The Contingency Plan

After a few weeks off I've started work again full time again and am absolutely loving it. I've really missed being so involved in all of our clients.

There's also bee a proposal this week, must be the season!

But I don't have time to tell the whole story sooooooo, who do you think it was:

a. Another good friend, who like me, had a baby with her long-time boyfriend
b. My Dad proposing to his 'new' girlfriend of two weeks
c. Me and Luc! And thank God after that last post!

Luc, Hugo and I were driving to Drew's house last night for dinner when we travelled past a HUGE gym, massive windows, rows and rows of people mechanically jogging on treadmills (nothing better to do on a Friday night?).

"What suckers," Luc said.

"Don't you know that's how they power the building? That what I'd do if I owned it."

Urgh. Although I was insanely bored at the time, I really wish I did not start to plan an imaginary wedding.

And I really really wish I didn't tell anyone that I was doing it. Especially not my mother and two of my closest friends.

*deep sigh*

Oh how my expectations and hopes in that department have increased - so much so, that I sat Luc down two nights ago and said that if he doesn't plan to marry me soon that I want to move on and be with someone, who after six years of unity and a child will want to marry me!!!!

And all of this started because I began choosing dresses and cakes.

Weddings are trouble.

And to make matters worse, we attended a really beautiful, heart-felt, emotional wedding on Saturday, one of my closest friends got engaged on Monday and met with a prominent personality yesterday who wants to expand their profile in the high-end wedding market.

It's so cruel.

And the irony lies in the fact that I'm not even impressed with Luc lately. He's being totally irrational and irresponsible, but still, I want to get married.

God help me. Or someone out there marry me. Please. Now.

... Luc came to Sydney from Vancouver. I can still vividly remember waking up at 4am to pick him up from the airport. It was the first time I'd driven to there alone so I naturally got lost on the way home and we ended up at Bondi Beach.

Can you all believe how fast the time has gone by?!

In those six years we've:

* Sat at the end of the very back row of the very last section of the Olympic stadium to watch the athletics at the 2000 Olympics, staying out late every night to go to the Sussex Lane party

* Networked our computers and spent three solid days playing video games, only stopping to order food, go to the loo, shower and sleep

* Gone through a phase of collecting subway stamps for food so we could make ends meet

* Become real workaholics to ensure that never happens again!

* Taken a three week driving trip throughout country New South Wales

* Held hands at the concert of one of our favourite bands 'Lamb', while they perfectly performed their infamous 'Gorecki' track

* Moved on average once every two years, our favourite being the perfect little harbourside apartment at McMahons Point. Ah, if only it didn't feature eleven flights of stairs and was big enough to fit our budding family....

* Become rather intoxicated, crazy danced at the Moloko concert and ran up and down the Planet X skateboard ramp at an Xbox birthday party

* Held countless parties and picnics with friends and family, some of the most memorable being Luc's 22nd 'Nerds and Geeks' cocktail birthday party, my surprise 23rd birthday party, that gorgeous waterfront 'Great Gatsby' inspired Valentines Day picnic, the drunken, (bad) recording fest that was the end of my baby shower and who could forget the way Hugo munched into his cake at his first birthday shindig!

* Entertained shameless addictions to 'The Simpsons', '24', 'Fraiser' and... 'America's Next Top Model' to just name a few

* Celebrated a beautiful New Years with both families in the same city

* Scored numerous freebies and posed for a ridiculous number of photos for Hugo-obsessed peeps in Tokyo

* Indulged with a month of family-loving fun in Canada

* Had a stunningly amazing beautiful boy

* Taken a helicopter ride through the Whitsundays

* Started our own businesses

............ Makes you wonder what's next!

This morning Luc woke me up with a cup of fresh, creamy coffee, took Hugo away to change his nappy, sorted out breakfast, changed Hugo's nappy again when he did a massive shizen (without complaint) and then took him for a shower.

Today's the closest day we get to an anniversary but that's not the reason Luc's being so good... Noooo.

Last night Luc came home around 11pm after being unreachable since midday. His mobile phone was turned off and after a few hours of absolute panic, I called his new boss at 10pm and heard the ruckus in the background. The bastard was drunk with new clients after eating a lavish meal at The Establishment. He didn't think to call. There was talk of the little green fairy and after being consumed with feelings of relief, I was absolutely livid!!

We had a brief, very passionate argument on the telephone, I aired my grievances and then went to bed.

Luc's been so random lately. For instance. He started a great job with company number one around a month ago. The package is less than what he previously made, but the company is filled with people he really admires and they're the best in the biz so the experience is invaluable. Plus, there's already talk of him moving into a director's position within a year or two.

A week into work at company number one, Luc received an offer from company number two. He went for a number of interviews with company number two, a large multinational organisation, before accepting a role with company number one, but they took so long to get back to him (well over six weeks) that he thought he should move on rather than wait indefinitely for an answer. The role with company number two is not as interesting as job number one and naturally involves more office politics, but it's offering $30,000 more a year (before tax) and in addition to four weeks of annual paid holiday leave, he'll be entitled to two weeks of paternity leave too. Hello.

So instead of making a decision between the two, Luc took two days off from company number one this week to start his position at company number two. Today's Thursday and he's still juggling between the two. I have no idea how he's doing it (and don't really want to know) but everyone seems to be ok, for now.

I only wonder how long he can keep up this ridiculous charade! This morning I asked when he'll be making a decision and he said either today or tomorrow. He's not sure. Still figuring it out.

Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.

Pre-haircut surfer/rock dude look:




















I implemented a hair clip as he couldn't see out:




















We planned to take photos of his first haircut, but it took all three of us to hold him down. He cried, kicked, punched and SCREAMED!!! AHHHH (this is outside the salon directly after the cut with Mum):




















He did settle down though.....




















Ok this is a few hours later at the park....

I wrote a while ago of re-aquainting myself with dylan, a high school buddy of mine but can't seem to find the post to link to. i feel as though i've created this post so many times over but can't remember what's real and what's fabricated in my mind. dates and events weave in and out of time with no logical chronology.

like all of my high school friendships of any worth, this one blossomed once we had escaped the bell.

we had an interesting friendship, if you could call it that.

dylan's company was always fleeting. he was always restless. he would turn up like a ghost, we would talk, chain smoke, he would play me some music and all the while i knew we wasn't really with me. his mind was always somewhere elsewhere, he was never content with what was present, never comfortable or still, always shaking, fidgeting, leaving as fast as he came.

i was attracted to something in dylan. it wasn't a romantic or sexual. no, it was a little deeper or somehow more pathetic. dylan always seemed so lost to me and i wanted to be his saviour. i wanted to ignite his hope, provide a safe haven and point a direction. i think he indulged me this and in return i let him shape my music tastes and come and go without any accountability.

i knew whenever he had a girlfriend as our contact would wane. one even banned him from seeing me. i can't remember whether i ever revealed my true essence, but feel he sensed it anyway. for a while i entertained the thought that he was in love with me and that's why he's never been able to accept my relationship with luc.

i doubt it now. the only thing certain is that my friendship with dylan cannot survive while my relationship with luc continues.

dylan fell out in february and i made no effort to buy any bricks. while indulging in a little chemical enlightenment, he sincerely believed luc was trying to hack into his computer and mess with his mind, instant message him with bits and pieces from web pages he was reading, or interpretations from dreams he was having. he called me around five times in the wee hours, leaving messages that demanded i call him back NOW. when i did call in the morning, i was quite blown away by the ludicriousy. i later wrote him an email asking him what drugs he was on and for the sake of our friendship not to make such stupid accusations about luc again. this was his reply:

---

Xanax.

I apologise, in all sincerity for what I suggested, I realise how elaborate and ridiculous it would have sounded to you, but it made perfect sense to me at the time, and you won't understand that, nor should you have any reason to. I'm at a point, where I feel as though I cannot trust anyone who isn't bound to me by blood, or has at least shared enough of my life, and personal moments to date to make me think otherwise. I'm paranoid, and sceptical, and I'm not looking for diagnosis, or help, I'm out for truth and love, but due to my own hang-ups and insecurities, I'm quite far from either. We don't love one-another, we don't know one-another. We don't have anymore than a history behind us, which I thought could be enough to re-ignite a friendship, and learn about who we are now, but my actions prove otherwise, and again, for my behaviour, I'm sorry, I know somewhere inside me that you're better than that.

I'll take the blame, and I'll be around I'm sure, but you don't need this. Really.

We would be cool, if I was cool.

That 'Dylan' guy from high school.

----

i felt wounded when i read the note but made no effort to reply. i didn't know how to.

dylan sent me a year's worth of his journal entries to read at the beggining of the year and made me a mixed tape of music and i didn't look or listen to either one. i did nothing and only last night started reading some of his sentences.

during a visit to my house, he searched through my ipod and was sorely dissappointed at all the shiny pop. i explained most of my favourites weren't on there but knew his opinion of me had waned. i was that cool girl who hooked up with that successful guy, had a baby and lost all credibility. i sent him some old poetry and a link to this blog but did nothing else. i didn't know how to open up to him.

i find myself thinking about dylan's note every now and then, especially the part where he says, "We don't love one-another, we don't know one-another. We don't have anymore than a history behind us, which I thought could be enough to re-ignite a friendship, and learn about who we are now, but my actions prove otherwise, and again, for my behaviour, I'm sorry, I know somewhere inside me that you're better than that."

I know somewhere inside me that you're better than that.

at first i thought his note showed that he had no idea, was clueless and didn't know me at all, but now i think he was right and will let him remain a ghost that billows with certain nostalgic breezes.

I think Australia's possibly the only place this prank could've been pulled off. Seriously, Al Kyder and Terry Wrist! I wonder if anyone at the airport even noticed...

Further bedridden boredom had me, for at some length today, contemplating and researching who could be my tv boyfriend. For a while it would've been Simon Baker, then, like most mainstream Australian women, I fell for the hunky, manly, 'take me now' appeal of Tom Williams and then the boyish charm and humour of Wil Anderson. Unfortuantely now, nothing comes to mind. Who would yours be?

Also spent some time on the world's smallest blog and playing this highly addictive 'Where's Waldo' like game. Thank God the recovery's coming along nicely!

I had my first check up last Wednesday and things are going well. Apparently I'm not out of the woods yet, but making good progress....

Things I've done today to ward off bedrest boredom:
* Had a 1.5 hour long distance conversation with Luc's mother
* Became a "prize pig" and entered every online magazine competition I could find (and was interested in winning)
* Started planning my imaginary wedding (yes, guest lists, dresses, shoes, themes, etc.). So sad, but fun!
* Took a four hour nap with the boy

When I gave birth to Hugo nearly two years ago a new struggle emerged in my thoughts and daily habits - the struggle of whether to strive to become a perfect super mum, a 'yummy mummy', that breed of female determined to not let children discourage their efforts to stay fit and fabulous, career forging ahead, relationships in tact, sanity within reach and house in perfect order.

From my experience, the yummy mummy seems to be more prevalent in older mothers, especially those who have managed very successful careers. Used to every aspect of their life being under total control, they find no reason for this control to waver with a new bundle of baby. Fair enough. But I find these mothers the hardest to deal with.

For a while yummy mummies were the only mothers I had contact with. I was the only one without a strict baby routine, the only one abandoning thoughts of a diet, (as a result, the only one who couldn't fit back into her jeans six months after giving birth), the only one who relished baby sleeping in the same bed, the only one open to whatever the day faced and because of that, someone on a totally different wave length. I could sense their pity and bewilderment but wanted to enjoy being a mother. The change was enough to deal with. Why should I invite further stress?

As Hugo grows older I'm thankful for the confidence I've developed in my intuition and abilities, but with age also arrives a new set of expectations. I find myself billowing in guilt for not pushing the alphabet, numbers, a new language, a few new song. Don't get me wrong, I think he's an intelligent, loving and funny boy, but am totally opposed to pressuring him to be already ahead of the pack. He has the rest of his life to deal with those competitive forces. He's not even two years old.

I was relieved to read an article recently that said a child with happy, financially secure and sensitive mother has, in return, the best chance of living a happy life. The flash cards, language tapes and educational toys don't really matter (even though at times being a happy, financially secure and sensitive mother is enough of a challenge!). Nevertheless the article got me wondering whether all those mothers raising perfect babies in perfect homes with perfect bodies are happy living under the rather unrealistic strain of perfection?

I don't understand how a baby cannot challenge and change your life and I'm not too proud to admit to loosing it once every so often, envying the reckless abandon of single, childless friends and sometimes wondering what the hell I'm doing with my life. And once I started shamelessly discussing this with other girlfriends they slowly started to admitting the same thoughts. I decided to discuss the topic with my mother who to my surprise sat in amazement at what the modern mother achieves. She believes it's hard to be a wife, a mother or a career woman, let alone these three things at once. And I agree.

So what I really want to say in this post is that I think we're all doing alright. Modern mothers are not martyrs, superbeings, always right or always happy but isn't this gig hard enough without those (un)great expectations?

I'm looking forward to this show. Seriously, a cartoon character that interviews guests live. Methinks it would be a technical nightmare/challenge/hopeful triumph...

It's day six on the couch and day ten after the operation and the frustration is wearing on me like (insert intelligent simile). My brain is still fuzzy. I mix my words up and can't express myself with any clarity. I'm still dependant on pain killers and laxatives. But it's starting to get better. Yes, the light at the end of the tunnel and all that jazz.

Last night I picked Hugo up a few times, walked around and helped with dinner and boy did I feel the strain and strong ache afterwards. I'm still checking my business emails daily and find it so hard not to bite into some solid work. My mind and body are so familiar with the fast pace.

And now I'm learning the hard lesson of rest.

According to the Bible, God rested after creating the heavens and earth and many cultures still embrace a daily siesta, but if I think of my good friends and family, any spare time is sucked up by social events, time with family, parties, picnics, coffee or tea. We have to schedule time together months in advance and large chunks of time to simply lie or rest are obsolete.

To be honest, I'm struggling with this slower pace. I try to plan daily activities to occupy and satisfy my mind, I search for things online (real estate, ebay, new blogs), watch the midday movie, nap, read and become frustrated when I think I have about another two weeks of this. I'd be ok if I could get out and about. Whatever I do I have to be lying or sitting down. Yes, "How could you be like that?"ask all you burnt out, rest-deprived friends and I don't blame you. I know I would theoretically do the same.

So pray tell, what can I do to rest? Does anyone have suggestions? Do you people rest, and if so, what do you do?

Help.

I've been finding immense peace and comfort lately in prayers and thoughts of God. Small habits have crept back into my mind as a result of conversations with friends, my surgery and emails with my cousin John.

This issue has traditionally been flaged with pain and confusion but I'm starting to feel clarity and strength, something I think we're all meant to sense.

And stemming from thoughts of God I've thought a lot about the church. I've wanted to write of my church experiences for a while now but have failed on every occassion. My sentences come out fragmented and I pick the wrong stories from the scores on offer. I spend hours writing, re-writing and editing. Nothing flows and I don't want this to feels disjointed....

It took me years to realise that the two (God and Church) are different things, yet when I think of one I ultimately end up thinking of the other. And I have such conflicted, but predominantly negative opinion of churches.

My family started going to the Hillsong church, then called Hills Christian Life Centre, around twenty years ago when I was seven or eight years old. Back then the church was held in a rented warehouse, which was filled with a few hundred people each week. Although the congregation was affluent and fashionable, they were also genuine, friendly, accepting and warm. Our family quickly became an active part of the church, especially since we were a musical bunch who responded well with the catchy, modern and emotive music.

I have a lot of fond memories of my younger years there. I was one of the first two girls to attend a youth camp at 11 years old (everyone else was at least five years older than me), one of five to inspire the first youth choir and one of 20 to form the first 'Wildlife' youth group for early teens. I felt really at home, especially since my actual home was always dramatic and unpredictable. Church was a great oasis. I spent 3-4 weeks a year on camp with friends and leaders and around four nights a week at church services, youth, choir/band practice, dance practice, cell group, etc.

My parents were strict and had a strong focus on serving the people around us. We got up at 6am every Sunday morning to serve the church congretation free tea and coffee before each service. My parents opened our home to anyone without one. It was packed with people weekly for Bible study group, Christmases were a full house event of around 40 people as anyone without family was sincerely welcomed as one of our own. My folks helped the church reach out to an Asian community and established an Asian church in the suburbs. Even though Mum can't read or write English, she went to Bible college. Missionaries lived with us to learn Mandarin. My parents never pretended to be holier than thou - they swore, had tempers, were really rough around the edges and because of this I think people truly felt comfortable and sought their company and advice.

And as a result of our involvement, I had a really close knit network of friends and older leaders who gave me plenty of advice and support during those confusing and angst-ridden teenage years. But when I was 17, I finished high school and stopped going to church as well. It wasn't a sudden decision but a slow and quiet move away from the people there.

I was tired of people doing good out of obligation or to prove their spirituality. I was weary of trying to fit into the strong culture, always needing to look and dress a certain way. I wanted to meet normal, everyday individuals. I didn't want to be accountable to anyone. I wanted to test my beliefs and convictions without the scrutiny of others. I no longer felt a connection.

From my experience, church seemed then less about serving, caring about or helping people and more about selfish spirituality. Christians are so burnt-out, consumed with attending services, prayer groups, seminars, conferences, workshops, meetings, events, rallies, cell groups - so much so that they don't have time to see or support their families or help their every day communities. They can't communicate on level with normal non-church people due to their self-righteousness and judgemental opinions and have no idea what's going on beyond their social circle.

And I loathe the lingo. Talk of changing the world. Changing your life forever. Being 'full on for God'. Backsliding. Awesome. Amazing. Fulfilling your destiny and purpose. Fighting against evil. And I hate how everyone looks like they've featured in the same catalogue as it demonstrates laziness or fear to find your own style and taste. I don't like how a personal relationship with a higher being is up for the judgement of others - if you don't attend church for a few weeks then people openly question your spiritual dedication. It's ridiculous.

When I left church I lost most of my friends there. It was a painful experience that pushed me more towards people outside of the faith. I had leaders tell me God's cover would only last a certain time if I didn't go back, something I don't believe is founded on any truth.

And don't get my started on the experience of my gay church friends or mother when she got divorced. It was hard to see her receive absolutely no support, especially after all that she'd done there. My father had spread a false, malicious rumour about her being a prostitute so people she had housed in our home snubbed her in the streets, no one returned her calls and the only pastor who rang, did so four years later and received the wrath of her sharp tongue. I find it infuriating.

Ultimately I know that churches are made of people so they'll never be perfect and suited to some more than others. I know that the Hillsong church positively impacts many around the world, but still find it offensive when fresh-faced friends of Natasha badger and try to guilt me into attending, as if my spirituality depends on it. I can't handle the production of the place. The short and shiny sermons, the lights, cameras, effects, slick presentations, credit card facilities. It seems so impersonal, just like a big business whose product is all things God-related.

It's depressing. Sometimes I think I'd like to go to a church. I'd love to raise Hugo with some strong moral and principles but can't seem to find one I can swallow. And this fills me with such sadness, especially when I think of the peace, strength and serenity I can find with God.

It's a sunny winter's day. I'm lying on the couch and it's quite toasty in the sun. The heat is warming my drugged infused core.

I've tried writing this post a number of times over the past few days but my chemical cocktail and the pain of sitting for too long prevents me from finishing. Ah well...

After surgery and five days in hospital I've returned to a different life. No longer mobile and often drugged out, I spend the majority of my time sleeping and "recovering", which means lying down, eating, watching tv and doing not much else. I'm on six different kinds of tablets.

We've totally weaned Hugo off breast milk now (I was still feeding at night and occassionally for his daytime nap) and I'm relieved it's before my final (final) deadline of two years. I can't feed him the milk I have because of all the drugs, which helps me stay strong and not give into his cries. He's coping really well.... Ok, he's still asking for it but no longer gets as upset. It's been a week and I think we've made good progress.

Mum's here almost everyday cooking, cleaning and spending time with her 'shing gang', Hugo. That means 'heart' and 'liver' or something like that - basically her vital organs necessary for life. She's happy, the happiest I've seen her in quite some time. I think it's because we need her. I certainly do, not just to express my breast milk when I'm smacked out, but to keep everything running smoothly. She loves it, thank God! I've had some enjoyable, indepth conversations with both Mum and Dad since coming home.

So my surgery went well. I had two surgeons, including the inital specialist I visited. I can't speak highly enough of him. He visited me every day in hospital and said things went as well as they could've hoped. All my parts are back in place again, yay! I'm so relieved, even though I have more stitches now than when I first gave birth.

I'm not sure how to finish off this post. It's still hard to concentrate.

Thank you Junebee, Kyra, SquirrleyMojo and Bente for such lovely and encouraging notes.

I think it's nap time again... xx

i have so much to do in preparation for the operation tomorrow but haven't been sleeping too well so instead of getting onto it i'm surfing, watching tv, staring into space....

i've been finding it hard to concentrate.

since finding out about this operation, i've felt a strong sense of being past my prime. i know, it's probably ridiculous as i'm still relatively 'young', i just don't feel all invincible or fresh anymore. my potential doesn't feel infinite, even though i'm pretty happy with my life and achievements to date.

i think this is what inspired my recent high school nostalgia.

hm. i'm tired of myself and this whole issue.

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spending time with hugo has reached new heights of enjoyment as he's loosing his baby fat and becoming a boy.

a few things i revel in:

feet smelling is soooo yesterday, especially since hugo pulled off his socks and discovered lint between his toes. he now searches at least five times a day, shrieking with delight whenever he finds some, only to carefully put it back before saying 'more?' and then looking all over again...

we have a miniture easel for drawing but instead of decorating the canvas, he loves to draw on the insides of his (and my) hands, saying 'oh no' with every texta stroke (he knows he's not supposed to do it)

the way he goes 'ahhhhhh' when you scratch his back or when the warm water first reaches him in the shower

the way he barks with dogs