writer • editor • dog lover
We are Janus. We came into the world together, two faces one mind. I am she, and she is me. Our parents call us Jane and Jen, but they never know who they’re talking to. Jane and Jen born in June. We toy with them. We have played this game for as long as we can remember. We tried it first when we realised that they could not tell which of us was Jane and which Jen. Now, even they call us Janus.
My Darling Sons,
Today, in the aftermath of a violent, unhinged man holding people hostage in the Lindt chocolate cafe in Sydney, killing two, causing physical injuries to more, and unseen psychological damage to so many more, I am heartsore. In the aftermath of a young, unarmed African American man being shot to death, ostensibly for changing lanes illegally while driving, by Houston police, I’m searching for the humanity in human beings. In the aftermath of the Taliban attack today on a school in Pakistan killing 141 people, I am despondent.
~ Abraham Lincoln
A strange thing happens between mothers and sons in the teen years. The chubby fingers of childhood loose their grip, the adoring eyes fall less often on you, the gifts of rocks and sticks and feathers become fewer. A distance insinuates itself between you.
Marli sits in the dark, her knees drawn up to her chin, her breath coming in short sharp bursts. She is certain he can hear her heart beating; it’s hammering so loudly that her ears are reverberating. Her chest aches from where her knees are squeezed in tight by her arms. She makes herself as small and unnoticeable as possible.
“I know where you are.”
I can see the world wobbling and waving in front of me as I lie flat and still on my stomach. It’s so hot that even the tar from the road is losing water.
My head feels light and my breath comes in short bursts.
This post from the extraordinary Ijeoma Oluo deals with her personal experience of nearly losing her beautiful, clever, loving, sensitive son.
This is a story we all need to read.
Continue reading “Her Honest Life: You’re Lucky If They Act Out”
Last week we went on a road trip to Florida (you can find posts on that here if you’re interested) and it was wonderful. But along the way, we acquired a flat tyre on my car. So yesterday I called the lovely serviceman to come and change my tyre over for the spare (I have an SUV, I’m not jacking that sucker up to change a tyre by myself when I pay insurance premiums, so spare me the “you could have changed your own tyre” speech — I’ve changed plenty in my life), and today I had to go get the original repaired or replaced.
Continue reading “The Story of A Parenting Win and A Happy Dance”
Today I came across this blog. It is both a collection of letters/notes from adult women to their teenage selves (or to teenage women generally), and a place where teens can seek answers to questions (either by asking directly, or by reading the many stories already posted).
![[en] camping, tent](http://commons.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Camping.png "[en] camping, tent")
The CEO has taken Godzilla and the TeenWolf camping today. They’ve kitted themselves out with cots, pillows, sleeping bags, daypacks, food and the ubiquitous (at least in our house) camouflage light (don’t get excited, it’s just a camping lantern with camo designs on it).
Meanwhile, Pinky and the Brain are in their respective corners… sleeping. They did their usual walk with the CEO this morning, then went on a second, longer walk with me and the boys. It’s more than their fat, spoilt bodies are used to.
It’s Summe
r holidays and the TeenWolf had a mate over today (that’s a buddy, or a friend for those of you who aren’t Australian). Naturally, that meant a bit of dominance display and chest beating from Godzilla. While the two younger boys wandered around doing their own thing, Godzilla hovered on the edges. Of course, there was substantial interjecting from me, as I magically found jobs that I absolutely had to have Godzilla’s help with. Yeah, I didn’t come down in the last shower. I know how this goes. One kid has a friend over, the other kid tries to interject and just ends up being a pain in the bum. In the fabulously poetic words of Dr. Phil, this ain’t my first rodeo.
