Car-free at last!

It has been a while since I've blogged. Many apologies to my discerning readers... while I doubt many (any?) of you have been waiting with bated breath for my next installment, I do have lots to tell you.

The beautiful bride, Pickle's
Aunty Catherine & his new Uncle

In the interim not only have I been studying, but Pickle and I travelled across the country to see my Outlaws, for a family wedding and so BoyWonder could visit with Pickle too. Pickle was obviously a hit, they were very welcoming, it was good for that side of the family to get to know Pickle more, and was relatively angst free. Sure, there were some *ahem* challenging moments, but considering the situation (divorce, annual visitation etc.), it could have been a lot worse.

I've given up trying to find paid work in the Mental Health industry - the jobs I have applied for have each had 135+ applicants. As a Student Placement is required to do the next few subjects and in order to complete my counselling degree, I decided it would be pertinent to offer myself up as a volunteer. Now, being a hard-working, enthusiastic, engaged advocate for all areas of mental health, with a Distinction average for my subjects, you think I'd be snapped up, right?

There was lots of opportunity
to try out Pickle's "muddy puddle
boots" (I blame Peppa Pig)

Apparently not in Hervey Bay. I've called upward of SIXTY organisations, with no luck so far. Some have seemed promising, then the return phone calls dry up. Frustrating only begins to describe it. I'm pondering whether there is any point even trying to finish my degree.

On a brighter note, I now have my cargo bike. Pickle and I are car-free! Avid readers and my Twitter followers (those I mentioned earlier, hanging on with bated breath, no doubt) will recall my moaning about the disastrous saga that started almost a year ago with the first cargo bike company I dealt with. The Dutch company based in Melbourne was a complete customer service fail. Firstly an incorrect stock count meant none of my first four colour preferences were available, then shipping delays (admittedly out of the distributor's control)...

So the bike that I had hoped to receive in early December, then promised pre-Christmas 2012, eventually arrived on 12th January 2013. Except it wasn't the e-bike I had ordered and paid for. And that's when the somewhat patchy customer service to this point, took an absolute nose-dive; I was talked-over, condescended to and insulted. So it was arranged that this bike would be sent back and I would get the new bike in two to three weeks.  I was promised - in three separate written messages - that the bike would arrive fully assembled, and I would only need to put four bolts in to attach the box to the bike.

And then the bike arrived on 4th February 2013. Not only was it not assembled, it was missing not only the lights, but the entire braking system... a somewhat key element to safe riding, don't you think?

Our first ride on our
Christiania cargobike!

Needless to say, the bike was returned and I went back to the drawing board... and via Twitter, I was recommended the lovely Peter at PSbikes.

You can fit a surprising amount
in the cargobike!

While there was a delay in getting the bike, it was more than made up for by the charming customer service I received with door-to-door delivery, fully assembled and customised! The Christiania bike is made in Denmark, and I believe the Scandinavian engineering is slightly superior. Both Pickle and I love the bike and it's been getting lots of attention on our outings.

Pickle "drumming" with BigTed

On an even brighter note, things are going really well with BigTed, but
more on that later...

Cheers, KangaRue :)

Tiny Chaperone (Dating as a Single Parent III)

Dating as a single and "older" Mummy is definitely different from my dating experiences when I was in my 20s. Gone are the cocktails. The requisite sky-high heels. Late nights, when I only worried about getting the last train home, and - depending on the day - the necessity to drag myself out of bed for work the next morning.

These days, it's scheduling coffee or lunch (hopefully) while Pickle is napping. I used to think people shouldn't introduce their kids to prospective partners until at least a few months into a relationship. As a single parent, this just isn't an option - for me anyway. Pickle goes to nursery twice a week, which is great for his development and also gives me time to study for my counselling degree, hunt for a student placement/work role and do a spot of procrastinating blogging. I have to stay focussed on my work days, it would be too easy to fritter them away.

Both Sparky and BigTed are single Dads, so they are both pretty understanding. BigTed and I have had dates at the local playgrounds and gone for cycles. Sparky took us for a picnic and swim at a nearby tourist spot.

But here's the dilemma. I've now been on five or six dates with each of these guys, and haven't so much as held hands with either of them. I can't snog* someone with my toddler watching, that just seems so wrong.

It now seems like such a big deal as well.

BigTed has suggested taking me out for dinner for our next date. This would obviously require a babysitter. So do I divulge my private life to my parents? I know I'm an adult, but talking to my parents about dating makes me feel like an awkward teenager again. And that wasn't a great experience the first time around, so I'm loathe to experience it again. My lovely friend Deb has offered to Pickle-sit should I need it, but I hate asking for favours from people. While they adore each other, I want to make sure it's a worthwhile endeavour... is BigTed worth it? Or should I take the opportunity to have an evening date with Sparky instead? The resounding response on both the blog and Twitter was definitely in BigTed's favour last time, so perhaps the universe has already decided?!

So how do other people do this? Is the lack of snogging* surmountable?

Cheers, KangaRue :)

* for the non-English readers, that means kiss (pash for the Aussies, but I hate that word with a passion - no pun intended)

Dating as a Single Parent (II)

I want to subtitle this blog: Good Grief, he's a Muso.

But that would be getting ahead of myself.

I get few moments of non-toddler sanity peace and quiet most days. One day a week, I take Pickle to a swimming class. He inevitably has a bite of lunch after his lesson, we splash in the outside pool and slides and then more lunch... before Pickle slips into a deep and lengthy sleep (I consider anything over 45 minutes a lengthy nap these days). I then sneak in lunch with a friend, or a peaceful coffee on my own, while Pickle sleeps in his pram.

I chose a new venue for lunch recently; there are many cafes along the Esplanade, and I'm slowly working my way through them. It was buzzing, and I managed to grab the last table as the previous occupants left. Perusing the menu, I was approached to see if I'd mind sharing the table. And that's when I met... let's call him BigTed. Not only does the Aussie Play School connotation appeal due to my new locale, but this guy is tall - a foot taller than my meager 5'2, solid and age appropriate (in a town filled with backpackers and OAPs, this final point is not to be sniffed at).

We started chatting. He made me laugh. And then I found out he's a muso. Good grief. I've never been one to desire the proverbial "I'm with the band" t-shirt. Especially now that I'm a single Mummy. OK, so this guy isn't only a muso, he's an engineer too. And a Dad. But I can't quite get past the muso bit.

He offered to take a competition card to the cash register for me. And then gallantly paid for my lunch. I was disappointed that he didn't ask for my number, so was glad when he texted me later that day to see if he could take me out again. He'd lifted my mobile number from the competition card... Ingenious or stalker-like? Perhaps I should name him ScaryBear instead?

Should I run a mile from this muso? Or embrace the creative?

Cheers, KangaRue :)

Dating as a Single Parent (I)

I've been dating.

I've mentioned the tragic date with the semi-toothless guy and being propositioned by Dr. Coy... But thankfully there are some slightly more eligible and attractive male specimens in Hervey Bay. Some of them are even below OAP age!

In my past dating life, I used nicknames for my dates with my friends. The main purpose it served was as an easier way for my friends to distinguish them - BoyWonder was named not only for his age, but also because he had a bit of Clark Kent going for him. I intend to keep the tradition going, with the added benefit of providing a privacy protecting pseudonym for my suitors.

Two contenders stand out so far. Both are single Dads with shared care for their kids.  The first we'll call Sparky. He's a lovely guy, thoughtful and relaxed.

I found it a little weird that he didn't know what a blog was though. I get that someone might have never read a blog (though I am struggling with getting my head around this alone). But to not even know what a blog is? I'm pretty sure I ballsed up the explanation too. His sense of privacy means he baulked at the idea of blogging at all... So not sure I'll divulge his inclusion here. He's also not particularly open conversationally - though we've had great discussions about travel and a bit about food.

He's also doesn't eat red meat. Not a deal breaker in it's own right, but don't lecture me about my food choices. Someone pass me a steak knife please...

So Sparky should give you an idea of his line of work. I don't really care what someone does for a living, as long as they enjoy it and find it challenging or inspiring. Obviously not every day can be blissful, but otherwise slogging through a third of each day would be tiresome at best. But Sparky dropped into conversation that he's the boss, along with the properties he has invested in. I'm not sure if it's a nerves thing, where he feels the need to "big" himself up, but I've found it a little off putting - red-flags are flapping as previous relationships featured guys with underlying insecurity that manifested as bragging and arrogance, which eventually got directed towards me. So no thanks as a general rule. But we'll see. At worst, I'd like to keep him as a friend.

Details of my other suitor will have to wait for another day.

Being the boss and owning properties should logically be a draw-card, yet I'm finding it a turn-off... Am I nuts? 

Am I being naive thinking I can stay friends with someone I've dated briefly?

Cheers, KangaRue :)

Simplifying Life (64/365)

I've been amazed at how little I've needed or missed of our "stuff" while it's been shipped from the UK. My Mum has leant us some kitchen essentials and linen, and while I do miss my memory foam mattress and 4-season duvet, and constantly reach for kitchen items we don't currently have (making pizza without a cheese grater was interesting)... Having far less choice of clothing has been liberating. I miss having some more of Pickle's favourite books to read (it's a good thing I like The Gruffalo) but he's got more than enough options for toys - I've been dreading where to put everything when it arrives!  I could do with a couple of extra tops and shoes, but everything seems such excess in hindsight.

And then, via Twitter, I discovered Free Our Kids - this Mum has set herself the challenge of not spending anything for a year on stuff for her son (food and medicine essentials aside of course). I've often dressed Pickle in hand-me-downs and bought second hand for him to wear and play with, it's certainly made me think hard about other excesses. We have been living frugally, and will continue to do so - moving from the UK to Oz has been expensive. Though the cost of buying our mattresses alone in Australia has almost matched the cost.

64/365 - Drowning in a sea of boxes

Having unpacked about two-thirds so far, there is only just over a box marked "garage sale". Mind you, I haven't started on our (mainly my) clothes yet *gulp*.

I have been investing in swimming classes for Pickle, but other playgroups here are expensive compared to so many free or inexpensive playgroups, soft-plays etc.  in London - not to mention the FREE museums and galleries that are already sorely missed. The Hervey Bay Cultural Centre doesn't quite match up *stifles snigger* - though the DO get some good exhibitions, on occasion.

We are going car-free as soon as my Cargo Bike arrives (blogpost on that drama soon, promise). I'll still have access to my car when it's needed - trips desperately seeking culture and old friends in Brisbane and Sydney for example - but as well as the Grandparentals needing to use it, I really don't want the responsibility or the expense.

So while not spending anything on Pickle for a year would be a bit too much of an additional challenge at the moment, it's flagged my attention to some excesses in our lives that can be moderated. 

Most importantly, I don't want Pickle growing up believing he needs material possessions to be happy.

There will be a garage sale in my near future!

Loving having a simplified life, so would be thrilled with any additional tips you could offer?

Cheers, KangaRue :)

Introspection (Tough Times)

I'm very good at keeping myself busy. Busy enough that I don't have time for self-reflection. Not blogging much in February - not even my Project 365 photos - is another way to avoid this, as I find blogging carthartic.

However yesterday, my work day, I sat down to answer a number of emails and also do some blog work that had me writing openly and honestly. And last night I had a proper cry.

The past year has been tough.

This time in 2012, I was midway through a two month trip from the UK to Australia. Sounds idyllic, right? But travelling on my own with a baby was nerve racking. The idea of it was far worse than the reality, though I didn't get much sleep in the 36-hours of door-to-door travel.

We visited Sydney, Hervey Bay, Sydney again, then Perth. All in all, there were seven flights. Pickle is a well-travelled munchkin. The last week in Perth with the Outlaws, was some of the most relaxing. Though I was still paranoid about my Mother-in-law judging me, not least when a newly mobile Pickle bumped his head on the coffee table. True to form (from my experience, not the stereotype), my MiL was über supportive and basically told me there would be lots more bumps and bruises and to let him get on with it.

So two days after arriving back in London, my then husband BoyWonder, announced that he no longer wanted to be married. This in it's own right was stressful as I'm sure you'd understand. But I still hoped we'd work things out. It wasn't to be, and our relationship counselling turned into divorce counselling on the second visit. Those fortnightly appointments were stressful too.

Meanwhile, remember I'm still raising an active and demanding baby.

So divorce proceedings with the ensuing paperwork, resigning from my job and explaining why, planning a relocation across the world... All while living in the same house as my ex; all stressful events right?

Don't get me wrong, BoyWonder and I have had the most amicable divorce of anyone I know - with the possible exception of my brother and his wife, who still run a business together. They were certainly our inspiration, but I doubt anyone wants to compete for that award.

I'm thankful every time I hear another divorce drama story. And there have been quite a few of those.

Leaving my adorable friends was certainly stressful. I miss them regularly. I've luckily made a few good friends already in Hervey Bay, but they can't replace the ones, in my heart, that I left behind.

Arriving to a "fresh start" (and remembering the 36-hours of travel with a now-toddler) wasn't quite what I'd anticipated.

I've struggled how to address the difficulties I've encountered, as it's not necessarily my story to tell. So I will cut to the chase and just say that, after an immense amount of additional and extremely unexpected stress, Pickle and I ended up living in emergency accommodation a week before Christmas. I'm lucky it was a house and not share accommodation - I'm really not sure how I would have coped with that (SilverLining anyone?!).

Trying to find rental accommodation was far more difficult than I'd imagined. It was just the wrong time of year and very few places were listed. It came down to the wire, as the emergency accommodation was only for ten weeks - I moved out the day before expiration.

I'd ordered a cargo bike as a car replacement. There were months worth of dramas there, which deserves it's own post and will arrive in due course. I'm starting from scratch on that front.

My shipping from the UK has been in the country since 5th January, but still hasn't been delivered. After chasing yet again, I found out yesterday that it's now "probably" due Monday. Which means I've had to reschedule appointments and don't have any childcare for Pickle.

Oh and I've got a frozen shoulder - an increasing interference and a painful one at that. Chiropractic treatment and one cortisone injection later (I've had to reschedule the second injection due to the imminent shipping delivery), I'm still in pain and I sometimes feel like I'm haemorrhaging money.

So that, in a nutshell, has been the past eleven months.

Yet, I'm still - relatively - positive. I'm enjoying a simplified life. I'm actioning my career change. Pickle has started day-care one day a week (hence my work day). I'm ready for him to be in day-care, which I certainly wasn't six months ago.

Sure, it's hard work being a single Mummy. I often don't get a break until an hour or so after he's gone to bed. But after washing up, folding laundry, putting his toys away, etc., I can have quality me-time. Or - most likely - quality vegging time.

And quite frankly, Pickle is frigging amazing.

So enough self indulgent rambling from me. Time to finger paint...

Cheers, KangaRue

Dating for Dummies

I've mentioned before that I like the process of dating.  But jeez it can be a frustrating process at times.  I really wish I'd written down all the disaster stories pre-BoyWonder, so I'll be making sure to share the sagas going forward for your amusement.

I had an interesting conversation with my Dad recently.  He pondered why an attractive girl who was on a television show, would have to resort to internet dating.  I asked Dad how he met people in his day; "at dances", was his response.

Nightclubbing is not the same thing. People mingled and conversation was possible.  There is really no equivalent to getting your dance card filled these days.  But perhaps internet dating is the closest thing - eyeing up the intended party to see if you like the look of them, having the opportunity to chat to find out likes and interests, then deciding if you want to meet again in a more personal setting to see if you want to progress things further.

And as I pointed out to Dad, it is just one avenue to meet people.  Dances weren't his only way of meeting girls, after all.

I don't think he realised that I had indeed internet dated.  I actually met one of my past boyfriends this way - I won't "out" him, as I don't know who he's actually told... I'm aware not everyone is as forthright as me.  We are still friends - in fact, he makes a much better friend than he ever did a boyfriend (which will help some of you figure out who I'm referring to!).  And I expect he reads my blog, and I'll get a Twitter DM or email shortly *waves*.

Anyhow, I digress.  So I've internet dated.  I've even speed-dated.  The later I think is a somewhat ridiculous way to try and meet someone, though I did suss out some great tips on London restaurants, while also being able to immediately discount people who suggested Maccy-D's.  I think the chance of meeting a soul mate is fairly limited these ways, as a general rule.  But ultimately, I believe it sets the right frame of mind to be open to meeting people.

In fact, I've met two of my loveliest friends through the internet.  One, Cathy, followed my blog, and we got to talking on Twitter.  We met up on one of her frequent trips to London, and voile, our friendship was born.  We've seen each other many times since, she was at my baby-shower, spoils Pickle rotten, and she even flew to London for my farewell lunch.  The other, Deb, I discovered on Twitter once I'd moved to Hervey Bay, and was desperately searching for someone social media savvy in the vicinity; and we just clicked. Hmm, I share a love of good champagne and wine with both these girls... I sense a theme!

So while they're not dates, they are successful relationships spawned through the internet.  I don't claim to be an internet dating guru, but I can let you know how to impress me (or not, as the case may be):

• smile in your photos. In one photo at the very least. Looking like a grump, even if you're trying to show your serious side, makes me think you've got absolutely no sense of humour
• have teeth. I've actually shown up to a date, and met a guy who's four top front teeth were missing.  I have a thing about teeth - pretty sure this is due to my years of suffering braces - and just can not date someone with horrid (or non existent) teeth.  I obviously should have listened to my own advice in the first point.  
• don't have a rant at how insincere/obnoxious/full-of-themselves all the women on internet dating sites are.  This is completely off-putting and I'm not going to reply to someone like this.  I don't even know you and I don't want to, if this is how much luggage you're carrying around.
• actually read my profile.  Asking basic questions about things clearly stated is a big turn-off.  You never know, you might find some conversation starters in there!
• show an interest.  I state that I blog.  I use the same name for all social media.  It's not hard to find me here, or on Twitter.  So far, one, just one, person has actually shown enough savvy to track me down.  Not in a stalkerish way (I don't think!).
• don't call me "baby cheeks" or some other cutsey nickname.  You don't know me, and frankly, it's just a little creepy.  And I might barf.
• drop any sexual inuendos.  Or worse, the blatant comments.  It's neither clever nor funny.  Again, you don't know me.  Where's the romance? 
• Turn up on time, or call/message to say you'll be late.  Before you're actually late.  Basic manners, surely?  In London, the tube could be blamed for perhaps 15 minutes, but any longer - and in Hervey Bay, were it takes 10 minutes to get anywhere - there is no excuse!  And as someone with self-respect, I will leave.

So there's my Dating KangaRue for Dummies guide (Part 1 perhaps?).

Have I missed anything?  I'd love to hear any bizarre approaches you've received!  How DO people meet other singletons these days?

Cheers, KangaRue :)

Missing a few steps?

Well, I wasn't expecting to write about dating quite so soon!  But I had a call the other night, from a man I've know in a professional capacity over the many years I've visited the Grandparentals in Hervey Bay.  Let's call him Dr. Coy (not to be confused with Star Trek's Dr. McCoy).

Dr. Coy is recently divorced, he seems quite reserved, and I expect he's lonely.  And it must be difficult not to become fodder for gossip in a semi-rural location like Hervey Bay.

Anyhow... Dr. Coy proceeded to tell me about a board he was on, and a conference he was due to attend in a couple of weeks.  Now, I'd recently mentioned my counselling studies to him, so I wasn't quite sure where this was going to start with.  Call me naive if you will.

There would be outings and dinners, and would I like to join him?  For the weekend.  It wouldn't be suitable to bring Pickle (understandably), and there's no way I could leave him for an entire weekend, with the elderly Grandparentals, but that's beside the point.

Whatever happened to "would you like to join me for a coffee/drink/dinner"?

I still think a mini-break is a big deal - if not quite as much as Bridget Jones' "a mini-break means true love".

I actually have no idea if I have anything in common with this guy - being stuck in a car sharing the driving for six hours each way, let alone the rest of the time, could be a nightmare.  And let's not even discuss sleeping arrangements!

I must admit, there's a little Jewish voice whispering in my ear: "go out with him, he's a doctor"... But then again, I'm a Very Bad Jew ;)

But perhaps I've jumped the gun, and that wasn't his intention at all; what do you think?

Cheers, KangaRue :)

Dating Dramas

Back in the days BBW (before BoyWonder aka Pickle's Daddy), I enjoyed dating.  Get your mind out of the gutter, I mean actual dating:  meeting for drinks or dinner or something more adventurous (again, mind out of the gutter - my first date with Pickle's Daddy was indoor rock-climbing, after we'd met at a mixed pole-dancing class that is!).

Yes, that is BoyWonder on the right!

I had my fair share of amusing horror-stories, and they all had nicknames so my friends could keep up (yes, that is how and when BoyWonder came to be named as such).

There was the guy who sat down with my pre-dinner glass of wine, and said "so what do you think my name is?". Seems the night we'd met at a book launch he'd given me his working pseudonym - but in the three weeks since then, and our almost daily emails, he hadn't thought to inform me of his actual name!  All of a sudden I wasn't on a date with a Rick*, and instead was dating Adrian*... he then proceeded to split the bill exactly down the middle, and our after-dinner drink was at my expense as he'd paid for the pre-dinner drink.  I would usually have offered to get the latter drinks, but thought him a bit miserly since he'd asked me out, picked venues etc, and it wasn't what I was used to.

But I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt and agreed to a second date - making it a weekday lunch, he came to Canary Wharf to meet me during my break from the world of international finance (well, working as a Personal Assistant to a high-flier anyhow).  It was a bitterly cold day in the depths of a London winter.  I booked a table and said I'd meet him at one of the local bar-restaurants.  I had got caught up in the office, and had phoned to tell him I was running a bit late, so I was surprised Adrian* was standing outside.  Thought that was a bit weird considering the weather, but he was "admiring the view" as he'd never been to the area before.  And then he proceeded to tell me he'd left his wallet at home, but our next date would be on him.  Now I wasn't even sure I wanted this date, let alone another.  So I made my excuses about it being frantic in the office (which was true) and could we take a rain-check (perhaps not so truthful).  I walked him part-way to the station - more to make sure he wouldn't see me double back, phone my friend who worked nearby and ask if she's had lunch already as I had a table booked.  She wondered why I had a table booked and I told her for that answer, I'd need a glass of wine...

I'm not sure if I should be dreading the potential dating dramas of the future, or relishing them as blog fodder?

Care to share any of your dating dramas?

* names have been changed to protect the innocent... or perhaps because I've forgotten them

 Cheers, KangaRue :)

40th Birthday Tattoo (4/365)

Today is my 40th Birthday.  I'm not one to worry about the "big" birthdays.  I don't generally set targets of what I "should" have achieved by a certain age (though 27 was a doozy, as I was "supposed" to be married with two kids by then, and I was newly single!).  Since studying counselling, I've come to realise that using judgemental wording in an internal dialogue is neither helpful nor constructive... but back to the far less lofty theme of this post.

While tossing around the idea of a tattoo for years, I've never been comfortable settling on an image that would permanently adorn my body.  And where would I want it?  I liked the idea of it being discreet, so I could wear a strapless dress without it being visible; but I would also want to be able to see it, otherwise I didn't see the point.

Quite frankly, I had body issues.  But then I became pregnant, and my body, including its lumps and bumps, was growing a baby.  I loved my body more than I ever had before during my pregnancy.  In fact, I think it's the first time I ever truly loved it.  I'd appreciated it before, liked certain aspects, didn't mind others, and had my fair share of hang-ups and things I didn't like.  But I think my Demi-shot shows how amazing I felt during my pregnancy.  And all in spite of the immense SPD pain.

One of my earlier "mother
& child" drawings

And while I must acknowledge my new singledom at this coming juncture in my life was partly a catalyst, my beautiful Pickle was the inspiration for the design.  Early civilisation honoured women and motherhood, and  matriarchal societies were prevalent.  Spirals were typically used to represent the mother-goddess.  So with this in mind I started searching for images; even starting a Pinterest board.  Some were almost right.  But wanting something truly personal, I started drawing some ideas, inspired by and combining some tribal designs.  And it all came together when I had the realisation that my hip would be the perfect place to have it.

Kisses from Pickle &
a balloon from a friend.
Another friend said
"naughty at 40"!

I got some recommendations and headed to Frith Street Tattoo for a detailed consultation and later headed in with my hand-drawn design, where it was tidied up and applied (is that the right word?) by Oliver better than I could have imagined. (And while there was some discomfort, it was nothing like contractions, though I did utilise my HypnoBirthing techniques to manage the sensations!)

So for my 40th birthday present to myself, I now have a mother-goddess spiral topped with an E for Pickle's IRL name.  I wanted colour, so had the E filled with turquoise, one of my two favourite colours.  To me this celebrates my body being an amazing thing that grew an even more amazing person.  Happy Birthday to me.

4 January 2013

Let me know what you think?  Do you have any tattoos?

Cheers, @Kanga_Rue

The Good Enough Mums Club

Pondering my previous post about what the right tools are for a happy life, it occurred to me that surrounding yourself with positive and supportive people is so important.  Reflecting on some lovely friends I have across the world, reminded me of seeing my friend Tasha in a workshop of The Good Enough Mums Club just before leaving the UK.

I expect this workshop was a little different from the show Smash, not only was it paid, but only Mum's were considered to audition, and childcare costs were supported too!

Monologue driven, there are loads of laugh-out-loud moments.  I'll never look at Mr Bloom quite the same way again, and Calpol (paracetamol) has forever been renamed "sweet, sweet nectar".  But it was from the second song, that I started sobbing and pretty much didn't stop for the rest of the show.

Yes, that is a tampon up her nose.
This has only hit home since Pickle's
own discovery recently (see below)...

The show is brutally honest, in ways only your closest friends will ever be.  The second number is all about how each Mum considers all the other Mums are coping really well, and they are the only one struggling with self-doubt, sleep deprivation, and wondering if they are a good enough Mum for their precious little one.  While you don't have to be a parent to appreciate this play, to understand the depth of self criticism and worry, it certainly helps. Having the support of, and inspiration from, trusted friends is invaluable.  I needed this support with Pickle's lack of sleep (he slept through the night for the first time last night, at 16-months old; and for a while there I was getting a combined total of 5.5 hours of broken sleep a night), but the support has never been more necessary since becoming a single Mum.

Pickle's very own
The Young Ones "mouse" moment 

Leaving some of those friends behind in London has been truly difficult and painful, but my SilverLining is the friends I still have in Australia (not least Bubba & Nanna, Pickle's Grandmothers), and the new friends I already seem to have been lucky enough to discover.

So when The Good Enough Mums Club premieres in London, and it will, because it's frankly just brilliant, I strongly encourage you to hurry and see it (and make it such a huge success that it makes its way to Australia, so I can see it again, please!).

Cheers, KangaRue :)

Happy 2013! (1/365)

I'm not a fan of New Year's Eve. Something always seems to go wrong, sometimes catastrophically. I've had one New Year's Eve that I truly enjoyed from start to finish, in 2008, and included some of my favourite people in the world, having a murder mystery dinner at home. But it was the exception that proved the rule.

Having had a pretty challenging year (some of my friends say I can be the queen of understatement), I'm keen for the fresh start a flip of a new calendar seems to bring.  I mean, we've even moved across the world, to start a new life, just the two of us. This hasn't been without its own challenges, not least being the seemingly un-Australian level of bureaucracy I've encountered (but that's another story all together).

To kick start our New Year, I decided to cook a fry-up for breakfast. Fresh eggs from the Grandparentals neighbour, with decent Aussie bacon, polished off with a hunk of delicious watermelon. What I hadn't considered was our lack of cooking utensils. Most of our stuff is still en-route from the UK.

Have you ever tried to get a fried egg out of not a non-stick pan without a spatula?

I managed to get Pickle's out - his breakfast was perfect. My egg cracked as I was getting it out of the pan, but managed to make it to the plate still runny. So while it wasn't perfect, it was pretty darn close. If this is a metaphor for our year ahead, I'll be happy with it.

So on that note... Happy New Year!

I've realised that if I'd had the right tools, my breakfast would have been perfect too... so what do you consider to be the right tools for a happy life?

Cheers, KangaRue

PS. My Project 365 went kaput last year for obvious reasons, so I'm going to keep it pretty basic this year and see how I go - wish me luck?

Head in the Sand

So the removalists have gone.  Accounts are being closed.  I'm almost packed. There is definitely an air of finality.

BoyWonder doesn't understand how I didn't realise things were bad before.

Perhaps my head was in the sand.  He neither came to my initial gynaecologist appointment, when I found out I was pregnant with Pickle, nor the 12-week scan, which was truly amazing, especially when Pickle did a somersault in-utero. 

Glaringly obvious signs in hindsight, though I know that some men just don't get "it". (Whatever "it" is, but I expect that's a whole other blog post.)

So right now, while we've metaphorically battered heads on occasion, but still generally get on well, it's just time to be a little sad.  I just need to remind myself that there are new beginnings and exciting adventures ahead for Pickle & I.

Divorce Solicitor & 4th Wedding Anniversary

If you'd asked me on my wedding day, what I thought I would be doing for my fourth wedding anniversary, it wouldn't have been "initiating a divorce".  And yet, that is how I spent the morning.

I didn't expect to feel physically ill as I prepared to leave home to head to the appointment.  Though once there, I was more worried about entertaining Pickle and providing the correct documentation.

I did spare a thought to the recent Divorce Counselling session, where our counsellor asked us how we'd be celebrating.  WTF?!  I know we want to stay friendly, but you don't celebrate a marriage when you're getting divorced.  At least BoyWonder thought the comment was as bonkers as I did.

And my SilverLining as my darling friends have reminded me, is a "new beginning".

Am I being harsh? Should I be cooking something special for dinner!

Somewhere Over the Rainbow

Quite frankly, I'm hoping my SilverLining is somewhere very close over the rainbow... but for now I'm having some crappy days.  Wednesday was a good day, and hopefully tomorrow will be a good day too.  I've been quiet on the blogging front, so hopefully this post will explain why, on top of the usual being a Mummy, study and life in general excuses.

A couple of days after Pickle and I returned from Oz, BoyWonder* said he wanted a divorce.  (Nothing like burying the lead, hey).  I've been trying to work things out, but he's adamant that he's felt like this for some time and can't move beyond how he feels.  We tried two sessions of couples counselling, and while my goal is to work through our problems, build on our friendship and reconcile, his goal is for an amicable divorce, so there's not a lot for the counsellor to work with.

I'm pissed at him.  I think he's a numpty and will regret it down the track.  And that's being kind.  I'm angry, but most of all I'm sad.  I've been dealing with a good dose of denial as well - it's actually been months since this happened, and I guess I was hoping he'd change his mind, see the error of his ways or whatever.  I'm doing a good job of working my way through Kubler-Ross' stages of grief.

I had depression about four years ago.  It was my second time.  Most people who get depression will get it more than once.  BoyWonder* blames my depression for the downturn in our relationship and his subsequent depression.  It's an illness, you have to have a predisposition to it, a bit like diabetes say.  Believe me, I've argued 'til I'm blue in the face that I can't be blamed.  And I'll be the first to put my hand up to say I didn't pull my weight around the house when I was depressed.  But when he's running through a list of any and all of my failings from the past seven years of our relationship, it's no wonder it's not worked.

His inability to communicate is a major factor - he has one friend who he's been completely honest with, but talking to me a couple of years ago might have helped.  He admits he hasn't been successful either in opening up or when he has, not doing it successfully.  My lack of realisation just goes to show there's a reason people don't counsel those they know.

When we first started going out, within the first three months in fact, I pointed out our age difference (he's 9 years younger than me) and how I really wanted kids and eventually wanted to move back to Australia.  We agreed on the fundamentals.  Since then, BoyWonder* has changed his mind, or was previously only telling me what I wanted to hear.  I was naive enough to believe it.

And while I am trying to have a balanced, non-snarky post here (not least because my lovely in-laws might read this), he's starting to sound a bit like Mother-bloody-Teresa.  He's made some really horrible comments recently... mind you, I've stropped back with "you'll be rid of me soon enough" as well, so not my finest moment.  Thankfully they've been the exception to the rule, and I believe I've (generally) dealt with them in a calm and adult way.  But FFS, he's leaving me.  A little snark is surely allowed?

He wants to stay friends, and I think that will be possible, if we can get through the crappy stuff quickly.  We're trying to do the divorce bit as amicably as possible.  It would be good to stay friends in the long term, as he's still Pickle's Daddy, and we both want what is best for Pickle.

For now, that will mean Pickle, the cats and I move back to Australia in the near future; to be closer to our families, and at least in the same country as the friends I consider close enough to be family.  It will unfortunately mean leaving a few of my really close friends here who I love dearly, and who have been a great support.  I'm crying while I'm typing this now.  In the library.  Nice.

It will of course mean leaving BoyWonder* in the UK too.  We will set up regular Skype times for Pickle, but it won't be the same.  Down the track there will be visits.  We'll sort it out.  It won't be easy, but hopefully there will be a SilverLining.  Cross your fingers for me, OK?

Cheers, KangaRue :)

* well that pseudonym is going to have to change isn't it!  Alternate suggestions welcome, but Pickle's Daddy (PD) might have to suffice for now.

PS.  If you are family or friends reading this post, and this is how you found out, I hope you can forgive the mode of communication - quite frankly, it's exhausting to talk about.