On life lately, knitting and spreading myself thick.

Making : So I have taught myself to knit recently, which has been a lesson in patience and frustration but I've had help from lots of lovely ladies, especially the uber talented Hatsumi Knits. I'm attempting to knit a hat for a soon-to-be-born boy baby and a few little toys for a recently born girl baby.

Drinking : Elderflower cordial by Natasha Morgan, which I picked up at a Wool Lover's picnic last weekend. Super yum with ice and a dash of gin.

Reading: Fat is a Feminist Issue, a classic by Susie Orbach. II just learned that she is married to the author Jeanette Winterson. Hello, power couple!

Trawling: Ebay looking for rugs for our new big playroom area.

Wanting: A piece of cake but it's almost lunchtime so I should probably just eat lunch, yeah?

Looking: Out our window and trying to see the beautiful view of the river and trees and birds, instead of just the garden that needs attention, the messy sandpit and the weeds.

Deciding: That taking a break from writing my book is probably a good idea. I need to spread myself thick for a while before I can get back into that headspace.

Wishing: That this 25-30 degree weather would hang around for longer. It's such the perfect temperature!

Enjoying: My bus trips to work where I listen to music and watch knitting tutorials on YouTube while getting in a big wooly tangle.

Waiting: for the world to change. 

Liking: These new earring that I made from some old hoops and embroidery twine. I don't have a picture but they are a bit like these.

Wondering: What Kellyann Conway thinks about as she's falling asleep at night.

Loving: This guy, always.

Pondering: I am surrounded by babies and pregnant ladies at the moment, and I wonder whether these things come in cycles?

Listening: To this ace interview with Susie Orbach at the Sydney Writer's Festival a few years ago.

Buying: A huge amount of seeds, plant and bulbs from the Diggers Club ready for autumn planting! I've using heaps of flowering perennials and pastel coloured cut flowers. I basically want flowers all year round.

Watching: Imposters. SO GOOD. Although it is released week by week so I have to wait for each new episode, just like the olden days.

Hoping: That Barron Trump is okay.

Cringing: Lee and I love watching New Girl in bed while eating magnums, because we are classy, and that whole show makes me do a full body cringe at the awkwardness. Such a good show, Schmidt is literally the funniest character on TV.

Needing: to pee. TMI? Am I the only person who regularly holds on until the last possible second?

Questioning: the benefits of having really long nails. They look so annoying. And whether there will ever come a time when I can look at a baby without feeling insanely clucky.

Noticing: How Jed literally picks up like ten new words a day. He has started saying things like 'Actually' and 'Occasionally' and 'Often'. Cracks me up.

Thinking: WHO EVEN AM I

Getting: emotional about all the things. I feel like my rage-o-meter is all over the place at the moment and I keep getting yelly and cross. Take a chill pill, clark.

Disliking: The damp smell of the air con at work.

Opening: Exciting letterbox deliveries of this book and this book and this book!

Embracing: My little guys. I just want to hug and kiss and sniff them all the time, but luckily (for them) they are too wiggly. 

Writing: This thing about the kid's gallery at Melbourne Museum. (it will go behind a paywall after one week!)

On ER trips, quitting and babies that aren't mine.

Phew, what a week. We had a trip to emergency with Lee due to a freak gastro attack that left him severely dehydrated and feverish, so we dropped the boys at Nan's and had a romantic date night in the ER. I worked my way through the vending machine (hello, Cheezels and weird muesli bar things) while mopping the proverbial brow of my poor husbo. He's all fine now and thankfully my obsessive sanitizing and quarantine methods have prevented the rest of the tribe from contracting it. Touch wood.

Also, the image above is from NASA's Instagram account. Archie and I are obsessed with it. Seriously, how bloody amazing is space?!

Reading...

I have just finished After Birth by Elisa Albert. I originally found it while doing research for my book, and god, it is everything I want my writing to be. It's all about motherhood and giving birth and post natal depression, but in a really raw way that isn't often spoken about. I've also just started Fat is a feminist issue, which I've been meaning to read for about a billion years. I'm only up to the prologue but did a deep Google dive into Susie Orbach and holy moly, what a woman.

Watching... 

The first two episodes of the last season of Girls. I have conflicting feelings about that show, all the characters shit me so much, but they are also vaguely familiar. There have been plenty of parallels between my career and Lena/Hannah's flailing writing career (that time she takes a corporate job writing sponsored content, OH GOD YES) so I just want to see where they all end up.

Listening...

I have discovered quite a few new podcasts in the last coupla weeks. Kinderling radio is constantly on in our house (sometimes when the kids aren't even there, hmm) and their Kinderling Conversations podcast is ace. I LOVED the one about the Melbourne Museum's new Children's Gallery and all the research (ie watching babies play) that went into the design. 

Also, Head Ovary Heels interviews awesome ladies doing awesome things, and they have some ace interviewees. 

Thinking about...

How to balance being a good person for the world with being a good person for myself, you know? Like how do I get done all the things I want to get done, while also being a kind and decent mother, wife, friend, human.

Also, there are lots of babies about to be born in my immediate circle and I am more excited than when I was the one about to give birth. Probably because I don't have to birth these babies, just cuddle them afterwards!

Doing...

I have quit Facebook for the final time. I know I've said this before, but I really would like to choose the social media that I interact with, rather than feel like I HAVE to be connected. I was definitely feeling obligated with Facey. I also felt that my newsfeed was just a stream of people trying to sell me things, get my attention, or make me feel slightly crappy and left out. I'm still all over Instagram and will keep on writing on this here blog, so if you miss me (ha) then there are plenty of other places to find me. Or send me a goddamn email. I still love emails.

Writing...

I wrote some fun stuff recently... about vinyl records, mindfulness in the arts, and volunteering. (NB: Some of these articles might be behind a paywall!)

On bad hair, cooking and knitting.

So here we are.

I'm going to try a new thing where I post every Friday, with a bit of a weekly round up and a few thoughts. I like consistency for a short time, so we'll see how long this lasts.

This week has been a weird one. Work is hectic, we have builders doing some work at home (but it's not us! Yay!) and there are four family birthdays within a week. Head down, bum up etc. I have had toast for dinner twice this week, and am maintaining an every-second-day shower routine. Don't get too close. 

Plus, a series of small, annoying appearance-related (and thusly things that I feel vaguely guilty for caring so much about) things happened: I spent a lot of time and dollars on a new hair colour which turned out to be basically exactly the same as my previous hair colour, my favourite jeans don't fit anymore but I don't know how to lose weight without turning into a legit cray cray person; my skin has gone weirldy acneic for no known reason. So, generally I'm feeling blergh. 

But some good things happened too!

- I got a new tattoo by the very talented Brittany Kilsby. It hurt like hell but I can't stop looking at it. So pretty.

- The builders are putting in a new bathroom, WALK IN WARDROBE (!!), and laundry area for us, plus expanding the playroom area for the kids. All very exciting. I'll show photos of the bathroom once it's done. I think bathrooms are my favourite rooms to design because I basically love tiles and sinks and vanities and mirrors and the different combos and options available. Also, storage!

- I am so sick of cooking and preparing and thinking about food for other people. It feels like as soon as I cook something, they all eat it! So bloody annoying. 

- God, my kids are bloody funny. So many gems at the moment.

Archie: Mum, when I grow taller you will be even lower and I will be as tall as Daddy and you will be the lowest. The LOWEST, MUM.

Jed: I used to live in your tummy, mum! With Arch! And Daddy! And then we were borned! You borned all of us!

- I am learning to knit! I taught myself continental knitting which is a bit more like crochet because you hold the yarn in your left hand, and now that I'm getting the hang of it, TWO people have said that I won't be able to use it with standard knitting patterns. Gahh. Back to the drawing board.

This weekend will feature some supermarketing, child-chasing, gardening, cooking, birthday picnicking and knitting on the deck with a glass of something ginny. 

On witnessing a murder and #womensmarch

It’s been a big weekend around here. Trump became the president of the United States, #womensmarch happened around the world and I witnessed five people being murdered.

God, that sounds so trite. Especially the word ‘witness’. Which, at its most simple, means watched, observed, did nothing. Which is what I did. It was loud, and confusing, and people were screaming. There were police and helicopters. I heard someone say that it was a terrorist attack, and I froze. And then I saw him drive up Bourke St, the red car already dented. By the time the police shot him, the car would be covered with dents, created by the impact of slamming into bodies. I saw police in military uniforms with big guns and blank eyes, and I froze.

I saw a mentally unwell person accelerate his vehicle into a group of pedestrians. I saw him hit a mother and a pram, the infant momentarily hovering in the air before hitting the footpath, the mother bloodied and hysterical. The baby later died in hospital.

This is only my story. I was not the policeman who rushed the baby to hospital in his car. I was not someone administering first aid. I was not attacked, not am I a relative of a victim. I didn’t know any of the people who died, but I will never forget them.

Since Friday afternoon. I have swayed between wanting to read the news and wanting to avoid it. On Saturday, sitting in my car outside a beekeeping workshop, I read every news report on the attack. It filled in a lot of the holes of what I had seen, but left me shaking and sobbing.

And then came the Women’s March. All around the world, on all seven continents, people marched against intolerance, sexism, homophobia, undisclosed conflicts of interest, fear mongering, excusing rape and assault with ‘boys will be boys’, systemic racism,  fake news, the rise of fundamentalist bigotry and greed.

The Women’s March was a panacea after the events of Friday. Friday taught me that you can be killed simply walking down a street, in a city you love, pushing your new baby in a pram. And then the Women’s March showed me that despite the attack and despite there being a bigoted misogynist in the White House, we can still say FUCK THIS SHIT and rise above it.

Because, like my favourite sign from the Washington march said, we are the granddaughters (and sons and grandsons and nieces and allies) of the witches that you weren’t able to burn.

For new mothers

It’s 2am. The kennels across the other side of the river are at full capacity over the Christmas break, and the howls and barks set off every dog along the valley.  It feels like when we lived in Brunswick and a roaring late night motorbike would wake up the dachshund two doors down, who would bark his annoyance and set off a chain of tiny, terrace-housed barking dogs up and down Merri Creek.

The cicadas are at full blast, and the cockatoos screech through the manna gums lining the river. It feels as if we are living in the deep bush, instead of perched on the side of a granite hill, overlooking the vale separating Melbourne’s suburban sprawl and the wineries of the Yarra Valley.

A whimper. “Mum, I did a wee.”

I sigh. I could ignore it, let him fall back asleep. But a fear of having the stinky kid at kinder, the judgment of childcare workers and an exacerbated eczema issue makes me lumber out of bed, stumble into his room and strip the bed. I peel off wet underwear and throw them into the tangle of sheets in the corner.

I wipe him down with a damp cloth, fumble with the nappy that he should have had on in the first place.  I lay him into my bed and he curls up like a poked beetle, all sweaty hair and rosebud lips.

I sigh, again, and lay down on the bare mattress in his room. The mattress is new, and soft, with a foamy pillowtop. A few short years ago, a nighttime interruption was a personal affront, an attack on my right to sleep. I blamed the babies. I’m not proud of it, but the heady early days of motherhood make for crazed midnight thoughts, jacked up on four nights of waking up at 20 minute intervals. I remember when his brother was small and I was hovering on the tightrope between chronic exhaustion and the muddy sinkhole of post natal depression, and the baby fell asleep on his front. The SIDS pamphlet I had been sent home from the birth centre with was shoved on the bedside table, part of the detritus of a major life change.

A thought flashed. If he had SIDS, at least I would get some sleep. And then the guilt hit me. What kind of mother welcomes the idea of cot death? What kind of mother feels relief at the thought of her baby suffocating in the night? What kind of mother?

I know now, that thoughts are not actions, and that it is what you do that matters.  I love my babies. But I still feel sick at the thought of them facing harm. The older boy will go to school next year, and the idea of it kills me a bit inside.

The dogs across the river are quiet again. I breathe in the smell of my baby and listen to the twin snores of father and son through the thin walls of our creaky house on the side of a hill.

30 books I read in 2016

So I've read QUITE a few books this year. Over 80 books, actually, which is more than the book a week I was aiming for. Lots of feminist stuff, lots of short story collections, and a bit of lighter trashy stuff.

This is a list of the best or most memorable novels/short stories that I have read, with a one-sentence review. I also read a few parenting books, lots of books on veggie gardens and beekeeping, plus some other random non-fiction.

Everywhere I Look by Helen Garner

This was a big year for legendary Aussie writers. Garner and Winton both published collections of essays. I am a huge fan of Garner's sharp observational writing, and this book is no exception.

You'll Grow Out Of It by Jessie Klein

I read quite a few collections of funny, feminist essays, and this is hands down the best. Klein is a writer on Amy Schumer's show, and she is hilarious.

The Girls by Emma Cline

I bloody loved this. It's loosely based on the Charles Manson murderesses. A brilliant debut.

The Sellout by Paul Beatty

Man Booker winner. Ascerbic, witty, dense. About a black guy trying to bring back slavery.

Jasper Jones by Craig Silver

An Australian version of To Kill a Mockingbird. Loved it. Evocative, political, timeless.

Swing Time by Zadie Smith

God, I love Zadie Smith. Not as good as White Teeth, but still bracing and sharp.

Reckoning by Magda Szubanski

Absolutely did not expect to like this as much as I did. Loved the parts about her wayward uni years.

The Hate Race by Maxine Beneba Clark

Growing up black in suburban Australia. Brilliant.

Fates and Furies by Lauren Groff

A view of a marriage from both sides. Similar to Gone Girl but without the violence.

On Love by Alain de Botton

Top five for the year. Everyone in a relationship should read it. 

Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott

One of my favourite books of all time. Ostensibly about writing, but also applicable to life.

Island Home by Tim Winton

Winton and Garner are my two favourite writers, hands down. This is his first work of memoir, and it is his usual laconic Aussie wit.

Hateship, Friendship, Courtship, Loveship, Marriage by Alice Munro

Another collection of short stories/essays, and it took me a while to get into it. Pass.

Everything I Never Told You by Celeste Ng

More well written than your average thriller; a comment on race in America in the 70s.

The One Who Got Away by Caroline Overington

I have heard great things about Overington's writing, but was shocked at how formulaic it was! A pacy read but nothing special.

Shrill by Lindy West

Loved it. A collection of feminist essays and observations.

Modern Lovers by Emma Straub

Probs one of my top five for the year. All about the inner workings of relationships of all types.

Sex Object: A Memoir by Jessica Valenti

Yet another collection of feminist essays. By the founder of Feministing.

Amsterdam by Ian McEwan

McEwan is probably one of the best writers in the world, and Amsterdam is no exception. 

The Sound of One Hand Clapping by Richard Flanagan

Flanagan's address at the Melbourne Writers Festival this year made me want to write a book. This is better than The Narrow Road to the Deep North, in my opinion. 

The Royal We by Jessica Morgan

Easy, trashy, fun. Loosely based on the Kate Middleton-Prince William story.

The Natural Way of Things by Charlotte Wood

I really, REALLY liked this book. Not everyone did. But it's a rollicking read, a sharp comment on being a woman in society.

Night Games by Anne Krien

I read this straight after The Natural Way of Things. It's an investigation into sexism in the AFL - could have been better researched, but still interesting.

Sharp Objects by Gillian Flynn

Better than Gone Girl.

Every book by Liane Moriarty

I went on a bit of a Moriarty binge, and loved them. Easy to read, great characters and believable dialogue. 

Catherine the Great by Robert K Massie

A history of Catherine the Great of Russia. Not one for everyone, but I like this kind of stuff.

Committed, A Love Story by Elizabeth Gilbert

Gilbert's treatise on marriage and commitment. Ironically, she divorced her husband this year and shacked up with her best friend.

The Good Parents by Joan London

An eighteen year old spreads her wings and her parents cope with the fallout.

My Name is Lucy Barton by Elizabeth Stout

Loved it. A woman reminisces about a nine week hospital stay where her estranged mother visited.

On Beauty by Zadie Smith

Another Zadie! One of my faves of the year.

Salt Creek by Lucy Treloar

A colonial family struggles. Deeply moving and sad.

Religion for atheists

(Yes, I stole the title for this post from the very excellent book by my other husband, Alain de Botton.)

I have a bit of a mixed relationship with religion. On one hand, I am skeptical by nature and firmly believe in science, in empirical, peer-reviewed evidence, and common sense. Once I find out that someone is religious, I can’t help but think slightly worse of them. Like if a grown adult told me that they still believed in Santa, or in vampires. I want to shout “HOLD UP!” and then interrogate them about angels, creationism and the big boat that took all the animals two by two.

I don’t believe that prayer can heal, or in the whole baby Jesus in a manger thing. Organised religion is, frankly, bloody terrifying. The fact that churches don’t pay tax, don’t allow basic civil rights, and require weird shit like eating wafers and regular atonement, gives me the shits. I absolutely call myself an atheist. Hashtag blessed, hashtag grateful.

However, despite this, I still get that there are some really excellent parts of religion.

The idea that people come together on a regular basis to be grateful, hopeful (because at its most essential, that’s what prayer is, right?) and send some loving vibes out (I am well aware how non-scientific ‘loving vibes’ are.) can only be a good thing. And the community that springs up around churches: the weekly groups, youth activities, systems for looking after the elderly and vulnerable – all that stuff in necessary.

I have a brother-in-law who is a Tibetan Buddhist monk, and he is ace. And I get that we need people to be monks, and nuns, in order to go deep into the meaning of life. A society needs deep thinkers in order to flourish, and if we need to call those people monks or nuns and dress them in crazy robes and put them in a room to think in silence, then so be it.

But I also believe that we can untangle all the crap of organised religion – and yes, even Buddhism is an organised religion – and get back the good bits, the bits that strengthened communities and brought people together and gave a purpose. I’m going to try, anyway.

Some things you can do to get a bit of non-religious religion in your life:

Join something that meets regularly

There is something heartwarming about catching up with the same people regularly. Because you see each other often, you quickly move past the whole work-life-kids update that happens with people you don’t see much, and get onto the deeper stuff. Plus, it gives you something to look forward to even when you have had a shitty week. Some people might get this from a yoga class, a mother’s group, or in my case, a book club.

Find your own sacred text/s

Sometimes you just read a book and think “HOLY SHIT the author literally went in my head oh my god oh my god.” Make that your sacred text. Buy two copies, one to sit proudly on your bookshelf, and another to scribble on, underline and generally ruin with love. It can even be a few books: mine are How to talk so kids listen and listen so kids talk by Faber and Maslich (for parenting and relationships), Bird by bird by Anne Lamott (for writing and general life) and Tiny Beautiful Things by Cheryl Strayed (for being a human in this world).

Use The Golden Rule.

Every religion has some version of what’s been called the Golden Rule, which is: treat people like you want to be treated. In Christianity it’s ‘Do to others as you would have them do to you.’ In Hinduism it’s ‘Do naught unto others which would cause you pain if done to you’. Islam says ‘None of you truly believes until he wishes for his brother what he wishes for himself’. You could say that it’s kind of a foundation for everything, right? And it can apply to almost every situation. Don’t be an asshole, be kind, try your best and put some good out into the world.

Amen to that.

Selling houses

Our Brunswick house is for sale. It has been a long labour of love, which will (fingers crossed) pay off on December 3 when a billionaire decides to pay twice the asking price.

It really is a great house (Obvs I am biased) with lovely neighbours, on a quiet street that is still central to everything. Living in Brunswick was frankly bloody awesome - despite stereotypes, there is SO much community spirit in urban areas, as you are literally living metres from your neighbour. Plus we walked everywhere so we would always be chatting to people and running into our neighbours. In Warrandyte, we don't even really have neighbours as we have State Park on two sides (not complaining!) and everyone drives everywhere, so you don't get the same 'we're all in this together' vibe.

Anyhoo. Have a look and feel free to inspect/buy if you are in the market/ 

Recommendations for November

This last fortnight has been... interesting. I got trolled by Men's Rights Activists about an article I wrote, then a week later Donald Trump got elected. I took it completely personally and fell into a slump for a few days, then realised I am a white woman on the side of the world, and my outrage is possibly offensive to those who are actually fearing for their lives now.

Like any significant shift in power, the Trump era will be filled with an outpouring of art and passion, like during the Bush years, the Thatcher years, the Reagan years. Art thrives under pressure. I'm taking solace in that.

A book...

I'm reading the Magda Szubanski book, FINALLY, called The Reckoning. Loving it so far. Damn, she can write.

A product...

CHOOKS! So Archie's kinder had a chook incubator for a while, and the kids all watched the baby chicks hatch. We asked to keep some of them, and now we have five little chicks called Nellie Frittado, Obama, Michelle, Nugget and Gregory Peck. I'm hoping at least two of them are hens.

They were living in a box in the living room until they grew their feathers, and now they are in a little pen outside. When the weather gets a bit warmer we will move them into their big chook palace adjoining the vegie garden. I'm so excited about having fresh eggs everyday, and the whole experience of collecting them and having chookens running around the yard.

A show...

The Crown (on Netflix). This has gotten a heap of attention, and it is WAY better than I thought it would be. It is all about Queen Elizabeth and how she came to be Queen. It never occurred to me that her dad had to die in order for her to become Queen. I also love the bits about how Price Phillip, played by Dr Who, struggles with having a wife who is about a gazillion times more important and powerful than he is.

Streets of Our Town (on iView). A two part series hosted and written by Tim Ross, all about Modernist architecture and the way that our houses and lifestyle has changed over time. It talked at length about Robin Boyd and his ethos, and was really interesting to watch while sitting in a Boyd home that totally encapsulated all the things Ross was talking about.

An article...

God, I have been binging on US election stuff this past week.  There is plenty of really heavy stuff out there, but in the interest of keeping things light I will share my new obsession: memes of Joe Biden and Obama. SO GOOD.

A thing I wrote...

This is the article that got me the hate mail: Why feminists need to see The Red Pill

I wasn't too upset as it never really got too personal (the worst was one guy who emailed to let me know that he felt sorry for my children as they were growing up emotionally castrated due to having a feminist mother. Thanks, mate.) and the messages and emails were all so crazy and incorrect. It was mostly just exhausting.

A forget-me-not...

Archie: I want you to have a baby, mum. Then I can put it in my bed and cuddle it like a teddy, and dress it up like a puppy dog.

Me: ...

Archie: Or maybe we can just put it outside with the chooks.

Things I have written elsewhere

So at ArtsHub I get to write about all sorts of topics, from book clubs to creativity, conquering self-doubt and artists' residencies.

Here's some of my latest pieces...

10 books that white people should read

This week's Man Booker winner, Paul Beatty's The Sellout, is a landmark work on race. But it's not the only book on the black-white divide you should read.

50 ways to conquer creative self-doubt

From cartoon voices to household habits, it's extraordinary what creative people do to keep their confidence up.

What book club is that?

Your book club may have no more in common with mine than lawn bowls has with Sumo wrestling.

Reading, ‘riting and swiping: the creative cost

Digital media now dictates a child's initial experience of literature, art and - most worryingly - often creative discovery.

Art industry apps you should have

From festivals and street art tours to event listings and orchestral insights, there’s an arts industry app out there for you.

Is your life interesting enough for a memoir?

Memoirs and autobiographies regularly fill the top spots on bestseller lists, but not everyone has a life worthy of memoir.

Consumptions

Tess and I have taken a podcast hiatus for the indefinite future, but I realised that I miss blathering on about the things I've been reading, listening to and watching lately. So instead, I'm going to periodically bore you all to death with the random things I've been consuming.

A book...

Or two, or three. I just finished Caroline Overington's The One Who Got Away. Her books are much-hyped, and she is an excellent journalistic writer, but I was underwhelmed. Also on the finished pile: Jasper Jones by Craig Silvey (excellent, like an Aussie To Kill a Mockingbird), Everything I Never Told You by Celeste Ng (okay, not groundbreaking but suitable captivating) and Modern Lovers by Emma Straub (fun easy read about maintaining adult friendships). Up next is Clem Ford's Fight Like a Girl and the new Man Booker winner The Sellout, both of which look excellent.

A product recommendation...

MAC lipstick in Mangrove. It's a good orange-red for ladies who look weird with pinky-red lippie (me, I'm talking about me) and literally lasts all bloody day.

A show...

Catastrophe. Several people have recommended it to me lately, and it is SO GOOD. Like literally so funny I have to pause it until I stop laughing. Also, the fashion is excellent, if you are into that.

An article...

How To Invest In Yourself. I'm planning on bringing back the birthday list and this article has some good tips on actually getting things done.

A thing I've written...

Dealing with negative feedback

A podcast...

The Real Thing, an Aussie podcast by the ABC featuring stories from the 'real' Australia

A forget-me-not...

Archie was talking to Mum about my uncle, who passed away about 13 years ago.

A: Is he a skeleton?

M: Well, maybe.

A: Because skeletons are really good drummers.

M: Oh.

and

Archie walks past Jed and brushes his shoulder.

Jed: *dramatically throws himself on the floor.* ARCHIE HURT ME! You a BUM, Archie!

Archie: *looks at me, rolls his eyes* Sometimes brothers are crazy, mum.

7 things I am doing instead of writing my book

1. Cleaning the house. Procrasti-cleaning. Rearranging the pantry, catching sight of my laptop and feeling guilty about the book, then distracting myself by organising my wardrobe. 2. Writing this blog post. Also, writing pretty much anything that isn't my book. I have finished an article that is due in mid-November. This never happens.

3. Baking chocolate banana cake, apple muffins sourdough bread, lasagne and homemade pasta.

3. Crocheting like a boss.

4. Watching Unreal.

5. Reading a LOT. Surely this counts, right? And actually reading with the view to learn, so lots of taking notes and highlighting passages. Lots of research for the book, not a lot of actual writing of the book.

6. Buying books about writing and using Australia Post as an excuse not to write the book, because I can't possible start writing if I haven't read Bird by Bird yet, right?

7. Playing play dough with my kids. They have benefitted greatly from my epic procrasination.

Writing a book is harder than I thought, you guys. I have done about 5,000 out of the target of 80,000. I am aiming to write a shitty draft then refine it later, but it's even hard to write a shitty draft. Two children, a job and too many commitments does not make for a productive writer.

But! I am attempting to let things go in order to write. I want my legacy to be a bloody book, not the fact that I was always up to date with the washing and dutifully scraped weetbix off the table every day. Even if no one reads it. Especially if no one reads it.

I'm writing a book.

Deciding to write a book is a culmination of lots of pieces falling into place: turning thirty and realising that there is no right time to do it; growing more confident in my ability as a writer; feeling that I have enough life experience to write with deeper insights; and wanting to leave a legacy for my children. Even if this book remains hidden in a folder on my desktop forever and never sees the light of day, I'll at least know that I've done it. God, writing fiction is hard work though. It stirs up every shred of self doubt that I have (I'm actually a terrible writer, no one will want to read this, Helen Garner would be horrified) and has become totally all encompassing. I've written plenty of journalistic work, memoir, essays and instructional writing, but never a full length novel so the pacing, structure and narrative is all new to me, and I don't like the feeling of not knowing what I'm doing!

I have been devouring books in a similar style, so lots of Tim Winton, Helen Garner, Liane Moriarty. My writing is quite Australian, female and literary, so I am paying more attention to the details and structure of my favourite books. Not to copy them but to learn from the masters. I'm highlighting turns of phrase and making notes on dialogue and syntax.

I am aiming for 80,000 words, which seems like a good length for a first draft. I am trying to get a draft down as fast as possible, then the real work begins in the revision. The editing is my favourite part of writing: polishing and refining, shifting sentences around and often, removing language that is too flowery and cliched. I'm not ready to talk about the content (I'm still at the point of slamming the laptop shut when Lee walks near anywhere near me when I'm writing) but it is Australian literary fiction about a young family. It's not autobiographical by any means, but there is a married couple, and there is a baby, so obviously there are parallels there with my own life.

I just ordered a pile of books on writing that I've been meaning to read for a while: Anne Lamott's Bird by Bird and Stephen King's On Writing, plus Cate Kennedy's novel The World Beneath and short story collection Dark Roots. I dug out my old copy of John Marsden's Everything I Know About Writing which I bought at thirteen after doing a writing camp with him in Romsey. It's good to get a local perspective.

My rough aim is to enter the Vogel's Literary Award for an unpublished manuscript. I'm under no pretensions of winning, but it is for authors under 35 so it gives me five years to complete the damn book. Ideally I would finish it before then, but hey, I'm finally cutting myself some slack.

How to get your kids outta the house before 7am

I started a new job this week!

It’s at ArtsHub, three days a week. Out of the house! With lunch breaks! And a regular paycheck! And colleagues I’m not married too! God, I love working. I love my kids, but jeepers, I am a better mother when I’m working. Also a better human and wife and friend and daughter.

That said, because we now live in the bush, my commute is about an hour each way. Annoying? Oh hell no. That’s six hours a week of bus time where I can read, listen to podcasts, crochet like a boss, stare out the window and not speak to anybody. Bliss. The next step is to see if I can somehow turn part of the commute into exercise time, but doing Kegels on the bus probably doesn’t count, right?

Because of the long commute, I need to get outta the house by 7am, drop the kids at childcare, then get to the bus stop at 7.30am. Our house at 6.45am is slightly hectic, to say the least. Luckily, my very excellent and helpful mother picks the boys up from childcare on Thursday afternoons and TAKES THEM TO HER HOUSE FOR A SLEEPOVER then brings them home on Friday when Lee gets home. That means we have one night a week kid-free. Hello date night.

Anyhow, here are my hot tips on getting yourself and your kids dressed and out of the house early and relatively sane. Lee leaves before 7am so obviously if your partner is home to help then WELL DONE YOU. But for the sake of these tips I’m assuming you’re flying solo.

Get up before your kids. Even just 10 minutes earlier gives you time to brush your teeth and slap on some makeup without little people trying to ‘help’.

Make time to play and acknowledge them. If I jump out of bed and am already in ‘work mode’ and hardly look at the kids while dressing them, packing bags and mentally calculating the latest bus I can take that will still get me to work on time, they are sure to start acting out. If I take 30 seconds to give them a big cuddle, ask how which undies they’d like, make a joke and talk about our day, then things seem to go way more smoothly.

Get ready beforehand. This is pretty obvious, but unless you naturally enjoy making lunches at 5.30am, then do that shite the night before. Same goes for getting your own lunch, finding your phone charger or whatever, and choosing your outfit. Speaking of outfits…

Put the kids to bed in their clothes. This was a game changer for me. Our house is freezing at night, so the kids are usually wearing a couple of layers anyway. Make one of the layers a t-shirt or trackies and BAM ten minutes saved in the AM.

Good luck, sister.

Monday.

Jed is stuck in the doona cover. He and Archie are both laughing hysterically as Jed flails around, a tiny body stuck in a huge polka dot bag. “No help me! Jed okay!” as he clearly is not okay.

--

Archie turns four tomorrow. He wants me to sing him to sleep, so we snuggle under the (aforementioned) doona and curl our fingers together. I start with It’s a Small World, which I sang for hours and hours when he was a tiny baby, slowly sure that I was destroying both of us. He never slept well. Even now, he bends into me with sleepy eyes, but still wriggling and jiggling his legs. “I am very very tired but my body won’t sleep.” I understand that feeling, of exhaustion tipping into jittery wakefulness. We do some deep breathing as I rub his back, calling sleep in.

--

I eat baked chicken by the glow of the computer, shoveling and not tasting, but filling my hunger for words and news and stories and people.

--

There is a black wallaby in our front yard. It stays stock still as the boys yell out to it. “Wobbily! Do you have a baby in your pocket!” It turns and flees back down the hill to the river, bouncing comically through the scrub.

--

Someone has plastered the bridge and the roundabout with election campaign posters, or rather, anti-campaign posters. I feel a bubble of annoyance: surely this place, of all places, is above all that. I like to filter my news and thus my outrage.

--

We are going to Bali on Saturday. I sit in front of the heater wearing three layers as I pack the boy’s gear: three shorts, three t-shirts, a huge bottle of sunscreen, thongs, hats. I only have one decent bikini; it might be time to accept that I am 30 and have birthed two children and get a one piece. But my rising feminist streak wants to wear a goddamn bikini until I am 80 and a wrinkling, sagging old broad.

I wrote a thing: Five common fears and how to deal with them

God knows creative types are more prone to mental health issues, amiright?!  Except maybe Beyonce, although she probably falls less under the category of 'Creative Type' and more under 'Goddess from another planet'. And who knows, maybe she's popping the anti-anxiety meds like the rest of us. Anyway, small business owners, creative people, hell, just WOMEN have a lot of shite to deal with, and the negative thoughts (AKA middle-of-the-night-fears that cause sleeplessness and existential angst) can come thick and fast.

After years (literally, like 10+ years) of seeing counsellors on and off, and a healthy addiction to books that fall into the 'Personal Growth' section, I have gathered some hot tips on how to deal when you can't shake the negativity.

More, here! And if you are a creative human who identifies as a female, consider joining the Creative Women's Circle. It is awesome. I am on the board. They do good things.

xx

The one where I got pneumonia

I am having a one woman pity party today. I have pneumonia in my left lung. (which sounds much more dramatic than it actually is - the reality is just heaps of coughing and an achey chest), I have an extremely messy house/car/life at the moment, caught conjunctivitis in my right eye and have run out of tea. Drama.

But! The kids are at kinder and I have just got back from the doctors and am now drinking some god-awful ginger and turmeric concoction which literally tastes like dirt but is supposed to make me better, am loaded up on antibiotics and staying in bed for the next three hours until it's kinder pickup time. And I am going to HEAL this stupid lung with the sheer power of my mind, and modern science.

I'm also working on healing a whole heap of other shit: perfectionism, this food crap (always), the cult of busy, the need to have a Design Files-worthy house at all times. We are going to Bali in three weeks and my Bali body will look much like my current body: a pale size 12 sack of breath and blood. That sounds gross, right? But bodies are literally just a big ol' sack of bones and organs and mucous, which we drag around and abuse and prod and ignore. Our bodies create life and people and dreams and then cop flack for not looking like they did when we were 16. I'm never going to be all 'my stretch marks are empowering!' because I'm slathering the vitamin E cream like the next thirty-year-old mother of two, but jeez, I wish I appreciated this bag of bones more when I was 22 and jumping off a boat into the ocean in southern Turkey, or spending three weeks on a beach towel in Zanzibar, or meeting my future husband when I was 20 and wearing my mum's engagement dress. I had a huge blister on my toe which was bleeding profusely and preeeetty gross. He didn't care. Because when you are falling for someone, you accept their blood and gore, right? Maybe part of accepting yourself is accepting your own blood and gore, the phlegmy lungs and start enjoying the forced recuperation from the busyness.

Anyway, I'm back to watching Broad City and coughing like a 75-year-old smoker. And washing down Big Pharma with some ayurvedic turmeric juice. Whatever works, right?

A realistic bucket list

I have lots of lists of things that I want to do, or that I will do one day. Outlines for books that I haven't written, sketches of houses I'll never build, patterns for clothes I'll never make. I used to make a list of things on my birthday every year that I wanted to achieve by my next birthday, and it was an awesome way to make sure I stayed intentional and focussed. I never want to wake up one day and be 85, and think holy shit, what have I even done, you know?! I like the idea of making goals or plans, and just freaking making them happen. So life doesn't just drift on by... Anyway, I have made a rough list of things that I want to do in the next ten-ish years. Some of these are big, some are little, but I'm going to make an effort to get them all done.

In no particular order...

Write a really good book.

Obviously, as someone who has been in some form of paid writing gig since I was 18 but has only just begun calling herself a writer, I have always wanted to write a book. I know I can do it if I make it actually happen, it's just a matter of prioritising and focus.

Grow heaps of our own veggies and fruit.

I have gotten VERY into gardening lately (living on a couple of barren acres with heaps of water and potential will do that) and look forward to the day when my veggie garden is killing it and I can make a whole meal that I grew myself.

Go on a bike riding holiday with the kids.

We really want to take them riding along the Danube, or the Mekong, or the Mississippi, or basically any cool river. I reckon they will need to be at least 10 and 12 to fully enjoy it, so I'll start saving now for the trip in 2025.

Get really strong.

I don't mean fit, I mean strong. I want to get strong enough to kick down a door if necessary. Twice-weekly pilates probably won't cut it, so one day I want to concentrate on getting really freaking buff.

Buy art.

I own heaps and heaps of art. Prints, original works, reproductions. But I really want to buy an original piece of Aboriginal art. I always scout galleries whenever I get the opportunity and am just waiting to find a piece that makes me weak at the knees.

Get to zero debt. 

Including mortgages, credit cards, and cars. Totally doable if we go gangbusters. We don't actually have any real debt except the house, so will focus on hammering the repayments over the next few years.

Things I Am Loving

Egyptian Magic Face Cream

I bought this stuff from Costco, because that’s how I roll, and it really is magic. My skin is insanely dry, and this stuff is basically pure olive oil with some weird magic bee propolis extract thrown in. It’s all melty and lovely on my skin, and definitely stops the flakiness. Plus the packaging looks cool.

Indoor plants from Aldi

Who knew? I love everything about Aldi (Australian made/grown! No additives! Extremely cheap!) but occasionally they have indoor plants, and the quality is great. I picked up a couple of Magic Bean plants, some indestructible Zanzibar Gems and a philodendron for about $8 each. My house is slowly becoming a jungle.

Aesop Shine Hair Oil

My lovely book club ladies bought me an Aesop set thing for my 30^th, plus this magic hair oil stuff. It smells SO GOOD that I keep just sniffing it whenever I go in the bathroom. All cardamom and orange. Yum. Obviously I will be keeping the bottles and refilling them with Pears to keep up the illusion of fanciness.

The library

I go through stages with the library. Because I read mostly on my Kindle, I tend to just buy ebooks, but then I also love reading a bit of non-fiction. Cookbooks, gardening books, books about knights and dragons for Archie, books about dogs and cats for Jed (current obsessions) – the library is so ace for all that. Plus, it’s free! What else in society is there like it? Nothing. Go to your library.

Planning kid’s birthday parties

The boys turn two and four in a couple of months and there has been much discussion about the cake, the invitation, the guests, the food, the decorations… We like to keep it pretty low key and old school (no face painting or magicians here) but the kids both love to study The Book and change their mind every 10 minutes.

Musings

6am. Archie bolts out of his bedroom, scratching the sleep out of his eyes. He slams his bedroom door with such ferocity that the picture frames rattle. “I’m so hungry, mum. I was just thinking about having weet bix with yoghurt instead of milk. Is that funny? Or not?” 9am. Jed is refusing shoes. He is full of rage, tears and snot and fury smearing his cherubic face into a snarl. I throw three pairs into the car and tell him a complicated story about Grandpa and motorbikes as I wrestle him into the carseat. He looks sadly out the window as we cross the bridge, still sobbing. “No ducks, mum.”

10am. The goat in our front yard nibbles the patch of Christmas lilies. We eyeball each other as I scull lukewarm tea on the deck. She uses her horn to scratch her matted fur, then turns her back and saunters down the hill.

12pm. I remember a conversation with the old owners of our house as I clamber up the hill to the washing line. “Snakes everywhere, ‘specially when it starts warming up. We found them in the compost bin, under the car. I stepped outside one day and a big tiger snake wrapped himself around my leg.” We laugh together but I feel cold as I scan the ground.

1pm. The program I use to do our business accounts is frozen. I slyly open up trashy websites and scroll through endless beauty advice. I contemplate dyeing my hair again, or eyelash extensions. Instead, I find a tube of hand cream in my bag and slather it on my dry, garden-worn knuckles.

3pm. I hear Jed calling me from the carpark as I walk up to kinder. “MUM’S CAR. Hi Mum. MUM!” He points frantically at all his friends, his teachers. His favourite ball. Showing me his day.

4.30pm. Archie is following me through the garden, holding the end of a hose. He is obsessed with rescue vehicles, outer space and knights. He pores over the birthday cake book. “I want the swimming pool for my party day, and the castle for my actual birthday, mum, okay?”

6pm. I clean the kitchen while the boys and their dad empty the bath of water, one splash at a time. Weetbix from this morning is cemented to the floor. I scratch my nails into it, then have a go with the Chux. “You could render a house with fucking Weetbix!”, I yell to Lee, not for the first time.

7.15pm. Archie and I lay in his bed, telling stories of knights who fly space rockets to rescue aliens. He smells of sweat and dinner. I pretend to tickle him but take a deep inhale behind his ear, my hand on his round belly.

8.30pm. I lay on my bed, idly scrolling through instagram. Other people’s kids. Impossibly clean rooms. Green smoothies. I wander into the kitchen and make sultana toast smeared thick with butter.

10pm. I shove my earplugs in and mutter “goodnight, honey. Love ya.” to Lee. His response is muffled but he pats me on the bum and we hook our feet together, facing away from each other as the twin glow from our Kindles joins the moonlight, and the world retreats into inertia.