a most ordinary, unordinary day

I had high hopes for yesterday. Lists and plans and errands and it was all going so very, very well until I got to Costco. I have a secret love affair with Costo. It is hiddeous and every kind of consumer-ism that I don't like but it happens to be not so very far from my house and, well, a 1-2 monthly trip to Costco allows me to stock-up on essentials that can't be found at the market. Nappies, tinned tomatoes and oats. Huge quantities befitting a family that eats porridge for breakfast and tinned tomatoes with everything for dinner. The nappies are self-explanatory.

But I digress.

Things were being ticked off lists.  E was being adorable (mostly), I had managed to squirrel 2 hours away during nap-time for some very important birthday sewing before dashing out to do the Costco run before dinner.  It was all clicking so marvelously into place. And then I lost my handbag.  Or more precisely, I think someone liberated it from my trolley in the carpark whilst I was wrestling with a not-so-adorable toddler, a ridiculously large trolley and a parking ticket.  When I finally got everything packed away into the car there was a small little knot of anxiousness wondering where my bag was but I dismissed it until I got home. But on unpacking the car it was clear that the bag was not there.  Checking three times didn't help. There was no handbag to be seen.  A trip back to Costco. No bag.  Poof! Gone. Just like that.

As I have tried to reassure myself many times over the last 24 hours it is not all bad. My wallet was thankfully in my hands. As were my keys. I was not mugged. E is safe. I am safe. There was no need to cancel any cards or reapply for pesky things like my driving licence.  E's very special toy "Hippo" that often hangs out in my bag - just in case - was also thankfully in her hands.  But my phone was not. Nor was my camera. They are gone. There were no photos on my camera (thankfully) but many, many photos on my phone which I will never get back.

It's such a silly thing really. They are possesions after all and replaceable. Hopefully insurance might pay for some. Oh but I do feel sick at the thought of it. My lovely, lovely camera gone.

breath. love. laugh.

This is what I've learnt over the last month. Sometimes change is good.  Sometimes no job might actually be better than a bad job.  Help can come from unexpected places and from unexpected people. Say yes if it's offered. Dust yourself off and keep going. Keep planning, keep dreaming. Sometimes the in-between-not-what-you-really-want might actually be exactly what you need.  Cut yourself a break. Breath. Love. Learn to laugh again. Proper belly laughs. Cry. Feel the frosty mornings and the chilly sea air.  Don't worry too much. It will be okay.

I'm feeling decidedly better again. Truth be told I hadn't quite realised how "not better" I'd been feeling until I actually started feeling again.  I've made a few changes around here. A bit of spring cleaning if you will. In the process I've switched over to Bloglovin' for my feeds. I'm still not entirely sure what the end of Google Reader will mean, but it seems to be important. If you haven't 'crossed over' yet then I suggest you do before the end of the month or you might find yourself without your favourite blogs. Bloglovin' or Feedly seem to be the picks of the blog feeding bunch.

On Parks and Photography

One of the things that I've started up this year is a photography course. A proper, whizz-bang, fancy one that takes a few years and if you finish it you can call yourself "professional". I've done a few short courses over the years - both online and 'in person' - and always felt that I wanted more. So I bit the bullet and signed up. Two nights a week I sit in a classroom full of wonderful, friendly, creative, full-time working crazies who are passionate about photography and really, really, really want to learn the craft. I'm loving it. We're about a month in and we've just started getting to the juicy bits of 'camera craft' (the technical bits) and 'design theory' (the arty bits).  I'm increasingly finding myself multi-tasking with E, taking pictures for my assignments while taking her to the park or walking her to childcare.

So here she is, absolutely loving the park and getting super dizzy on the whizzy-dizzy (is that what it's called?).   And there's me, crazy Mama, trying to perfect a technique called 'panning' while satisfying a 1 year olds need to go high (but not too high) on a swing so that she can feel the wind in her hair.

 

Wedding Shawls

I'm knitting myself a wedding shawl. It's traditional and lacy and to be perfectly honest I'm a bit over my head with the nupps and the double yarn overs and the ridiculously thin wool.  I'm a little worried that when I block it all out it's just going to look a jumbled mess of holes where there's supposed to be a pattern. But it's a nice distraction from the, you know, important bits of getting married like planning the ceremony and writing vows. I'm finding that planning a wedding has brought up all these "things" that I need to think about that I really never considered before. I say "things" because saying they're issues gives them more importance than they really ought to deserve. I'm not sure that they even matter at all and perhaps I'm just other thinking it.  You see, I'm not sure I like the idea of someone (anyone) walking me down the aisle. And I'm a little confused about what to do with my name - the great to change or not to change has reared its head and I've managed to tie myself in knots over-thinking the feminist, cultural and fashion cycles of the great name-change debate.  So rather than thinking these issues through and coming to some kind of rational answer, I knit. Slow, painstaking stitches while filling the rest of my mind with repeats of the West Wing. I think it is perhaps the best antidote to wedding over-think-ery I know.

twenty-six

Image:  Lime Crime  on Flickr

I've been poking about in the corner of my blog and I came across a somewhat alarming statistic. I posted a measly 26 times in 2012. Wow. For those who have stuck around through my absenteeism, thank you. For those who encouraged me to keep going, thank you too. I'm going to aim for better this year. There are no big plans, just little ones, but I know I can do better than 26. 

Ita

I am the first to admit that I knew almost nothing about Ita Buttrose before listening to this podcast. I kind of dismissed her as "the Women's Weekly" editor, always looking perfectly vacuous with her blow-dryed bob, perfect manicure and chiselled eyebrows. Truth be told I dismissed her as an airhead with nothing of any import to say except, perhaps, for how to make a delicious meal for less than $10 and the best way to get grass stains out of clothes. Had I actually stopped to think about it, I might have guessed that a woman who managed to successfully swim to the top of the Australian media fishbowl in the 70s might have had a thing of two to say about women in media and the role that the Australian media is currently playing in belittling our current Prime Minister*.  She also has a lot to say about the failure of women to progress beyond talking about the issues she was writing about in the 70s; equal pay, flexibility in the workforce and that not-so-mythical mythical glass ceiling. By the end of the podcast I wanted to read her book and there was just a little bit of me that wanted to be just like her. Passionate, feisty, ambitious and nice.  

*For the record, Ita has fairly strong views on who should be able to comment hair colour, bottom size and choice of shoe - funnily enough it's not the media, nor is it a stranger and probably not even a friend. Because personal attacks like this aren't nice and above all Ita is nice. 

Running

This morning I woke up and went for a run. Just like that. Well, actually, it wasn’t just like that, because I haven’t run in almost 2 years and there will be aches and pains tomorrow and a few little blisters on unsuspecting toes but the important thing is that I ran. I put on my runners, turned on the tunes and shuffled out the door. It felt surprisingly good. For half an hour or so I forgot that I was tired, that our house needed vacuuming and that I hated my job and I just ran. Huffed and puffed my way around Royal Park, watched the sunrise over the city (my city!) and felt the prickling heat of what was to be a scorching summer day on my skin.

Ironically it also brought me back here.

I’ve found it hard to be here this year. I keep coming back in fits and starts. I really so very much want to be here but there has been so much going on and so many changes and well, I have a lot to say but a lot of it is the deeply personal thoughts of a half-enraged feminist Mama feeling just a little bit grumpy that there have been a few too many bumps in what was supposed to be a very smooth road this year.

But this morning I woke up and I went for a run. I stopped making excuses; I stopped saying “Maybe tomorrow”. I didn’t worry that E might wake or M would be disturbed by my 5.30am wake-up call, I just did it.  And it felt so good that I intend to do it again and hopefully soon; maybe not tomorrow but perhaps on Saturday or Sunday when the aches and pains have well and truly settled. One day I might even run in one of those Fun Run things.

And I’ll be blogging more too. No more excuses.