He is stable. He is kind. He puts up with me even when I am so unbearable that noone else can.
I take him for granted way too much.
He wrote me a beautiful, romantic blog post this morning for our 8th wedding anniversary. He went out and bought me a massive box of chocolates, encouraged me to sleep in, and saved me 2 hot cross buns to have for breakfast.
I wrote my post late and didn’t buy him chocolates. He constantly picks up my shoes, tolerates my moods, takes my abuse.
And then he writes beautiful words that make me fall in love with him all over again.
I am good at writing about intellectual things – being able to get straight to point, find the right words for most situations. But when it comes to my husband, it is always so hard to articulate, because what we have runs so deep – I know that no matter what happens, we always just end up being… us. Where we have been together through how many life-threatening, marriage-breaking, rift-causing things together – and still somehow come out the other side. Where we will often have differences of opinion on the little things… but on the big stuff… we will just have this unspoken understanding that the other knows exactly how you feel.
We lost each other in the last year or so. We got distracted by too much stuff. Too much pain, too much illness, too much depression, too much stress. We don’t get enough time to spend together, to connect, to just hang out.
We met at high school in music. He was the cool guitarist, I was the snobby choir singer. I remember thinking that Jason was way too "cool" to want to collaborate with me… but he did. We did embarrassing school performances together, I sang foul-mouthed lyrics on the lawn of Government House. He played a Fender that kept dropping out of tune. He pretended to miss his bus so he had to stay the night at my place (smooooooth) and we’ve been together ever since. Well, except for that 6 month break we don’t talk about.
Now we are grown ups. We have 3 children and 4 guitars. Neither of us play much anymore, but I want to change that. Our seven year itch turned out to be a dirty big case of blistering hives… but we just keep on keeping on.
And I take him for granted because he lets me get away with it. He’s dependable, stable, kind and forgiving. I have never once felt limited by him and that is something that I wish every woman could have. I hope my daughter meets a man half as wonderful as her father.
I like to say I don’t need anyone, but Jase, I need you. I need you like I need air and water and constant reassurance. I need you and I love you.
Where the hell did the last 12 months go? On one hand, it seems like so long… and on the other… so fast.
You poor, poor forgotten third child. I need to apologise in advance for bringing you into the world last, because for some reason, you seem convinced that you are our first. You seem to think that you can do stuff – like play – without being harassed by a well-meaning but otherwise utterly boorish 4 year old. You seem to think that you can get food without a cascade of other children nagging for my attention. You seem to think that, you know, giving yourself a severe egg allergy is something I won’t whinge about every time we need to make a cake or something. You also seem to think that if you scream, I’ll actually get up – rather than assess the cry and carry on.
Boy, do I have news for you.
That’s not to say I don’t love you… of course I do. In fact, in many ways, the fact that you had such a horrible start to your life makes me appreciate you just that smallest bit more… because we nearly lost you and I can’t not think about that every single day.
When Mina & Jules were born, I managed to write out a story about the day they were born… you know… peppered with jokes… that sort of thing. All of my pregnancies & births have been really tough, but with the other two I managed to intellectualise a lot of it as the luck of the draw, in capable hands… and find sufficient distance.
But with you, it was so different. And I want to talk about this just for a little bit because I have never really been able to until now… and I don’t want you to think that the absence of a written birth story is somehow because of the “third child” thing. It isn’t. It’s because I could never summon up the strength to talk about the worst month of my life… because if not for something within me that said things weren’t right, you probably wouldn’t be here.
And I don’t know if that is something that I can ever shake. Partially because now that 12 months have passed, I can no longer pursue any complaints; partially because I just felt so disempowered and humiliated by this doctor for demanding adequate care; and partially because the thought of you, on all those machines, on all that morphine, on all those drugs… is just too much to bear. So I never really processed it because frankly? I spent every single day of the last 12 months just trying to forgive him. I think it might take a little more time.
I will never forget that Sunday morning, when I hadn’t felt you move for a while, when I called up the hospital, went in, and found you were distressed. I will also never forget the numerous arguments with my “Doctor” over the fact that my blood pressure remained uncontrolled, that I felt sick, that I was so swollen I could barely move… and he did nothing. I asked for a second opinion and he lied to my face about the doctor being out of town. I will also never forget that Tuesday, after spending 9 days in hospital, feeling ill, not feeling you move, and hearing “oh he’s just a quiet baby” over and over again from the incompetent, bullying, private hospital midwives, and having my Doctor walk in, and discharge me with a blood pressure spike of 170/110 the night before. I will never forget asking for growth scans (having had 2 hypertensive pregnancies before) and being told “2 weeks won’t show anything new”
I will never forget locking myself in the bathroom from the stress, leaving Dad to argue with the “Doctor” in my hospital room, and finally sacking him, walking out of the hospital, and requesting that he arrange for me to be seen at King Edward by a Doctor who actually gave a crap. 2 days later, we were seen by a Maternal-Fetal Medicine specialist.
I will never forget being right. For being told by an experience sonographer that not only was there no such thing as a “quiet baby”, but that in 2 weeks you had gone from the 50th percentile to the 10th. I will never forget feeling a little relief that my blood pressure seemed to have settled down, but still being told that you needed to be born, because you were under significant stress. I will also never forget being told that if we had left this another week, your chances of being stillborn were significantly high.
But apparently, you know, 2 weeks doesn’t make a difference, and that “Doctor” we had fired, to his face, had instructed me to see him in a week at his office and discharged me. It plagues my thoughts, wondering, if I had been compliant and listened to him and his assessment. And it makes me so angry that he gets to treat women who might not be as stubborn as me.
But you know… I never could really write about it in the same way, with distance, that I did with your brother and sister… because I am still not over it.
But you know, in a way, it’s been the catalyst for me deciding to go to Medical School. All of these cumulative experiences have given me the push I needed to make the decision. Not that I wouldn’t trade that experience in a heartbeat, but, you know.
Unfortunately you were born in the eye of a storm… because 2009 was an extremely stressful year. After the stock markets crashed at the end of last year, the clients were fairly light on, I was in hospital and your Dad had to take a whole heap of unpaid leave. We had a lot of financial difficulty at the beginning of the year, and it eventually resulted in the repossession of my car. But hey… we recovered. After you were born and I got back to work (I had a conference call at midnight the night after your were born and still in the NICU), things started to slowly recover and I managed to pay some debt.
Then, your Dad got injured at work, was bullied by his employer and the insurance company and, well… that fucked us right up for 6 months, only settling a month ago. I also got really sick, have had to battle with Doctors and all kinds of stress… and basically… we started 2010 optimistic with it slowly proving to be just as fucked as 2009.
With the settlement money not even covering our losses, we are back to square one and its stressful. But, you have your Dad home with you, and he takes care of you whilst I work. All day. Every day. I am exhausted and still quite unwell… but… getting no government support, no family support and, well, basically being on our own, I have no choice really but to make it work.
I write about this now because I find it funny that by the time you are Jules’ age I will be pretty well on my way to being a Doctor. And by the time you are Mina’s age, I will be one. So I am just taking a moment to remind you that things were hard. In fact, I expect them to stay that way, because, well… we aren’t the luckiest people in the world… and I expect things to get worse before they get better. Because I am tired & sick, your Dad is tired & sick, and we snap at each other a lot just trying to survive.
But we do try to protect you from that as much as possible. We do that with all of you as best we can. We fail frequently but… you know… we try. We just keep on going forward, one foot in front of the other… and hope that someday all the effort pays off. Maybe it ill in the form of tenacious children… who knows what the future holds, but hey… it’s certainly not boring.
So, you know, you’re walking and getting into shit and being basically cute… and I am trying to enjoy every minute as much as I can. I say that the only good thing to come out of 2009 was you… and I mean it. I can’t imagine our lives without Moo, and despite feeling very unlucky most of the time, I am just so blessed to have you in my life… even if I have to make you special egg-free food.
I opened Mina’s birthday post with the phrase “holy fucking shit balls”, which is kinda hard to beat, really, and I am just going to use that as my excuse for taking nearly a month to write this birthday post.
Yes, it was the pressure of trying to beat that opening phrase that did it, and not at all the fact that you are living in the eye of a complete fucking cyclone right now. And not at ALL because I am lazy.
We haven’t been very good at hiding it, either, even though we try really, really hard.
But I have to say, that with everything else going on, you make my day so much brighter in so many, immeasurable ways, in that way that only Julesy can.
Because holy fuck, you are one funny kid. Not just in that way that all kids are precocious, funny and quotable, but in that “Not everybody gets me and I am OK with that” kind of way. You love the in-joke, the repetitive, especially if it involves the “Squirrel!” joke from “Up”.
You’ll be having a conversation, sitting there talking to me and you’ll just say “Squirrel!”.
And yes, I laugh every time. And then I do it, and we start again. And that’s our day.
And even though you’re funny, we have been going through a bit of a thing at the moment where we are a bit concerned about those fixations: what is normal, what is healthy and along with some other little things, we are a bit concerned.
Through friends, your Dad and a shit load of watching, I have become aware of Asperger’s. And honestly? Even though I initially thought that you might be Aspergic, after having really observed you for the last period of time, I honestly don’t think it’s the case.
Because you care too much. You express empathy in a way that an Aspergic 4 year old wouldn’t. You are genuinely caring and loving towards me, and haven’t yet learned that that is the expected thing, so I am not inclined to believe it without just seeing how we go.
Because sometimes? Kids are a bit different form other kids. You are shy with other kids, take a long time to adjust to change and really love your routine. But, I dunno… I just don’t see it.
I don’t really know what normal boys are like, to be honest, so I am kind of flying blind here (you can just be a practice run for Moo :)). The male role models in my family aren’t exactly stellar, and your Dad, as wonderful as he is, has issues of his own. But you know what? Honestly, if you are Aspergic, or even if you are completely normal, you would be wise to follow your Dad’s example of how to be a man.
I want to take a moment to talk to you about the person that will be your biggest influence, inform your world view, and hopefully be your guide through the inevitable talk (that I want NOTHING to do with) about male bodily fluids, Playboy magazines and car-things – but also about the good stuff like how to treat girls, how to talk to your mother and sister and how to take the blame when the Feds hit us up for downloading Dexter.
Your Dad’s ego & spirit have copped a pretty big flogging this year. Actually, everyone’s has really, but having to watch your Dad be bullied, called a liar, harassed and belittled, simply for the crime of being injured at work, is something that I am kind of glad happened when you were too young to remember.
It sucks. There’s not much else to say about it.
But something that I want you to know (because I honestly don’t know how this is going to end – whether our marriage is going to survive, or he is!), is that your Dad went to work every single day at 5:30am. He came home in the middle of the day for a few hours and helped me look after you & Moo. Then he went back to work until around 6-7pm, sometimes longer, to help support the family. And then he’d come home and help me.
He worked those hours when you were a baby, when I was building a business and only earning $10,000 a year in the process. He worked those hours when I was sick. He worked those hours throughout so much of your life, because I was building a business so I didn’t have to go back to work. And no matter what happens, I want this written here as a reminder of the selfless, caring, honourable man your father is.
He was good at his job. So good, in fact, that when a driver pulled out in front of him with only a couple of metres to spare, he managed to swerve a whole bus away from the car, avoid killing the driver, and injured himself in the process. He was so good at his job mostly because he’s a buttburger, but you know what? He’s the best kind of buttburger. He’s OUR buttburger.
And even if it turns out that you are, in fact a fellow buttburger, the same applies to you. We don’t love you in spite of how you are, we love you because of it… mostly because I never stop cracking up at the burger & butt jokes… but nonetheless… I hope as hell that you are like your Dad. But don’t tell him I told you.
The other thing that I wanted to talk about is the birth of your baby brother. I’ll admit, I had my doubts about how you’d cope with not being the baby, and as usual, I have underestimated you. How you are with your brother is indescribable – like – the initial shock of finding out Moo was a boy, even though I was SURE he was a girl – has melted away. Because now, I have my 2 boys. My 2 boys. Wow, that’s weird to say, but man, it’s something to behold.
You share your CARS with Angus, and he doesn’t fully appreciate how important that is, because your cars are the most important thing in the world to you right now. And you let him slobber all over them. You are such a great big brother, there are no words.
So you start Kindy next year, I am very nervous about it, but all we can do is hope for the best. I have a feeling it’s going to be OK, because I am starting to learn more about you. And you know, as my inevitably neurotic middle child, you’re actually kind of cool and you enrich my life in ways that are constantly surprising. And I will always have your back. Always.
I love the fact that you think haircuts are painful, that anything other than yoghurt is poison, that you run “like Dash” with a superhero shoulder lead-in (hilarious), that every morning I wake up to you running up and down and up and down the hallway. I love that you use half of my internet quota on youtube, that you are already computer and internet literate, and yet still call a drink a “wink” and Frank a “wank”, and Lightning McQueen “Lighting Irene”. I love that you are happy with the simplest of toys, and you like my attempts at cookies and cakes for your birthday, and that you think that me making you a Milo is a miracle to behold.
I love you Julesy, you’re wonderful just the way you are. Happy Birthday Rock Star.
In case it’s not already abuntantly clear to you by now, Mina, I suck. I suck at writing birthday blogs on time. I suck at paying attention when you’re talking for the twelfth time about Barbie and the Diamond Castle. And sometimes, I suck at making sure you have clean uniforms to last beyond Wednesday and I most definitely suck at remembering to buy enough fruit for school.
But, somehow you survive anyway.
And that’s what is so awesome about being your Mum. You let me get away with being imperfect.
I think by now you have realised exactly how imperfect I can be. The business is at a point where it creates just enough stress to be disruptive, but not quite enough money to justify the stress, which means, well, I am kinda cranky and overworked. A lot. To the point where I frequently fantasise about going back to a full time job, where it was easier, I could Facebook for half my day and still get a paycheck, where the livelihood of the family didn’t always depend on me being productive. I fantasise about not having to bend over, show reams of paperwork, a business plan and a urine sample to get any level of respect from my bank, even though I earn more than most people with a full time job. I frequently fantasise about having that boring, traditional life, where people understand what you do, how you make money, and see it as legitimate. The stress of having a business at home is something that affects the whole family, and sometimes, it really sucks.
But the cost of going back to full time, of course, is that I would not be able to drop you off at school, or pick you up, or have impromptu playdates, or any of those little things that I enjoy being there for. Granted, I don’t exactly go to assemblies, or volunteer in the classroom, or, well, anything beyond paying for stuff, but at least now I have a choice. Being able to dictate my own timetable is the single greatest thing about what I am doing right now. There is very little that I have to do, right this second, that it cannot be done later. Unless, of course, I keep sayig “later” and then I end up barking at the both of you to shut up and then yell at your Dad saying how I get no respect and that…. well…. yeah. That. Which is usually my own fault.
And I am sure you know that being in business doesn’t always suck, when people pay on time, and I am motivated and things are going well, and you and Jules are playing nicely, and all my work is finished before 5pm, and I am not completely exhausted from growing a new human in my belly all day. In fact, when I hear you talking about how you want to work with me when you grow up (well, a web designer AND a Rock Star), it makes me feel like, despite my glaring imperfections as a human being and as a mother, that deep down, you see me as a role model. And that is the best feeling in the world.
There is a saying that to see a child at 7 is to see the adult. I have been seeing glimpses of the kind of woman you will become: strong willed, kind hearted, practical, intelligent, with a strong sense of the macabre and ironic. I would say that you are a lot like me in many respects, except that you seem to be more meticulous and conscientious than I ever was. Maybe it’s the non-dysfunctional surroundings that help you to be like that – you have more structure than I did. But, you know your own mind, you know what you want, and you have a pretty good sense of the world around you too. And it’s the most awesome thing I have ever witnessed.
And as I see glimpses of the woman you will become, I have remind myself to not fuck it up. I am trying very hard not to repeat the mistakes of my parents, with a hope that when you are an adult, you can come to me for anything, you can tell me anything, and we will have the kind of relationship that I always wanted with my own mother. I think we are off to a good start, because right now, you look forward to a day on your own with me. You want to play guitar like me.
For your birthday you have started guitar lessons, and you have a new Daisy Rock guitar, thanks to Janet :). The teacher seems to think you’re doing really well, and you love it. Watching you play guitar with full distortion, and rocking out, is an inexplicable feeling. All I ever wanted growing up was music lessons, but I never got them. So I am partly living through you, and I hope that’s ok. I hope you stick to it, but most of all, I hope you enjoy it. I have always been committed to providing you with opportunities that I never had, and I hope that when you are all grown up and a part time rock star/web designer, that you’ll be a little bit appreciative that even though there are some things I am bad at, that my intentions have always been to nurture you into the woman that I see you becoming.
Well, aren’t I the worst mother on the planet this week, Jules? It is a whole 13 Days since your birthday and I haven’t gotten around to writing your birthday message until just now. Unfortunately it’s a scenario that is all too familiar with the second and subsequent children, where they get used to having to share everything, whether it be your toys, your parents’ attention, or your sister’s Cinderella toothbrush (what *is* your fascination with that thing anyway?), competing for laughs, attention and time seems to be something that is inbuilt.
Right now you are being forced to compete a bit with my crazy workload. It has been fantastic since your Dad starting working full time with me, because both of us are not only enjoying working together (yes, despite the odd tantrum and more than a few go-fuck-yourself-I never-want-to-see-you-again-and-why-oh-why-does-he-chew-so-loud along the way) but we also get to spend a whole lot more one-on-one time with you.
And it really does take the attention of 2 people with you these days, because given the smallest window of opportunity, you are either into things, or on top of things, or eating things. I never even really knew what a real toddler was like until you started being one, what with your sister being a completely calm, pretty and smart freak of nature and genetics, never did I have any need to childproof, or worry about anything. Not that you would know it now, of course, but back then, seriously dude, I promise, she was easygoing.
But it made me kinda complacent in many respects. So much so that it never even occurred to me that you could walk out the front door and up the road, when the door was left open (by someone whose identity has been protected….lets call her Mina B. No, wait, lets go with M. Brennan. heh.). Lucky that you didn’t make it past the driveway before that nice lady brought you back, eh?
It probably sounds like I am being blasé about the idea of my 2 year old son walking the streets — that isn’t the case at all and I had a panic attack when I contemplated all of those things that COULD HAVE HAPPENED to my boy. I don’t know whether I just have a massive brain tumour that blocks my capacity to anticipate danger (I used to walk to work at midnight in the city at 17, and I didn’t even think about it), or whether never having to worry about Mina has made me TOO relaxed in many respects, but I certainly am not much of a worrier. In fact, I often make fun of those mothers that hover over their kids as if, somehow, if they try hard enough, they can prevent everything.
That, coupled with the fact that I am just so busy, means that sometimes, I take you completely for granted, and forget the hard time we had keeping you in my belly. It seems like a lifetime ago, but also like yesterday — it is such a mind trip to see my little baby boy becoming a BIG boy, who runs and jumps and screams “niiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiina. niiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiina. niiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiina.” at 6am, comes out of his room, jumps on my bed right next to me my head and goes “1, 2, 3… WAKE UP JULES!”. Yes, at times like that, I completely take you for granted, and cannot deny that when I am woken up at 6am, the temptation to run my car into a lake with both of you in the boot of my car grows. But I promise, that feeling of complete and utter frustration lasts for little more than half a second – till I open my eyes to see your beaming little face, looking at me like I am the only person on Earth that matters to you, and all of a sudden this feeling comes over me, like, wow, how do I get to hang out with the coolest little dude on the planet? Seriously.
You are a complete Wiggles nutter, and we bought you everything Wiggles related for your birthday. I swear, I don’t think I will ever see something so funny as your reaction to getting Wiggles related ANYTHING. Of course, your love of the Wiggles means that THE WIGGLES ARE ON DAY AND NIGHT AND THEY DRIVE ME FUCKING BONKERS. Please remind me to play the same songs over and over and over again on full volume when you are studying for your TEE… because that is my day.
But, its one of the funniest things ever to watch you singing along, dance in your unco-toddler way, wearing your Wiggles shirt that is grubby-but-you-insist-on-wearing-it-every-minute-of-every-day, and being – well – just – a delight.
It wouldn’t be a birthday post without me sharing my latest Cake disaster. I really do wonder if I will EVER learn that cake decoration is NOT LIKE GRAPHIC DESIGN, and that just because I can make an awesome cake illustration, it DOES NOT NECESSARILY MEAN THAT I CAN DO IT WITH ICING.
In my deluded and arrogant state, I attempted to make you an elaborate race track car with licorice, smarties and a sponge cake. My grandma led me to believe that this was SIMPLE. EASY! Bullshit. Who knew that sponge cake, when filled with whipped cream, would collapse if you put stuff on it?
Seriously. Not even Rainbow sprinkles could save this one.
It tasted good, but now noone can utter the phrase “arse cake” without me thinking of this monstrosity. Yes, that name came from your father.
So, first thing on the morning of the 7th, I was running about like a maniac trying to find a cake. I went to the Cheesecake Shop and asked the guy if I could buy one of those printed icing sheets and put it on a mudcake. He not only put the sheet on for me, but he decorated it with some skittles around the edges too. All hail the guy at The Cheesecake Shop in Morley, because for $30, he saved my life:
If only the surgeon who saved my life last year would’ve been so cheap…
Today you were genuinely sad to see Mina go to school. Normally you are dancing about, playing in your own little world, and merely tolerating your sister’s presence as the cost of being a Brennan… but just lately you have become really attached to her. So much so that, this morning, I had to explain to your endless “Nina? Gone? Nina? Gone?” that she had gone to school and would be back this afternoon.
That’s not to say that you don’t both fight like crazy, but it’s so great to see you and your sister bonding and acting like actual, real siblings. It won’t be long before you are tormenting her about boys, towering over her and fighting over who gets the phone, but I hope that, in the future, you will love and protect each other and look out for each other.
So, Happy Birthday, Jules, forgive me for the lateness – and – talk to you next year.
