all i can say. without sounding too cheesy or emo or plain dumb is…

I can moonwalk!

and I know you’ll get that. And everything that goes into it, behind it and with it.

thank you my friend. This still has me gulping.

When I was younger, I never thought I’d get here. But I did. It just seemed to be “so old”. I think I was right. wah.

Truth? This has been the year that I:

a. achieved a dream.

b. survived a parent’s worst nightmare. with you holding my hand all the way.

c. truly became a mom within in every aspect and fibre of myself. and loved that my family were with me.

d. found out that my random brainwaves actually can have meaning in the real world.

e. and that they can and do come to fruition.

f. found out i am believed in. truly.

g. found out that amazing people live beyond my immediate vision. and then some … …

h. celebrated ten years of incomparable friendship.

i. came home to find the pieces of my life strewn all over the floor, and some of it gone forever.

j. worried. alot. sometimes about my lunch.

k. embraced the future.

l. and dropped the past.

m. missed people terribly.

n. and danced unfettered by inhibition when they returned.

o. had presents arrive for no reason from people who love me just as i am. and Cam did too.

p. met and got to spend some time with a person i am in awe of. and people, in fact. and then had surprise arrivals in my life of people i have always wanted to know.

q. had my heart broken.

r. and am still understood.

s. spoke less.

t. and listened more.

u. sat in a waiting room watching as you finally made enough of an idiot of yourself to leave my life, without me feeling ashamed and leaving me vindicated.

v. had some of the most random, late night conversations with the best but messiest housemate one could ever wish for, and sometimes i still have them.

x. got to work with some of the most incredible people on the planet.

y. and come home every day, to ¬†a home that’s truly ours. unfettered by memories, and blooming with possibility.

z. and at the end of this year, I am more me than I have ever been.

Thank You For An Incredible Year.

it’s when i know i can just post this, say nothing, and know that a few people reading this get it.

and on that note. funny. i am losing my hair. and my youth.
somewhere, megan is laughing with me. x

Hey dudes.

I’ve been asked to remove someone from this blog. so any of you regular audience of 12, will notice a significant someone missing, and alot of blogposts no longer available for reading (and it’ll look like there are some big gaps in my archives). Sorry about that. but, hey, thats life. you wont be hearing about them again so, sorry about that too.

On that note, should anyone else have an issue about me mentioning or linking to them, let me know.

Chippers.

Cath

There’s alot I can say on this day. So much. June is always the month

where I miss my own father the most. Where I feel his void the

greatest, and when I, on the cusp of adding another year to my life,

want to turn to him and say “hey, am I doing okay?”.

So much to say. Instead of saying things, I thought I’d just be

thankful this year. I have been lucky enough, blessed enough, to have

had the most inspirational, stubborn father who believed in his family

more than anything, even when we pissed him off. heh. The gentlest, yet

firm when needed, paternal unit.

he used to say, that whenever we would fight, whenever he and my mum

would disagree, that the next morning, on rising, it wouldn’t

matter…that we’d still ’smell like honey’ to him. That constant love

given, those 2am teas, the talks over the table.

When I was very little, I remember thinking my dad was very tall. very

strong. When I was a teenager, I remember thinking my dad was always in

my way. When I grew a little, I remember always knowing my dad was

always beside me, no matter what happened. The truth is, he’s always

been beside me – from walking next to the donkey at The Oaks, when he

wasn’t riding horses himself, to sitting next to me in the principal’s

office, to signing away his surety into my juvenile hands, to holding

my hand on the couch when I was in labour.

Always beside me.

Then I look at the father figures in my life.

My brother. Father to two, uncle to my daughter, always loving, always

working hard at everything. Always doing his best. Once, when I was

needed at work, and Cam was ill, he looked after her for me. Once, when

I was a teenager and in the middle of a dodgy situation I didn’t even

know I was in, he got me out. Once, when I was just verging on the

teens, I sprained my ankle. He carried me into the house, crying like a

baby. My brother, and yeah, we’re siblings, dudes, so of course we have

differences, I always feel, is the greatest tribute to our father any

of us could make. His constant love for his family, that drives him,

and holds us together, is unwavered by life. Proof of that lies in how

he loves his daughters, his wife and puts his heart into everything he

does. Yes, that includes rocking out, air-guitaring and laughing at my

shoes.

Always beside me. Always beside his family.

Cameron’s dad. My lifelong best friend, my confidante for every

formative day and deed of my life. I could write you three books on

him. But, he is Cameron’s father, first and foremost. How weird that

really is, I suppose, for me. From being the number one person in my

life, above all, to being the number one person for someone else. And

that someone else being the number one person in my life. A strange and

idiosyncratic circle. That said, his fatherhood, flung upon our lives

like a wayward balloon, is constant. Life is life, but his love for his

daughter exists even when he cannot see it himself. To see her eyes

light up for him, to listen to them talk in their own, special language

to each other, to watch them play, to the days when I used to watch

them sleep. How, four years on, when he picks her up and she nestles

her head into his shoulder, and the world is at peace. The look on his

face when she entered the world is the same look he has when he picks

her up for his weekends. Always constant love. In his own, particular way I
battle to understand.

Always beside Cameron.

My point? My point is simple. The father figures in my life, have loved

me, hated me, questioned me but always supported me. What makes a great

father? I don’t know, I’m not a father and I can’t judge. But, what I

do know, is that I am surrounded by brilliant, constant examples.

So, today, I say, Thank you.

Miss you Dadadadadad.

Every time..

Every time the guilt i carried for so long about choosing to raise my child alone wells up inside me and I cry (yeah, I’m a crier. you could never handle it. And you always wondered why Will and I are closer than you and I could EVER be. it’s simple. he never stared at me like i was a freak when I was crying or told me I was pathetic. he would hug me. Still does. Nowadays I don’t want you near me at all, if I can help it).

Every time she says she misses you. Cries because you haven’t come to visit and I blame myself for kicking you out.

Every time I wonder if I really did try hard enough. (ten years, i think is a brilliant effort without support, thanks)

Every time you turn emo and cry about not seeing her enough. (and still, I always make it possible for you to see her more, you never take the opportunity)

Every time I think you’re treating her like you did me for having an emotion. Every time I see you say “don’t be silly” just like you did to me every time I hurt. Every time you ashamedly shake your head and negate the feelings of anyone but yourself.

Every time you say you are too busy. You were always too busy for me too.

Every time you do that. I remember why I chose to leave you. I remember why I chose to do this on my own. And it’s funny, because it turns out I am not alone. Not alone in doing this. Ever. The most alone I ever was was when I was with you.

Every time that happens. Every time I feel like the bad person. I’m going to remember that all I want for our daughter is emotional security. And that you never gave that to me, and you’ll never give it to her. It’s a good thing I rock the mama bus as much as I do. (and, yes, I do, even though you think I don’t most days).

Every time I cover up for you being late/forgetting something that’s important to her. Every time I make the excuse for you (I spent my life doing it for you to everyone. Now I’ll just do it for her.) and you remain the hero and I am burdened with knowing that you’re not and never, ever telling her that.

Every time you judge me. Every time you judge me for keeping you at the arms length you kept me at for every day of my life.

Every time that happens I am going to remember today. Today when you forgot to be on time and you didn’t get your own daughter a birthday present.

Today is the day I drop the guilt, and today is the day I know, for sure and without guilt, that serving you an eviction letter after you disappeared for the millionth time was the best decision I ever, ever made for myself, for Cameron and for our life.

That is all I’m ever going to say on this matter.

Mommy remembers turning four. I had hair like you, shoes like you and way less flair. I was obsessed with dresses, and dots, and didn’t like having my hair cut. My hair looked like yours, just darker, and my favourite person to be like, was my sister. How much of me I see in you, how proud you make me. You are my greatest moment, and my brightest light.

Cameron, this has been your bravest year. For things that I have not spoken about publicly, and some that I have. For your courage in the face of whatever life throws us. And your stubbornness that, genetically inherited, gets you through.

For every love and for your every compassion. For every time you say to me, “mommy, it’s okay”. And you love another kid who tripped and fell.

I love you more than the whole wide world. Thank you, Camcam, for four amazing years. I love you. ¬†When I look at how much you have grown, how much you have loved, and how many ways you surprise me every day…I am awed. Thank you.

busy busy busy.

Cam turns 4 in 24 hours.

slackjawed.

there’s an essence to this i cannot capture

cannot tame

do not want to.

its the sunday morning sunshine, still chilly, reflecting in a weird way

it’s not the smell of paper, but of breakfast with scarves

it’s never stopped, always moved.

always, always, i chase it.

oh my god.

Maybe i’m a bad person, but seriously, this had me canning at my desk.

Right. Here’s my irk. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?

Here we go..

There’s this illusion that we human beings have. It’s about windows. No matter where your bathroom is situated – on the ground floor, around the corner, down the bend, or even sixty storeys up where nobody, barring possible aeroplane travellers or overzealous skydivers could peek in…

the bathroom windows are always frosted.

It’s like, we have this subconscious need to believe that noone can see us “doing our business”, when, in fact, most of the time, you’re sitting down anyway, dudes. Unless someone actually opens the window, and climbs halfway in, they’re really NOT going to see you popping a squat.

And then, to make it even more dumb… have you noticed that just about every bathroom has curtains, or at least a curtain rail waiting for you to hang some little lettie lace curtains on it ?

WHAT THE FUCK FOR? Are you sleeping in there? Is the frosted glass not enough for you people? Do you really think there’s a swarm of peeping toms and johns sixty feet up in the sky just clamouring to have a look-see at your poop-see?

I mean, come the fuck on.

So, here’s the thing…

My house faces onto a road. Large, gorgeous windows that offer us a view of the road, some lovely greenery, our garden and an abundance of morons who think that its a racetrack at 2am. Likewise, people walking past can get a small view of the orange and the red. I’m okay with that. Most of the time, the curtains are closed anyway.

On the other side, our windows open out on to the part of the garden that Cam has proclaimed “her land”. It’s a lovely view, all round, really.

But, and here’s my irk…

Why the bloody hell are my kitchen windows frosted then? They open out on to the garden which is only ever inhabited by me, Cam, my neighour’s son’s cricket ball and approximately six hundred and seventy two hungry mosquitoes.

I mean, think about it. Why the hell would they be frosted? Do people build homes thinking “ooh must frost the kitchen windows, darling…wouldnt want the neighbours sneaking¬† a peek at my secret recipe for bobotie stir fry!”

Or, worse. Are they frosted because alot of people spend alot of time nude in their kitchens? Are people ‘doing their business’ in their kitchens? Is this common? Have I got it all wrong and if so, how do I aim for the sink?

If I were thinking logically, I’d think that bedroom windows should be frosted. I mean, you don’t really want old Jim from up the road spying on you while you’re sleeping right? But, nooo… we’ve got old frosty mcfrosty in the kitchen just in case someone sees us frying up an egg, and frosty mcfrosty in the bathroom, way above our heads, just in case someone tries to see what colour tiles we have.

Think about it. Seriously. What’s the deal with frosted fucking windows? On that note, please, go look at your own kitchen windows.

p.s. an aside. i have just realised i have a lot of issues with bathroom windows. Any sibling of mine will be laughing reading this, and Will is crying with laughter about the night I accidentally inserted a bathroom window into my arm. please note that the above rant is in no way related to my clearly subconscious and possibly-requiring-therapy-for-unexplained-latent-anger issues with bathroom windows.