Twenty One

"Twenty One today" - another blog milestone....I have turned 21. Yay for me.

Well, it's school holidays, which brings both blessings and challenges. No rushing around (blessing), no packing lunches/getting school clothes ready (blessing), no work for me for the first week (blessing AND challenge - work keeps me 'sane', and I use the quotation marks as I know some of you reading this probably already question my sanity!), no daily interaction with other kids for Will (challenge), no structure (definitely a challenge)......no idea what to do for the week at home!!!

Not true actually, we have a lot planned. And it does NOT involve going to the Royal Melbourne Show.

Monday during the day we will be cleaning, as one of my new work colleagues will be visiting with her children in the evening so that we can all head off to the Drive In to see 'The Smurfs' on the big, outside screen. The Drive In is an awesome place to take kids - Mondays especially so as it is really cheap to get in. It's so much better than the normal cinema, there is no need to be quiet, you can talk all you want during the movie without having someone saying 'Ssshhhh'. There's never the chance that you'll get stuck sitting behind someone with a big noggin thereby blocking your view, and if you wish to you can simply doze off in the driver's seat while the kid's movie finishes. Awesome.

Tuesday we will be having our pyjama day - this is a tradition at my place, one pyjama day per week during the school holidays. A time to chill out and relax without having the pressure of getting dressed. Usually pyjama day is also 'Eat what you like Will, I don't care today' day. He loves it and I love it too.

Wednesday has turned into 'Restaurant' day. We are meeting the lovely CD and her two boys for pizza lunch at the local pizza restaurant, and then catching up with a family friend who is over from WA at the local pub for dinner. 'Restaurant' day will thus also be known as 'There goes all of my money' day.

Thursday will see us head up the Hume to my sister's place in Benalla for a couple of days. William brought home some school work on the last day of term, with one worksheet all about places the students like to visit. One of the questions was 'Write about somewhere you like to visit', and he had written 'I like going to Aunty Raelene's house'. So, being the good Mum that I am, we'll pack our suitcase on Thursday morning and head up there mid afternoon. Free accommodation, a 'tank-and-a-bit' of petrol and a happy child. Oh, and a visit to Beechworth (my favourite place on this earth) on Friday to down some calorie laden cakes at the bakery.

We'll skip the Grand Final, won't even watch it on the telly, we will be heading back down the Hume on our way home. With any luck the fact that we are travelling on Grand Final day will mean that there is very little traffic to deal with.

So, I'm hoping that the week pans out well, and that the break away from school does us both some good.

And quite frankly I truly believe that I will do all of these things for only slightly more than a day at the Show would cost - my god, I checked out some of the prices with the consideration of taking William and it is ridiculously priced, just ridiculous. Like, truly ridiculous. By the time you get through the gate it's already bloody fifty bucks or close enough for just the two of us (I just looked it up again - gate entry is $45 for the two of us). Throw in some rides (I mean, it's pretty hard to take a kid to the show without a couple of rides), with the cheapest that I can see on the website being $5 and even just ONE showbag (yeah right, 'one showbag' - although my absolute maximum would be three, which is still too much but kind of falls into the 'well, it's only once a year' category) and we're talking at least one hundred bucks for a day out I reckon. For one day. I have budgeted for the coming WEEK, and it's really only going to be two hundred or thereabouts for the full WEEK. (This is due in no small part to Monday night being 'kids are free' at the Drive In, and Wednesday night being 'kids EAT free' at the pub).

Will's eleven; kids get to an age where visiting the animal nursery just doesn't cut it anymore, the show becomes all about the rides and the showbags once you hit nine or ten years of age!! And that's fine - it's almost a rite of passage really - but it's also the reason that we're not going. Is that being an awful mother?

Found a psychiatrist for William last week. The school had reccommended this guy, although it took them a while to actually mention him to me. Funding is SO SHIT that even though William attends a specialist setting he still needs a referral to the school psych, who only works a few days a week and didn't have any space for him (despite discussions about this referral occurring early in first term). I had tried to source our work psych, who I really like and who had seen Will before on a couple of occassions, but it just wasn't going to work logistically.

Will has been having really rough times lately, even talking of suicide (see previous post), and doing a lot of self harm (biting himself, hitting himself etc) with HEAPS of negative self talk and incresing violence towards me. According to his teachers he can now only be with the other children for five minutes twice a day before he starts playing up big time, being disruptive and negative. (They had to clear the room a couple of weeks ago, as Will was hurling chairs and being violent towards the other kids). The result is that for most of the time on most of the days he is in a situation where he ends up on his own. He hates this, but cannot seem to make the connection between behaving with respect towards others equalling them actually wanting to be around you (and therefore also the opposite).

He is increasingly turning to his imaginery friends for consolation, and trying to introduce them to the group at school, and the other boys are ostracising him for this as well. And so the cycle of self loathing continues, as the other boys (quite understandably, given that they too are on the spectrum) are nasty and derogatory towards him about his imaginery friends and his obsession with certain things.

A couple of Fridays ago he punched me, and that was the last straw for me. I emailed the teacher and pleaded with her to just give me a name that I could start the ball rolling with, someone that she KNEW was a specialist in the field. She came through with the goods, and told me of a psychiatrist that she had experience with and that she felt was really good. She wrote a letter to him, detailing the problems that they have seen escalate in the past three months.

Anyway, we managed to get an appointment on Friday at 3pm (I suspect that my parents were watching over us that day and there was a convenient cancellation - one very rarely calls a psychiatrist on a Wednesday to be given a Friday at 3pm appointment), and the doc seems OK. Based on one hour that is!! William found the courage to tell him how he was feeling, because this guy was pretty good at asking the right quesitons. The next appointment is with me only, I suspect to give a history or whatever, and then William will see him again after that.

So, hopefully we are on track to a better quality of life for Mr William, because as I have said before, it just breaks my heart to see how he views his life. As his mother, it's just so hard for me to watch him go through this, and hard for me to try to deal with it and manage it. It's got to be hard on him -- he is living it.

Gotta go, William watched Lord of the Rings at Michael's this weekend, so tonight we are going to start reading the book together before bed.

Talk another time

Janeane
xx

Twenty

The worst book I've ever (not completely) read has to be Don Quixote.

It is a crock of rubbish, didn't make ANY sense to me (and I had read reviews etc before beginning so that I knew what the big deal was about) - just seemed like a total fruit loop travelling the country side thinking he was a gallant knight purely because he had an obsession with novels that depicted gallant knights.

One day I will try to read it again, but not for a loooooong time.

I once saw a 'Greatest Books of All Time' list, and this book was at the top. Something inside of me makes me think that this may be a case of new clothes for the Emperor - that if you say you didn't 'get' it, or didn't like it, well......maybe I'm not a good judge of books, but I think I am, and quite frankly, Don Quixote did not rock my boat.

And here, my good friends, is a quote that sums it all up for me, and makes me think that I am not alone in stating "Oh my goodness, the Emperor isn't wearing any clothes!!": http://www.themodernword.com/reviews/quixote.html

Just read the first lines of the review by Bob Williams, and you have my sentiments exactly - although I wouldn't call the novel an 'impregnable masterpiece'.

But what would I know?

I'll tell you what I know - I know that this has played on my mind for literally over a decade, and I know that I have finally found a place to vent about it. My very own blog, where I can say what I feel and not feel bad. Yay.

Don Quixote sucks big time. It is the WORST book I have ever (not completely) read.

Talk another time (no longer shall I say 'talk tomorrow', because I am finding that I am not actually blogging every night).

Janeane
xx

Nineteen

Well, it's over for another year. Footy that is. At least *our* footy, which is the Victorian Amateur Football Association - 'The Ammos'.

Glenn's beloved St Bernard's made the B-Grade final, and were subsequently elevated to A-Grade for next year. Unfortunately they couldn't bring home the choccies yesterday and lost the Grand Final to Caulfield Grammar.

Sportscover Arena at Elsternwick Park blew a gale; the ball would be kicked, would travel a certain distance and then would visibly start returning to whence it came, high up in the air but literally travelling backwards courtesy of the gale that was a-blowing.

My Cherub baracked his little heart out, often saying to me "Do you think that gave them encouragement Mum?" after screaming out 'Go Bernards!' at the top of his voice. He was devastated that they lost, not because he is a diehard supporter (he comes to the footy when we go, but I haven't been much myself this year due to Glenn spending most weekends renovating his house so that he can sell it), but because he knew that we were there for a reason - to cheer the Snowdogs to a flag.

Suburban footy is unreal for families like mine (and families in general really). You can still run out onto the ground at half time and kick a footy, and there is no problem with the kids just running around the stadium or around the fence line (supporter's side of course). You can always keep an eye on them, and they have a great time. For me, it means that my Cherub isn't confined to a seat all the time, and that if he gets bored (which he sometimes does), I am more than happy to let him go for a run, knowing that there isn't too much trouble he can get into when members of our club are strewn all over the place and are able to keep an eye on him.

The club have been very accepting of my Cherub, and all of his idiosyncracies. At home games he sits and plays his DS, while interrupting his DS play with visits to the fenceline to cheer the boys on. The other ladies talk to him and understand that if he doesn't respond, or if he needs some prompting from me, it's not because he is being rude. The men shake his hand with a 'G'Day Mate, how ya goin?', and he loves it.

Last night was his first visit to the Club for the aftermatch gathering. Previously we have watched the game and then headed straight home, but because yesterday was a special day, I told him that we would go to the 'party', would stay as long as he wanted, and he could have a 'Bar-Coke' (he totally believes that the Coke sold at the footy club bar tastes better than other Coke, even Maccas Coke!).

So, after going home for something to eat, we drove down to the Club and headed inside. Cherub LOVED it. I think he really tuned into that male bonding thing that the football club thrives on - Mum was left for dead to sit with the other women and Glenn was sought out very quickly. Cherub felt oh-so-comfortable walking around the club rooms, trying to find his buddy to bond with. (The fact that he was walking with his butt cheeks tightly together, on tippy toes as he was holding on to a pooh, didn't interfere with his desire to bond with the other blokes as they had a beer and he had his Bar-Coke).

We didn't last all that long, as he was VERY tired after his big day, but for 30 minutes I watched him enjoy something that other kids (and dare I say, other parents) might take for granted as it is part of their weekend routine. He still had trouble saying hello and goodbye of his own accord, and was doing some typically 'William' behaviours, but I could see from his general aura that he felt a part of something, even for just those thirty minutes.

And I was happy.

Talk tomorrow

Janeane
x

Eighteen

I remember to only press the snooze button twice,
So that I'm always on time for work.

I remember to actually get OUT of bed,
As my muscles a-twinge and a-jerk.

I remember to awaken my sleeping Cherub,
So that he can be on time for school.

I remember to make sure his clothes are all pressed,
(So his mother does not look a fool).

I remember to turn off the gas when we leave,
So the house doesn't burn down in fire.

And for the same reason I also remember -
The hair straightener and the hair dryer.

I remember to make all the calls that I must,
In order to get through the day.

I remember to get all the timesheets together,
So that each of the staff get their pay.

I remember to eat (well I try to, at least),
When my home and my job get extreme.

I remember to sleep (be it bed, be it chair),
And I sometimes remember to dream!

I remember to laugh, run and play with my child,
My darling, my joy and my Treasure.

I remember to do these three things all the time,
So that his precious childhood's a pleasure.

I remember to cook (though I hate it with passion),
Each breakfast, each lunch and each dinner.

I remember to exercise whenever I can,
In the hope of one day being thinner.

I remember to feed not only the Child,
But also our two little fish.

I remember to tidy (OK, that's a lie)
But I DO wash up every last dish.

I remember to put the bins out on a Thursday,
It's something I never forget.

I remember to make a cake on Child's birthday
(I haven't forgotten that yet).

I remember to call those few special friends,
The ones that I don't want to lose.

I remember to smile, when inside I cry -
I cry loudly at times that I choose.

I remember the bills whenever they're due
(Though I do sometimes need a reminder).

I also remember that I'm getting too old
To purposely go on 'a blinder'.

I remember to remember, and remember again
By using my 'Don't Forget List'.

But please do me a favour, and continue to read,
For here, in this tale, comes a 'twist'.

Sometimes I'll look up with a glaze in my eye
And I'll ask you "What day is today?"

Please don't laugh, roll your eyes, give a tsk, call me names,
Please don't chuckle as you walk away.

My poor brain is full of the things to remember
As I travel my forgetful life through.

If you laugh, rest assured, I'll remember my swear-words;
And I'll aim them directly at you.

******************************************

Talk tomorrow

Janeane
xx
PS: Picture courtesy of William Andrew Baker.

Seventeen (?)

I've put the question mark next to the title of this post, because I opened up the window to type and couldn't remember what number I was up to. I think I have it right, but I simply can't be bothered travelling a simple mouse-click away to find out. So if I'm wrong, forgive me, but I think I'm right.

I've spent today at my 'old job', training the person that will be taking over part of my old role. It's a big job, and as the day moved on, the lovely HR did begin to look a little weary and worn out. But (and I know she's reading this) I have the utmost confidence in her to be able to do a wonderful job - basically because I know that she is pretty much as anally retentive as me when it comes to organising and getting things in order (in fact I would say somewhat MORE anally retentive than me because when we first met she literally BEGGED me to 'let' her sort through the uniform cupboard.....and she had a smile on her face the whole time! But I digress.....). HR picked everything up very quickly, she'll be fine. She'll be apples. She'll be right mate. She'll do a great job.

Interesting for me though. I have to say that although I did like being back in the old building, seeing my past colleagues (won't say 'old' in case one of them reads this and thinks I'm referring to their age!!), sitting at my old desk (at times), making coffees in the old kitchen, meeting clients at reception, ordering stuff for my old (and in this case I AM referring to his age....hahahahaha) boss and spending a day being partly the 'old' me, I had an epiphany of sorts, because I realised that as sad as I was to leave the place two months ago, with tears of worry and wonder as to whether I would cope and be happy in my new role, well, the right decision was made. I am so happy where I am right now and nothing could entice me to change it.

Which is a good feeling really, particularly when you consider that THIS post has come after the LAST one, in which I wrote of the horrible day I'd had at work!

Talk tomorrow

Janeane
x

Sixteen

"A Lesson in Customer Service....A Lesson in Humility"

I work in an industry that requires lots of care of other human beings at a time when they are quite emotionally vulnerable. Now, for privacy reasons, the story I am about to tell you cannot be accompanied by specifics, names or anything that might identify the people concerned, but I'm going to tell it as best I can so that I can illustrate to you what a BITCH of a day I have had today.

Last week I spent a large portion of my work hours dealing with a particular Client. I was looking after one component of the bigger picture, and spoke with this person on the phone, initially via a call instigated by me in the name of 'Customer Service'.....the 'courtesy call'.

All was going well until the Client decided to voice her disappointment at another aspect of the bigger picture, not looked after by me, but obviously in the Client's mind, something that I could help her with. No problem, I listened to her complaint, and when I realised it was something that I could actually make worse if I said too much, I referred the case to our Customer Service specialist for followup. But only referred it for followup. I must reiterate this, because after the referral, I still spent 40 minutes on one call with the Client, helping her out, guiding her, listening to her bitch about her family, listening to her bitch about my colleagues, going OUT OF MY WAY and BENDING OVER BACKWARDS to help her through her difficult time.

I took countless calls from this Client, talked her through all that she needed to be talked through and then went even FURTHER, and helped with some of the components of the bigger picture that were NOT actually under my 'work description', but which I knew I was able to do, and so I did it. No problem, all in the name of compassion and Customer Service.

As the process went on last week, the last couple of phone calls were finished by The Client saying things like 'Thankyou Janeane, you have been soooooo helpful and soooooo kind', and I of course believed what I was being told.

I left work last Friday thinking "OK, this has been a shit week, but at least with The Client, I was able to gain some positive ground for The Company because The Client was actually happy with how things turned out in the end."

Wrong wrong wrong.

Got an email this morning from The Client, saying how disappointed she was in the service she (didn't) receive from my department, and how disappointed she was in the service she (didn't) receive in the bigger picture.

The complaint against my department was something I could check, and guess what, she was wrong in what she complained about. There was one small but fixable error, and granted we don't like to have even the smallest errors in our business, but it was totally fixable and was fixed on the spot.

The complaints about the bigger picture were from my point of view sooooo totally unrealistic and petty.....and not even a part of my job to 'rectify', but The Client obviously felt very comfortable with me after all of her dealings with me last week, because it was me (and me alone) that she chose to email to voice her discontent. The email contained complaints against people other than me, but it was addressed to me as if it could be fixed by me!

I was fine until I phoned one of the other victims of this complaint, and once I told her about the email, I burst into tears. My colleague was lovely, talked me through it, while I was trying to explain to her that it wasn't the COMPLAINT as such, but the fact that it was an UNJUST complaint that was really getting to me, and that I had put in such an effort with The Client last week and she STILL found fault, and the faults she found weren't even real!!!

Even allowing for her emotional state, I felt totally jipped at being chastised for an apparent lack of 'level of service'.

Which leads me to two conclusions about Life In General:

1. Customer Service sucks eggs big time sometimes and you just can't win



2. NEVER believe your own publicity

Today has been a BIG lesson for me in learning that no matter what The Client says to you, you are NOT amazing and have NOT saved the situation, because you do NOT know exactly what they are thinking. E-V-E-R.

Where last week I was thinking "Well Janeaney, you did a pretty good job there, might have saved a problem for the bigger picture with the way you handled The Client - they even SAID you were super dooper wonderful", today I was shocked at the realisation that I wasn't as fantastic as I thought, and that no matter how fantastic I actually might be, I would never be fantastic in the eyes of a Client who at the end of the day is either psycho or simply fishing for a discount in the name of 'poor' Customer Service.

And, being the 'analyser' that I am, I can only conclude that I believed the praise that was heaped upon me because either

1. I am suffering from such low self esteem that I need to believe every compliment that comes my way, just to feel good about myself or,



2. I am totally up myself and enjoyed having it all reinforced by The Client in this instance.

One of the above HAS to be the reason I took this criticism so hard, I just can't figure out which one yet.

So....most of my morning today was spent in tears or close to tears, with a muddled brain that found it very hard to concentrate. I had to run through the situation with the Customer Service Manager, via both email and over the phone, and do it without tears (which I managed). I had to breathe deeply and realise with an objective outlook that no matter what I (and my colleagues) did, this Client would make sure that this situation was still going to happen. I had to take a lesson in humility, just suck it up and know that The Client had to (under the notion of 'The Client is always right' be in the right, even when she wasn't, and at least I had the support of my colleagues that were both directly and indirectly involved. Solidarity in 'defeat' - I think that is what I shall name it.

And I had the wonderful VN who talked me through losing my Customer Complaint virginity. And I don't care what ANYBODY says, losing your Customer Complaint virginity DOES HURT!!

The impact of this email continued through the day - at one point I tripped on the phone cord, and totally pulled the phone off of the desk of my co-worker. Straight away the thought of 'Oh fuck me, what else can go wrong today???' went through my head, and I burst into tears AGAIN. I grabbed my headset off of my noggin, threw it across my desk and ran to the Ladies to have a good long cry.

The lovely AW followed me in to see whether I was OK (first time they'd seen me upset at my new job) and to talk it over....again. The lovely MS told me about her experiences, and times when she had ended up in tears. The lovely SL offered me tissues, ciggies and coffee. The lovely JG looked up from his computer and asked "Are you OK Janeane?" and ever so quietly hid all the knives. I love these guys.

After talking about it with enough people you get a bit of perspective, and by the afternoon it was pretty much out of my mind, until I occassionally scrolled back through the inbox for some other reason and that fucking email was staring me in the face. I had initially saved it in The Client's file, so I should have deleted the fucking thing, but for whatever reason, I didn't, so it came back to haunt me every now and then.

Tomorrow I won't see it again, as there will be so many emails in the inbox that it will have moved waaaaaayyyyyy down the bottom and out of my sight.

And no doubt, at least one of those new emails will be the beginning of a relationship with a New Client, that may lead me down a similar track. But at least this time I will be prepared, I will see the signs, I will NOT take compliments seriously enough to believe that I am Customer Service Chick of the Year, and I will be prepared.

Talk tomorrow

Janeane xx

Fifteen

Well, here it is, Sunday night, another weekend over and another week starting.

I have nothing much to actually 'comment' on tonight, so instead I will write what I have been up to this weekend, and boy it was a good one.

Friday night saw me having drinks and dinner with three of the girls from my old branch at work. God it was nice to sit down with them, enjoy a few bevvies (too many for me actually, more about that later) and have a good ol chinwag. The venue for this occassion was, of course, a fancy restaurant by the name of the 'Union Hotel' in downtown Ascot Vale. This also happens to be just across the road from Glenn's house, and the pub that he does the occassional casual shift in (in the public bar that I am not 'allowed' to go to because it's (a) HIS bar and (b) apparently too rough for me - WTF? Nevermind, I have learned to live with this 'restriction' on our relationship, basically because I don't really want to go to the public bar in the first place, and secondly because I am now 'allowed' to pop in to say 'hello/goodbye' whenever I am dining in the bistro with friends. But I digress.....). Glenn popped up to the bistro from his spot in the public bar to say hi, but didn't stay long, which was kind of just as well because it really was a girl's night and we didn't want any boy germs.

Several Savvy B's later and the room was rocking (at least from my perspective), and by the time we left (a very respectable ten pm or thereabouts), I was so pissed that I staggered home to Glenn's, opened the front door, kicked off the shoes and fell onto the bed in my clothes, where I slept for about an hour before I got up to have my routine night time shower (which is one of those things I CANNOT do without, no matter what time, I have to have a shower before I hop into bed).

Glenn got home just after 1am Saturday morning (the life of a barman, always last to leave, and only once the fridge is re-stocked and the beer lines are clear), we had a quick chat, I burst into tears at some of the things that are going on at home for me at the moment, and then we fell asleep at around 3.

Yesterday I paid the price for my alcohol enthusiasm/late night. It was preliminary finals day for the B-Grade section of the VAFA, and Glenn's beloved St Bernards had made the cut. This match was literally a be all and end all situation, with the winner being promoted to A-Grade (a somewhat 'holy grail' so I've come to learn, second only to actually winning the A-Grade flag) and the loser to have all of next year to ponder their 'could have been a contender' memories.

So, off we ventured to Elsternwick Park, leaving home a LOT later than we had intended, and only arriving in time to see the final quarter of the Reserves (in which St Bernards were also playing), and in fact to see Bernards LOSE the Reserves prelim. It was VERY cold, and wet at times, and this loss didn't augre well. Shit weather and a loss in the Reserves can make one very nervous when there is so much at stake in the main game for the day.

Thankfully....we won, so I had a very happy man sitting beside me for the drive home. I, meanwhile, was so exhausted by the end of the match due in no small part to the night before, that I quietly crept off to the car for a Nanna nap while Glenn did the post game socialising for a little bit, before we headed back to the clubrooms at St Bernards itself for the REAL celebrations. These were, in comparison to what they may be next week if we win the flag, quiet and tame - I only stuck around for one drink then went home to have some much needed quiet time with myself, a cup of tea and some telly. I picked Glenn up later that night (much later in fact, I was in bed when he called!) and once again we got maybe four hours of complete sleep.

Today I worked....but only because last week was so shitful that I didn't manage to get some things done that really needed to be done for sites around the company. It was my intention spend another girly day with the lovely Lisa, but I just couldn't do it. I made the right decision, I did get a lot done at work today and feel like I am almost back on track again. I collected Glenn from the Coburg footy ground where he had been watching the Under 19's, and I arrived to see the last five minutes of the last quarter, and our boys reach the pinnacle - a grand final flag.

They were SOOO excited, it was great to see the young fellas jumping on each other, hugging each other, just so relieved that a well fought season had come to fruition with a trophy for the clubrooms and a medal hanging around the neck of each member of the team. And once again I drove home with a very excited Glenn sitting next to me. As a St Bernards committee member for God Knows how many years, and one of these blokes with such a passion for his footy club, he is just so happy that this weekend has seen some major wins for his team.

Me? Well, I'm nowhere near as 'into' the club as he is, but over the last five years it has earned it's special place in my heart as something very important to my special bloke, and as such I have learned to really like it. I had never been involved in club sport until I met Glenn, and I really like the feel to it. I have always felt welcome at St Bernards, even though I am essentially there as a 'hanger on'. And I love the opportunity to get out there and yell and scream in support of the team. It's a good feeling really. (Will loves it too when he comes with us, and we are really looking forward to next week where we can scream and yell as much as we like in support of St Bernard's at the Grand Final).

Anyway, William is in bed and I am waiting for the girl across the road to come and sit here while I go and get Glenn from the radio station where he has his Sunday night footy program, to take him back to the footy club for the post Under 19 Grand Final Win Celebrations. I will only, however, be dropping him off -we both have to get up and go to work tomorrow, and I am going to make sure that ONE of us does it without a headache!!!

Talk tomorrow

Janeane
xx

Fourteen

"A Lesson in Geneaology"

This morning just after 7am I received a text from my cousin-by-marriage, informing me of the fact that she had just become a grandmother for the fourth.....I think....time. Actually, no it was the fifth, but that's actually irrelevant in regards to this post.

This information got me thinking about the whole 'second cousin' and 'first cousin, once removed' scenario, and how people get confused about these references, often referring to their first cousin, once removed as their 'second cousin', which is, I believe, wrong.

I learned all about this strange familial relationship many years ago, and have made it my life's mission to make sure that all and sundry actually understand the difference between a cousin, a 'second cousin' and a 'first cousin, once removed' AND the terms of reference as the cousins go on down the line.

It's one of those things....you know how some things just really irk you for no apparent reason? Well, this is one of mine (added to the list of things like the way Americans say 'Nukular' instead of 'Nuclear'; the phrase 'would OF' instead of 'would HAVE'; terms such as 'Attorney GeneralS' instead of the correct 'Attornies General'....that sort of thing - and I have a HUGE list)

But I digress....let's get back to the cousins thing.

I have attempted to draw this in a diagram to make it clearer, and will attempt to insert that diagram into this blog, but if that is unsuccessful, you will just have to work it out for yourself from my explanation. And, I might add, once I get to third cousins, I myself become confused, but these days people rarely refer to their 'third cousins', let alone ASSOCIATE with them, so I think that getting confused that far down the line is acceptable.

And...in case I am VERY wrong in my explanation, feel free to look it up and contradict me, but I don't think you will be able to. Google it, you'll see I'm right.

OK....so here goes.

Think of yourself, then think of your cousin.

Your cousin's child is YOUR first cousin, once removed. They are the child of your cousin.

YOUR child and your COUSIN'S child, are second cousins.

YOUR child and the child of your COUSIN'S child (ie your child and the child of their second cousin) are second cousins, once removed.

Your GRANDCHILD, and your COUSIN'S grandchild are THIRD cousins.

Now that you have read the explanation, feel free to refer to the diagram at the top of this page, which I did try to place here at the end, but was unable to do so. And, with three glasses of Savvy B under my belt, couldn't be bothered messing around with it to try to fit here (where it should actually be).

So, now that I have explained this, let me ask you a question, it's long winded, but if you know the answer, please tell me, as this is something that I often ponder, and cannot seem to find an answer for, and quite frankly it is driving me NUTS:

The collective reference is 'siblings', the individual reference is 'sister' (for the female) and 'brother' (for the male).

The collective reference is 'parents', the individual reference is 'mother' (for the female) and 'father' (for the male).

The collective reference is 'grandparents', the individual reference is 'grandmother' (for the female) and 'grandfather' (for the male).

The collective reference is 'cousins' - what are the female/male individual references?

The individual female reference for the child of one's sibling is 'niece', the male individual reference for the child on one's sibling is 'nephew' - what is the collective reference in this case?

I am off to have another glass of wine, because my brain hurts. Hope yours doesn't.

Talk tomorrow

Janeane

xx

Thirteen

"What my hair says about me"

I suspect that a certain pre-occupation with my hair is in my genes, being female and all that. Although, I know some males (especially teens and 'tweens') who are as bad, if not worse than females regarding their hair and how it should look.

So, notwithstanding the above gender generalisation, tonight I've decided to write about my hair, not necessarily in a fashion sense, but more with regard to how (if you really care to take notice) you can tell how my life in general is, simply by the style and state of my hair.

When my hair is long and flowing, without any single hair out of place, this means that my life is in order. I have had both the time and inclination to spend hours washing, drying and straightening my hair. My house is undoubtedly tidy, William must be behaving himself, I most certainly have some money left in the bank and am carefree enough that I have the self confidence and enthusiasm to stand in front of the bathroom mirror, flicking, grabbing, preening and pruning. Not a care in the world, and my hair says it all, because it is perfect.

When I have my hair in a ponytail, this means that I am 'mostly' in control of life. I've had time to dry, but not necessarily the time to straighten and preen. Most likely my house is starting to look untidy and I have tried to run around in the morning just picking things up here and there so that I can at least walk into a 'mostly' tidy house when I get home from work. Possibly there will be some washing in the basket from last night's drying efforts, that I just couldn't be bothered folding....and will have left until tonight. Already, I am setting myself up for 'phase three'.

Plaits indicate that I've had enough time in the morning to wash my hair, but not enough time to dry or preen. Get it clean and get it packed away. A fly on the wall would probably see me harassing William to get ready for school as I wipe the breakfast crumbs off the bench and throw the dishes into the sink to be worked on after dinner at night. William is likely to head off to school without a jacket (in the cold weather) and without a hat (in the sunny weather), as I have barely managed to wash and pack my hair away, let alone remember the extra pieces of clothing required by my child for the school day. He does, however, still have a packed lunch and a drink, and a full set of basic clothing on his back. His bed, while not being fully made, has at the very least been 'pulled up'. I am in full uniform, ready for work.

And then there is the single bun. This is my 'hair dichotomy'. The bun indicates that it's been at least three days since I even thought about washing my hair, and my life is fairly much out of control. Beds are not made, crumbs on the kitchen bench have turned into SCRAPS on the kitchen bench, the dishes are now stacked up in the sink waiting for 'tonight' (which usually becomes 'tomorrow night'), the undies stockpile is getting quite low, and it's looking like Maccas for dinner due in no small part to the fact that it is getting towards the end of the week and I am starting to feel totally knackered out. The reason for the single bun being the 'hair dichotomy' is because to outsiders (which you will no longer be, having read this post) I actually look my most 'professional' and in control when I have the single bun. Very office-like, very official, very power-suit wearing. And yet the main reason for the single bun is that the greasy look just doesn't suit me, and the single bun hides that very well. I usually reach 'hair dichotomy' stage around about Thursday. Odd socks are not uncommon during the 'hair dichotomy' phase of my week - William has learned to survive on a stale roll and some totally unhealthy carb-and-sugar-loaded convenience snacks at school. Oh yes, you see the single bun, and you know that inside I'm having a minor breakdown.

Finally I have the 'double bun' phase. A dichotomy this ain't. When I finally get to the stage where you could cook a meal of fish and chips with the oil that is running through my follicles because I just haven't had the time or energy to go through the whole process (who needs clean hair at the expense of an extra half hour's sleep in the morning?!?!?!?!), I revert to the Princess Leia double bun - one small bun at either side of my noggin. And I have to say that the sight of a 40 year old woman wearing two little buns on her head has produced a certain response from my female colleagues - "Oh! Look at your two little hair buns!!". I can't tell whether they are suggesting that it looks ridiculous, or whether they actually like it, and quite frankly, I don't care. At least, with the help of the double buns, they're not saying "Geez Janeaney, you've got the oil thing going on pretty bad there Love", because you can't actually tell how disgusting my hair is when the double bun thing is happening. As long as I'm not explicitly aware that they're laughing at the way I look, I do not care. And this attitude carries on through the rest of my life whenever I'm donning the double bun - don't care if the beds are not made, don't care if the dishes are not done, don't care if the washing's not folded, don't care if Will has to turn his jocks inside out to get another day from them, don't care if the floors are not vac'd, just don't care. Too tired and washed out and craving that beautiful glass of Sauvignon Blanc that awaits me when I return home from work in the evening, put on my slippers, plonk in the lounge chair, switch on the telly and let down my long greasy locks.....

Talk tomorrow

Janeane
xx

Twelve

So this morning I'm in the....ahem....little room, and I think to myself "God, I bloody well LOVE this double length toilet paper. I haven't had to change a toilet roll in days".

So, tonight I've decided to blog about the things that are on my Top Ten list of Inventions.

No correspondence will be entered into - although feel free to comment, you never know, I might get sucked in to fighting for my cause.

I should add that I asked William for his input, and as far as he's concerned the top inventions of all time are: DS, 3DS, Wii, PS2 and all game consoles. I'm very saddened that Lego wasn't on his spontaneous list, but I'm sure that if we really talked about it, he would give that a mention as well. None of his first things are in my list, but the Lego will be in there somewhere. I just haven't decided where yet, I'm leaving that to my fingers to decide.

So, here goes.....

10) Caeser Salad: Lately I have taken a real fancy to Caeser Salad, due in no small part to the awesome Caeser that I had on July 16th (Glenn's birthday) at the Laurel Hotel in Flemington/North Melbourne. It was amazing, and has lead me down the path of making my own Caeser Salad every second day for lunch at work. I can't get enough quite frankly, so kudos to the guy/girl that invented it. Note to reader and self: this may leave the list after one too many Caesers. Note to reader and self #2: I'm not even sure that I am spelling it correctly.

9) Caeserean section birth: You can give me all you like about the beauty of a natural delivery, but for mine, just chop me open and have it done in 45 minutes thank you very much. Granted, this isn't actually an 'invention' as such, but I read somewhere that those of us who have c-sections are not necessarily 'too posh to push', but merely 'too reticent to rip'. That, I reiterate, is a quote. (and in all seriousness, my c-section was not by choice. I probably would have gone through the whole natural process if it meant that I could have had a different outcome....but when I heard those new mother's at the new mother's group telling of their birth stories, well, call me gutless, but I was zonked out, didn't feel a thing, and was up and walking again as quickly as the bird in the next room who'd done it the way God intended. And *I* didn't have to sit on a blowup cushion ringy thing for the next few days).

8) Water based texta colours: particularly good when the kiddies are learning to draw (with texta) and it washes off (mostly) easy with good ol' soap and water. This also includes that awesome paint that doesn't hold on to the scribbles on the walls - although I've never had experience with it (and am therefore open to any comments from those who have, regarding it's effectiveness), I still reckon it's a pretty good idea.

7) The Internet: Yeah yeah, I know, that's pretty predictable, but without it I wouldn't be communicating with you as I am now.

6) Condoms: Not really, but I put it in there to see if you've actually read this far or have given up. Although, they do have their (important) place in society, not many people could argue against that.

5) Photographs: As I look around my loungeroom at all the photos I've got placed here and there I realise that the photograph (and the ability to take them) was a pretty impressive invention. It allows me to 'have' my loved ones around me all the time. The digital camera doubly so, because I can get rid of the crap photos without wasting money by having them printed up only to be thrown away because they are crap.

4) Lego: Wow, what an invention. It has kept Will entertained, and it has kept ME entertained. I discovered a new found love of Lego at the ripe old age of about 24. Soooooooo relaxing. These days any money spent on Lego is strictly for William, but I do not resent one cent that I spend - it gives him moments of focus and is great for his fine motor skills. It gives him confidence in himself and his abilities. It keeps him quiet for substantial periods of time. And he loves it. In fact, he loves it so much that I am going broke (but like I have mentioned, I don't resent this). However, like I always say, it's good that he's got a hobby. As opposed to a 'habit'....although sometimes I do wonder whether it would be cheaper if Will had a crack cocaine habit. I'm joking of course. I don't need to wonder about it, as I'm sure it's more expensive to be on crack cocaine....but only 'just'.

3) Pacer Pencils: Never go blunt, no need to sharpen. Although one DOES have to master the correct level of pressure to avoid breaking the lead - and this can often take literally years. Once mastered, however, the Pacer Pencil becomes a joy. Unless you're an artist, in which case I suspect that the Pacer Pencil is your equivalent of the Devil incarnate

2) Double length toilet paper rolls: See opening paragraph

1) The telephone: My life line. My instant connection to family and friends, and support in hard times. And without it, there would be no (7). If I was given the chance to go back in time and bring any one person back with me to 2011, I would choose Alexander Graeme Bell. I'm sure he would be amazed at what his invention has evolved into, and how much of our life in the 21st Century is based on his invention. I think that he would be amazed that we could use his invention to talk across the country and across the world. I think he would be flabbergasted that his invention can now be used without any sort of visible connection, carried around in a pocket. I think he would be in awe that his invention can now take photos, send text messages, play music, play games. I think he would be stupified that his invention is the reason that I am able to write as I am now, and for people that I don't even know to be able to read my message that has travelled 'visually' down the telephone line. I would love to be able to show him all of these things. My mind goes kabam just thinking about how he would feel.

Talk tomorrow

Janeane
xx

ELEVEN!!! Yay....I'm up to eleven.

Yay! I've reached a milestone. My Blog goes up to eleven!!!

Happy little me.

Talk tomorrow

Janeane
xx

Ten

Anger is not a feeling I like to have, so I'm writing about it to get it out of my system. I've learned over many years, with many experiences, that anger makes you sick, and generally not a nice person. Let it go Janeaney, let it go.

Sometimes I get sick of having a child with autism. Actually, that's not true. I'm sick of it ALL the time, I've just learned to cope with it, to go with the 'cards I've been dealt' mentality, and to make the most of my special and beautiful little man.

But I defy anyone with a child who has a disability to go down the 'I wouldn't change him for the world, he is perfect the way he is' with honesty in their heart - because if *I* was able to take Will's autism away from him, I would. It's plain and simple. For him, for me, for a taste of 'normality'.

Please, no questions about what 'normality' is. I'm not talking about the minor differences between people. I'm not talking about the old 'Yeah, but what is 'normal' anyway?' kind of philosophy.

I'm talking about what we all know to be normal

I'm talking about taking an eleven year old to KMart to spend his birthday money WITHOUT the risk of him going into an absolute meltdown, threatening to kill and hurt me, then attacking me with his nails, then screaming obscenities at the top of his voice, then screaming and crying about how he wants to kill himself as he feels the remorse of his actions and can't understand why he explodes like he does. All in the middle of our local KMart/Coles complex.

I'm talking about NOT having to remind this eleven year old child to say 'hello' when he walks into someone's house, and 'goodbye' when he leaves someone's house. I'm talking about not having to finish wiping his backside after he has a go, because he is so paranoid about the leftover 'mess' that he can't reach or whatever it is that he's worried about. I'm talking about not having to convince him that he even needs to go to the toilet in the first place, after a five day hiatus while still being on treatment for his constipation.

I'm talking about the repetitive playing with something that spins. Most of the time I can cope, sometimes I just think "Will you stop spinning that goddamn thing just for a minute", but it relaxes him, it fulfills some kind of sensory thing for him, so I learn to deal with it myself, because I know how he will be if I deprive him of it.

I'm talking about not having to be one step ahead of him ALL THE TIME, in regard to what may set him off down a path of anger, screaming, swearing, and (as was yesterday's case, albeit a rare occassion) physical violence. All at the age of eleven, which when seen in public appears as nothing more than a spoiled child whose mother is hopeless at controlling her kid.

Oh yes, I WOULD take all of that away....in a blink.

There is a story that many parents of autistic kids know, it is a parable of sorts, where a woman talks about her trip to Rome, and finds out that she's on the wrong plane and ends up in Holland. She's really disappointed at not getting to be where she wants to be, but in time learns that Holland is a beautiful place and comes to appreciate it for what it is. So she missed out on Rome - so what? Holland is beautiful, and she is grateful to have experienced the things she wouldn't have had the chance to experience in Rome.

The analogy (if you haven't already seen it for yourself) is that those of us with kids with a disability have not been given what we had expected - 'perfect' children - but that our experiences with our special kids are wonderful just the same, and that sometimes we experience things that other parents don't. Such as first words etc, which can sometimes be taken for granted I guess, when the milestones are reached at an appropriate level. Or toilet training or whatever. For us, these are huge events, they are also very joyful.....but it's tiring that it has taken soooooo long to get there, and the hard work that goes with it.

I do love my special man for who he is - he does have a great sense of humour, and the fact that he takes everything so literally is often cause for laughter. He brings me much joy, there's no doubt about that.

But after days like yesterday, I really do wish to be able to just take him somewhere without feeling stressed, without walking into a room and checking out the lighting, or the crowd, or the level of the music. Without wondering who in the room, or in the public area such as the shopping centre, will judge him (or me) this time. Without having to watch as mainstream kids shun him because he is just that little bit different.

I love him so very much, as a mother does, and I guess this is also why I would take his autism away if I could - it's so hard to see him suffer as he did yesterday, feeling horrible about what he did and how he acted. But I was a prisoner too - trying to teach him right from wrong, trying to explain that the emotion he was feeling was remorse, but knowing somewhere deep down that he just doesn't get it, or have the ability to always control it. Trying to teach him what may be the unteachable.

Lately he has been saying "I just want the anger to stop Mum", and it breaks my heart.

I want it to stop too.

Talk tomorrow (Happy Fathers Day to any of the dads reading this)

Janeane
xx

Nine

Just out of interest, I did some Googling on the whole itunes thing. It seems that I am not the only person who has had their iTunes account hacked and had their iTunes store credit used. There are others out there who have also had their credit cards used, NOT just their iTunes card credit.


Most have grumped and griped about the lack of support to have anything reimbursed, and their astonishment at the fact that Apple can't (or can't be bothered, as one person wrote) chasing up WHERE in fact these hacked purchases are made from.


I have now completely removed my cc details from my iTunes account, and from now on if I want to purchase anything I will go out and buy an iTunes card and THEN purchase, without storing the credits in my iTunes account.

Done....and dusted.


Something.....how do I put it.....cliche, is happening to me.

I turned forty this year, and all of a sudden I find myself looking in the mirror and comparing myself to my mother (in looks anyway, I don't think I would ever compare myself to the wonderful person she was).

Most people say that I look like my Dad; only a few weeks back at an extended family gathering a cousin of mine laughed at something I had said and commented that I was 'so much like my father' that she thought it uncanny.

This cousin's father (my uncle) is the only person who has ever told me that he can see my mother in me - this comment he made to me maybe two years after Mum died, at a chance encounter when he was at Dad's one day when I visited (I don't see a lot of my aunts/uncles, that's just the way it is). But the fact that Uncle G said "I can see so much of your mother in you" has always stuck with me.

I think that I am going through this phase of trying to decide whether there actually IS any of my mother in me because I can actually remember Mum when she was forty. I was seven, and I particularly remember her at dinner parties for some bizarre reason. Mum was a great cook, she could whip up a five course dinner for six people in this here teency weency kitchen without blinking. She'd spend the morning shopping, have some lunch, then start cooking up a storm.

As the youngest of four children by eight years (ie there is an eight year age gap between myself and the next one up), I spent many a dinner party surrounded only by adults, and I can just see Mum in the kitchen with her apron on before the guests arrived, whipping it off just before they got here, the nibblies all ready to go, everything prepared so that she just had to pop stuff in the oven - all perfectly timed. She was AMAZING.

But I digress.....because this is about physical looks, family traits, genetics I suppose when it's all said and done. I look at myself in the mirror and try to superimpose her face onto mine, and sometimes I do actually see some parts of me that remind me of her. But then I wonder whether that's just because this is what I WANT to see.

Also (and this may be waaaayyy too much information for some), when I'm getting into my pyjamas or getting ready for work, sometimes I'll look in the mirror and try to even see if my actual body shape is like I remember her's to be. (this blog thing is anonymous, right?). How weird is that?

Like I say, I'm not really sure exactly why it is that I find myself doing this all of a sudden, but maybe it's one of those phases of our life journey that we all encounter to differing degrees when we are at a point in our own lives where we're at the same age that we have our first recollections of our parents. True recollections.

I find it hard to put into words, if the truth is told. Maybe it's too big to put into words - the strange sensation of being the same age as your first real memory of your mother.

Aaahhhh life - you perplex me sometimes.

Talk tomorrow

Janeane
xx