween shenanigans this year. This is the result.

Tim the zombie.

Chloe from the Night Circus

Leisa the witch

Georgia- Esther the orphan.

To spook or not to spook

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I've never "celebrated" Halloween.

I kind of don't get it....possibly because growing up in Australia in the 70's and 80's we just simply didn't do Halloween....plus I grew up in a fundamental Christian environment where participating in Halloween was not only frowned upon but we would have sermons before or on Halloween unfolding how evil this "celebration" was. As a result, I learned to fear it and avoid it like the plague.

Honestly....a lot of my "faith" and belief system seemed to have been based on fear. Maybe I should write more on that one day...

Anyway...back to the topic. I've never "celebrated" Halloween so I'm kind of a bit clueless about how to do so...but we're having a bit of a party type thing at our place for Halloween. Not that we're inviting anyone over, but we are all dressing up to greet the Trick or Treaters that will undoubtedly come. Mind you, I'm only opening the door to little kids and their parents up until about 8pm....or until the treats run out. After that, we go into hiding because that's when the real little devils come out to play....and by that I am referring to the troublemakers of the neighbourhood - armed with eggs and other missiles.

The young ones want to have a party of sorts so we went to Lombards on the weekend and stocked up on a few things. Tim's into special effects make up so he bought all sorts of bits and pieces that will enable him to make scabs and burns and blood. Georgia and Chloe bought a few things for costumes. I couldn't help but be drawn into their enthusiasm and I found myself scanning the aisles for basic decorations.

What? Me?

Yes. I bought a large spiderweb and several plastic spiders, some spooky cupcake papers and the piece de resistance, a jointed skeleton. Oh how I love my little skeleton. After Halloween he shall hang in my closet and be known as the skeleton in my closet henceforth!

Lombards was great as their entire store was decked out in Halloween decorations so I gained a lot of ideas from there without having to purchase their expensive ones. Instead, I'm heading to the Reject Shop and my local Coles to purchase things like crepe paper and garbage bags that will do just as well. I'm also considering buying a carving pumpkin to make our own Jack-o-lantern....although I'm battling thinking about the waste of food. Perhaps a pumpkin soup with the pulp? Are carving pumpkins even edible?

Excited conversations are being had about the entertainment we will have over the course of the evening. I've heard whispers of Monster Mash and Michael Jackson's Thriller, A Nightmare Before Christmas (which Chloe said is a good movie for watching both at Halloween AND Christmas) and The Corpse Bride.

Yeah, we're really hardcore here! That's about the scariest we will go. While other people may be watching The Shining, Carrie and The Exorcist we'll be watching Tim Burton films. Badass we are!

Are we celebrating? No, not really. We're just having a spooky night as a family, putting to rest fears and biases and being free to express some other parts of who we are. No longer driven by fear and misconception we are forging our own path and making choices for ourselves.

It feels good to be free.

Authenticity and the blogging community.

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Authenticity (philosophy) - is the degree to which one is true to one's own personality, spirit or character, despite external pressure. 

Over the past week I have been thinking a lot about the word authenticity and what I believe it means in regards to being true to the self. I have been thinking a lot about this in response to a blog I read, written by a woman I very much admire as a mother, a woman and a seeker of truth. 

This woman has been through things I cannot even bear to think about, and yet in the face of this she chooses to walk in love and gentleness - seeking to respond to the situations she is in, her children, life and people she encounters along her way with love and acceptance. She chooses to blog about her journey and the journey she and her children make each day. Yes, her lifestyle is alternative as she seeks truth for herself and strives towards living authentically, but this makes reading her blog all the more interesting. I am challenged and inspired each time I read her writings and come away with many things to ponder and meditate on in regards to my own life and how I live it. I have met this woman before, albeit briefly, and I found her to be very much as I read her - gentle, full of love and giving.

Each day she works towards being her authentic self and allows her children to live authentically as possible as well. She allows them to choose their own clothes, what they learn about, hairstyles, what they eat, when and how much. She doesn't enforce her own agendas on her children and I know that she has been challenged more than once to remain silent and let them choose for themselves how they wish to present themselves to the world. I find it all wonderfully facinating to watch the process play out. 

But, when you reveal some of your life online and have a blog where you write about the process of becoming authentic, living authentic and your lifestyle choices, it inevitably attracts the readers who watch your every move and pounce on anything they deem as contrary to your own philosphies. I cringe in horror as I read comments that reveal judgemental attitudes, criticism and this seeminly insane desire to catch her up when she stumbles. As time has gone on, she has blogged less and less and I wonder if it's due to the fact that each time she does, even though it may be a lovely piece about their latest travels and discoveries, there will be more than one someone who will criticise her for something. More often than not these comments will be insanely petty.

The latest two that saddened me came in the form of criticising her for shaving her legs. The reader deemed that this was not "authentic". The other was a criticism of her referring to herself and her girls as Gypsies. 

No. Really?

So what if she chooses to shave her legs!? In my mind she IS being authentic to her real self for doing so! Maybe she likes the feel of shaved legs? Maybe she likes the look of her legs when they are shaved? Whatever the case, she shaves them. This is her choice. If she didn't do so because she thought that hairy legs were the trademark of a hippy gypsy and she should do so because this is what everyone expected of a hippy, regardless of how she truly felt about it, then she would not be authentic to her real self. Instead of bowing to this seemingly relentless pressure, she listens to her inner self. She knows what she likes and doesn't like and responds accordingly. She knows her children intimately and fosters their growth and development in a loving, gentle, non-judgemental way. Who on earth are we the reader for criticising her whatever choices she makes? She makes them after careful reflection and thought. Why should she have to live up to readers expectations?

And why should she have to explain to her readers why she took an overseas trip and left her children in the care of others? None of our business! Yet there are readers who seem to believe it's their right to know why. 

Sometimes we as readers seem to think it's our right to appoint ourselves Judge, Jury and Executioner. Trial by Readership....and it's ugly.

So, after pondering these things I have come to the conclusion that being authentic does not have a specific look on the outside. A well groomed woman with immaculate hair, makeup and fashionable attire may be being JUST as authentic to herself as the woman who just lets her hair grow and hang in a messy ponytail, wearing no makeup and wears loose flowing shirts and jeans with bare feet. It's all a case of responding to your own inner values, not anyone elses. That's what being authentic is. 

I really hope she keeps blogging. I have learned so much from her. I hope she doesn't bow to the pressure of her readership forcing her into their ideal of authentic living. 

Just hold the eggs

Our house was egged on Saturday night.

I don't like eggs at the best of times.

Evil little ovals of yuckiness! I mean, come on! Who was it who looked at what emerged from a chooks bum and said, "Mmm! Yummy! I think I'll eat that!" 

But seriously, yes our house was egged to welcome the first official weekend of Daylight Savings. It's not the first time and it won't be the last. Our house isn't the only one in town that endures an egging once the longer days are upon us but I think it's the most frequently targeted. 

For obvious reasons of course. Most hooligans know where we live and who lives here. 

This egging was a pain in the butt more than anything as it had been a warm day and we had the window open. The eggs were thrown at the window so they hit the screen, broke and went onto the blinds and the curtains. 

Little buggers.

It's gotten to the stage now where I just sigh, grab a bucket, mop and the hose and go clean it off before it hardens. Yes I've been to the police who have promised there will be more patrols but in the grand scheme of things I suppose eggings are not too serious in their opinion. They've got domestic violence and robberies and stabbings to see to. Totally understand.

We've had worse than eggs and times where they've entered our property and damaged our gates. These have definitely been reported to the police, who did actually step up patrols in the area.

I can't really tell you why I am no longer outraged or incensed or even hurt. Maybe I've just reached a stage of my life where I know that their actions reflect more on their character rather than mine. I know that we're targeted because we are a family of short statured people and the bullies think that's funny.....but for some reason I have moved on and it has no bearing on how I feel about myself and my kids and our place in the world. I know we belong and I know we're pretty cool people....and I'm sure that if these bullies actually swallowed their fear (because that's all it is, you know!) and took a chance to get to know us, they'd think we were pretty cool too. 

And I really wish they would do that......

.....because cleaning smashed egg off windows and brickwork is a bitch of a job.

When I grow up

You know what? I don't think I'm going to grow up. Growing up is highly over-rated.

Remember being a kid? Those endless summers...the unending wait between birthdays or Christmases? Oh my gosh time seemed to draaaaaag! I couldn't wait to grow up, to be a lady, a mum, be able to drive.

Now I'm here in supposed Grown-up Land I really don't know what the fuss was all about. In fact, the younger grown ups and me tend to do lots of non-grown up things and have a wow of a time doing it.

Yesterday afternoon we made a Blanket/Sheet Fortress in the loungeroom. We adorned it with fairy lights and ate party food for dinner. A couple of us slept in there most of the night, along with the dogs. Sometime during the night the inevitable happened and part of the fortress collapsed...mostly on top of me. We laughed and made our way to bed. Our backs were sore and we were cold anyway.

I sit and reflect on why I didn't do more of these kinds of things with the kids when they were little, but then I smile and give thanks that we're doing it now. These are what memories are made of. When I'm gone I want them to remember the silliness that was their mother and tell stories to my grandchildren of their Nanna who refused to grow up.

Because being a grown up is terribly over-rated you know.

Protego Totalum - AKA Living in my bubble

Protego Totalum : is an incantation of many protective enchantments used to defend a certain small or enclosed area. Taken from the latin Protego meaning "to protect" and Totalum,  meaning "as a whole".

Taken from HERE.

Image source

Living as a person with an obvious physical difference has meant that when I am out and about doing my regular everyday, mundane things, I am noticed. A lot. It comes as part of the package. Everyone does it. I even do it. A difference registers in the brain. For me, I register the difference and move on....but most human beings register a difference and linger on it longer than is often comfortable.

For a long while I noticed this noticing. A lot. I knew when people stared. I saw when people did the double take. I heard the comments, the giggling, the obvious mirth. It used to bother me. A lot. I longed to be invisible, camouflaged, to just fit in....but that wasn't going to happen. Ever.

It was my brother who provided me with the perfect strategy for handling being under constant scrutiny. He told me that as the CEO of a business, people were always trying to get his attention, to meet with him, to take up his time - especially when he arrived at work. He told me to avoid this he would pretend not to notice, to look busy and purposeful and to avoid eye contact. He told me that eye contact meant that you were looking to engage with someone and that he had noticed that I was constantly looking at people, expecting contact. 

Look busy, ignore it and eventually you won't see it. 

It was hard to start off with. I realised how much of my time out in public was taken up with looking for people who were noticing me! (that sounds like I was up myself!) I was expecting the stares, the comments, the jitters. It took me a long time to perfect the art of not noticing at all and forming almost a "protective bubble" around myself. 

I now know how to use Protego Totalum!

I hardly notice it anymore! It hasn't stopped. I know it happens. In fact, possibly since the advent of the smart phone I am probably photographed or filmed at least once every day, but because I don't look for it, as far as I am concerned it's not happening.

Ignorance, my friends, CAN sometimes be bliss!

Of course I notice the obvious times. There are times where people are just so obviously downright rude that I can't help but notice and, sometimes, confront them on it. They're the times where someone has breached the protective bubble - you know, "This is my dance space, this is your dance space!" - and they have entered into my own personal space. I'm big on personal space. When your face is level with an average sized person's bum, personal space is very important! 

But for the most part these days I walk about in my little space of Protego Totalum and I am oblivious. This has done wonders for my own sense of self and for my mental health. Constantly feeling like I was on show was really doing my head in. Like, really!

The only downside of this is that there are times where I notice nothing! I friend could be calling out to me from the other side of the road, waving madly at me and I won't notice a thing. (It might help if I didn't have my ear phones in listening to my favorite tunes!) I've had people say to me afterwards, "I saw you at the ***** today and I was waving madly but you ignored me!" We laugh about it, but they know it's just a part of the way I do life....they also think I'm nutty, but that's another story. 

I am not alone in this. At the convention last week I laughed as I noticed other short statured friends doing exactly the same thing. Maybe it's a coping mechanism we all have.

All I know is, Protego Totalum works for me.....and I'd like to give a nod to Hermione Granger for giving me the cool label for it!

Back to reality

Image credit

Up until now I've always hated it when the phrase, "Going back to reality," was used following a short statured people's convention. In my mind it reeked of fantasy; as though we had entered some kind of world where reality didn't exist. I used to say, "But we DO live in the real world wherever we are!" Whether we're with a group of short statured people and their families or whether we're just out there living our lives, doing our thing then wherever we are, that's real life.

And I still subscribe to that. I don't live a fantasy life. I live a real life, warts and all. It's very ordinary. So ordinary in fact that I'd even call it somewhat mundane. Get up, work, go home, eat, sleep, rinse and repeat.

But I'm not so sensitive now about the phrase, "going back to the real world" because everyone uses it. You take a break from your everyday routine and you do something different for a short while. You do it to rest, recharge, break it up a bit, have an adventure, escape, retreat. 

That's what the convention was for me. It was a chance to get away from it all, connect with others, get out of town, see some new faces and places, be encouraged, inspired, challenged. It was everything I was hoping it to be and more. 

I'm now back in the ordinary humdrum of everyday living and it's actually this existence that feels kind of surreal to be honest. I find it hard to believe that a couple of short days ago we were exploring Port Arthur and learning about our colonial history. It's hard to get back into the swing of learning MYOB and checking stationery supplies after that.

In the past, when I was a much younger girl, the end of a convention was heartbreaking. I would sob, not knowing when the next time would be where I'd be reunited with my new friends - if ever! Now it's not so hard. I know that the world today is not so small. I can hop on a plane or a train or in a car and see these people whenever the whim takes me. I can use Skype to call them. There's the instant gratification of staying in touch via email or Facebook. The world has indeed changed.

So now, the vibe of convention can stay the entire year. It is now always a part of reality. 

Quick convention thoughts.

Just a part of the crowd! Convention delegates - 2013

We've been in Tasmania for five days. They've been the most beautiful five days in a long time. How do I begin to describe the atmosphere of love and community and acceptance that characterises this convention? I can't. You have to be here and experience it to know it. This is known as a smaller convention in that there are about 61 people on site. Smaller, more intimate conventions have always, in my experience, been the best. Everyone works together beautifully, it all just flows, the children play together happily. There's no nonsense, no love triangles, no bitching, no one with their own agendas. I'll wait until I get home to write more details but here's a quick rundown:

• Monday medical day. Very informative. geneticists are on the verge of beginning human trials of a new drug treatment for achondroplasia (my type) which will hopefully mean that although it is not a cure, the complications that can be associated with the condition are lessened or eradicated completely. Very exciting! Monday night was the Cowboy & Indians disco which was complete fun and joy and this old girl was consistently the oldest chook on the dance floor but loving every second!

• Tuesday we went and visited historical Port Arthur which I found totally fascinating ...and emotional given that I visited the Pool of Reflection and paid my respects to the victims of the shootings in 1996 but particularly to Nannette, Alannah & Madeleine Mikac. I read Walter Mikac's book not long after it was published and was deeply affected by it to the point where I grieved for a long while after.

• Wednesday was the AGM and i accepted a position on National Council. Wednesday afternoon was the Short Artss workshop/Masterclass which, for the introductory session was a phenomenal success. I led the writing workshop and it was such a powerful session where stories were told, tears were shed and bonds strengthened.

• Thursday (yesterday) was a massive day. We went to the Cadbury factory, up to Mt Wellington and played in the snow (G was so excited! Her first snow experience!) and then explored the intricacies of MONA. I loved MONA in all it's arty senselessness. So many peoe were going around saying, "But what does this mean???" to which I would reply, "It's art. It doesn't have to have meaning!" I'd like to come back and spend a whole day there.

• Thursday night was the dinner dance at Wrest Point Casino. Excellent food, wonderful company and a good (but loud) band called Australian Made. I danced ALL night and went to bed completely sober but tired and happy.

• Today I've taken time out and have gone off to Richmond to poke around the shops. I'm sitting in a coffee shop with my Devonshire tea. It's been nice. I've got reception so I've caught up on emails, sent texts, updated Facebook some more and written this.

• Tim is enjoying himself in his sweet, quiet way. Georgia has newfound friends. This makes me happy.

• I am in a good place. I feel content and happy. I've felt completely relaxed this week and have let myself be authentic and maskless. The result of this has been people responding in kind. I am blessed with friends and feel very connected to this group for whom I hold genuine affection.

Peace and love.

Confronted

Image credit

I watched The Station Agent for the first time last night.

For those of you who are unfamiliar with that particular film, please pop over to IMDB and search it. The Station Agent was the first film "my lot" became aware of the brilliance that is Peter Dinklage. Everyone raved about what a wonderful film it was and how fantastic it was to see a short statured actor play just a regular person with regular issues rather than be in costume as a fantasy creature, comic relief or in a token role. We were all encouraged to see it.

But for some reason I simply couldn't at the time. I just couldn't. I'd heard that there was a scene where he's drunk and gets up on a bar and shouts, "Go on! Take a good look!" and the idea of that scene was just too confronting for me at the time so I chose not to see the film.

I've thought about it a lot over the years and I've come to the conclusion that I find it confronting seeing aspects of my own life played out in front of me - either on the screen or in the pages of a book. In daily life I'm kind of in control of what I see happening around me. I know it all happens - the stares, the comments, the poking of the mate in the ribs and having a laugh, the random pictures and videos taken on a smart phone - but I can somehow block it out to some extent and exist in my own bubble of ignorance.

But to see it up close and personal, highlighted on the screen, or written about in the pages of a book is too much and it hurts...and I'm confronting how I really feel about it...and how I really feel about myself and my own physicality. I watched Peter Dinklage walk and I asked the kids, "Do I walk like that?" They were not able to tell me. "What? He's just walking Mum and so do you." They didn't get it. I suppose this is because they've always been accustomed to having dwarfism around them whereas me, coming from an average statured family, this is all sometimes a "new" experience for me and seeing another image of myself in real human form is still a curiosity for me. Strange, but true.

Last night I watched the film. Finally. I'm glad I did. I think it was the right time. I think I was ready. It was brilliant. None of it was over the top. The daily incidents that happened to Fin McBride was accurate and true to life. I saw echoes of my own life as I watched his two new friends display genuine attempts at friendship and Fin's initial reluctance to let them in and open his heart. The reactions of the children, the townspeople - all true to life. I watched it and was unafraid - touched by seeing reality portrayed in such an accurate and dignified manner.

And I was so proud of Peter's persistence in holding on to his ideals; that he wasn't going to belittle himself by taking on roles that didn't require any skills other than the fact that he's 4ft 2in. He has held on to his dream of being a respected actor, brilliant in his craft. And he is and has earned the accolades to prove it.

I think I will always continue to be confronted by mirror images of myself on the page and on screen, but I am learning to look within and work out why. There are still films I haven't seen and books I haven't read simply because I'm not ready yet. Maybe one day I will be.

Lately on Mondays

I'm toying with having days with a regular theme on this little place in cyberspace. I'll try this today and see how we go. It's mainly just to give you all a quick rundown on what's been happening down here on another level.

Making:

I've been into amigurmi crochet lately. I haven't completed anything yet, which is the way I roll with most craft projects! At the moment I have almost finished a small amigurumi monkey but there seems to be errors in the pattern and I am too much of a novice crocheter to know how to fix them!

I think I made the head inside-out.....and the arm is too short and  fat, despite following the pattern closely!

I've also finished a blanket knitted with yarn I had left over from other projects....plus a couple of balls I *may* have bought to add to it.

Cooking:

Ummm....nothing! I can't remember the last time I actually cooked or baked anything. I'm in the middle of a ten day stint of working and most foodstuffs are those of the convenient kind - fruit, crackers, coffee, tea, toast. I miss cooking to tell you the truth!

Drinking:

Coffee. Skinny lattes, no sugar.

Reading:

I love reading, I really do but with being on anti-depressants I seem to have lost the concentration to be able to sit and get involved in a good story. I have several books on the go at the moment, none of which I am even close to finishing. 

Wanting:

I just want to stop; to have some time to sit and be still and think and breathe and centre myself again. That, above all things would be my dream right now. 

Looking:

At a lot of different gardens and wondering what would suit my humble abode.

Playing:

A lot of Candy Crush and Pet Rescue. Kind of addicted to these two games!

Wasting:

See above.

I'm also wasting a lot of time overthinking something I really don't need to be thinking about at all anymore. Does anyone else do that? Waste their precious energy on something they don't need to?

Sewing:

Sock monkeys!

This was taken before I added tiny button nostrils.

I've always wanted to make one of these and now I have so mission complete! They're cheap, quick and easy.

Wishing:

......that I could just buy a van, convert it and take off into the wide, open yonder to explore this wonderful country of ours.....

Enjoying:

My relationship with my children.

Waiting:

For Saturday when we will be taking off to Tasmania!

Liking:

Myself. I've discovered how important that is......

Wondering:

....if now is the time.....

Loving:

....being creative.....

Hoping:

.....for new beginnings, new horizons.......

Marvelling:

.......at the miracle of new life. My sister and her husband are expecting their first baby at the end of January. I never lose that sense of how marvellous pregnancy, birth and babies are. A new life beginning is always a source of wonder and something to be in awe of.

Needing:

Closure and peace.

Smelling:

....someones heated up lunch.

Wearing:

A denim dress, fawn coloured cardigan and black slip ons.

Following:

....the beat of my own drum....

The road is home

Edenland

Tune in to Radio Carly

Sparkling Adventures

Noticing:

.....new life bursting in the garden.

Knowing:

.....that I am ok, just as I am.

Thinking:

....about what to pack for Tasmania!

Feeling:

......the post-production blues.

Joining the Flock

Over the past two weeks I have had the wonderful experience of being involved with Weave Movement Theatre's latest production - Flock. My colleague and friend, Simone, asked if I'd like a go at being Assistant Stage Manager and Front of House Coordinator during their season in the Melbourne Fringe Festival. Eager to expand my horizons I happily said "YES!" Assistant Stage Manager and FOH Coordinator (along with Volunteer Coordinator) was going to look good on a resume which made another reason for saying yes.

Little did I know how much this gig was going to mean to me.

Isn't that the way life goes sometimes? You agree to something because you want to help out;  to contribute to something bigger than yourself and to learn a new skill so that one day you might pick up more work in that particular field and you end up being a part of something that touches you in such a profound way that you know your life will never be the same. 

I didn't know what to expect. I'd never done stage management before so I didn't know exactly what was expected of me but I soon learned that stage management is everything I love doing - fetching, carrying, helping, setting up, prompting cast members, making sure things are in the right place at the right time and generally being a go-for and go-getter.

The biggest bonus though was being introduced to the loveliest bunch of people you could ever hope to meet. They are enthusiastic, they are creative, they think outside the box. They communicate beauty in ways I have never seen before. I am captured and mesmerised by each performance.

I love being further educated about disability just by being there.

I love having my misconceptions confronted, my ideas challenged. 

My favorite scene of the production is one of the last. It's a movement piece - the most beautiful and moving piece I have witnessed in a long time. So expressive and gentle, yet powerful. The two women move me to tears each time I see it. It confronts every notion I had about dance and motion, beauty and expression. 

The more I am involved with Weave the more I want to be involved, the more I want to explore my creative side. If I continue to be involved behind the scenes then I will be happy, but I would be thrilled to be able to explore my creative side and join the ensemble of performers. I have always loved to dance and move but have long despaired that my physicality is not one that people want to see on stage other than in roles that are more suited for comedy  as a token imp or elf or fantasy creature. Weave opens up an opportunity to explore movement that involves beauty, sensuality and actually celebrating that one has a body.

This weekend Flock is showing at the Brunswick Mechanics Institute.

Details about the show and how to purchase tickets can be found HERE. 

I hope to see you there!

Lately

It has been a while since I last blogged. The thought of this has been a constant whisper in my head, beckoning me back. I've formed countless posts in my head - as I've been running, baking, gardening and knitting - yet they remain unwritten and I'm unsure of why. I read of so much beauty online and there are so many other lives that seem so much more exciting than mine...so I stay quiet and my story remains untold.

I've been unwell over the past week. Very. I'm sure this is the result of some stressful situations that have manifested over the past month that have called on me to step up to the plate and take the lead, however there's only so much that this little body can bear before it cries, "Enough!" and forces me to stop and rest. I should remember to do this when I am well. Resting is so much more fun when you're well!

I guess I spent the better part of three days in bed. Which meant that I had plenty of time to do a lot of this:

I had a lot of leftover wool from other projects and thought I'd put it all together into this multicoloured creation. I call it "The Fringe Blanket" because I also watched an entire two seasons of Fringe as I knitted. Addicted much?

Today I've felt a lot better and it's been tempting to go crazy in the house and clean it within an inch of its life but I knew that if I did I'd end up back in bed again so I took it easy - just a little laundry, tidying up the lounge room and planting out my beans.

(Photo bombed by Maya and Seamus. I've planted tomatoes, lettuce, capsicum and beans.)

So yes, that's been my life lately. There's more to say but I'll leave that for another time. I just thought if get online and let you all know I'm alive!