Mysterious bullies

Like most parents, I spend a good deal of time worrying about bullying. Worried that my Tsunamis may one day fall victim to a group of bullies, yes. But perhaps even more concerned that one day they might take it on themselves to become one.

I know in my heart of hearts that my sweet little cherubs would never intentionally hurt someone else. They know it's wrong to tease and judge others and from a young age we've shown them how important it is to stand up for the little guy. But there is a little argy-bargy happening amongst the Cappers' friends and I do think from time to time "Heaven help me, I don't want to be raising a Mean Girl."

How will I know? How does anyone know?

I've never met an adult who admits to being a bully.

I know lots of people who were bullied, but I don't know anyone who says they bullied them.

Why is that?

I look back on my own childhood and teenagedom and I don't think I was ever a Mean Girl. If I did, it's not something I remember. Is that what happens? Bullies just forget? Is the act of bullying only significant to the victim? Is it 'just another day' to the bully? That's a right worry, that is.

I was fortunately enough to escape the cruelty of bullying, but people close to me weren't so lucky. I often used to wonder if their bullies ever felt sorry for what they had done.

Nowadays I just wonder if their bullies even acknowledge it.

Are they adults who admit to being bullies, or do they also express disbelief and deny they could ever do such a thing? Do they feel the burden of responsibility for the way they changed a life?

Where do bullies go?

Did you ever bully anyone? How do you feel about that today?

Were you the victim of a bully and did they ever apologise?

Anonymous comments welcome.

[Image by Mi Zhang found here]

Defining 'real'

My post yesterday had an amazingly positive reaction from everyone... but oddly enough reading back over what I said has left me feeling a bit hollow. I think there is more to this.

Because what does 'letting it all hang out' even mean exactly?

A blog I newly discovered yesterday was kind enough to tag me in her post. In it she questioned the normality of people like Rachel Zoe and her newly minted baby Skyler (seemingly brought to the world sponsored by Gucci, Louis Vuitton et al). Or whether Jennifer Hawkins was 'keeping it real' as the Marie Claire cover girl left untouched to show body flaws and body acceptance. Another blogger I love wondered why SJP had staged a photo shoot to imply that she was a 'hands on' mum. And many who commented on my post yesterday defined 'real' as being brave enough to reveal a messy house or even a messy soul. To put it all out there into the blogisphere and wait to see what comes back.

But what is real?

Rachel Zoe and SJP's reality is certainly different to mine. But are they any less real because they have loads of cash and live in a world of designer clothes and accessories? Just because they have a nanny, are they really 'pretending to be real' when they talk about being a mother?

I'm sure Jennifer Hawkins flaws are very real to her. Was she any less brave to do what she did because we think her face and body are flawless? Surely you're allowed to be beautiful and real at the same time.

As much as I know that they are not 'reality', would I really want to look at 'Home Reals' instead of 'Home Beautifuls'? Just look at the pictures I choose for my blog!

In reality, are the 'over-styled' blogs and lives that I enjoy banging on about so much any less real to the people who created them?

I guess I don't know their reality. They don't reveal it. But maybe that's the point.

Some bloggers are amazingly candid and their lives are open for all. I admire that, but I don't think that's necessarily the only way to 'keep it real' on the blogs. When I get stuck into a great blog, all I really ask is for honesty, self-expression and ownership. I just want that blogger to be proud to be themselves.

For me, my blog is as real as me (I've written about this before). I don't share anything on here that I wouldn't share in person. I like my world to look good and smell good and I guess my blog looks good and smells good too. I'm an honest writer, I write exactly how I talk (minus the swearing!).  Sometimes I write things that I choose not to share but it's no more or less than I share in any other aspect of my life.

My house is not particularly messy. My life is not particularly messy. If 'messy' is what's real, then I don't really have a lot to say. Unlike more personal 'day in the life' sort of blogs, I don't really write about my everyday life, so you don't really know what my 'every day' is like. But I'm authentic, I'm me, I don't hold me back one little bit.

I don't cover up the cracks.

I don't 'theme' my life.

I don't pretend to be something I'm not.

I don't shy away from the hard bits.*

I don't back up the truck.

I think you can always tell when a blogger isn't being true to themselves but I guess what I'm trying to say is that it takes all kinds of people to make a world and it takes all those kinds of to make a blogging world too.

If you live a little bit in your dreams, then of course you're dreamy in blogland and I'm delighted to dream alongside you.

If you 'blog light' and share only what you want to, then I'm just honoured that you shared at all.

And if you 'blog heavy' and reveal more of yourself on your blog than anywhere else, I guess part of me is wondering why, but the bigger part is very, very glad.

So, if it's okay by you, I'll repeat what I said yesterday, but with a very important qualifier.


So, keep letting it all hang out there, bloggers of the world. I embrace you and the wind you threw your caution to.... Because the very act of blogging is brave. No matter how you choose to express yourself. No matter how deep you choose to go. 


Blogging is brave. But living is even braver. Why should blogging be 'more real' than life?

What does 'real' mean to you?

* Most of the time.

[Image found here]

The alternative of... me

I've just finished reading In My Skin by Kate Holden. It's a searingly honest book and so beautifully written that at times it felt like a volume of poetry. I could go on for a bit about the insights gained into the prostitute / junkie world, but weirdly enough the biggest take-out I had from the book was a throwaway paragraph early on where Kate mentioned that her family started their own school with a couple of other families.

Isn't that amazing?

I'm so admiring of people who manage to do extraordinarily unique things. Those who carve out a new way to live their life their way. Who don't care what 'everyone' thinks of them, they are too busy just getting on with this business of living truthfully and creatively. Kids aren't coping at the school up the road? Getting bullied, judged as odd? No matter, we'll just make our own school with our own idea of cool and they'll totally fit in. Will we care that they are still 'odd' sorts of kids to everyone else? Hell no! We'll just ignore everyone else and it won't matter a bit!

Sick of everyone judging your child on their gender alone? Let's just not let anyone know whether Storm* is a boy or a girl.

I do wonder sometimes how I got to be so utterly mainstream. For as long as I can remember I've always embraced difference in others and I'm fascinated by anyone who plays by their own rules. It's why I chose that great Ralph Waldo Emerson quote as number seven and Oscar Wilde as number four. As a youth I always thought of myself as a bit of a reckless, poet-type, but of course it was all in my head. I have never been anything even remotely resembling alternative. Creative, yes. Alternative, not so much. In fact, when I said to LOML the other night 'let's throw it all in and live off the grid' we both just laughed and laughed.

But.

In my dreams I am always exactly that type of person. Artistic, creative, hippie, bohemian, earthed. Ah, who am I kidding? Is it even possible to call yourself a bohemian when you're working for the man and, really, it's not too bad? Is it possible to call yourself artistic when lately the most you've creatively stretched yourself was icing cupcakes for the kinder class? Is it possible to be alternative when you're addicted to your dryer and consider vintage shopping somewhat painful? If you decorate your home in what you think is an eclectic, me sort of style but everyone comments on how successfully you've merged 'French Provincial' and 'Hamptons'**? If you secretly think that gender or none, Storm is a really a rather awful name for a person?

Is it possible?


* Boy or girl, something tells me Storm is going to need s/he's own school someday...
** Seriously. How's my life?

_______________________________________________

PS - My family will be wearing red tomorrow for Daniel's family. A red cardigan for me. Red socks for my husbie. A red shirt for little one. Red undies for my big one and a red ribbon slashed against a blue school uniform for my middle one. For all sorts of reasons, Daniel will always be remembered. http://www.danielmorcombe.com.au/

[Image flogged off Dottie Angel - for she is a true artistic spirit, living an individual life; red shirt image found here]

Pucker up

I need to know if I've been embarrassing myself totally for years and years and years.

I'm a bit of a kisser. I like to do the hello-kissy-kiss-kiss thing when it's someone I know reasonably well. It's nice. See, that's me in the picture above saying 'oh, hello, nice to make your acquaintance.' Ha! Not really, we're talking a little peck at most. Occasionally it's a double-job as I'm influenced by the Italians, but generally it's a fleeting peck.

But when I do the kiss, I do make actual lip to cheek contact.

Someone has mentioned that this is majorly embarrassing and you're supposed to kiss the air next to the cheek, not the cheek itself.

Who knew?

Anyway, I tried out  the air-kiss and I felt like a total air-head kissing into space like that with the little 'mwah' sound. Man, what an idiot. So I went back to making actual cheek contact.

Now, what I need to know is: is this social suicide?

Am I turning what is meant to be a warm, welcoming thing into a horrifying

experience for all I make overly-intimate contact with?

Does anyone else out there make contact?

[Image found here]

The most boring job in the world

Driving 10 hours straight down to Daylesford recently was immensely enjoyable, but the thought did cross my mind that I would go absolutely bonkers if I had to do the drive up and down the Hume day in day out. Being a truckie must be one of the more boring jobs in the world.

It got me thinking: what is the world's most boring job?

It's all subjective, of course. What I might find intensely boring might be nirvana for another. For example, I did fleetingly think to add 'mother' to the list because you can't tell me that singing 'Easy Silence' every night for 1356 nights isn't boring... but there are good bits too, so it didn't qualify.

For me, the short list is basically composed of any job where you're not required to think a lot, the work you do is monotonous and you're essentially on your own all day:

truck driver
car park security guard
tennis umpire
crane lifter
data entry

I might also add 'personal trainer' because I find exercise so intensely dull and imagine it must be mind-numbing having to watch someone else do it. There's also that guy on the Colourbond ad whose main job appears to be watching metal rust... the equivalent of being paid to watch paint dry?

What do you think the most boring job in the world might be?

[Cute guard peg dolls by Abbey of Aesthetic Outburst]

A spoonful of something

With a blocked head, runny nose and voice like a rasp, I ducked out from work to buy a box of Codral. I haven’t bought Codral in years, but it occurred to me that if I was going to do the socially expected thing and ‘punch through’ this cold and infect the entire office in the process, I may as well be comfortable while I’m doing it.

After the Pharmacist and I got through the multitude of questions that all purchases require these days (Name or generic brand? Small or large box? Day and night or just day or night?) he said, “What photo ID have you got?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You need photo ID with your address on it to buy Codral in Australia,” he explained. “It contains xezqxreanolex.*”

I don’t know why it bothered me as much as it did. Well, I didn’t actually have any ID with me – so that’s a start – and my head was pounding like a mutha so I will say I was not my (ordinarily very nice but sometimes really not) self at the time. I may or may not have muttered something about Australia becoming governed by Mary Poppins and something else about whether the Pharmacist was happy being Door Bitch and stomped out of the pharmacy. I can assure you that knocking over the toothpaste stand by the front door was entirely unintentional and very inconvenient as it meant I had to help the Pharmacist slash Door Bitch pick up all the cartons.

“It’s a dangerous drug if not taken correctly,” he murmured, avoiding eye contact.

“Yes, I understand that. I’m sorry about the toothpaste.”

“I’m sorry you don’t have ID,” he returned, generously.

What it all boils down to for me (and I write this through the fog of my unmedicated head cold so I absolutely reserve the right to retract the lot), is that I’m really just a little bit tired of all the rules we have in our fair country. I’ve travelled the world extensively and I can say with certainty that I never came across a country that had as little faith in its people as Australia. We are so babied here that it makes me want to chuck a tanty in aisle five.

We seem to assume the worst in people and govern for the lowest possible denominator. It’s almost like as a country we are trying to actively raze to the ground all trace of common sense and build a rule on top of it. Rule after rule after rule is being made and accepted and we aren't asking for so much as a spoonful of sugar to help them go down.

Teachers can't give children a hug in the playground when they skin their knee. You can't buy firecrackers. A speed camera is standing by just waiting to catch you paying more attention to the traffic around you than your speedometre. It's not your choice to wear a seat belt to save your own life. Forget the wind in your hair, you'll get fined if you don't wear a helmet when you ride your bike (I would say 'why not make us wear helmets in cars?' but I am scared it will happen). They'll fine you for swearing in Victoria. We're even fined if we don't vote for the right to exercise our democratic right to freedom of speech.

I’m not sorry I didn’t think to take ID to the Pharmacy to buy medication for the common cold. I’m just sorry that I was supposed to.

Do you agree the Australia babies its citizens?

If you’re not from around here, how’s the ratio of rules in country?

What rule does your society have that irks you the most?**

* Or maybe it was Phenylephrine.
** Mine is not this. I’ll save my erkiest Aussie rule for another post!

[Image found here]

Recovery for the young*

Ever reminisce about those 'work to play to work' days? The ones where you would go to work, hit the bar hard-baby straight after, dance the night away, walk home in the light of a blushing sun, take a quick shower and go to work?  Hell, you might even have managed to back up the next night too. Yeah, those days... ah, those days... hmmm, yes, those days...

How long does it take you to recover from a big night out these days?

For me it's three days, maybe four. Oh, okay, I'll be honest, it's at least 3 months.

These days a 'big' weekend involves scheduling more than one thing across the entire 48 hours. I panic if someone invites us somewhere on Sunday afternoon because there isn't enough 'recovery' time before work on Monday. And that's just a family afternoon out with the kids - don't even get me started on the meltdown that an actual night out night out involves.

I don't know when I got to be so feeble.  The urge to 'punch through' just left me sometime in my mid-thirties and has never been seen again. It wasn't even because I had children (I nursed many a hangover for a good few years after that). I just got sensible and who can blame me? Being sick this week reminded me of how annoying it is to be off your peak - it hurts, yes, but even worse, you just can't get anything done.

So nowadays (should that be nowanights?), the idea of a boozy bar, loud music and actual dancing (ie, public dancing) just makes me squirm. All that drinking, all that posturing, all that yelling. By 10 o'clock I'm practically running out the door home to the joy of peace and quiet and a warm, loving man.

Does this make me old? I don't think of it as old, I think of it as clearing the way for today's feisty young folk. Yes, well. God knows, when I was one of the feisty I used to freak out to the max whenever I found out someone was at a bar and forgodsakeforty. Seriously, you're still out? Get a life, dude. So, it was always my ambition to not be that person and just look at me now - I've achieved my goal!

Am I old? Am I sad? Am I normal?

Are you still out painting the town red?*

* At heart, obviously.
** But I will warn you, red is such a nineties colour... 


[Image by Jaz Marsh]

When did we all get to be so rich?

The other day on the train there was a guy wearing KT26 runners. Oh, the memories! Once when we were kids our grandfather treated us to a new pair of 'branded' sneakers for our birthdays. We could choose any sneakers wanted and we were so excited! My sister chose KT26's and I spurred on by my new favourite movie BMX Bandits, I chose some sort of shoes that had a BMX bike embroidered on them that I can't find a link to (oddly enough). Oh my god, we were in heaven in our expensive, trendy shoes.

So, this was in 1983 and Nike et al were unheard of in Australia. I think Reebok made an entrance into the tennis world the year after (I think - I'm not going to fact check that, I'm not a newspaper sub). All those expensive $100+/ $200+/ forgodsake$300+ shoes hadn't been invented yet and who knows who could have afforded them anyway? KT26s and BMX shoes - it makes me smile. Our idea of what constitued an expensive pair of shoes are now so far down on the luxury ladder it makes those longed for 'brands' seem like a sweet joke. Our family wasn't poorly off by any stretch of the imagination, but 'big brands' just weren't the kinds of things purchased by average Australians back in the eighties.

What happened to that?

Rampant marketing happened, that's what. It started with the sneakers and then... kapow! The rise and rise of The Brand. You had to buy... stuff in order to be... something. Branded clothing, leather couches, pools, two bathroom houses and carat diamonds - these were all things that were only for the very rich when I was growing up. At least, that was my perception as a child. And instead of all of us lacing up our Dunlop sneakers and running as fast as we possibly could away from the snarling dog of consumerism we embraced it like a longed-for puppy.

These days, what were once considered luxury items are pretty much considered 'needs' by everyone and charged to an awful lot of credit cards. I'm not talking personally (some of these things I have, some I don't) and I realise that not everyone gets caught up in this untethered consumerism or has the money to even consider it. But so many of us do. It is my perception that as a society we are definitely flashing a lot more cash around than we have previously ever been able to do.

Add to that all the things we've invented in the past twenty years or so that cost A LOT of money - the smartphones, broadband internet, flatscreen televisions, gaming devices, apps galore - and I just don't get how we're all affording everything.

How are we affording everything?

There are so many stores selling so much stuff. Fashion changes every other week rather than every other season. We even have special clothes that are 'must haves' for Autumn and Spring. I don't remember that as a child. You put a Winter cardi over your Summer dress in Autumn and you stopped wearing your singlet under your Winter outfit in Spring. How are people managing to 'stay on trend' four times a year?

And don't get me started on the new Australian Dream of a quarter acre house on a quarter acre block. Oh, go on then, do. So many of the features that are 'must-haves' today were considered inaccessible luxuries just twenty years ago. Two or more bathrooms, media rooms, walk-in wardrobes, spare bedrooms, studies, family rooms, outdoor rooms... dear god, who can afford all this stuff?

Did incomes increase at some stage? Did everyone get promoted? Did we all win the lottery?

I'm naive in all areas of finance, but something definitely doesn't add up to me (even with my calculator).

When did our society get to be so rich? And how do we avoid buying all this stuff?

[Image found here]

The messy charade

I’m tired of the charade and want it to stop.


You know the one I’m talking about.

You’re invited to a friend’s place for morning tea. You are greeted merrily at the door and ushered inside a home so pristinethat a white glove would be instantly rendered unemployable; unless it was willing to take on a shift as a duster. This house sparkles, it shines, it gleams. In fact it’s so darn clean looking you don’t even need the three second rule when you accidentally drop your just-baked bickie on the white shag carpeting.

And then it begins.

“Sorry about the mess,” your friend says distractedly.

“Mess?” You yelp, worried that your surreptiously reclaimed bickie has left offensive crumbs.

“I haven’t had a chance to clean all week,” she continues, looking disgustedly around the slovenly lab she calls home.

Ah yes, that’s the charade I’m talking about. The one where we have to pretend that (a) we haven’t cleaned up for our guests or (b) we haven’t actually stopped cleaning since we first met a mop in 1982. Either way, the house is perfectly neat, we can both see that it’s perfectly neat so why do we have to have the fake “sorry my house is such a mess” conversation every. single. time I come to visit?

Are you fishing for compliments – because I know the standard answer I’m meant to give is “Oh, no, hon. Your house looks perfect. I can’t believe how tidy you are, you should see my place”?

Or are you actually trying to distract me from noticing your anal neatness lest I judge you on having nothing better to do than clean?

Or, heaven forbid, do you genuinely think your super-neat house is messy, in which case your issues are probably even more ingrained than pasta sauce on microwaved Tupperware – an image I just know is making you hyperventilate a little bit right now*?

Any way you look at it, the pointless “sorry my house is such a mess” conversation is just not going to make you a winner.

I don’t do it. Any of it. I don’t clean up for people butand I don't make them talk about it when they come over either. On any given day my house could be messy when you visit, it could be tidy, it could be a total brothel complete with random half-clad girls wandering in and out (well, it could). But we don’t have to talk about it. You can just sit down and we’ll have a chat about far more interesting stuff than housework and you can happily drink your cup of tea (although I would definitenly advise employing the 3 second rule should you drop your bickie on my floor... actually, my advice is that even within the 3 second parametre you should probably just leave the bickie where it dropped – one of my half-clad girls can pick it up).

If I tallied up all the useless “sorry my house is messy” conversations I’ve had over the years, I reckon I’ve wasted weeks of my life. Weeks. And that’s not even including the fake “My daughter dresses herself” conversations or the fake “Look how creased my shirt got on the train” conversations or even the fake “I must have dropped that Indian curry on my sleeve at breakfast this morning” conversations. Maybe I’ve even wasted years.

Yes, I'm tired of the charade and want it to stop

Why do we pretend we’re effortlessly perfect? And why can’t we just own up to how hard we work at being perfect? And seriously, are we really worried that people are going to judge us on how well we keep house? 


* I’m not cruel.

[Image by Isabel Pereira]

Smack!

I won't link to the author just now as I'm not sure she wants the debate to rage on for her, but last week a loving Mum wrote a post about her frustration with her three year old and mentioned in that post that she smacked her daughter on a day when things just became all too much.

The debate, yes it raged.

Smacking is one of those polarising parenting issues. The only other parenting choice that I know of that sees more negativity is bottle feeding. They are both 'dark ages' parenting styles that the more 'enlightened' are very quick to judge.

I can't believe I'm wading into this murky debate - and god knows I'm really over having the 'judging is so wrong' conversation - but I did want to tell you about my experience and what works for me.

I never wanted to smack. Before children I once saw a mother in a shopping centre smacking her child on the bottom saying "Don't hit your brother!"

That was all I needed to know right there.

I also knew that I didn't want to be the kind of parent that talked endlessly on and on to (at?) her young child about their naughty behaviour but did nothing to actually discipline the child. I didn't know what the middle ground was, but I was going to find out what it was and be that parent (you know how we are before children...)

I absolutely wasn't going to be a smacker.

But once upon a time when Maxi was three almost four and I felt like everything else I was doing just wasn't working any more and I was at my wit's end, I did try smacking on the advice of a few trusted people. I did it twice and each time felt extremely uncomfortable, I felt like I had failed. Mostly because, like many parenting things, I sort of stuffed up and used a wooden spoon, not my hand. Seriously, I really didn't get it, did I?

Many would think that my using a wooden spoon as a 'weapon' was tantamount to abuse immediately, not worrying about how hard the smack was or where it was. And, to be honest, I would probably agree with them. Not the 'weapon' bit, because that's just ridiculous, but the abusive bit... well, maybe. No, I don't believe I scarred Maxi for life with a couple of smacks. But I definitely believe that I hurt him and scared him and disappointed him. And I hurt and scared and disappointed myself. Because if I was that uncomfortable after one smack, why on earth were there two?

Parenting is hard.

Fact is, I didn't think the smacking approach worked any better than the 'time out' approach I had been using. I suppose immediately after the smacks the 'threat' of the wooden spoon might have saved me from the, oh I don't know, bother of a time out or two, but it didn't last long and fear of the wooden spoon certainly destroyed any hope Maxi might have had to be a chef one day.  Sorry, bad joke.

Anyway, I realised that I had done the smacking when I felt like I didn't have any other options. When I'd exhausted the techniques that I had learned and that had worked up until that point and beyond that I didn't have a plan. Smacking was reactive. I felt panicked, overwhelmed - not 'out of control' but certainly not 'in control'. How trustworthy is a mother in that state? How trustworthy is a person in that state?

What I didn't realise was that none of it really mattered anyway. This, too, shall pass. Those moments, when I was at my wit's end with my super-naughty, super-defiant, super-willful son, just... passed. I can barely even remember what they were like. New frustrations took their place, certainly - he was and still is the same super-naughty, super-defiant, super-willful child, plus, YAY, I have two more just like him - but I was different.

I never smacked again. We started to use the 1,2,3 approach* and it has worked for us for years. Partly because we're 100% consistent with it, but mostly because I have never again let my children's behaviour get under my skin the way I did in those exhausting early days. Because those moments of utter 'what am I going to do with this child'  despair, well, in the end they just don't matter enough.

So, these days, when I feel like I'm getting to that point where I'd rather quietly slit my wrists in the bathroom than hear my child defy me again (ie, most days, many times a day), I don't even think that a smack might sort that child right out. If it's not an option, it's not an option.

No, these days I always, always have a plan.

Just when I'm on the verge of losing it completely, I think 'it's time to lighten the f up before you lose it completely' and then, in the middle of a burning hot parent-child moment, I remember to take the high road. I remember that 'winning' doesn't really matter in the end and I use humour to diffuse a potentially combustible situation.

So, well, I put on my Cranky Pants. Yep, I pretend to put those babies on and I announce in a mock super-cross voice "Right then, the Cranky Pants are Going On". And noooobody likes it when the cranky pants go on because then Mum does the most insane cranky pants dance that is so unhinged and so silly that it's embarrassing even to a three year old and then it's really, really funny and then we're all laughing and then we're suddenly friends again AND THEN, then I say "so, do you think you could do X for your crazy mumma after all?'

And the answer is invariably... "yes". Yes, Mumma, I could do that, stop that, try that, help that, pick that up, put that down, move that... be that.

Yes, Mumma, I really, really could.

What techniques do you use to get yourself home safe under heavy fire?

Does a smack work for you? Have you, like me, ever been ashamed of something you've done as a parent? You can be Anonymous if you want. I really respect, and would love to hear, alternative views to my own.

* If you're keen, I can do a post on 1,2,3 but your mum will know this discipline method. 1 is a reminder of the behaviour we expect. 2 is a warning that if they don't change their behaviour, there will be consequences. 3 is the consequences. Certain behaviours skip the 1 and 2 and go straight to 3 (hitting is, unsurprisingly, one of them). These are all agreed as a family and are listed on our board. It is rare these days that we get all the way to 3, most of the time a 1 reminder is enough. That took a lot of work, but it's been that way for ages and I feel like we're mostly on top of things most of the time. x

__________________________________________________

Edited 23/5

Louisa is comfortable with me sharing her post that inspired my post. You can read it here.

[Image by the uber-talented Elisabeth Dunker details a much better use for the humble wooden spoon]

Putting those balls down

No, this isn't a man-hating post (har, har, I crack myself up... I hope you read my title, otherwise I'll just be looking like a total nutter right about now... maybe still?) ANYWAY.

No, this is a post about putting down the 'juggling balls' of motherhood. I hate to tell you this, but I'm SO sick of that expression that I just want to scream. The hysteria-inducing media talks about the 'juggle' of motherhood, my friends talk about 'keeping all the balls in the air', my friendly bloggers blog about 'dropping the balls'... if we stepped back and took a good look at our society right now, you'd think that mothers belonged in the circus.

Ask any real juggler and they'll tell you that juggling is lots and lots of fun but also the most stressful thing they'll ever do. Well, I only know one actual juggler, and that's what he said. "Juggling more than three balls is like trying to give 100% concentration to more than one thing at the same time," he said. "Yes, I know, that's impossible, but somehow you just make it work. But it's beyond stressful trying to focus on one ball while you're looking at another. The satisfaction of 'the catch' is solid, but gone in an instant. You catch, you feel the thud, then you throw it straight back in the air again."

"The satisfaction of the catch is solid, but gone in an instant" - how many of us can relate to that? We are only barely finished with one accomplishment before we're moving quickly onto the next. Our lives become moments of fleeting satisfaction, barely acknowledged.

Is it just me who thinks 'No freaking way. That's not how I want to live.'

If you feel like your life is a constant juggle, I think you need to put down the balls for an evening and really take stock of what you're doing with your life. While those balls are on the ground, you could give yourself a nice little foot massage with them while you think about things like:

What am I doing that doesn't really need doing?
What am I doing that I could be more efficient at?
What am I doing that someone else could be doing?
What do I need to do to make that happen?

I did this task many, many years ago. I was a juggler. I felt out of control. I had just gone back to work (in a new job) after my maternity leave with Cappers. I was terrified of all I needed to do and in a state of constant momentum. I didn't feel capable of being a wife, a mother of two under 2 who didn't want to sleep, a friend, a boss, a colleague, a daughter, a sister, an aunt and CEO of my own messy house. I felt physically sick from being wired on adrenalin 24/7.

I didn't make many changes. I'm still all those things, but I made small changes that helped me get a handle on it all. I still do those things today.

Things like not going to every social occasion I am invited to. Maybe not even going to any if I'd rather be at home doing something quiet with my family. Things like watching only one or two television shows a week instead of 4 or 5. Things like reading less books so I have a bit of time for blogging. Like building up a support network of people - both paid and friend - that works like a dream. Like hiring a gardener to help me keep on top of a space that's important to me. And doing my own cleaning because if I go hard for a couple of hours, that's a clean house and a work-out right there. Not reading silly women's magazines (okay, sometimes, but not always!); not seeking a promotion at work so I can contain my obligations there; not going on time-sucky and sometimes just plain sucky Facebook; spending as much time as I can outside; working really hard to not feel guilty about any of my choices if I know I did the best I could at the time.

The number one change I made, though, was the decision to not compare myself to what anyone else was doing. I don't want to keep up with those over-indulged, vacuous, aggressive Joneses any more. They can live the way they want to live, and I'll just be doing my thing over here.

You've got to let some of it go, because if you're living in a constant state of stress, something has to give. You can't sustain it. If your body manages to withstand the constant pressure, your mind certainly won't. You won't be happy, you can't be happy if you're constantly stressed to the max. When you're sitting there, taking stock, think about how many of those balls are weighted with other people's expectations. How many are ones you juggle to please others or to maintain a standard. They're probably the first ones you can get rid of.

This is your life, not a circus show. So, please, put down the balls.

Are you a juggler? Does it make you happy? 

What could you change in your life to make things easier?

[Image by toypincher]

This week I'm grateful for... engaged strangers

What on earth is an engaged stranger, you ask? Someone you don't know who is about to get married?

Nope.

This week I'm grateful for...

115. Engaged strangers - those lovely people here and there that acknowledge the world around them and make outings with children just that little bit easier. The tough guy at the supermarket who pulled funny faces to amuse The Badoo at the checkout. The kind people who wave and smile back when my extra-friendly son says "hello Big Person, do you like Harry Potter too?" (and, really, who are all those people who just keep on walking past him with a frown? Who are you?). The lovely lady who gave Cappers a little sweet* at the newsagency (it wasn't that kind lady's fault that World War Three instantly broke out because "she got something and I didn't"). Yes, those kind of engaged strangers. I love 'em.

116. Homecomings - LOML comes home tonight. Woot!

117. Leggings - this time of year, I'm living in them. Actually, I'm kind of into them all year 'round. I don't even care that they are sooooo yesterday; I've got a feeling they are always going to be my tomorrow staple. And don't worry, I'm all about the skirt over the top!!

* You can tell me off for letting my daughter take a sweet from a stranger if you like... but we do have a rule that they are only allowed to talk to a person they don't know if Mum or Dad are with them... it goes okay. I'll write a post on the whys and hows soon.

So, what's making you smile today? Add your I'm Grateful For post to the list below (and please, we love you, but it really does matter that your post is a Grateful one and not just a random), add the button (grab the code from my sidebar and paste it into your post) and pretty-please add a link back to me.  Then pop over to visit other bloggers who are spreading a little sunshine. 

Happy weekend to you!

[Image via weheartit]

Wearing sheep's pyjamas

Okaaaaay then. I've got to get it out.

I'm judgey.

I know it's the worst possible offence of all possible worst offences, but I do judge others. Inwardly.

I wouldn't dream of being unsupportive enough to criticise someone outright, so I will nod and smile and say nothing. But inwardly...

Yesterday, for instance, I looked after six children for the day (my three plus three others). The oldest child was eight. We had a great day, but you can imagine the limp state I was in when five o'clock pick up time rolled around.

And rolled straight on by.

It was nearer to six by the time the first parent arrived to pick up her two (she had called to apologise at ten to five so all was well) and closer to seven thirty by the time the Third Child was collected by his. By then Third Child was fed and bathed and wearing a pair of Max-pyjamas, ready for bed along with the Tsunamis. Third Child thought this was just fantastic fun and, of course, at no time did I let on to him that his Mum was hours past pick-up time. In truth I had to hide my anxiety because there was absolutely no contact from his mother and no answer on her mobile despite my many calls and one or two (okay, four) texts.

I was dragging out the sofa bed when Third Child's mum finally arrived. She was apologetic (but not apologetic enough). She simply said "sorry I'm late, you know how it is."

I said: "don't worry, it happens, he's been a good boy all day."

I thought: how what is? Being two and half hours late to collect your boy without contact or explanation? No, actually, I really don't know how that is.

My main point of judgement, however, was that at no time did she say anything whatsoever to her freshly-scrubbed and proud pyjama-wearing son, apart from "Get your shoes, we're in a hurry." Not a "How was your day, honey?" or an "I've missed you all day, what did you get up to?" or even a "Look at you in your friend's pyjamas!"... nothing.

See, I'm judgey. I judge all the time and this is just one example. It's by no means a clean finger that I'm pointing with but sometimes I'm just not interested in putting my "she probably had a rough day and isn't usually like this" cap on. I'm not interested in pulling on my "not until you've walked in her shoes" shoes either. I'm not even interested in wearing my "whatever works for her and her family" pants for this one either.

See? Judgey.

I'm not going to pretend that I don't do it.

I think everyone does it, but we don't talk about it because ironically we're afraid that other people will judge us for it. 

So, we say "don't worry, it happens, he's been a good boy all day."

[Image from bluquote - I take no responsibility for the terrible grammar!]

Dealing with Difficult People #10: Rude Bastards

Some people are just not very nice. They don’t seem to have learned the golden life rule about treating others the way you would like to be treated yourself.


That bloke in accounts who lets the door shut in your face every single time. The kid who thinks 'merge' means 'push in immediately'. That guy on the train with his legs spread across three seats (his balls are apparently that big). That mother at the school gate who turns slightly away every time you approach. There are so very, very many of them.

They just don’t get the fact that life runs on little everyday niceties; they are Life Rude. Would it kill them to be kind?

So, how do we handle this unnecessary business without being rude right back?

1. Don’t reach for the PowerPoint
Tempting though it is to launch into a Modern Manners lecture complete with Venn diagrams, I wouldn’t go there. I remember cringing as a woman on the train once tried this with a big-ball-leg-spreader and she just sounded so whiny. The trouble with rudeness is that it is actually quite a trivial matter on its own. The more you sound off about it, the more inconsequential their rudeness seems.

2. The boxer approach
Depending on the type of day you’ve had, you could always just get physical. I’m pretty sure that squeezing yourself in next to that big-ball-leg-spreader and giving him a whacking-hard shove out of the way would make you feel a whole lot better. And imagine just walking up and decking that imperceptibly-snobby mum at the school gate. Oh, the blessed relief!

3. Cue your Look of Utter Contempt
Of course, I could never condone violence of any kind*, so instead I’ll recommend the non-verbal equivalent of a slap to the face. The Look of Utter Contempt.

This is the look you would give if you were the Queen of the World and they were some simple little serf prone on the floor in front of you beseeching you for their life. Your foot would ease out from your bejewelled gown to give them a smart kick to the face… oh, sorry, back on the violence again.

4. Cue your Look of Utter Distaste
If you get no luck with the Look of Utter Contempt, try the Look of Utter Distaste. This look is similar to what you might find on a face that has just discovered its attached foot has stepped in slightly-sticky dog poo, walked it through the newly-carpeted house, up the 27 stairs and into bed.

“What are you looking at?” says the loud-mouthed buffoon.** Cue your Distaste aimed directly at their eyeballs and say “oh, I’m looking at absolutely nothing”.

5. Beat them with niceness
When the looks and the brawling fail, it’s time to resort to being nice. Rudeness is always louder when surrounded by impeccable manners. Up your own nice factor, smile sweetly and bring them to their knees.

Rudeness: The hidden societal stress factor.

How do you show people that rudeness is not okay on your watch?

What’s the rudest thing you’ve ever randomly had done to you?

* Please ignore my 'blessed relief' comment in the point above. As a complete pacifist, I should never have written that. I don't know what happened.

** I’m not entirely sure what a buffoon is but I’m pretty sure I would know if I was Queen of the World and writing this with my quill.


[Image by the delightful Suse at  Revoluzza as always. Thank you for your marvellousness, Suse.]

Can't help myself

Ahem. I would just like to publicly point out that I was not actually in the meeting where the lady cried all the way through (please go here first if you have no idea what I'm talking about). No, no, no. That would not happen on my watch.

In fact, the entire Bystander Effect doesn't happen on my watch.

For as long as I can remember, I've been a helper. I've helped my mum (pet), I've helped my teachers (pet), I've helped the homeless, the downtrodden, the random crying people, the drunks and on one memorable occasion the police with their inquiries. It's pathological helping; I can't help myself.

Aside from the obvious volunteering outlet for us helpers, I've never understood how people can keep walking when there is an injured bird in our flock. I certainly cannot. One time I stood up to an irate 6' tall giant who was threatening his girlfriend's face with a bottle. It helps that I'm an irate 6' tall giant myself, but then I still thought it was very brave and foolish thing to do. But she needed help, so help arrived. Mind you, there was a group of at least 10 other people around us (including one 6'4" giant who I could really have used) and they did absolutely nothing to help that girl. Or me for that matter. Amazing.

Speaking of the Bystander Effect, I learned about Kitty Genovese when I was studying Psych at Uni and while everyone else was nodding along in recognition, I remember very boldly thinking "I would not have done nothing." I would not have been able to live with myself if I heard that girl cry for help and did nothing. I would not.

Is there a Superman Effect? I honestly think I have that Effect because who do I think I am with all this helping? All I know is that it doesn't feel right to ignore someone's plea or cry for help, or even their random appeal. Hence, I'm always volunteering to do this, that and thisthatthisthatthisthat when I really don't have the time. It's not that I can't say No (I am actually very good at saying No), it's just that I can't do nothing... like I said, it's pathological.

Are you a helper? 

Have you ever not helped someone in need and regretted it? What kinds of things make you keep walking?

[Image from here]

Patting the elephant in the room

We all know I'm not exactly a 'subtle' sort of person. I find it extremely difficult to ignore the bleeding obvious. In fact, I am more likely to give the elephant in the room one great big cuddle rather than ignore him.

How do other people do it?

Like, the other night at the pre-school Parent Committee meeting there was a new dad there. Whilst it was lovely to see a new dad getting involved with the pre-school, when asked if he had anything to add he just went on and on and on. That's the Boring bit. The Elephant bit is that he had his eyes closed the entire time that he was waffling on. So he was speaking to about ten people in the room with his eyes closed.

I thought it was just hysterically funny and had to hide behind the Tonka Truck shelf to stop myself from laughing. Worse than that though is that no-one else in the room appeared to either notice or be phased by this bizarre public speaker.

This sort of thing happens to me all the time. Not the Sleeping-Dad-Waffling part, but the wondering why no-one else looks like they just want to leap up and say "oh for gods sake, open your eyes when you're talking, you look deranged!'.

Other recent elephants have included:

A room full of business people ignoring the fact that one of their own was crying quietly throughout the entire meeting.

- and -

A mother at school waxing lyrical about how sweet her boy is when everybody knows he is the boy who took a knife into Kindergarten last week.

I had to walk away, wide-eyed on each occasion.

So help me, please. How does everyone else seem to be able to ignore the elephant in these scenarios? How do they keep from mentioning the bizarre? How do they keep a straight face because it's all just really a bit too funny?

[Image by DecalHappy via etsy]

The only child

It's awful to admit... but I've always had a bit of a prejudice against only children.

Argh, don't kill me! I've worked hard to rid myself of this evilness but I will admit to still being a little suspicious of onlies. Isn't that just so nuts? It's actually hard to admit because I know it's probably going to (unintentionally) offend some parents of an only child. But I can't shy away from it and just know that I have never knowingly been actively prejudice towards an individual about anything in my entire life.

So I'll press on.

When I was small enough to not think badly of myself for thinking this way, but big enough to actually give it some thought... let's say I was ten... I remember thinking that the only children in my class were really needy. They just didn't seem to know how to be an easy friend. I distinctly remember being pressured to be friends with a girl because she told me she didn't have any sisters like I did. I felt sorry for her, we hung out, I was rigid in her company.

Later I decided that only children were really hard to get on with because they didn't seem to know how to share like other kids did. A lesson that I was taught from dot had to be told again and again and again to the onlies. Yes, the stereotypes surrounding 'lonely onlies' seemed present at an early age.

Then, when I grew up a bit, I realised that a lot of my childhood feelings towards onlies boiled down to jealousy. I wished I didn't have to share either. I wished that I had all of my parents' attention like they had theirs. I wished it was just me, me, me. Me. Me.

I think we've all wished that at some stage.

Later, I dated an only child. The pressure. I know it wasn't intentional, but his parents were both just so into him and being his girlfriend was such hard work. I realised then that only children have pressures that I would most likely never understand and certainly would never know.

Now that I'm a grown up I still have my prejudices. They're hard to get rid of. I boast that I can pick an only child adult on sight (which is bollocks, but then prejudice is always bollocks). Deep down I still think only children are a little bit grabbier than the rest of us. I still think they learn a lot of lessons that the rest of us learn quickly and simply through our siblings much harder and sometimes later: sharing, humility, conditional love, managing anger... stuff. But I also note that only children are often better at stuff than the rest of us too. They seem more creative, worldly, independent, starry. Of course, many times they are also far more generous and humble than those of us with hordes of siblings too. I've definitely learned that!

These days I also know that the majority of people don't set out to have just one child. (Even the woman who told me years ago that they had decided to only have one child so they could 'focus' went on to have another some eight years after the first... which I think we can all admit was as very good thing indeed.) Some do, of course, and I am always interested to hear their reasoning (and I promise that I will listen without judgement!). But most don't. Most have a heartbreaking story or two that goes with having just one child and I'll bet that story is part of the reason why only children grow up to be so darn amazing.

These days, despite my suspicions, I realise that it takes all kinds of families to make up a wonderful society. And I'm quite certain that 'lonely onlies' aren't really so lonely after all.

What made you decide to have more than one child or just the one? Are you an only child yourself? Do you think it even matters?

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I rewound this post at Weekend Rewind on 6.8.2011

[Image via weheartit]

Dealing with Difficult People #7: Yummy Mummies

Now, settle. I'm not talking about a mother who takes care of herself and pride in her appearance. I think we all like to think that we keep ourselves nice. I'm talking about capital Y Yummies who care about nothing except the way they and their offspring look. They half-sneer (all they can manage due to their recent 'bowie') at anyone who doesn't wear heels on the school run and throw scorn at those who are less genetically and artifically blessed.

I think I've mentioned previously that whenever I see a Yummy Mummy I just want to stuff her into her Prada nappy bag and run over her with a Bugaboo pram.  It's not because they have coiffed nails and manicured hair. It's not because they have prams that need regular servicing. It's not even because their bums are so rock hard they don't even sway when they're running behind said pram.

No, it's not even that.

It's because they are so busy being Yummy that they often forget to be Mummy. Hence, at the playgroup you find yourself in charge of twenty kids while the Yummies sip herbal tea and compare spray tans. Hence, at the park you find yourself with extra kids to push on the swing, catch on the slippery dip and nose-wipe every two minutes. Hence, at the school gate you find yourself waiting patiently with extra children while Yummy is late yet again doing whatever it is that she does.

I yelp at the sight of one of them coming my way, furiously pushing her screaming baby while her iPod shuts out the world. Oh, what to do with those Yummy Mummies?

1. Don't become the Dummy Mummy
If you find yourself idly wondering how your new friend Yummy keeps her nails and clothes looking so groomed when she has 3 kids under 4, remember this: the reason she looks so good is because other people take care of the messiness of her children. Trust me, you don't want to become her other people so resist the urge to parent her children for her. Yes, you will feel bad that Axel has desperately been trying to get his mother to notice him for the past fifteen minutes, but not as bad as you will feel when you say 'Yes, Axel?' on her behalf that one time and suddenly find yourself with a new child called Axel.

2. Don't reveal shared interests
There's no denying that we are all a little jealous of how perfumed and pretty Yummy is. But never reveal your  weakness. Even though I have been known to visit beautydressers and hairtherapists myself, I make a point of loudly proclaiming what a waste of money I think regular salon visits are. I feel no shame in being such a hypocrite, in fact I use my most booming voice. If I'm feeling particularly mean I might go on to whine that it is money that could be used to fund programs like Bear Cottage at Westmead Children's Hospital. Those poor, underfunded children, suffering because Yummy needs french nails.

3. Dress down, baby down, down, down
A bit like our strategy for dealing with those Competitive types, you want to downplay any semblance of your own yumminess. This way you take the importance of looking photo-ready at every opportunity just right out of the equation. If you simply don't care one jot about appearances, Yummy has nothing on you. NOTHING.

4. The 'you have time for that?' defense
"Oh, hi Yummy Mummy. So nice that you've got time to get your nails done and a weekly 'blow out', but some of us are too busy editing our memoirs, portrait painting for the Archibald and teaching your child to read on Friday mornings for such fripperies. Would love to stay and natter, but I'm just off to collect my OAM for services to volunteering after I stop by the Chemist for some Ural... been very busy, you know?"

5. The ultimate 'since becoming a mummy' defense
This is where you confess that you were the yummiest thing in town before becoming a mummy. Oh scoff, this is no lie. We were all technically yummier before the stretch-marks and jelly bellies hunted us down. Maybe not the best thing going, but in our heads we were, right?

So, Once Was Yummy, but now you are so enamored with your cherished children that trivial things like yumminess have been thrown aside like last season's Gucci handbag. Back then you were concerned with the materialistic and the superficial, but now you've embraced the concept of role modelling and you don't want your daughter or son to grow up with, shhhhh, body image issues. Now you have seen the light and are a much better and happier person for it. In fact, you are quite convinced you have found heaven on earth you are so darn happy since becoming a mummy. Just look at your beaming smile and contented eye twitch.

They're hardly on the endangered list, so I know you know some Yummies. 

Would you confess to being one yourself? How do you handle yourself/ other Yummies?

[Image by Suse Bauer and her fabulous Revoluzzza creations]

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PSSSSSST... Today is the last chance to enter the writing course giveaway at the Fibro. Click on the image. Don't miss this fantastic opportunity to express yourself with educational feedback!! 

Dealing with Difficult People #6: Bullies

For a long time I found it really difficult to stand up for myself around bullies. I was fine asserting myself with most other types of people, but not the irrational, aggressive, in-your-face bully. I felt intimidated, teary and humiliated every single time.

I realised later that I tended to lose my voice and myself around bullies because they are so unfair. It's so hard (and pointless really) to argue with someone who just wants to make you look small so they can feel bigger. I also think that bullying can be quite subtle and pervasive so that you are almost questioning yourself whether it is actually happening.

Bullying for kids is a different field and one I'm not experienced in. But if you are facing bullying of the adult kind, my main strategy has always been to stay well away. But if you really can't avoid them...

1. Stand tall and proud
Make eye contact. Don't flinch. Be solid. Practice deep breathing. Listen to what they have to say, but don't own it. Be a wall with ears.

2. Don't get angry
Distract yourself with a poem, counting, a song. Our huge repertoire of nursery rhymes comes in handy right about now. It's hard to get angry when your head is singing "a'tissue a'tissue we all fall down".

Remember the golden rule with bullies: whatever their problem is, you are not it.

It won't do you any good to try to 'win' a confrontation with a bully. This can be frustrating because it's just not fair to let someone so awful and undeserving be the 'winner'. It's not right, it's not fair, but it's just the way it is.

3. Stand up for yourself
When the time is right, interrupt them in a calm, measured voice. Saying their name again and again in a firm but gentle way tends to get their attention. Say "I don't like the way you're talking to me. I'm happy to have this conversation, but not like this. Maybe you should come back when you've calmed down." Note that you are putting the onus on them here. Walk calmly away. Ignore the insults that they will shout after you.

4. Be honest about how you feel
The temptation is often to keep a bully at bay by being kind to them. When I was younger I used to do this, but although it smoothed the way, it sure didn't make me feel good about myself. These days I tend to be upfront with bullies and also about how I'd prefer to deal with them. This makes me feel better and it also makes me less likely to be bullied by them again. For instance, at work I tell them in no uncertain terms that I find talking with them face to face difficult and would prefer to use email.

5. Let people know
Don't feel ashamed that you're having problems dealing with someone like this. Let other people know so that you are not alone. Most bullies are harmless, but some can turn very ugly, very quickly. It's good to know you have back-up. Be proud of the fact that you have people you can rely on in this way. Bet your best knickers the bully doesn't.

Man, bullies are hard work. 

Do you have to deal with anyone with bullying tendencies? 

Do you have any coping strategies to share?

[Image: I wonder how Suse Bauer from Revoluzzza feels about being part of my Difficult People series? I received permission to use her images, but I don't quite think she knows what she signed up for!]

The online persona

Would it surprise you to know that I never wear pink? My new-look blog is very pink, yet even my own sister was surprised to learn that it is actually my favourite colour.

My response: I'm a redhead, of course I don't wear pink!

Inspired by Sarah at Just Me, I've been thinking a little bit about my 'online persona'. Do you ever think about that? Do you ever wonder what some people are 'really like'? I suppose I do wonder because sometimes what goes on behind 'closed doors' in life is often quite different to what is publicly revealed. I think we've all been surprised by people in this way? And I've heard some amazing stories of the lengths some bloggers have gone to to 'be someone else' online... naive old me has been shocked to the core!

Well, I think with me, what you see is what you get. Or at least, what you read...

I am a very aesthetic person so having beautiful surroundings is fundamentally important to me. I have an eye for 'what looks nice', if you will. As a consequence, I'm much, much prettier online than I am in real life. Don't get me wrong, I am not an unattractive gal; but at 182cm tall and, ahem, 'big boned', 'pretty' I am not!

So, I'm sorry, I don't really 'look like' my blog. You know?

But other than that, it's all here. I'm not a downer person in real life and my blog is chipper. I'm not a nasty person with no friends and here I am with lots. I'm not beating my kids into submission and I'm here advocating for time outs and encouragement. I write like I talk - well, at least how I would talk if I had the ability to reconsider everything that came out of my mouth before hitting 'speak'... wouldn't that be nice! But then, I think some people already do that and it's called 'thinking before you speak'. Never my strong point unfortunately!

I'm me, just me. My 'best me' if you like. I think we are all our 'best me' online - the me we are when we're not tired and fed-up and wearing cranky pants - and personally I think blogging has helped me be a better me all the time. How about you?

Do you ever wonder if the people whose blogs you love are 'really like that'? Does it matter if they are 'putting on' a particular image when they blog? Would you like to meet them face to face?

This post was inspired by Sarah at Just Me who posted about the same thing last Friday.

[Image via weheartit - source unknown! Please let me know if this image is yours'!]