TUTORIAL - Table Basting Your Quilt

Last year some time, I heard someone, somewhere, talking about table basting.  Table what-ing??  I was sold before I even knew what it meant!  I'd spent forever crawling around my lounge room floor, or tiled kitchen floor, basting my quilts - and my knees had had enough!  I'm hearing a collective "ahuh" from you all right now aren't I?  Since that lightbulb moment, I have somewhat perfected the process, and now enjoy basting don't hate it quite as much, and revel in my smooth quilt backs!  I have repeated this process to numerous friends, who are all enjoying basting success also, so thought I'd share it with you all!

Now - the first rule is - you do not have to have a 10 seater dining table as I do!!!  Baste your quilt on the table you have, and follow the same instructions.  Having a smaller table just means you will have more overhang on the sides and possibly - ends of your table.  The second rule is......  Well, there is no second rule.  Let's go.....

First step is to iron your quilt back to within an inch of its life.  Make sure that baby is silky smooth without a crease in sight.  Take said quilt back and lay it on your table.  You want to have it centred as much as possible ie. the same amount of overhang on all sides.

 

Then go and rummage through your kids art & craft supplies (or your own) and find your self some sticky tape (or cellotape - whatever it's called wherever you are!).  You can use any tape at all - so if gaffa tape is all you have - make it work.  You want to tape both ends down to your tape.  Making sure you keep your smoothness intact!  If you have a really small table and a really big quilt, you're going to have to get inventive!  I've had others say they use bulldog clips etc.  So think about what you have handy that's going to keep that quilt back in place!

Once you have secured your quilt back, it's time to layer up.  Lay your batting on top, using the same technique - centre it over your quilt back, with the same amount of overhang.  Then smooth it all out, from the centre outwards.

Same same again with your quilt top.  Iron it super smooth, then pop it over the top!  It's really important you follow the same theory as any basting process - and smooth it from the centre out.  This way you will end up with a straight quilt top!  I have been known to sometimes iron the quilt top once it's on top of the quilt sandwich - if it's been creased considerably in the putting on top of everything process.

Now it's time to baste.  I baste from the centre outwards - which is what I learnt through all my online learning.  Use as many pins as you think your quilt warrants - but remembering the more pins the safer you're going to be!  Once you've pinned all of the quilt top that is on top of your table, it's time to move on to the overhanging sections.....  You need to remove your sticky tape for this to happen!

You want to go to the side of your table and with both hands, gently pull your quilt over to one side, revealing the overhang on the other side.  You will see in the photo above that you have a big kink in the quilt sandwich?  You now have to smooth that outwards and repeat all the other steps to baste that section.

Repeat again, by pulling the quilt over to the other side, which will reveal your last remaining section.  Baste - AND YOU'RE DONE!

Once I have basted my quilt, I then roll it up ready for quilting and it usually sits on top of the lounge in the back room.  Or if I'm really keen, I'll then set my machine up on the dining table and quilt it then and there!

I really hope you've found this helpful!  I've seen/heard of tutorials for table basting which includes using lengths of timber (?!??!) but I'm a huge fan of keeping things as simple as possible, with as little props as possible.  I think this method demonstrates that!

If you have any questions at all, feel free to fire away!  As I said earlier in this post - I have never had a problem with my quilting using this method - no puckering, bunching up or folds in the back.  If it works for me, I'm guessing it could work for you!

The Little Phone That Swam. And The Crazy Woman Who Sunk.....

Last Wednesday afternoon, I went and picked up Lochie from school - something that is out of my routine, because he usually catches the bus - got him home and ran inside to quickly use the loo before I had to head out again to get Chelsea and Cadyn.  So in I run, pull down my dacks in a hurry, and then I hear it - Splash.  I recognise the sound immediately and turn around to find my beloved iPhone5 at the bottom of the toilet bowl.  Thankfully it was pre-wee, so I plunged my hand in and rescued thy phone and went about rapidly drying it in a towel and pulling the case off it!  All this whilst my pants were still around my knees - too much information I know!

Less than five minutes later, this is what my phone looked like....

Ms Midge on Instagram

And this is what I looked like.....

Source

What followed this little "incident" can only be described as panic, fretting, fear, loss, grief.....well, you get it?  Within the hour, I had jumped up and down, emailed and rung my husband (he was in a meeting godammit) and then absconded to the shopping centre with Lochie's old Nokia phone to get myself a new sim card.

Within a couple of hours, I realised I had no idea how to use a Nokia anymore, and retrieved my ollllldddddd iPhone3 from a friend who had been borrowing it.  I then exhaled.

Why am I telling you all of this?  Well, after 24 hours of using my uber slow old iPhone, I realised just how much I depend on my mobile phone.  I realised that I do not know my husband's phone number, nor the majority of my friends and family.  I realised my life is entered in to my iCalendar.  I realised I needed to get a life outside of my phone.....

So, where to from here?  Well, I'm very happy to report that after three days buried in rice, thinking my phone was long gone and never to be used again, my darling husband suggested the battery may be flat?  So I plugged it in.....

Flash! Ahhh-ahhhhhhh.......

The old gal (ok, so it's less than a year old) has life in her yet!  She still has a little condensation under the screen, but my friends around the world Google tells me this should dissipate eventually.

What have I learnt from this exercise?

I have learnt that I don't need to check my phone every ten minutes - because when you're using an old phone that is as slow as a freakin elephant, you can't be bothered checking it.  And I have learnt that I should not wander from my normal routines, because when I do, I forget shit and phones fall in toilets!  Yes - I'm blaming my 14 year old son for this whole thing!*

In all seriousness, I am almost embarrassed at how much I depend on this little device.  The fact that it basically lives on one side of my arse most days is a little worrying.  And on that note - where do I store my phone in Summer when I'm donning frocks?  Yes, it's been a long Winter.....

The moral of my story?

Don't keep your phone in your back pocket.  And memorise important phone numbers.  Note to self: take note of these.....

Tell me - where do you keep your mobile phone?  Ever had a "toilet incident"?  Did your phone live to tell the tale?  Spill.....

* Ok, maybe not the whole thing.  Just a little bit.

Raising a Child Takes A Village - Raising a Child with Social Media Involved Takes An Army.

If you've been around these parts for a while, you will know that I am partial to putting on my ranty pants.  I get my knickers in a knot about all kinds of interesting bullshit - but mostly about teenagers and the way things are today.

Enter today's post.

I think I'm doing an OK job as a parent.  I think that my eldest son's Dad and I, together with my husband and his Dad's partner, are banding together in some kind of strange unity to get him through these revolting teenage years.  If someone had of told me ten years ago that we would be working together, I would have laughed hysterically.  But a couple of months ago, when our son decided it was time to "up the ante" and test the proverbial waters, we all joined forces to SHUT THAT SHIT DOWN.

And it's worked.  So far.

What I AM struggling with, is being aware of everyone else's children.  Being aware of what they're up to, the shit they're getting in to.  And their parents being oblivious to it.  Hey, I'm not saying I'm perfect - clearly not.  It took almost six months for us to find out that our son had been feeding us bullshit sandwiches!  But in relation to social media - I'm on it.  I'm on his back - always have been, always will be.  We have explained to him what is and what is not acceptable when on social media applications.  That "liking" photos of scantly clad women with derogatory memes or FB pages called "Straya C*nt" not only offends me at times, it also shows up on all his other friends news feeds - including his grandmothers........ and that is NOT acceptable.  We have explained to him that just because a 15 year old girl has the username "Infinity_whore" (yes, you read that correctly), does not mean that it is OK.  It in fact means that she is not only degrading herself, she is allowing others to think it's OK to use such derogatory terms.  NOT OK.

I could go on.  And on.  And on.  I have so many tales to tell about instances we have had to pull him up and educate him on how we expect him to be using social media.  And how it doesn't matter whether other parents let their children use it - or in a lot of cases - don't give a shit about how their children use it.  What matters is how HE uses it.

I digress.  The reason I chose to write AGAIN about this, today, is because I have found myself in yet another quandary in regards to knowing about a child's behaviour and trying to decide whether or not to let said child's parents know?  I know the parents, from many years ago, but we are not friends as such.  I have stewed on the information for a couple of weeks now, debating how I would divulge the information?  Would I want to know if it were my young teenage daughter?  Would I want to hear it from someone else?  I put it out there late last night to my FB friends, and the resounding answer was YES.

So this morning I have been stewing further, going over several different drafts in my head, and have put it down in a FB message to before-mentioned Mother.  I am still yet to send it.

Earlier this year, I wrote this status on my personal FB page, after reading THIS post on MamaMia:

"Some of you already know this, but to everyone else - I will contact you if I see your kids posting inappropriately on social media, or if they're younger, just letting you know that their settings are public when perhaps you would like them to be private. I'm hoping you'd all do the same! Social media can be used so wonderfully - to engage with people in a wonderful way - it's such a shame that it gets used so shitfully at times. xx"

And a whole lot of friends agreed to do the same.  In the past couple of years, I've messaged, phoned and emailed parents when I've come across something I feel is either inappropriate or potentially dangerous with regard to their children.  It is always received gratefully, and in some instances, the parents have had absolutely no idea what Facebook or Instagram even are.

My best piece of advice?  Become an expert.  An expert on social media.  Learn how to use all forms of it.  And check in on your children.  See what they are "following", "liking" and laughing at.  Because without your direction and knowledge, they are trying to learn for themselves what is right and wrong.  They are learning from other kids, who possibly don't know what they're doing either.  Social media is a whole new world in terms of parenting.  I was trying to work out what to compare it to - but I've come up with nothing.  Nothing compares to the murky waters that social media has presented to us as parents.  And I hate to think that anything ever will.

Are you navigating the murky waters of teenagers and social media?  How's it working for you?

Sunday Stash #15 - I have Issues

My sewing room - aka The Shoe Box - has issues.  I have issues.  It's just one big issue.

Lack of space.  Lack of will to sort it out.

Here is a little virtual tour of my 2m x 3m (approximate size) room....

Looks relatively organised, until you head down to the bottom shelves.... This photo is taken from the doorway of the shoebox, to the right of my sewing desk.

Shelves disappearing under the disorganisation of fat quarters, layer cakes and charm squares.....

That clear box used to hold all my fat quarters.  Until I became addicted.  Now they're everywhere.  Taking over.

These shelves are to the right of the door of the shoe box.  Such a state of disarray.

My scrap box.  Well, the box they go in to before I get off my ass and move them to a bag.....

Like these.  Even my poor overlocker has been put in the shadows of my desk.

I'm sharing this because I'm hoping it will make me do something about it.  But I really don't know where to start?  How does everyone else store their fat quarters and pre-cuts?  How do you sort your scraps?  How, how, how?

Help!!!

I'm linking up with Sunday Stash being hosted by Sew Happily Ever After!  You can too!

Another Freakin Cat Post.....

About five weeks ago, it was brought to my attention that our sweet kitten - Bella - had been visiting one of our neighbours and using their ridiculously huge sandpit as a litter box.  Said neighbour came a door knocking to ask if I had a little black cat with a blue tag (council tag)?  Ummm, yes, I said.  He proceeded to tell me that he had trapped her in his back yard and I should come and get her.

WTF?

I walked with this imbecile to his home, about five houses away, all the time asking him incredulously that when he said "trapped her" did he actually trap her?  Yep.  I was greeted at his home by his ever so delightful cranky and mouthy wife, telling me how disgusting it was that my cat was shitting in her kid's sandpit.  I agreed, with a pleasant but confused smile on my face.  As I rounded the corner in to their back yard I was horrified to see our little Bella in a metal trap, freakin out.  My Chelsea (Bella's human mummy) was equally if not more horrified and quickly ran to get her out.  It was a very warm day - we're talking 27 degrees - and Bella had been in this trap for who knows how long, without any water or food.  Cranky pants wifey was talking and I wasn't really listening, as I watched Chelsea take Bella home.  I kept asking cranky and her dickhead husband what exactly it was that they expected me to do?  She's a cat.......

They suggested I needed to keep Bella from entering their property.  Ahuh....right.  I repeated that she was a cat, and perhaps they could look at getting a cover for their sandpit - LIKE MOST PEOPLE WITH COMMON SENSE WOULD DO.  Nope.  Nope, not something they would consider.  So after a few more minutes of banter, and me telling them I would do my best, and perhaps they could think of some natural deterrents to keep cat/s away from their sandpit, I wandered off - bewildered.

I mean, is it me, or is going to the trouble of hiring a trap from the council to willingly trap a beautiful little kitten - who just happens to be registered with the council and is not some random stray - just bizarre?

For the following week, I kept Bella inside the house because I was basically too scared to let her out, for fear they would either trap her again, or do something worse.....

Fast forward to last week.  I was sitting upstairs and saw a council van pull in to the driveway.  Didn't take me long to figure out why they were here.......  Ever so lovely ranger tells me that he has my cat in his van.  It had been trapped by someone in the neighbourhood.  I asked him by who, and when he said he couldn't tell me - I told him.  With some very choice words.  I was not a lady.....

I asked HIM what the f*ck I was expected to do?  Well, his suggestions were nothing short of amusing.  Apparently "people" cut slits in pvc pipes, and put them over their fences so cats can't jump over them. Mmmmmmm, that's fabulous!  Cos I want my home to look like some kind of DYI disaster?  I'm thinking razor wire would be equally as effective?  Give it that "detention centre" shine?

Orrrr, we could build/buy a cat run?  Oh yeh, cos that's why you have a pet cat.  So it can be trapped in a f*cking wire enclosed building.  Sure.

Orrrrrr, we could just keep the cat inside - like - forever.

I very politely sarcastically, with a touch of f*ck you, told the ranger that the use of common sense was lacking in some people's brains, and that the council's  willingness to go along with those lacking common sense made me very cranky.  Collected Bella from the TRAP in his van and gave him a generous wave and smile and sent him on his way.

A few days later, he returned with the official letter of complaint and warning, that if Bella steps paw on their property again, we will incur a fine and Bella would be impounded.  Nice.

Now - the husband and I have had a few interesting conversations about the predicament we have found ourselves in.  He suggested we could go and shovel some of our dog shit on to their front yard, but hey, that wouldn't be very neighbourly would it?  I had a friend on Facebook offer us some chicken shit to share with them, but I thought that was too kind, because at least you can use chicken poop to fertilise your garden?  All I've managed to do is give the a*sehole a good case of staring as I drove past their home this afternoon.  Time will tell.......

In the meantime, I am trying not to lose my proverbial mind over the fact that I now have a kitty-cat trying not to lose HER mind at the fact that she can no longer go out and enjoy the great outdoors.  Long gone are her days of climbing the trees in our front yard, or wrestling with our two puppy dogs in the backyard.  Now her days are spent staring longingly out the windows, meowing incessantly and clawing any or all the furniture she can possibly manage without copping an earful from me.

Not to mention the fact that every time I hear the front or back door open everyone yells "DON'T LET BELLA OUT'!!!!!!!  Followed by the sound of running as the closest person to the door chases after her if she's managed to escape.

Soooooo, friends.  I ask you this - what would you do?  I understand, I really do, that there are cat haters out there.  In fact, I used to be one myself.  Before I was a cat owner, I had to go and buy sandpit covers begrudgingly to keep the neighbourhood cats from deficating in said sandpit.  It's common sense yes?  And even now, as a cat lover liker I have had to throw things at random cats who've come a knocking at our door to pester our own cats.  Once again, common sense?

I'm seriously at a loss.  Help.

***  Cat haters and non-constructive comments will not be appreciated.  Although if they're highly amusing comments I may laugh.

****  We are responsible cat owners who bring their cat inside at night and register her too.

Changing of The Guard - Sans Uterus

I don't know how many times I have said it, but I'll say it again - I'm so glad I do not have a uterus anymore.  I usually utter this sentence upon seeing a divine little newborn human being, as I did yesterday whilst at the local shopping centre.  Andrew was sitting next to me in the hairdressers, whilst we were wrangling the four kids and trying our hardest to keep our shit together whilst one niggled at another, and the four year old was trying desperately to break one of the chairs.  I saw the newborn bundle and my insides ached.  I'm assuming the part that was aching, is the big black hole where once my womb lived?  The same part that grew five (well, only four of them "successfully") human beings.  The part that gave me so much joy, but also so much pain.  Andrew gave me a look when I said it.  You know - THE look.  The "are you fucking crazy" look?

I fear if I still had my uterus I would have continued to churn out babies like nobody's business.  I would have put up with the morning all day sickness, the burst blood vessels in my eyelids from heaving so violently.  I would have gone through the trials and tribulations of gestational diabetes, paying $3 a day for a sugar free chocolate bar, just to get my "fix".  I would have bitched and moaned about how much I hate being pregnant, but in the next breath, declare how thrilled I was to have another baby on the way.  I would have put up with the agony of a shot pelvis.  The embarrassment of having to be pushed around the shops in a wheelchair - for I could not walk longer than 10 minutes without the pain becoming overwhelming.  Yep - I would have gone through all of that, over and over - just for that amazing feeling of elation when you have that gooey, strange little bundle of joy in your arms.

Sigh.

I'm so very thankful, however, that I don't have that option any longer.  My body waved the white flag and I surrendered.  I am so very happy with my tribe.  Only a matter of weeks ago I told one of my best friends that I was happy I did not have to go through the up's and down's of a new baby.  The elation of its arrival, and the deep desperation for sleep.  An hour later, she told me she was pregnant!  Problem solved.  I can live vicariously through my friends.  I am finally the one who can offer to babysit.  I am on the precipice of some form of freedom.

I'm almost on the other side.  2013 will be dishing out time.  For me.  For the first time in more than 14 years, I will have more than a fleeting couple of hours to myself on a regular basis.  In fact - I will have TWO WHOLE DAYS A WEEK!  When this occurred to me a few months ago, I said to Andrew I could pick up some extra work.  And then I found my head and screwed it back on and slapped myself.  Those two days a week are going to be filled with lots of nothing.  I am not planning anything.  I'm winging it!  (Ok, I'm being hopeful, but I really AM planning on doing lots of random shit that is totally unplanned)

So, as I patiently await the arrival of numerous bundles of joy, from a lovely array of friends, I will be busily not planning what I will be doing next year.  I will be filling my diary with play dates, of the grown up variety.  I may finally remember what it is like to go a whole day without having to feed someone else, change the channels constantly and figure out why Barbie's shoes won't stay on or translate Dora's antics!  Hola!!

  

Smart Chart

After what I would call GIVING UP on Monday, it seems my brainy husband put some thought to the situation we had found ourselves in - again.

Last year, our youngest son, Cadyn, went through a pretty hideous time.  He hit a wall at school, which then reverberated through our home, as he hit not only walls but anything else he could possibly cry at, throw himself on the ground at or yell at.  It was a living hell.  We ended up getting some great help for him, and he was assessed for a number of things.  Turns out he is one of the millions in the world who suffers from lives with anxiety.  I crossed out the suffering part because I don't like to think that his life is going to be full of suffering - so we'll try to help him to live with it instead....

Back to Monday......It had become very apparent, blatantly obvious actually, that Cadyn's anxiety had raised its ugly head again.  Who would have thought?  A new home, new school, new friends, ongoing renovations etc etc would be enough to do anyone's head in - but throw in some anxiety - and whallah! Melt-down!  Cue the giving up part.  Andrew was at the end of his tether too.  Except instead of him throwing his hands up in the air and crying, like someone I know, he must have stayed awake Monday night, and by the morning told me he had a plan.  Fabulous.  He would go to work and get together a routine/chores chart - with incentives.  Cool.

We have done rewards charts in the past.  With varying success.  But one thing we know about Cadyn is that he is rather goal orientated.  So why not give it another crack?  Later that morning, Andrew emailed me his "first draft".  I did giggle.  Past reward charts have been put together with some poster paper, textas, a ruler and some star stickers.  Nooooooo, not this one.

It's a spread sheet.........

I gave him a little of my input, but basically left it up to him to sort out.  What we were presented with (and I do not say presented lightly - it was a boardroom presentation, with the dining room being our boardroom - I was President) was a very well thought up and executed spread sheet.  On very big size paper.  Laminated.  Impressive.

Andrew dives in to his spiel explaining the dynamics of said chart and asks for the kid's participation.  Cadyn and Chelsea both eagerly start reading out the different parts of the chart, whilst I stood behind Andrew giggling at his spread sheet genius.  I did stop and ask the kids if they actually understood what the word "dispute" meant?  Nope.  A few small explanations later and the charts made perfect sense - even Chloe had some sort of idea!

One point I did dispute, was the monetary value put on receiving a day full of ticks - with no crosses (very technical).  Each child has the opportunity to earn a dollar for every day they achieve all of their possible ticks.  I queried Andrew's maths abilities and asked him if he realised how much money that adds up to over a four week period for four kids?  $112!!!!!!!!!!  He reassured me there was no way that all four kids could achieve perfection for four weeks in a row.  We shall see.

Our new system was rolled out Tuesday night.  And much to my amazement, there has been an almost full 360 degree turn around!  I have children offering their services left, right and centre.  I see the mechanics ticking over in their little heads as they begin to dispute argue/annoy me, before stopping themselves in their tracks and reverting to angels.  I am certain we will not be sent bankrupt by our scheme, but I am also very certain that it's something we will be sticking with.  Oh, and I CANNOT WAIT to see the look on Lochie's almost 14 year old face when he sees his delightful chart stuck on his wall when he returns from his Dad's house this week!

So - how do you reign in your kid's behaviours?  Are you a poster paper or spread sheet kind of parent?

I have a BUTTON!

Now for anyone reading this who does not have a Blog - you are probably wondering WTF is a Button?  Have no fear, I shall educate you!  A Blog Button is a generic term for an almighty technological nightmare for me!!  But for others, who can actually manage to not go cross-eyed when trying to BE technological - it is a whole lot of funny codes added to a pretty picture which then can be added to a Blog so that other Blogs can GRAB A BUTTON.  Like this...

<center><a href=" http://www.msmidge.blogspot.com.au/" target="_blank"><img border="0" alt="Ms Midge" src="http://i825.photobucket.com/albums/zz171/OzGirls/buttonmsmidge.jpg " /></a></center>

My lovely friend Gemma, over at Pretty Bobbins, sent me the links for the tutorials today, on how to make your own Button.  But try as I might, I could not get past designing the actual photo!  Me + codes = FAIL.

In stepped another lovely friend Louise, from The Oz Material Girls!  She is now, to me, the smartest human being on earth!  Not only was she able to put a code together for a Button for me ONCE - but she did it THREE times!  Because once I figured out how to put the pretty picture for the button together, I then decided to muck around with it until I got the above result.  So thank You Louise!

What I did learn today (apart from the fact I am code challenged) is that I have a wonderful group of on-line friends.  Yep, people I have NEVER met in real life, only chatted and socialised via Facebook and Email.  Isn't that fab?!?!?

Another one of my on-line friends is going through a really rough time at the moment, so I just want you to all throw your prayers, wishes and positive vibes my way - so I can forward them to her.

To end, I ask you - Are you technologically challenged?  Or am I on my lonesome?

Breathing not Yelling

Hi...my name is Midge and it has been three days since I have yelled at my kids!!  And I'm feeling rather good about it!  Not only that, but I also caught up with a beautiful friend this morning, who has been going through a really tough time with her littlest boy enduring a shitty few weeks with an infection in his leg - that went septic.  I've shed tears for her and her little boy these last few days.  Nobody likes to see a little person go through so much pain.  I'm so glad that he is going to be ok.  And I'm so glad that I could lend a shoulder today.  We talked about my blog post the other day and I had one of those "ahh-haa" moments.  Letting it all out has enabled me to reflect.  Sort of like working out why on earth I was doing all of that yelling?  Still don't have all the answers, but was able to note some subtle changes since then.....

Whilst not yelling at my children, I have been breathing.  Literally.  Example - this afternoon Chloe decides she would like to take the hair ties box, a decent sized My Little Pony and a hair brush with her in the stroller to school pick up - as You do.  I tell her that she's not taking the hair ties and the tears start (hers, not mine) the feet get ready to stomp, and it's at about this time I usually open my lungs and let rip.  Nope.  Not today.  I took a few breaths and tried to reason with her.  Compromise is my new best friend.  She is calmed with the knowledge she can take the damn pony and brush.  Phew.

Whilst not yelling at my children I have spent some time with them.  I picked Chels and Cadyn up from school yesterday afternoon and we went to the shopping centre.  I bought them a slurpee when they asked - they were in shock.  I let them act like fools whilst I earnestly tried on dresses in the fitting rooms at Myer.  Cadyn commented on one dress telling me I looked nice.  Nice.  I'm trying really hard to choose my battles a little more wisely.  This is advice I was given many years ago, and sometimes forget.  I mean really, if wrestling on the ground outside the change rooms is going to allow me to get what I need to get done, and they're not hurting anyone (except their ears) then why bother trying to make them sit still??

Whilst not yelling at my children I have asked them very politely to go about a few chores.  They have been doing them, with very minimal huffing and puffing or eye-rolling.  Cadyn was having trouble with the broom this morning, so I offered to take over and whilst trying to get beside the lounge I picked up Chloe's little play stroller and flung it over the other side of the room.  Cadyn asked me if I was angry?  It's moments like those that make my stomach drop.  My kids think I'm angry.  I told him I wasn't angry, I was just moving the stroller in a rather quick way!

Whilst I haven't been yelling at my children, I have noticed I'm getting some serious lovin' from them.  Chelsea popped her arm around me whilst we were walking through the shops yesterday.  Cadyn has been giving me random hugs.  Chloe is the same little 3 year old who is possibly too young to figure out that Mummy is trying something different!  And Lochie arrives back from his Dad's tomorrow, so will probably think he is entering the Twilight Zone.....


So it looks like I'm on track with my plan!  Not only did I have a REALLY good talk, I went for my first run in months tonight!  Which means I will most likely not be able to walk for the next couple of days.....

Look, I'm not perfect (don't tell my husband I said that - I like him to believe I am).  Never will be.  But I'm trying!!! 

I need Dr Phil - Part Two

Last week I sort of went somewhere I didn't really plan on going.....but now that I have, I guess I have to continue...

Addiction, in my opinion, is genetic.  It doesn't have to be the same kind of addiction, for instance - just because I'm addicted to buying fabric - it doesn't mean my children will be addicted to fabric!  But I really think that if there is a long line of family members, through the generations, whom have struggled with an addiction, then you are going to be more likely to struggle with one too?  I could be wrong - but as I said - my opinion.

I didn't know my paternal grandparents, so I can't say that I know if they battled any kind of addiction.  I do know that my paternal grandmother was a kind and generous woman, whom my own Mother loved dearly.  My grandfather apparently was a different story.  Don't get me wrong - I think he may have been a nice enough man, but not someone who would make you all warm and fuzzy?  And the couple of stories I have heard about him from my Mum (I don't think I've ever heard my Dad speak of him?), do not make for a glowing report.  But you know when you just get that feeling?  The feeling that things just weren't "right"?  That's the feeling I get.

The line of addiction has unfortunately filtered down to my generation.  I may joke about my addiction to buying fabrics, but the other kinds in our family are not really a laughing matter.  This is why I was so upset the other week whilst watching Dr Phil.  It's like watching your own family, your own story.  A wide-screen HD view of your life.  And at times, I feel helpless.  Both of my siblings (whom I love dearly and do not want to tarnish their reputations) have battled on and off with varying addictions over the years.  And I have generally sat back and watched them flush their sanity down the toilet.

A couple of months ago, I was on the phone to my sister.  We got to talking about some of her struggles, and I was rather candid.  If I was given just one wish, from anyone - genie or not - it would be that my beautiful, artistic, whimsical and vivacious sister, could be given the opportunity (and take it) to get some really spot on help to battle her struggles and overcome them.  My wish is for her three beautiful daughters to see the amazing woman that she can be.  The woman who was so care-free, and so happy.  Instead, my nieces only know the battle-weary woman.  The one who sits and drinks coffee all day and does not enter the public arena.  She is a mere shadow of herself.  Unfortunately it is not only addictions she has battled, but mental illness also.

The phone conversation was wonderful.  We both cried.  Lots.  But I was wanting to convey to her that these beautiful, amazing children of hers deserved to know their Mother.  And she deserved to be known by them.  And if I had to ring Dr Phil for an intervention - by God - I would!

Although the threat of Dr Phil was almost laughable, it got the wheels turning.  And I'm hoping (and praying) that in the very near future - the help that is needed will be available and taken.

What about my brother?  Well, that really is another story.  One for yet another day.

I need Dr Phil - Part one....

**  I started writing this post two weeks ago....but it was all too hard, so I'm trying again today....

c/o sodahead.com

Not for me....well, I guess it is in a round about way for me.  I was watching yet another amazing Intervention on Dr Phil today, and I stood there crying and feeling the torture this poor family was going through, watching their family member literally killing themselves in front of their own eyes.  And there was nothing they could do about it.  Enter: Dr Phil.

Addiction is a nasty, evil and soul-killing thing.  It drains people, drains the people around them.  And unfortunately, too many members of my family have been afflicted with this evil, and I'm just about at my wit's end...

It all started with my Dad (well, I'm guessing his Dad, or his Dad's Dad, or someone prior to my Dad started it all?), who discovered the "joys" of gambling many many years ago.  Gambling pretty much ruined his life, not to mention his family's lives, which I guess in turn, means mine?  I don't see my life that way, i.e. ruined, but it was certainly altered.

Gambling led my family from a humungous house on the Gold Coast, a successful family plumbing business and what I would have considered, a pretty regular and happy family life, to smaller homes and businesses and a fairly dysfunctional family life.  Until we eventually had to sell everything and rent a house from a family friend.  The inevitable happened, and my parents divorced and we then lived in a caravan park for a couple of years.  This all happened in a matter of approximately seven years.  So it was a pretty swift fall from grace.  Some relief came in the form of my Step Dad and his job offer in Melbourne, so off we went.  But the damage had already been done, and I did not see or hear from my Father for the following 13 years.  I am however, pleased to say, he re-entered my life eight years ago, and we have a pretty good relationship.  I accept that he had/has a disease, and he is now a reasonably elderly man - so bygones are now bygones.

To say I have "issues" with and around gambling, would be a huge understatement!  I made it perfectly clear to my darling husband not long after we met, that the one thing that would be a deal-breaker, was gambling.  He and I now have an agreement that he is "allowed" (typing that sounds SO wrong) to gamble Melbourne Cup Day.  And it's a bit of family entertainment - the kids pick horses and put a dollar on them.  Win, win.

Needless to say - this first addiction was the first of many to emerge in my family, and I believe was the catalyst to all that would eventuate.....