Turning 40...

Here’s a very important tip when making a curry. If you are using a hand held blender to make the sauce make sure that the blender is turned off before you try to take one blade off to replace it with the one you need. Otherwise, like me last night, you’ll end up with an interesting cut on your finger which will really, really, really hurt and make you wonder if you are going to spend the night in the emergency department!

Fortunately my finger stopped bleeding quickly and I didn’t need stitches. 

And a positive I can take out of the incident was that Kirby had to finish making dinner!

I think it’s fair to blame my lack of attention to on turning 40 in the past week.  I’m officially over the hill now…so it’s only to be expected…

Of course I’m joking. At times I am just clumsy – I was clumsy in my teens, my twenties, and my thirties.

Turning 40, for me, is a milestone – it is not the end of anything, but is the beginning of something new. I told people before my birthday that it was just a number, but I don’t feel like that anymore. It is more than that – it is a time for changing the basis of my life.

My life was very different to now when I turned thirty. I was living in my lovely one bedroom apartment with my darling girl, Minerva. I was single and wondering whether staying single was a path I should actively pursue. I was in the fifth year of a job as a student advocate – which was a job I adored and I still miss (much of this is to do with the people I worked with). I had my friends and family and I was enjoying life.

But, even though I could see myself staying single I still had that deep desire to meet my life partner and have children of my own. Many of my friends were committing to their partners or getting married and/or having children. The reminder of what I really wanted was all around me.

I had no idea of the mountainous adventure that lay before me in the coming decade. What a ride!

Here’s a quick summary. Ready?

I met Kirby and moved in with him and then we bought an old bungalow together which we planned to renovate. I sold my lovely little apartment. I gained a whole new set of family and friends that came with Kirby. Kirby and I were married. We were blessed with new nieces and nephews (through both family and friends). I lost touch with friends I thought would be life-long and made new friends who I believe will really be life-long. My beloved Nan died. We brought home our gorgeous little Ari (not so little now!) and adopted our funny little Odi. We gave a home to one of my colleague’s cats (Felix). We looked after my sister-in-law’s cat, Frankie, for what was to be a few months, but seven years later she is still living with us. I was made redundant from my advocacy job due to the organization I was working at being closed down. My Dad was seriously ill and nearly died. I tried to run a dog training franchise without much success. I’ve had two or three bouts of serious depression which lasted a couple of months each. I’ve had three or four other jobs all in administrative roles. Kirby and I realized we were having trouble conceiving a child. We lost two babies to very early miscarriage. We tried IVF but the two embryos that were transferred into me died which devastated us. I started working for myself as an editor. We went on a dream holiday to New York. I completed a Masters in Creative Writing. Through some kind of unconscious unfolding we realized we wouldn’t be trying IVF again. I’ve lost touch with family members who I was close to and miss terribly. We moved house to be closer to our nephew, and because we realized our old house and the constant need to repair it wasn’t for us. Our Minerva died after a short illness. I went on a holiday all by myself to Thailand to Boon Lott’s Elephant Sanctuary.

Throughout all of this I have been constantly trying to define my identity and my spiritually. I’ve tried to pick one type of spirituality (or religion) from Buddhism, Hinduism, Yoga, various forms of Paganism, and Christianity. I’ve read numerous books on being happy and on positive thinking. I’ve sat down with pen and paper and tried to draw a path to a life where I would be content and where I would have a constant link to something higher than myself. I tried to get to a place where I would finally have everything about my life sorted out. I thought about myself a lot. I was completely immersed in the self-help movement.

I think much of this trying to define everything has partially been because of being unable to have children. Something so huge that I was sure would be part of Kirby and my lives just didn’t happen and in response I tried to grab hold of the other aspects of my life so they wouldn’t slip away and so that I could find some kind of identity when I realized I wouldn’t  be a mother. I needed a new meaning for my life.

Something has changed recently. I think it started before I went to Thailand but it became clearer while I was in that amazing country. I’ve been spending so much time on myself that I am missing the real life that is all around me. I am missing the people, the experiences, the just being, the emotions, the failures, the success, the chance encounters…it’s true I have seen all of these things but I haven’t been fully immersed in them because I have been afraid that I will be wrong.

It’s utter rubbish really. The whole thing is just crazy. I spent most of my time trying so hard to fit into a mold of what I thought I should be and what I thought my life should be that I ended up twisted and tormented.

When I was in Thailand, especially when I was at the elephant sanctuary, I saw people who had very little but they were happy. Sure they strived to have the necessities of life and they had goals, but they were happy while they were waiting to see what their lives would bring. They didn’t need some book telling them how to work themselves out. They didn’t need some self-help guru harping on about how positive thinking and intent would ensure everything they wanted would come to them. They just got on with it. They worked, they smiled, they wept, they helped each other out, they shared with each other and with me what little they had, and they spent time with their families and friends just being in the open spaces under their home-made homes.

It’s opened my eyes to just how self-centered I was being. I was constantly thinking about what would be in it for me if I did something or shared something. I kept my stuff to myself and worried about whether the curtains we had were okay and whether the house was clean enough to meet other people’s standards (which were imagined standards by me). It just doesn’t make sense to me, anymore, to live like this.

While I’m not going to let our house become a dirty mess, and from time to time I will reflect on what is going on in my life, I won’t be letting these things get in the way of living.

It’s okay to reflect and to read books on improving life, and it is definitely okay to have a connection to that something greater than me, but at some point I have to get on with living. I have to take risks in reaching out to people, I have to let things go, I have to love the people in my life, I have to let people go when they need to, I have to weep and laugh, be angry and be at peace, and let my emotions have a healthy reign on me sometimes. All I have to do is be and love people and animals and life – just the way it all is. I have to let go of controlling everything in my life and taking responsibility for things that are just not in my control, while having passion for those things I choose that I can perhaps do something about.

I have tried hard, in my thirties, to sort myself out.  But, I realize now that nothing in life is ever irrevocably sorted out. And I mean absolutely nothing. At the beginning of my thirties, and especially when I met Kirby, I thought I knew where my life was going.

At the beginning of my forties I have no idea what life has in store for me.  So it’s time to let it go and just see what happens and not be so serious about myself. It really is liberating.

What's in a name...

It’s been a while since my last blog entry – I blame Christmas, New Years, and a husband home from work to annoy me. Well, okay, not the last bit – it’s been lovely having Kirby home for the past few weeks and I’m not looking forward to when he goes back to work next week.

There are lots of things I want to write about, but many of them are more serious, and I want to start of the year with something a bit lighter (if that’s the right word). I want to share with you the names we picked out for our children before we even started IVF.

I always thought I would have boys rather than girls, so let’s start with them…

Jacob Arthur

Jacob is a very old Hebrew name and we liked the sound of it – it was strong, but simple. I’ve since found out that Jacob means supplanter – which basically means “undermines” or “supersede by force or treachery” – so the meaning isn’t all that flash. I still like the name, though – and what’s in a name anyway!

My Great-Uncle Arthur and my Grandfather

Arthur is my Dad’s first name, although he is called by his second name, David. He was named after his Uncle Arthur who died at the age of 22 in Bougainville in World War Two. That is my Great-Uncle Arthur in the photo with my Grandfather, Vivian Sydney. I like the idea of honouring our ancestors by using their names for future generations. Arthur is Welsh and means “bear”.

Samuel Kirby

Samuel is a name Kirby and I both liked very much. It is another old Hebrew name and means “God has heard”. It was the sound of the name rather than the meaning that appealed to us. Similar to Jacob, it is strong and simple.

The use of the name Kirby is kind of self-explanatory. Samuel would have had his Dad’s name as his second name. Kirby’s name was a family name on his Mother’s side – it was his Grandmother’s maiden name. It means, depending on the source, “the village with the church”, or “land beside the church”, and is potentially Scandinavian or Old German.

Now for the girls…

Ruby Grace

If you read my blog entry from the 10^th of July last year you will know about the dream I had where my Grandma was standing at one end of a long hallway and I was standing at the other. A little girl (about two years of age) was toddling toward me and my Grandma said “This is Ruby – you will look after her now”. From that moment, if I had a daughter, she was going to be named Ruby. Ruby is English and means red gemstone. I still love the name.

Grace is Kirby’s Grandmother’s name. I’ve always liked this name as well, and it goes with Ruby so well. Grace is Latin, although some say it is English. It has numerous meanings assigned to it, including “God’s favour”, “good will”, “favour”.

Audrey Margaret

Kirby and I both love the actresses Audrey Hepburn and Audrey Tautou, and picking Audrey as a name for our potential daughter was based purely on these two women. I like the meaning of Audrey as well, which is “strength”, as I always hoped our daughter would be strong.

Margaret is the middle name of both my Mum and my Nan. It is said to be of Greek origin and means “pearl”. I think that this meaning suits both my Nan and my Mum very well as they are both rare and precious. Nan has passed away, but she is still rare and precious in my mind.

Esme Kate

Esme has a bit of a stigma here in Australia as it was the name of a character in a long running soap opera in the 1980s called “A Country Practice”. Esme Jacobs, the character, was a bit of a gossip and put her nose into everyone else’s business.  A few years ago I saw a character on television, although I can’t remember the show, who was funky, strong, and feminine, and her name was Esme. I figured the name Esme deserved a chance at redemption, and it really is a nice name in my opinion. It is a French name and means something along the lines of “loved” or “esteemed”.

And, finally, Kate – well, that’s my name. Although not really. Kate is short for Kathleen, which is an English form of the Irish Caitlin (which is Gaelic). I always thought I would use Kate for the second name here, but now I think I would have used Kathleen, or even Caitlin in honour of my Irish roots. Oh, and Caitlin means “pure”.

So, there you have it – what our babies would have been called if they had lived. I still think they are awesome names…

Kirby got chocolates...

And I ate half of them!

Last Sunday was Father’s Day here in Australia. It is a day that does remind Kirby and I that we don’t have our own children – there are no children (human at least) that give him a card and a present and make breakfast in bed for him.

Before Hugo was born Father’s Day was about us kids (Kirby, Zoe and me) celebrating our two Dads. We were the children – the next generation. When Hugo came along Father’s Day changed. We had a gorgeous little boy who celebrated his Papa (his Dad) and his Pop (Kirby and Zoe’s Dad). Our little nephew is of the next generation – the generation to which Kirby and my children would have belonged, and it became a little difficult to face Father’s Day.

Three Father’s Days on and it’s not nearly so emotionally difficult, and here’s why:

Father’s Day 2013

When I woke up after a little bit of a sleep in, Kirby was relaxing in the lounge watching a car race that he had taped the week before. He was the picture of relaxation in his pyjamas with Felix, one of our cats, sitting on his lap. Felix barely opened his eyes to look at me and in his state of bliss at being on Kirby’s lap I’m not sure he even registered that I was standing there!

I went and made a yummy breakfast of fruit muffins and coffee and brought it into the lounge. Frankie and Minerva (our other cats) came in and tried to convince us that they needed muffins for breakfast too! It didn’t happen…

After we had eaten I went and got an envelope and gave it to Kirby. This is what was written in the card:

Dear Daddy,

We meant to go and get you a present, but Ari and Odi chased the cats,

 the cats chased the fish, and the fish hid. So nobody went to the shops.

Okay – lame excuse, but we are animals! So go and buy a move or some music.

Lots of love,

Minerva, Frankie, Felix, Ari, Odi, Ursula, Dylan, Calypso, George, Sydney,

Harriet, Holly and the seven fish yet to be named.

Yep – our fur and scale kids had given a card to their Daddy. Although, because they are slackers and wouldn’t go to the shop, I had to organise the card. Kirby was delighted with his card and put it up on the wall unit.

The next few hours were spent changing cat litter, doing dishes, vacuuming and mopping the floor and setting the table for our guests. Kirby tried to use the card the kids gave him to get out of house work, as it said he should relax and take it easy. Nice try, but wasn’t going to happen!

My Mum and Dad arrived first, bearing caramel slice and a potato bake. Then Kirby’s folks, Zoe and Hugo turned up with sunshine salad (look up the recipe with jelly and pineapple in it – yum!) and a cake. We sat around the table and grazed on the dips and biscuits Zoe had brought.  Hugo was determined to play cars straight away, and feed the fish, but we told him we would do so after lunch.

Then it was present time. We gave my Dad his card and present first and then Kirby and Zoe’s Dad was given his. Both Dads loved their presents and their cards. Hugo’s Papa is currently overseas so Hugo didn’t get to give him his present on Sunday.

Next, Hugo brought over a present for Kirby. A lovely carton of chocolates! The card that accompanied it had a photo of Hugo with his toy elephant, tiger and zebra on it. Inside the card read:

Uncle Kirby’s Day

Dear Uncle Kirby

Best wishes for Uncle Kirby day.

 I love you and your cars.

Hugo

Hugo's photo on Uncle Kirby's card

After the present giving we organised a BBQ lunch and thoroughly enjoyed the rest of the day with our families and with our darling nephew, Hugo.

You see – on the first Father’s Day after Hugo was born, my mother-in-law organised a present from Hugo to Kirby and named Father’s Day as Uncle Kirby’s Day as well. It was a true gift from her. It makes Kirby feel special (and me on Mother’s Day, or Aunty Kate’s Day, too!). We are celebrated by Hugo as very important and much loved people in his life.

Father’s Day has become easier with each passing year, but more importantly, it has become a day for Kirby to be celebrated. His fur and scale kids celebrate him as their Daddy and Hugo celebrates him as his Uncle Kirby.

How could you not enjoy a day like that?

Especially given there were chocolates! 

*

Our fur kids...the fish refused to be photographed...

Felix

Minerva

Frankie (Francesca)

Ari

Odi

A Piece of Heaven...

On Saturday my Mum and Dad, Kirby and I, our nephew, Hugo, and our friends’ eight year old daughter, Jess, went to the Beach House. The Beach House is a two storey building by the seashore with waterslides, a carousel, a little train, mini golf, bumper boats and much more.

Mum and Dad had decided that instead of giving Hugo a gift for his third birthday they would take him there – and then Kirby and I were included and then Jess, who Hugo adores, was invited too.

It was a magic day. The kids thoroughly enjoyed themselves at the Beach House and afterwards flying a kite on the beach.  Although I’m not sure who enjoyed the kite the most – the kids or Dad!

When Kirby and I realised that we weren’t going to have children one of the things that hurt most was that we were not going to be giving Mum and Dad grandchildren that they would be able to live close to. My nieces live in another state – a two hour flight or a three day drive away – so Mum and Dad only get to see them a few times a year. I was looking forward to Mum and Dad being able to have grandchildren nearby.

But, perhaps it is that very hurt that has made Saturday so very special and precious. For a day we had a glimpse of what it might have been like if we’d had children. Kirby and I looked like every other couple who were there with their children and parents – nobody who didn’t know us would have thought twice about whether Hugo and Jess were our children or whether Mum and Dad were the doting grandparents.

It was nice. It was better than nice. It was a blessing to spend a day in this type of heaven.

The best bit, though, is that even though Jess and Hugo are not our children, they love us and we love them so very much. We get to spend time with them and every minute is precious. And Mum and Dad love them too.

Sometimes it’s hard not to have what other people have, but when we get a little piece of heaven like we did on Saturday, it is such a beautiful thing.

How do they do it?

The other night I was feeling very tired. It had been one of those days. We had ants in the kitchen (I mean everywhere in the kitchen!), I had rescued a water hen who was not very well and taken it to a water bird rescue place, my cat, Minerva, had thrown up her breakfast, and I had a sore lower back.

It was 9pm and I hadn’t done half the things I wanted to do. I wanted to finish a short story draft, plus read up on some environmental causes, and I wanted to put sealant around the door sills so  the ants would lose their inside privileges. And I still had to do the dishes.

Life just wasn’t fair – I was tired!

Then I thought about what I would have done that day if I had a little one in tow. It would have been a day filled with nappies, feeding, behaviour correcting, picking up, housework in spare moments, tidying up toys, bathing, plus a desire to do all the things I mentioned above. I couldn’t have said to the kid that I had a sore back and therefore they would have to wait while I rested. Kids don’t come with an off switch.

I look at my friends and I see them caring for their children 24/7 and I sometimes wonder how they do it. I know that they are tired, and I know that sometimes they just want to run away from housework, their jobs and sometimes even their children (for a little bit), but they don’t. When they have a tough day they have to keep on going for their children.

I sometimes wonder how the hell I would have managed. And I give absolute credit to Mums and Dads everywhere.

The Decision

Today we took our five year old niece Jess to the zoo. It was a fantastic day - we had icecream, saw the pandas, jumped like kangaroos...then we came back to our house and Jess and us played 'soccer' with our two dogs. We also watched 'Alice in Wonderland'.

It was great - I smiled all day. Especially when she told me that the amount of chocolate topping to put in her milk was about two metres.

When she was picked up by her Mum I felt that familiar heavy heart that I do whenever any of the children in our lives say goodbye and go with their Mum and Dad. We are never going to have that - a child who comes home with us as their Mum and Dad. And it sometimes hurts a lot.

It might be easier to distance ourselves from children and people with children, at least it might seem easier. It wouldn't really be though - we would only be hurting ourselves.

We made a decision not long after we realised that kids weren't going to happen for us, that we would not get to the point where we didn't want to be around children. We both love kids and we love spending time with them. They may not be ours - but they are ours in the sense that we love them and we will always be there for them.

I wouldn't give up the dance Jess did for us in the lounge today for anything...