The resignation is in. Official. Done.
Several of the staff were surprised and disappointed. The manager offered him early permanency. Talk about shutting the gate after the horse has bolted. 🙄
The resignation is in. Official. Done.
Officially written off. That’s our car. By the time the remaining of the loan is paid out, we’ll have little to have as deposit for another car.
Fortunately, we’re still in possession of my Pa’s 24 year old Magna. It’s a tank, gas guzzling and clunky, but it’s well looked after and should do a few more years while we save for another car.
The job he’s got is pretty much written off also. It has been troublesome from the beginning within the organisation, which is poorly structured and stinky in culture. There is no guarantee that if we move up there with him that the job will last, and I’m hesitant to throw away my job security just so my husband can say he’s gainfully employed. I may only have a part time job, but it’s a sure bet, and a well-balanced position.
Being away from our daughter is taking its toll. He’s missed her 5th birthday, first day of school, first school award and so many play dates this year.
He’s missed the first human looking scan of our baby and being present as my belly grows. He’s missed being that smudge more connected to the pregnancy by engaging with us in the day to day. Now baby is halfway through incubation the fun part for Dads begin- the midnight kick in the back when we’re snuggling in bed, and the last couple of scans that ignite anticipation.
Our daughter cries at least twice a week because she’s had to deal with a lot of change at a young age. She’s resilient but Daddy lives in a different town, she’s going to be a big sister after 5.5 years and a school girl now. Emotionally she’s had to grow quickly, but I see how it’s wearing her in places.
His absence has little impact on me emotionally, apart from the domestic workload and being the exclusive parent day to day. I’ve always been rather self-sufficient. Sometimes though, it would be nice to not be the one to always hang out the washing or be the main source of comfort for our girl.
Life is drama. That’s a reality. It’s often out of control and grappling with the uncertainty is trying at the best of times. Now, it is necessary to decide on the non-negotiables.
After nearly losing him last week, and not gaining anything tangible from his absence, it’s time to cease this experiment. He’s hopefully putting in his notice on Monday and coming home the following week.
This comes with a new set of challenges. There are always consequences to decisions. We take comfort in not being separated being the best decision for us.
Last Thursday I had the urge to shave most of my head, a drastic change from the 1930’s pin-curled black bob I had been embracing for the previous 6 months. That was the goal of two years growing out a pixie cut- a vintage bob that Dita Von Teese would be envious of.
(The hair was cut before the accident. It wasn’t a completely unplanned action)
I nearly chickened out, but my five year old daughter gave me the same rhetoric I often serve her: if you say you’re going to do something, then do it. So I did.
I love the cut, and I even liked the short dark ash blonde sides with the long black bangs. Then, as I do when things get out of control, I start tinkering…
I no longer own a sewing a machine to run up some Pretty in Pink op shop finds, so instead, I’ve bleached the life out of and currently have a mix of conditioning treatment and hot pink dye sloshed all of my remains tresses.
I guess it’s a bit of a mundane thing to blog about, but for the moment I’m in dire need of catharsis after the shock of last week’s still unresolved events.
Thursday night, my husband was hit head on by a drunk and high driver who had just overtaken a semi-trailer despite the double white lines clearly indicating it was unsafe to do so. My husband didn’t have time to react and as the airbags expelled from their casings and the cabin of the car filled with smoke, he struggled to open the door to escape…
Thursday night was, the eve of a year since my husband was made rendundant. It signalled a long year of job searching and ended in a new life forming and a job in a completely different town. Our incubating baby is thriving according to all the scans. The job is disappointing (understatement). We’ve been unsure if it’s worth moving for such an uninspiring role in such a negative and disorganised company in a town I couldn’t wait to escape from 16 years ago. Thursday night’s event has begun to unravel all of the determination to make the best of things, and the situation is feeling even more frustrating than it did this time last year.
The reality of Thursday night is beginning to sink in today… and we have to take him back up there tomorrow. What was meant to be four days of normal family life in a long distance family existence, has turned into a mix of complete gratitude and utter frustration.
The police and ambulance officers are amazed that he walked away, let alone without a bump or bruise. Witnesses equally amazed that he’s okay. The car is a write off. Our future plans and financial success yet again messed up. What was already a tricky situation is now feeling desperate. All because one asshole’s common sense is deceased.
Regardless of what you think of Trump, which ‘side’ you’re on, or are completely over the situation (i.e. anyone who has a modicum of common sense), I’m pretty sure the more the extreme left carry on the way they are, the more he is going to dig in his heels. Don’t tell them that though, they’re too busy burning limousines and executing ad hominem with great skill (in the words of Inigo Montoya “I don’t think that word means what you think it means”) to conduct themselves in the open-minded way they profess to believe in so fervently.
Whoa, that was a big ranty intoduction…
It is disturbing. It’s an infinite loop it seems. The extremes on both sides are as stubborn as the other and never think maybe listening is better than shouting or perhaps considerate thinking and carefully constructed, sensible and sound arguments are a better option. It’s horrible to watch. It is disheartening when I agree with some of the left side’s viewpoints (and right) but can’t condone the avenue of protest.
Now, please don’t think for a minute that I am trying to belittle the serious nature of both Trump’s approach and the response of the left, the importance of confronting injustice etc. It weighs heavily on me, wondering how I can be a help and how I can teach my children to navigate increasingly foggy weather of the political and global climate. I don’t even live in U.S of America and I can see how it is affecting the day-to-day function of some parts of my society. I also see how the pertinent issues of my country are being so hotly debated and fought over that I wonder if we are losing ourselves in the midst of trying to find ourselves in the frays.
I’m not saying I have any answers. In fact, I have way more questions than solid answers. It wold be marvelous for it to be clear cut in belief and action, but neither is true. I am, like so many who see themselves as somewhere in the middle, trying to find the balance in the solving the problems and enriching our communities without losing our compassion or respect or resorting to low tactics.
To finish though, If anyone is still in doubt about my a/political leanings here is the oft mis-ascribed Voltaire quote and a slight bastardisation thereof… “I disapprove of what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it (maybe, depends on my mood, but hurting people is always bad), and I’ll still give you respect because life is too short to hold onto that kind of baggage.”
And let’s finish with something we can all agree on:
P.S. Should you decide to be mean-spirited in response to my honest and earnest attempt at being constructive, it will be necessary to use your comments as example of my first paragraph’s statement. However, I will give you the respect of keeping your tag/handle/name/whatever anonymous.
Christmas Eve morning. 2:45am.
BANG! and then fizzzz….
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! Goes the NBN emergency battery box.
THUMP! THUMP! THUMP! Went my heart and I sat up straight in bed.
Restlessness set in and within hours I discovered why. It wasn’t the loss of electricity that kept me awake. It was a sense a surprise pregnancy and an undesired move would not be the only unfolding events in our lives these summer holidays.
The phone rang at 9:30am to break the tension.
My grandfather had finally had enough trying to hide from us this past month or so. Nan had called the ambulance at 2:50am as Pa struggled with extreme abdominal pain and breathing difficulties. Like the bullheaded man he is, he fought the entire time, eventually giving into the emergency care.
The old bull trudged through two days of precarious treatment. Doctors wanting to avoid surgery due to his chronically bad circulation. Finally, upon council between his two sons and specialists, they decided it was the only potential help. A Do Not Resuscitate order was signed. The medical staff relieved that at least this one time, a patient’s family wasn’t trying to prolong the life of someone in such ill health and advanced years.
Stubbornness won again with him surviving the removal of part of his intestines. No bag either, but completely delusional. Regularly muttering about the bakery he sold 35 years ago and repeated attempts to remove the various attachments form his saggy skinned body ensured the hospital’s rostering a special for him. These special assistants in nursing, brave persons ensure he doesn’t escape or terrorise the rest of the patients in his petulant state.
I was volunteered for a few days to stay with Nan. Her agility is definitely compromised. She seems to be on her arse more than her feet these days. We enjoyed ourselves as best we could under the circumstances; binging on documentaries about Scotland, the land of her mother and father, a land she never got to see because of my Pa’s firmly planted feet.
I’ve since shipped her to her younger sister’s place. They are having plenty fun watching old British sitcoms like One Foot in the Grave. Though, a sadness sits behind her eyes. She says she just misses her chair at home. I know it’s because she knows she’ll have to leave her home forever, sooner than later.
Unsurprisingly, Pa’s recovery is still ridiculously slow. Two weeks have passed and we are impatiently waiting for the news that we either find him a nursing home or send him home making him eating Meals on Wheels. Either way it may send him off to the great beyond.
As I sit here, sipping peppermint tea to ease the agitation in my own stomach, I wonder what will actually transpire in the next few months. I’m not sure 2017 is going to any less intense than its predecessor. It feels like the opposite of flux, anti flux and it was confirmed by a little premonition.
How to start this post without sounding like a hyperbolic banana?
There’s no way really, so here goes:
My husband has been without work since April when the company he worked for went for round three of redundancies.
I still am secure in my job though have had three principals in 8 months which meant adjusting to all kind of managerial approaches, not to mention assisting the teachers implement some significant changes. It’s also only part time.
I started university this year, as you know, and with an exuberant preschooler, it’s been a challenge.
My grandparents have aged dramatically this year and I’m over there several times a week some times.
… And as for the mother-in-law, I finally got strong enough to stop enabling her and see the terrifying reality of her manipulation for what it is- toxic and unabating. I’ve had limited contact for 8 months.
I think I’d be ok for the first half of 2017, with healthy boundaries instated with afore mentioned family member, and a decent rhythm to our days.
It started with Husband taking a job in a town 6 hours away, beginning January, leaving me to be a ‘single mother’ as it were while he sees out the probation period and our daughter begins her first year of schooling. It’s got long hours on a rotating roster, weekend and on call work. Not ideal, but after 7 months searching, we took it.
We took it, hoping something else would come up in the meantime. It feels really dirty to do, but one part time income is not the easiest to live on, even with our minimalist expenses. Time is running out though…
The concerns about eventually leaving my Grandparents with less support has made me realise that I need to start backing away and encouraging them to access the in-home care they need (which is fine because they are still adults and need to make adult choices). It’s not easy though watching my Nan fade from the brilliant blue hue she used to be. It feels even worse wondering if us moving will send her off this mortal coil.
I’ve deferred university this semester so I can concentrate on moving the husband and making sure we get as much family fun in as possible over the holidays.
HOWEVER, the biggest surprise is still making its reality known… pending confirmation with next Thursday’s ultrasound- I’m Up the Duff; 6 weeks tomorrow. Due, get this, one month after my husband’s probation is complete, and the month my daughter and I were going to move!
It’s a been a grounding thumping experience. I’ve been telling myself I can do the 6 months on my own with all our current commitments. Now, I’m not so sure. I’m not upset about being pregnant after the initial surprise. It has simply been 4 and half years (same time as our first) and pretty much a given we were done with the nappies. We were moving on to our next chapter.
We’ll keep it secret squirrel from the Mother-in-law for as long as possible, last time she turned it around and made it about her a bit too much (I’m also hoping she hasn’t found my new blog).
If you happen to know me in real life it would be great for secret squirrels there too.
But excuse me, husband has just opened his Talisker whisky, a gift from his dad, and now I need to boak…