Opposites Attract

At Sisterhood, my weekly Christian Women’s group, our Pastor gave a really down to earth talk about marriage and parenting and as I sat and listened I started to reflect on the last 11 years of my married life.  I concluded that for the most part and despite how opposite we are, we have  somehow instinctually “jagged it”!

I also remembered a conversation I had one night with my dearest male friend when we were discussing whether opposites in relationships are ultimately sustainable and what the flow- on effects are in old age.  I pointed out that if I married someone like myself, it would have been either homicidal or suicidal – I’d kill him because he’d drive me nuts or self combust and do myself in.

My husband is the ABSOLUTE OPPOSITE of me – I never shut up and he hardly ever speaks. In fact, eleven years later some of my friends are finally starting to realise that his silence and withdrawal to “leave me to it”, is not disapproval or rejection.  I married him because simply put, I get more air time and can more than adequately speak for both of us!

He is reliable, stable, consistent, loyal, selfless, egalitarian, masculine and blokey, yet patient and sensitive.  I am many of those things but a more volatile, passionate, colourful and dramatic version!

He likes the simple things in life.  I can make anything almost unbearably complex through analysing the life out of anything.  Freud would be impressed.

The most important thing is that he is comfortable with himself and knows who he is without having to define it.  I am constantly changing, redefining, refining, rewriting and in personality disarray.  It is because he is so comfortable in his own skin that I can afford to constantly thrash around the rock that he is. 

The converse is that his existence would be very boring if I didn’t come on the scene!  Like he said in or wedding speech “Darling, now that I’m permanently in your firing line, there is no other place I would rather be”.  He hasn’t really said much since and needed three of my Grandma’s serepax to get through the level of extroversion required to perform on a wedding day, with 120 of mostly my family and friends.  On our first anniversary he smirked at me and pointed out that technically he was on drugs when we married and has a legal “out”.  But I think the spa and champagne was a stronger argument!

It is like my mother said the week before I was married “It is unreasonable to expect any partner to fulfil all of your needs – you need to out- source some things because we can’t be all things to one person.  Yes we need to “cleave to or partner “in the Biblical sense, but God’s design does not mean being co-dependent, insecure and possessive.   Her wisdom is so right.  I believe my marriage is strong because my husband is happy for me to supplement the nutrients in my personality that he can’t or isn’t interested in offering. I’m happy for his to supplement sport!

The ultimate example is how comfortable my hubby is with the male friendships I have, never being threatened or possessive.   My friend is always slightly in awe at how comfortable he is that we discuss intimate details of every aspect of our lives (just like women do) and my husband objectively sees it in exactly the same light he would if it was a female friend,  without seeing his gender as a threat or competition.  Our relationship is based on absolute trust.  He intuitively knows he has nothing to worry about.  I said to my friend that he can stop being in awe, that really my husband is just out-sourcing back – it isn’t really active duty.  My friend actually supplies the labour of disaster relief and recovery and my husband gets to switch off , watch TV and recharge so he can face another tremulous storm the next day!

In conclusion I really feel very blessed and it was a lovely reminder that we are on-track to drive each other nuts well into or old age. Until death do us part.....

The Female Body After Children

I have just had the rudest shock I’ve had in a long time...... the last time I did a 90’s style aerobic workout was in the 90’s.  You know the type – where you do a Richard Simmons/Aerobics Oz Style/Denise Austin type coordinated jogging moves on the spot with hands and feet going in all directions.  But everything is “newer and better” so I had no idea what I got myself into.....

Given it is the new millennium and many industries are heading towards corporate monopolies, there is limited “freestyle” aerobics anymore where you do something different each week from the instructor’s imagination.  NO, we now have the dominating force in the fitness world which is Les Mills classes. Too bad if you don’t like doing systemised workouts because most gyms have invested in Les Mills because you can’t get instructors anymore that aren’t indoctrinated into the Les Mills workout theology and  marketing force .  So the only choice of class to get my cardio up is Les Mills Body Attack.  And the name is no exaggeration.  It was nonstop frenetic epileptic type movements to hard core techno music.

The thing is, since I last did one of these classes in the 90’s (and I’m sure they weren’t this full on) a lot has changed – namely the level of gravity factor my body now has.  10.5.

So I found myself in this class surrounded by Gen Y’s  in the gear I wear to gym which doesn’t account for jiggle and bounce factor.  Half way through the warm up one boob started to descend down and to the left and the other one was trying to escape out the top and my leggings were riding up around my ribs. I actually think I had a “camel toe”!   I was literally falling apart in front of the mirror but was not game to stop otherwise I will be run over by the stampede!

Nothing is ruder than finding out all of a sudden exactly how many parts move on your body that you didn’t even know could move.  The other curious thing that happens after you have kids is that with all the belly and boob action, your butt feels like it’s missing out and thinks it is a competition and starts to grow to prove itself!

Maybe other mothers are aware of their jiggle factor gradually over time because they kick a football around with the kids or jump on the trampoline.  But I honestly did not know because I have only for the first time in seven years got my strength and fitness up enough to start to do normal activities since having children.  I have always had a dodgy back due to an extra half vertebra in my lower spine, but childbirth caused havoc.   I had to do a rehab type program with a physio over the last 7 years to stabilise spine and hip problems after and during my pregnancies.  Even walking up steps was a challenge.  Everything I did had a measured and precise approach with core stability in mind and Pilates was the only exercise I was allowed to do. I certainly had no opportunity to jump and jiggle around.  It has been a slow and gradual climb to get back up to normal movement. 

So my sense of achievement that I can finally start to do normal things again, including cardio exercise, has been completely marred by this rude reality check of how much my body has aged while I’ve been getting back normal mobility.  And the sad thing is that regardless of how fit I get, my skin is never going to shrink!  I mean let’s face it girls, there are some freaks out there that can shrink back but for many of us no matter how well we eat, exercise or smear magical creams on, our body looks like someone else has lived there.  A bit like a house that has had squatters.  And that’s because someone else HAS lived there!  Falling pregnant and giving birth is in fact a parasitic relationship – we actually grow another human being in our own body using all of our own resources – yes albeit amazing but quite taxing on your body.

So given I have no regrets about my children and am learning to love myself I will just have to get used to becoming comfortable with my new reality.  So I am now prepared for the next class – I dug out a pair of leggings that are size 10 so the tightness should act as a containment device and I bought a workout top from Bras n Things that straps me in like the bandage job that Barbara Streisand wore in Yentl while posing as a young Jewish boy. Hopefully I won’t expire from lack of oxygen. 

I’m very grateful given how many Gen Ys that attend this class that so far no one has videotaped their workout or else I could end up as the new viral laughing stock on You Tube.

Article on weight and stress management

I will post an article tomorrow, but I just read a great article from a health expert, Jon Barron,  who I subscribe to. http://www.jonbarron.org/natural-health/obesity-music-change-brain-newsletter I thought anyone interested in managing their weight, stress and environmental factors might find it interesting.  It also was very inspiring and confirming for me that I'm on the right path in relation to the scientific back-up for improved health from spiritual focus, meditation and changing behaviour and brain patterns through cognitive behavioural therapy, a topic I want to include in my resources section.

I hope you enjoy reading the article!

Here is the link
In this newsletter, Jon explores how you can actually override some of the physical changes that have been forced on your brain -- changes that force you to eat too much or stress out too easily, for example. With conscious effort, you can actually "repair" areas of your brain that have been previously altered to your detriment. This is hugely liberating and life-altering if you choose to act on it. (Click here to read article...)

Mental Illness and Being "Shrunk"

I just broke up with my shrink....well at the end of the year,   but I wanted to give her notice and the opportunity to really hone in on things if it is needed.  I made a commitment to see it through for 18 months to fully dredge once and for all.  Breaking up is huge because this woman knows more about me than anyone else.  I basically pay her to reveal all – every resentment, pain, hurt, fear, emotion, action and dysfunction. One thing I am sure of is that with the life I live and the colourful characters in it, I’m sure she has not been bored!

I really have come a long way – I have come from starting the first session pointing out the key performance indicator that a potential patient uses is “Please tell me that I’m nuts enough that you’ll keep seeing me!!!” to having a six month period with relative stability and peace of mind.

Now you may think that seeing someone every week for 18 months equates to being stark raving mad – which is not a totally wrong conclusion, but it more relates to the type of therapy.  After seeing a number of therapists over a 10 year period and either not committing to a long term process or not feeling they were the right person to treat me, I went back to this psychiatrist who I saw 6 years before.  I stopped therapy because it became too hard going both logistically and mentally after the birth of my first child.  So I returned to her to finish the job.  If you think it is hard to find the right mechanic or hairdresser, try finding the right therapist! 

My Doc is what’s called a “Psychodynamic therapist” as opposed to psychologist or cognitive behavioural therapist.  This basically means I go there, talk for 50 minutes and leave – often with a stop to the dunny which is basically one of the few places in my world where I can cry in peace because there is no child, elderly person or someone on the end of the phone wanting something from me.  My therapist gives very little feedback and I know absolutely NOTHING about her personally.  If I ask her opinion on something she won’t give it but asks me what I think. She does pose questions and makes suggestions but ultimately I have to arrive at the conclusion.  She will not give me a definitive response.  

You have to trust in the process – that talking unprompted on a week to week basis about the things that come up in your life will act as a longitudinal study over time that reveals to you (and your subconscious) the patterns of behaviour, themes and triggers that guide your existence.  As you start to recognise these and explore the root causes you can catch yourself at the top of a downward spiral and create new patterns of behaviour to replace the dysfunctional ones. 

I don’t think it is all her though.  As a devout Christian I have approached this in a prayerful way asking God to bless the process, reveal what needs to come up and give me the courage to face the fear of opening a can of worms -  and being assured God will never leave me alone trying to shove the slippery suckers back into the can!  I might be challenged but never alone or incapable of getting through. I do a Christian mediation in my favourite “happy spot” looking out on the river just before my therapy session so I am prepared.  I am amazed at how things have come up in therapy and then been directly confirmed and the way out laid down in front of me in my spiritual life. I have often unravelled something in therapy and then been able to really specifically pray and study to come up with the answer and be “released” from the problem.  Both God and my therapist (who I suspect has other beliefs than mine) have guided me out of the mess in my head that I’ve been stuck in for so long.

So given I am now officially qualified to make this statement, I am going to be a sane self righteous pratt for just a few moments.  Listen up.......

For people who make judgements about people who see therapists and believe all this self examination is a bit self absorbed and queer and you should just snap out of it... it is better to get help than be unaware or unwilling to do anything about your own dysfunction and the heartache you inflict on the people around you.  

For Christians that believe  God can help anyone who asks to reveal to them the things they need to work on and then heal them, sometimes God uses people ,  medicine and science to do a work of healing.  He often employs a process rather than a miraculous fix.

For people that are afraid of opening “Pandora’s box” and think it would all be too painful...the pain inflicted by your subconscious is already ruling your conscious life.  You’re better to eyeball it and get it done and dusted so it doesn’t control you anymore.  Just because pain lurks under the surface does not mean it is contained.  Pain and unforgiveness silently leaches into every pore of your existence and subconsciously lurks tainting every experience and the ability to truly feel joy and freedom.

 And lastly, want to hear my theory on aging gracefully?  Get your stuff dealt with while you are young and before your body and mind gets too exhausted to do the hard yards.   I think the key to being happy in old age is directly correlated to how much of your baggage you have psychologically offloaded during your life.  If you leave it until the end when everything is wearing out and you don’t have the capacity to deal with it, it starts to infiltrate in other forms.  For example, could it be that dementia is the mind’s way of escaping what it no longer has the capacity to suppress or deal with and without life’s distractions it has no other choice than to go off somewhere?  

It’s time that everyone started to think of depression as any other form of illness in society.  If you are thinking in terms of a hierarchy of organs in our body, the fact that the brain and mind is central to everything else and the most important of all the organs, it should be prioritised.  Yet when we seek to have a healthy brain it can be viewed with trepidation or fear that is not viewed the same way than if it was a cancer getting cut out.  Surely it is time that our society embraces the importance of looking after this most essential organ without shame.  

Gillard the Goose

School holidays are always full of action, but this one is especially busy due to settling into our suburban barnyard our newly acquired goose, Gillard.

One Sunday night dinner a few weeks ago the family was gathered to have a farewell dinner for our Grandma’s carer who is sadly leaving us and going back home to NZ.  My sister-in law, who also secretly would love to be a farm girl, said that her heart was breaking because my brother was making her send away Gillard because she was too noisy.  But it wasn’t quite that simple.  As the story unfolded so did the level of dysfunction with Honky Tonk, the gander, mating with the ducks and Gillard finding her soul mate in my brother.  She follows him around everywhere, grooms him and honks lovingly and loudly whenever she glimpses him (gives a new spin to the bumper sticker “Honk if you’re horny!”). 

It has gotten so bad that on the mornings that my brother has to take early flights to do weekly interstate work he has to skulk around his own house in the dark like a thief so that she can’t see or hear him or she wakes the whole district at 4.30am.  She protests loudly that he is about to leave her for three days and waddles around aimlessly until his joyful return.  The last straw was when he thought he could get away with a quiet and quick smoke before leaving for the airport but Gillard caught a whiff of his tobacco smoke and off she went!

So my brother decided she had to go – I think from a Freudian perspective it is quite telling – he probably would like to send off all the noisy and nagging females in his life - wife, sister and mother included, but just can’t arrange it so conveniently!

The dilemma is that Gillard is booked in to the Exhibition in August and although they have found a property she can go away to (like some disgraced teenager to a home for wayward girls), my sister-in-law wants to keep her until the EKKA.  So the family “gaggle” all noisily nagged my husband to let us have her for at least 6 weeks.

And if you think that is where it peacefully ends, think again!

Gillard is housed with our six chooks.  Given she wandered freely at my brother’s place, a long term stay is dependent on her having access to the wider yard.  This means sharing with our dog.  But the friendship has started off a big rocky based on suspicion, jealousy and confusion.  The goose warily wanders around while the dog circles widely never taking her predatory eyes off her.  It is a nerve racking standoff with  me saying CHILL... BE COOL.....It’s Gonna be ALLLL right.... We’re gonna be Cool.....sounding a bit like Samuel  L Jackson in the famous diner shootout scene in Pulp Fiction.

It all came to a climax when after trying to reward the dog by giving her treats from my pocket I just ended up enticing her  closer to me and the Goose refused to leave my side and when I offered the dog  a doggie biscuit, Gillard thought it was for her and they both swooped at the same time.  The goose then grabbed a chunk of skin and fur from between the dog’s ears, the dog yelped and backed off reluctantly with a glimmer in her pointed gaze that said “you just wait until next time.....”.  The war is now on. The chooks have also stopped laying in protest at having some big white wench stomping around on their turf and paddling in their pond (a clamshell).

And the honking problem is just beginning.  Geese are very good guard dogs and our street is busier than where she came from so it is not unusual for her to defend her property from anyone wondering down the street at night. She is also very social and wants to be with people all the time, so honks when she hears us up and about – especially early in the morning if you need to do a pee!

So in the interest of keeping on good terms with our neighbours I have asked all in the immediate vicinity if she is making too much noise and to let me know at any stage if they feel that they are being disrupted.  ALL have replied that they think it is great with smirks on their face (I’m sure they think we’re mad).  It was  confirmed  when one bloke strolled down the road to say hello for the first time in the 12 years and said that he and his wife were lying in bed cracking up laughing the other morning as they tried to identify the sound and where it was coming from.  They figured it must be a goose and the sound was coming from “the menagerie”.  He said that is their affectionate nickname for us due to the 6 chickens, dingo looking dog and madly growing pumpkin vine weaving in and out of the fence with pumpkins hanging off it on the street.  One side of our house is perfectly mowed and manicured and the other is a dirt patch with clucking, scratching and flapping coming from it.  I thought that it was a great metaphor for my psyche and life!

Hey, I think it is good for neighbourly relations – everyone likes some novelty and someone to gossip about and our house is an excursion opportunity and  tourist stop – all the parents walking kids home, oldies taking a stroll and people walking dogs actually cross the road and hang out around the fence amazed. I am providing a community service.  And in only one week Gillard has become a bit of a legend and is happily chatting with all her audiences.

My husband who is usually very quiet has expressed that he is not impressed and it WILL be only for six weeks.  Although he is normally not image conscious he said that if I keep up my barnyard antics that we’ll get a reputation as the Cannon Hillbillies and our daughter will end up in the future on “A Farmer Wants a Wife”.  He also added he’d leave me if I ever bought home a cat! We’ll see who wins the war ......

Shopping with Children

It is just as well that part of my personality profile includes having no dignity or shame.  I learned prior to having children the art of never being embarrassed because I always tell my own embarrassing or outrageous stories before anyone else has the opportunity to beat me to the chase.  However, on this occasion I must admit to a slight blush. 

Let me frame up this shopping expedition.....I was at Target on Monday arvo at 5pm the first day of school holidays and end of financial year sales.  Due to capitalising on this fantastic sales time of year I was “bonding by force” with my daughter.  I’m trying to indoctrinate in her the modern “hunter gatherer instinct”, which translates in today’s age as getting a bargain as opposed to finding the best berries.  To be honest it is more like rote programming in my case because she will have no choice about shopping – I am TAMING and TRAINING her to be a mall rat – it’s going to be part of her heritage. I have always secretly resented my Mother that I was a self taught shopaholic.  She avoided shopping centres at all costs and could be found asleep on a fitting room floor when as a teenager I dragged her out to buy me a new outfit because she held the cash.   There was no natural passion for it, merely strained duty.  I simply don’t understand people that don’t like to shop.

The sale item I was after this expedition was a couple of new pairs of pants. I had 15 pairs to try on.  I was hoping there was huge variation in design and it wasn’t just my backside that is the problem. 

My daughter was really well behaved for the first 10 pairs but wanted to escape.  I explained that “Mummy can’t leave the change room with no pants on and you’ve been really patient, so not much longer”.  Much to my horror on turning around to try on another pair she entertained herself by slapping my butt cheeks with both hands,  in unison and to a regular beat while chanting over and over “Fat bum, fat bum, fat bum”.  I was hopping around with one leg in the pants trying to get my butt away from her and safely up against the wall with her chasing me around the cubicle squealing with laughter at the “game”.

As the noise reverberated off the cubical wall I was sure it had amplified over and under the door and out into the rest of the store.  I was right.  After safely trying on the rest of the pants up against the wall and fending off my backside I finally exited to a number of shop assistants standing around with smirks.  

I should have quoted my famous line from the time I did a really obnoxious fart in an elevator just before a tradesman hopped in at the level below....  there was simply no denial or explanation that would have sufficed, or anyone else to blame.  It is amazing what confidence a business suit gives you.  I squared my shoulders... looked him straight in the eye... and pronounced with pride before stridently exiting.... “You get that on the big jobs!” 

It would have been an appropriate line in this case of this fat bum incident.  That will teach me to torture my children with my shopping habits.

On The Nose

I am blessed to have a really acute sense of smell – I should be a wine taster or perfume tester or food critic – my husband also pointed out I would make a good sniffer dog at the airport. But the downside of this is the assault on the senses when looking after other people’s hygiene needs and as a mother and carer you are often literally “in the poo”!

I actually thought twice about writing this one, but given the most read blog I’ve ever written was “Dealing with the Elderly” http://madmummy74.blogspot.com/2011/05/dealing-with-elderly.html, obviously my readers can cope with the graphic logistics of a carer’s life. Maybe we can call this one BOG instead of BLOG.

All I can say is that when I turn up to school drop off or church or a business meeting, no one really has any idea of the logistics in my life that I have to juggled prior to arriving well groomed and relatively sane looking.

Currently my Father-in-law has some health problems including some Diarrhoea.  I think it coincides with the kids having tummy bugs and he catches them too, but at 90 his diligent doctor wants investigate things to assess if it is something more sinister.

I needed to conduct an in-depth analysis (as opposed to a SWOT analysis) into the best collection method for a stool sample.  Splash factor and full immersion contaminate the sample but those small urine collection bottles that S&N provide are not realistic for the elderly.  Let’s face it, as a 90 year old, partially blind, slightly large, and wrinkled with some “male sag factor” there is absolutely no hope of depositing a stool neatly into one of those containers.  So we discussed the merits of a newspaper “poo cave” versus wedging an oval plastic disposable dinner plate into the narrowing part of the toilet to act as a landing pad!  It is at this point I am a lousy carer and I left him to it.

Given the pressure and performance anxiety it was no wonder by the time the collection guy rocked up the next morning to get the sample and to take a blood test that only the blood was available. 

After much discussion that if he has bowel cancer he actually does not want to know,  I said we’d talk to his doctor about his advance health directive and his approach to aging which is to leave things be and not go through invasive tests (he was booked for a colonoscopy) .  When the time comes which may not be for ages yet, he just wants to go out with dignity.  In his case at 90 knowledge is not power and ignorance is bliss.  I respect his choices. Given this fairly heavy discussion I put the stool test out of my mind.  This was on Wednesday.

Fast forward to Friday at 2pm which was my “free” day.  I was exhausted after going to the gym, doing the shopping at the organic fruit and veggie shop, taking my daughter to her swimming lesson, cooking an omelette and salad for lunch, cooking Gary Mehgans’ tomato soup recipe from the Woolworths catalogue, and doing load of washing.  I decided to take a 10 minute kip to recharge before wrapping a birthday present ready for an after school birthday party .  My Father-in-law shuffles in and despite seeing me with my eyes closed  tells me he has executed a fresh sample and it needs to be collected.  So I get up,  ring S&N only to find that their mobile collectors are finished for the afternoon so I will need to drop off a turd after school pick up and before the birthday party. 

And if you think it ends there you are wrong.  Just when I thought I was finished with this crappy day (pardon the pun) I get called into the bathroom by my son to find he and his sister both giggling because they have perfectly orchestrated, in unison,  two poos – him on the loo and her in the potty and they are both proud to display them.  They could not understand with my strong sense of smell and already queasy stomach from the day’s events why I was not over the moon and ended up dry reaching at the mixed brand aromatic assault on my senses.

As I said, my nose is in the wrong career and being a Mum and carer sometimes is a little traumatic.......

Detox and Liver Cleansing Diet

I have decided to add a number of tabs/new sections to this blog with all the information I have found useful since becoming a mad mother!  I'm adding to this over time, for example, I will publish many of my family and friend approved recipes under the "Home Economy Tips" tab.  This week instead of my usual blog I have worked on publishing the Liver Cleansing and Detox diet plan I've come up with after years of research and refinement. It will now live in the Health & Wellness tab/section. I'm not sure who is interested but feel free to give it a shot.  I will endeavour to publish the accompanying recipes to make this eating plan interesting in the next few weeks.  Hope it is helpful!
Here is the direct linkhttp://madmummy74.blogspot.com/2011/03/liver-cleansing-menu-1.html

Dealing with the Elderly

There’s a scripture about applying a new patch to old fabric and when that was written I’m sure the parable was not about the circumstance my husband and I faced the other night......  My husband was on the phone to the tax department when his Dad (who usually asks me ) came up to him failing to notice he was on the phone,  due to his hearing and vision impairment .  He said in his usually loud voice “Can you come down to my room and stick a patch to my backside?  We are lucky that the tax consultant having heard this comment and interpreting it any number of ways didn’t stick us with some new tax.

My husband thought I must have delegated since I was cooking dinner,  and with sticky tape in hand and on his way down to the granny flat said “I’ll go stick that thing on Dad’s bum”.  Because both men are prolific communicators , I decided I better ask what it was all about and he just shrugged.  The passive compliant soul that he is was just going to do what he was asked, no questions.   This is why I am his Father’s carer!

For starters, what patch? It couldn’t be a hormone patch – he’s not having menopause.  Nicotine? He hasn’t smoked since 1955.   Secondly, I pointed out that you can’t use sticky tape on the skin of someone taking blood thinners because they bruise, graze and bleed easily and when he tears it off, then he'll have a bleeding and then infected butt.  And what’s this got to do with his butt anyway? 

My Husband knew nothing and he was just going to close his eyes and patch up whatever needed to be patched up.  He is a tradesman after all.  He once was in a work team for indoor cricket and they called themselves “no more gaps”.   Are you starting to see why I didn’t just let it go?

So, I went and interrogated my Father-in-law and without not really knowing why or how, he had bought a pack of adhesive panty liners from a woman who came to talk at the over 60’s club.  All he remembers is that the talk was something about arthritis relief and some magnetic strip.  On closer investigation and after reading the packet it turns out the panty liner has some metal or magnetic strip in the core of it. There ain’t no information about men slapping it on their backside for joint pain!

What I want to know is why some woman is peddling menstruation panty liners at an over 60’s club - It’s not really the right target market.  Maybe in marketing terms this is what is called a “Product Line Extension”  - selling the same product to a new target market and/or finding new uses for an existing product line.  My other thought was in terms of the primary market of menstruating women - who would actually risk putting something with a magnetic strip up against their privates?  And what is it supposed to do – attract all the negative ions?!!!

At this point my husband did one of his usual dry witted one liners and suggested  that since I am a migraine suffer, if this magnetic  panty liner works on his father’s bum then I should strap one on my temples and it might work.  I might be able to do school drop off without being drugged on Panadine Forte but the school will think my son has a complete loony for a mother.

After eventually adhering the thing to his Father’s butt cheek my husband looked pale and had to immediately have a shower. I told my husband not to be such a wuss – he’s lucky he wasn’t there for his last prostate examination. Or worse still, the day I was icing my daughter’s 1^st  birthday cake and he announced he was going to try Viagra because there was a lady at the over 60’s club he thought was interested!  Luckily, he misread her intentions and she really was just being a nice lady making him some fruitcake.  I don’t know what was worse – the thought of him on Viagra or having to have a discussion with an 88 year old (who was faithful to his one and beloved wife until she passed) about reading Women’s intentions and not jumping to conclusions and that even if he did read it right that Viagra can cause strokes.  I am grateful that my carer’s role has not included a hospital trip with rigamortis!

The next saga is finding the right electric chair for him to “trade up” to from his motorised gopher so he can safely go to the shops and to his social outings.  I need to get up to speed on wheel turning bases, investigate the gutter sizes on common trips he will take, explain to him that once he gets in this thing he will have to avoid becoming lazy otherwise his ligaments and bones will start to seize up without some range of motion etc etc.  All I can think of is that I’ll have Dr Who’s Davros leader of the Daleks to contend with in a few years!

God will give you the grace to deal with any situation he asks you to stay in.  I have received a greater measure of grace and humility since being the full-time carer of my 90 year old father in law.  But grace in my case takes the form of coping by being able to laugh at myself and the confronting situations that a woman in her thirties should not be exposed to.   

Camping With Kids

Parents know that life with kids involves compromise and what were once mature adult holidays become child friendly extravaganzas.  In camping language this translates to having to pack everything – including the proverbial kitchen sink! 

And when you think you have every angle covered you arrive to find that in camping terms you really are an amateur and your little ill-equipped site flags to experienced campers you are small fry.  To use an Aussie analogy, it’s a bit like comparing the size of a man’s shed (or worse still not having your own shed!)

The one essential piece of camping equipment we don’t own is a camp dunny.  In most cases it is not good form to encroach on another camper’s dunny since they have to empty it themselves. Here lies the compromise as there is always with kids.... save energy (and midnight walks avoiding toads) by camping close to the amenities block,  or save supervision energy and set up camp in close eyesight to  the communal bike tracks. The bike track was the vote. 

This meant many long trips to the toilets versus mastering the art of squatting.  I have not mastered the art.  I ended up peeing on the hem of my trackie daks and almost fell backwards onto a cactus.

Given I’m too much of princess to every really enjoy camping (it is a duty thing – Godly submission to husband and children...) there is no point in investing in all the camp equipment it would require to make it reasonably tolerable. 

But I have found a solution to not squatting! 

While watching  an Aussie reporter in a satirical  attempt to showcase Indian culture, there was a story on  the “Indian Dunny Man” – a bloke who has a historical toilet museum. 

The one that caught my eye is the “Go Girl” purple plastic contraption that is a mobile device when there are no loos to allow a woman to pee without squatting.  Without too much graphic imagery and doing an anatomy lesson, let’s just say that it has a bowl like thing at one end and then flows downward in a tube like shape to deposit the urine away from you and closer to the ground – ok, call a spade a spade – it is a purple open ended penis attached to a small dish!

I was very amused and excited and told my husband about it to google it for my Mother’s Day present.   He replied “No way, I’m not going to give you anything that gives you the ability to stand up to pee”

This device gives new fuel to the “penis envy” argument!  I’m getting one.

Football Role Models

Last night I watched the channel 7 interview on Brendan Fevola and it sparked another instalment between my husband and me on the AFL saga.

I have always had a love/hate relationship with the AFL.  My husband is a mad Lion’s supporter and the success of the team can have an effect on our sex life and his overall demeanour.  And during the AFL season he has around a dozen outings without me and I used to sit at home lonely and resentful. 

The wifely duty here is to learn the rules and how to hoot and holler and avidly discuss the nuances of the game on his return home and over the weekend sports pages. However, I don’t really like sport .  My activities have always been solo sports such as horse riding, skating , gym and aerobics.  Out of love and devotion for my man, I really did try to show an interest in the beginning , but abysmally failed.   It has just highlighted my ignorance and how we are polarised in many aspects of our existence (apart from the introvert/extrovert poles!).  He recently pointed out that the reason most of our family are control freaks is positively correlated to that fact that none of us played team sports at school.  We simply aren’t team players.  Then he added that was what the problem is with most terrorists too. 

So, given this rather convincing observation and in the spirit of good debate I’ve had to come up with some of my own arguments for why I don’t want to take an interest.  For starters, I’m affectionately referred to as the AFL widow.  My chef friend books in his diary every date for the whole season and brings me dinner while we watch Project Runway and Gok’s Fashion Fix.  This is actually a positive thing, but the widow status can be interpreted a number of ways.  Early on in my marriage after running into one of my Brother’s mates for the fifth time without my husband  – desperate and dateless – he inquired in a concerned manner if my marriage was on the rocks.  He had NEVER met Rob.

On the positive side it affords me a credit balance in terms on shopping days and girl’s nights out.  I’ve also worked out that if savage PMT falls on an AFL weekend I always get away with it because he’s too sheepish to fire back given I’m already inflamed about staying at home alone while he gets away from the kids.

I guess another positive is that I get  to catch up on the interesting TV I have taped but never have time to watch such as historical dramas,  chick flicks and  movies I want to watch and contemplate and cry in peace (e.g The boy in the striped Pyjamas holocaust movie – did you see that heart breaker?)

But now I really have fuel to add to my fiery angst.  Due to media sensationalism and love of showcasing smut, my impressionable football mad 7 year old son has seen time and time again how in our culture if you can kick goals you are extended greater levels of forgiveness than if you were a teacher or pastor or public servant.  The message to our children from celebrity is that you can behave badly providing you have talent!  This theme really came out in the Fevola interview last night as a major contributing factor to his downfall.  

And the evidence of how impressionable football role models are exists. It bought back a memory of an incident a year ago when my kids and I were in the front yard waiting for the home icecream bloke.  My son with his penis in his hand was flashing his sister and passing cars and I told him to put it away and that flashing in the front yard is not appropriate.  It is your private parts and you touch them in private, not public.  His response was “Why not?!  Fevola does!”

This had got to be the ultimate trump card in the AFL debate don’t you think?

Vintage Butt

My husband and I had one of our rare but essential kids free weekends recently. We went to Surfers Paradise (or should I say Surfers Parasite) and took a walk down memory lane and went to the Italian restaurant we had one of our first dates.  On our walk back to the hotel we discovered the night club we went to when we were dating.  We must have looked “with it” enough to score a free pass – normally the Gen Y girls handing out passes take one scathing look at you and pretend you’re invisible. So we hauled our vintage butts in to check out our old haunt “Melbas” and noticed that their logo included "open since 1981".

On entry my husband commented “Last time we were here this crowd were crapping in their nappies”.  Perhaps we should have taken the hint and left since we were obviously playing in the under 19’s team.  But where do you go if you are mid 30’s + without being made to feel ancient?  I have heaps of friends both singles and couples in this age bracket who want to still have a good night out, but are mostly disappointed.

The further we entered the club the ruder the shock became... I mean I am not dowdy but looked sacred in comparison to the current fashion.  I know it is an 80's flash back but I don't recall the fashion being so short that it was a live catalogue for Victoria’s Secret!  I wasn't even trying to perv and I could tell you the colour of the skimpy undies of at least 8 girls!  There is not much left to the imagination.  How do Gen Y guys control themselves- they either have low testosterone due to environmental damage , are so sexually active that they are completely satisfied or are just plain de-sensitised due to overexposure!

 I am relieved we didn’t stay past midnight.  Cinderella had problems with things turning back to pumpkins - what happens with alcohol and drugs in the mix? My husband amused himself and lurked suspiciously in the dunny to freak out the two non-gay guys in the same cubicle. He figured he looked old enough to be appear to be an under -cover cop and stuff up their drug deals for a little while.

At one point my normally silent husband made his attempt at a comforting comment (but painfully insightful) and said “Don’t worry love, in 15 years time this lot will be doing school drop off in their trackie dacks too”.  It just highlighted in light years how far apart my reality now is in terms of youthfulness!  

Another observation is how expensive it is for this generation to go out.   And I am not just referring to the $9.50 basic spirits.  By the time they set foot in a club they have maintained their trendy hair styles ($180+/month?), had a salon fake tan, nails done,  teeth whitened, brand names clothes(although the cost of the limited fabric hardly justifies the cost), expensive fragrances etc.  Even the guys are buffed, tanned, sparkling and smell metro sexual.   Do they have any spare cash for charity or health food or university fees for that matter?

Then tragically there are always the girls and guys who just don’t make the “perfect” grade no matter what the expense.  The current fashion of frilly skirts just barely covering the bum crack and ruffled tops that add volume and froth,  is very unforgiving to a larger girl who has not yet found the confidence to find her own non- mainstream style to compliment her shape.  At one point I glanced at all these skinny  scantily clad girls dancing around a larger girl in one of these short frilly get ups and thought she looked like the cake the skinny strippers jumped out of! Humour aside, it was sad and she looked sad.

Was my generation in their day ever that beautiful and perfect?  I know we didn’t expose quite enough flesh to actually rate it, but I know I never looked that lush.  I am glad my persona got the opportunity to develop on grounds other than my legs otherwise I never would have developed any confidence!  Somehow I still seemed to have my fair share of popularity – and I was fairly non-conformist! I mean I’m not a hypocrite - I was a tart – but I didn’t march to anyone else’s beat and the game played was not so overtly sexual.

My husband and I had our fun being horrified spectators but in all seriousness, what a concern. 

Where will my daughter’s skirt be by the time she’s out and about? Will it be essential to look like a porn star to actually rate on the attention scale of her young male counterparts?  How will my son behave?  Will he be desensitised and have unrealistic expectations – what will his sexual education be like?  What if she isn’t a perfect size 8 and he doesn’t have perfect guns and tatts?  Will they be reduced to looking like a mockery or worse still actually be part of the “in crowd”.  Will the idea of collective contribution to our society even rate or will it just be about budgeting for appearance and self gratification?

 How do I create an environment that nurtures the development of self esteem based on parameters other than appearance and sex, in this culture? How do you find the balance between living in the world but not being sucked into it? I feel a huge burden on my shoulders as a parent to somehow model and teach these values in the presence of a far more attractive vacuous and selfish counter culture. I want to cloister them at church and make them the “Jesus Freaks” but also know from my own life and my Mother’s parenting style (which worked!) that it is about applying your principles in the real world.  Cocooning can sometimes ill-prepare for the reality of living.

I am praying for a Gen X led conservative backlash...  One thing is reassuring...   some things never change,  and most Aussie males still cannot dance.  That's why clubs have strobe lights- to make them look like they can move even if it does resemble an epileptic fit for 30 second stints. Thank God for small mercies.

Mid life crisis or the second coming?

With all of these heart breaking and life wrenching floods occurring around Queensland many alarmists are speculating on the meaning of this natural disaster, on a spectrum from end times and Armageddon to the cause and effect of climate change due to our raping and pillaging of the environment.  I personally can’t see past the self centred fact that rainy weekends  with the kids make me feel like Jack from Stephen King’s “The Shining”.

But I think my dog might be onto something.  When the first storm hit, the kids and I were away on holidays and the week before Christmas she somehow got out, went missing for three days and was thankfully and prayerfully returned to us through the RSPCA but injured from a car hit.  She is terrified of storms but felt the instinct to escape (maybe in some misguided way tried to find us to protect us).  The whole episode cost us $2300 on a femoral hip ostectomy three days before Christmas (along with all the other stress and expenses!)

Now, I know that trying to psychoanalyse a dog is a bit far- fetched , but I can’t help seeing correlations.  I mean maybe animals know something and she was trying to get out to get on the ark.  I mean if she wasn’t confused by domesticity her instinct would have sensed the storms and floods and got the hell out to higher ground , but instead due to loyalty she left it too late, got lost finding us and was stopped short by a car that violently changed her course.

 It occurred to me,  if I wasn’t confused by my domestic role in life and not absolutely torn by loyalty, would I have hightailed it out of my life to find safer higher ground on  a blissful self centred plateau?

Maybe the dog not driven by logic, science and rationality knows something we don’t – is it the second coming? Has our free will bastardised the earth to such a point that we are no longer environmentally sustainable and everything is dramatically winding down and degradation is seeping out of the pores of the earth?

Maybe the dog is having a mid life crisis and is my alter ego.  I mean they say that pets tune into our emotional state and her behaviour has been peculiar in direct alignment with me recommencing therapy.  The dog is suddenly having an identity crisis just like me.  She is also mid life in dog years. This breed grooms themselves like a cat, are aloof, don’t bark, don’t smell as they have hair, not fur.  They are not demanding and would never impose on someone else but are completely loyal (much like I used to be).

Now she barks, digs holes, wakes me at three in the morning demanding to go outside and then stays there (she has always slept inside loyally by one of the children’s bed in protective mode), she does a handstand to pee because she can’t be totally male by cocking her leg and will not squat in the conformist and feminine way so she compromises.  When she is not escaping to run away or sleeping outside, she hides under our bed or takes up residence for days on end in my wardrobe cowering (incidentally,  she has also started to smell from licking herself obsessively and my wardrobe and clothes are starting to smell like dog!)

Does this really mean in alter ego terms that if she is actually tuned into my neurosis and is in fact mimicking my behaviour , that I secretly want to abusively bark at everyone;  would like to reinstate  the nightlife I had in my single days and go digging in the soil of my youth; I am conflicted between the masculine business woman I castrated to become a home maker but that I am not totally comfortable in this role so I am still trying to work out how to “mark my territory”; I can’t decide if I want to run back to the workforce or hide at home because I’ve lost all my instincts and confidence ; and ultimately I need a season in life to lick my wounds and smell offensive so everyone backs off and leaves me alone while I repair.

As I said, trying to psychoanalyse the dog using my own mental framework is a futile exercise as she doesn’t speak but t is an interesting exercise to speculate......

Crunchy Asian Salad

Ingredients

1 pkt low fat chicken 2 minute noodles (remove if detoxing)

1/2 cup slivered almonds

1/2 cup sunflower seeds

½ sugarloaf cabbage

15 snow peas

100g snow pea sprouts

4 shallots

1 cup bean sprouts

Dressing:

1 tbs peanut oil

1 teas. sesame oil

2 teasp. Chicken stock

½ cup water

2 tbs soy

¼ cup white wine vinegar

Method

1.     Toast under grill the almonds and sunflower seeds.

2.     Finely shred cabbage.

3.     Slice snow pea sprouts into halves.

4.     Slice snow peas into 3.

5.     Finely slice shallots.  ALTERNATIVELY, if pressed for time buy from Coles or Woolworths the “Four Seasons” or “supreme” dry coleslaw mix from the salad section of the fruit and veggie department.

6.     Mix up dressing.

7.     Combine and toss all ingredients OR make a smaller serve up as needed and  mix in a couple of teaspoons of the nuts and drizzle the desired amount of dressing. Store the nuts in an airtight container and refrigerate the dressing in an airtight bottle for use next time.  Will Keep for about a month.

For a non vegetarian version, add BBQ chicken or cooked and finely sliced beef marinated in soy, honey and garlic.

Recipes

Crunchy Asian Salad (suitable for detox without noodles)http://madmummy74.blogspot.com/2011/03/crunchy-asian-salad.html

Spiritual Inspiration

My Story

Scriptures that guided my life

Christian Commentary

Spiritual Cognitive Behavioural Therapy

Recommended Resources

About Me

Hi there!

This blog is for the Mums (or anyone associated with a Mum) who have ever questioned their existence since taking on the huge role of parenthood.  You can use this blog in a number of ways:

1)      To lighten the day and just have a laugh at my Aussie,  ironic, satirical, and self depreciating wit

2)      Identify with my madness and the mad situations I go through and be comforted by the fact that there are many others out there going through what you are

3)      Feel self righteous and vindicated that you are nowhere near as mad as I am (good luck to you)

A word about writing style.  You need to bear with me.  Like all storytellers in my family, I am fond of going off on tangents – but I promise the angle will be interesting and I haven’t got dementia and will get back to the original topic.  Secondly, I write how I speak – lots,  and without taking a breath – I use a lot of dashes and brackets to expand on a thought – or many thoughts in most cases.

So, here’s  a little about me so you can put my blogging into context....

In a parallel universe, far off in the distance, a long , long time ago... I used to be a relatively normal person (relative being the operative word because most people would agree that my whole family is a bit nuts).  I was a business professional with post graduate qualifications, a workaholic and self confessed success junkie (with some yuppie scum personality traits added into the mix for good measure).  Although I was never void of values, ethics and professionalism, it s fair to say I was a self absorbed capitalist and consumerism was a hobby. 

Fast forward to the current day......

I am now the “Mistress of Home Economy” - full time wife; mother of 7yo boy and 2.5 year old daughter; and carer to my 90 year old Father-in –law who lives with us.  In a strategic sense I used to point out to elitist executive management that macro was essential but if the micro ants weren’t marching to GET to the vision, then macro falls on its butt pretty fast.  Macro is now planning the week so I can fit everything in and maintain sanity.  Micro are the details like fresh bread for school lunches and stain proofing toddler’s clothes BEFORE putting them in the washing machine.

I am essentially going through a confusing “30’s passage” given my life seems so parallel to the one I had before kids.  Self no longer exists (been replaced with various forms of slavery). I’m now a Christian (admittedly a little rough around the edges.  I’m counting on God having a good sense of humour – especially toilet humour ), I believe in socialism and collectivism and am becoming intolerant of self centeredness  (the modern mode of human existence ).  I used to have 2, 5 and 10 year plan.  Now I can’t tell you what my future holds other than how many more loads of washing there is to do.  I’m flat out on having a consistent definition of self let alone facing the full-time work force in a proficient manner.  I have little energy to spare now days, a completely different body shape,  more grey hairs and wrinkles, my hormones and moods  fluctuate wildly and I have been castrated (my good friends used to think I acted and thought more like a bloke – now I’m an emotional wreck quite frequently).

So this blog is also kind of therapy  (although I have a good shrink) and hopefully through the process of writing,  my subconscious will start to eyeball some things and file them in the correct filing cabinet and in time I will be able to more clearly define myself and my future. 

There is one quote from my favourite preacher that always sees me through: “I’m not where I’m supposed to be but I’m sure not where I was.  I’m a work in progress!”

So, if you can identify with any of this, you will probably enjoy my blog.  Welcome and enjoy!

My Story

Testimony

When Anomi first asked me to assist to organise this event, I spent a lot of time thinking about what theme would be common to a lot of Women, drawing mainly from the things I battle with.  And then Anomi asked me to share my story about how I became a Christian and I realised much of my journey to date has been battling with this exact issue – how not to burn out by learning to rely on God. 

It then occurred to me that credibility might be an issue since this topic is my greatest challenge.  I battle with exhaustion, I’ve burnt out and I also battle with depression.  But as my favourite preacher Joyce Meyer reminds us when we beat ourselves up “I’m not where I need to be, but I’m sure not where I was!”

A good Christian friend of mine also reminded me, that spiritually speaking, it is the things we battle with and are tested on, that are the very things that we are supposed to use to help others.  That’s why He allows some experiences, although painful, because the testing and growth process refines us – JUST LIKE PRECIOUS METALS -   It is only thorough molten fire that a metal can be liquefied and then poured into a shape for use.

So, please don’t think I’m a hypocrite and by no means am I an expert, but I do believe my experience parallels to the same battle many other Women have and any insights and strength we can gain from each other assists us in or own journey.  That’s what we women do – get together for a heart to heart over some serious calorie intake in the hope that we can support each other.

So, let me share my story with you….. in a previous life  (AKA before kids!) I was the Marketing Manager for  a male dominated State Government Department.  I was recently married and exhausting myself through my own strength to get to the next level in position and pay.  This had been my career life story – in fact ambition and success in one form or another was my whole life story. 

Everything I set as a goal (no matter how unachievable or at what cost – I achieved.  I lost 20kg as a teenager, got on the school academic honours list at school, went on to tertiary study, registered my own business at 18 and became a marketing and QA manager by the age of 20.

According to the world I was a success, and I thought so too, until I could not get to that next level and started to burn out physically and psychologically.  In fact, I completely lost it one day and  started to cry and couldn’t stop.  I had to take 3 months leave without pay and three sessions a week with psychologists and a psychiatrist in both group and single therapy just to get back to work.

This process revealed some interesting personality traits – need for approval, need for achievement, inability to deal with ambiguity, and perfectionism.  I had completely defined myself by what I could achieve and when I couldn’t achieve anymore, I had nothing left.  Through psychiatric help I discovered that I had constructed these harsh success driven guidelines in my life to mask the pain from childhood and measured my self respect and self image based on them.  My life was one big KPI - No room for error, back against the wall.

The therapy was a great help, but I still had to manage my personality and this in itself is tiring especially when yo have a strong personality!  There had to be another way.

After getting back to work on limited duties, I started to look for the answers from a spiritual perspective.  I read a lot of self help books, considered other faiths and then decided I would go back to my grass roots.  I had gone to a Catholic and then Lutheran school and had faith in God while at school.  But it suited me to put that faith aside to focus on all the worldly things once I left school.

 I contacted a lady I had worked with while I was a marketing manager and I knew she was a very devout Christian and I asked her if we could catch up.  Through my friend I re-ignited my faith and decided to find a good church that I felt at home in.  I decided not to go back to the Church that my Mum had become a born again Christian in while I was at school because in those days it was really full on and wanted something a bit more low key.  So I tried an Anglican Church, Catholic Church and Baptist Church and by absolute “coincidence” I went to a Church that was around the same vicinity as my Mum’s old Church but it had a different name.  It wasn’t until the middle of the service when I felt that the penny had dropped and all the fragmented pieces were coming together that I realised it was the same church  - pretty much the same place we used to sit.  God had drawn me back home.

About 6 months on this Christian path and after returning to work, I felt myself going down the same path – this time I was in an asbestos management role, feeling that I could make no difference no matter how hard I worked and my stress levels were increasing.  We had been trying to conceive for 9 months and all fertility tests were showing everything was fine. 

It was one Sunday at church when I heard a woman by the name of Deanna Thomas speak – she had been a captive of the Taliban during the Afghanistan war.  Her talk was about trusting God to take care of you and that nothing in the flesh could really save her yet she came out miraculously unharmed.  She felt God tell her to stay even though capture was inevitable and that He would deliver her from her circumstances.

During this service I felt deep in my soul God say to me “Trust me and leave your career”.  This in effect was asking me to let go of my control, cut off my income stream which was very much tied up with funding a child and completely wing it trusting that he would handle everything.  So I did. 

I went in and spoke with my General Manager on the Monday, by the Friday I had it all in writing and the following Wednesday I conceived. (My ovaries were obviously saying “No way Lady, it aint’ going to happen in this stress hole! And making the decision relaxed me enough for them to drop their defence – I don’t know!)

Anyway, since I took that leap of faith, freelance marketing work just landed in my lap and has done ever since. I earn a great income, working from home most of the time and although stress can’t be completely removed, it is far less stressful than being unfulfilled and feeling like a mouse in a wheel running faster and faster without going anywhere!

God really showed me that His way is far better than mine and to seek Him first and He takes care of the rest.

Through my church and our fantastic Christian Women’s group that I go to every Thursday morning, as well as some therapy when I need it, I have managed to restore myself to the person God had planned all along for me to be.  With my own will carefully managed and opening myself to His will I now have everything I was working so hard to achieve – I have a happy marriage, two lovely children, I work from home for clients  I enjoy working with,  and I’m managing my health and energy levels most days……………

I now define myself not by my ability to achieve but by how Jesus sees me.  Daily, although a process because my will is still strong, Christ is teaching me how to slow down, relax, not be so hard on myself, heal my past hurts and finally start to get some balance.  His Holy Spirit in me prompts me when things are getting out of balance before I burn out – he’s my inner navigator.  When I stay in close relationship with Him he guides me and leads me instead of me having an uncompromising 5-10 year plan in place.

Don’t be sucked into believing all the wordly advice – self help, self reliance, self focus, independence, …..  I found out the hard way that there is nothing worse than being totally in charge of yourself and totally self reliant. You can usually sustain it for periods of time – even decades, but unless every element of your existence is under control and life doesn’t throw you any curb balls, it can’t last. 

I believe God does not make any bad things happen to us – or the world at large in fact.  Hard ships are created by our own free will – a free will God gave us because he didn’t want to create robots – He wants a real relationship with us, and for us to choose Him and to ask Him to be our guide in life.  When we use our free will to do it ourselves and exclude Him, we live with the consequences of our own free will.  God created everything in balance in the beginning.  The human species has systematically thrown everything out of balance ever since and that is why we struggle in the world today that we have created.  I don’t think we should blame God, but we can turn to Him to help us through this life and that is what He is crying out for us to do.

Finally, Despite who I was – all the worldly self reliance and success, it all lead to exhaustion and emptiness. The most fundamental thing I have learned is that it is through accepting my weakness that I finally could let it all go to find His strength.  Letting go through our own weakness is intimidating because it goes against everything we are told, but that’s the deal.  He can’t do his best work in us when we insist on being backseat drivers.  After doing it my way for most of my life I have personally found that He is far better and kinder at managing my life than I was.  

My advice to anyone struggling with life is to learn how to let go of your own will….., seek Him first……, trust Him……. and rest back knowing that He has far better things in store for you that you could ever create for yourself.  It doesn’t happen overnight, and life is a journey, including tough times that refine us, but it is far better doing it with God than without Him and he can be trusted to work it all out for you.

And try not to do what I do every time I have PMT and go burko for three days – which was last week!  Trusting God doesn’t mean trying to intellectually work Him out and analyse what He’s up to and what the meaning is behind everything.  For God to guide us we don’t have to understand everything…..  We NEVER will.  Us trying to understand why God does things the way He does is like an ant trying to understand the internet!  God has the big picture, He sees everything and everything is accounted for.  Just because we don’t understand doesn’t mean we can’t trust him.  Also, He does it in His time, not ours.  And whilst that aggravates me a lot, since patience is another area I have to work on, that is just the way it is.  The worrying while you are waiting is futile, so try to be peaceful and trust it will work out.  If your heart is right, that is all you have to concentrate on. 

Thank you for letting me share with you tonight and I hope I have offered some inspiration for your own relationship with God.