The Ex-boyfriend I can’t stop thinking about

In 2009 I was told that an Ex -boyfriend of mine was in gaol.  The person who told me this was reliable in that she was down with the word around town.  A Gossip Girl, to borrow a euphemism.

I was shocked and concerned so I questioned fast, hard.  She clearly wasn’t expecting this interrogation and because Ex had dated a mutual friend of ours, Gossip Girl reluctantly told me the specifics of the case.  Unfortunately, she had a fairly plausible story.

This Ex of mine was a good person.  He was a kind, soft soul.  A family man, who adored his only sister.  A young guy when I knew him, he kept his parents happy by staying employed and saving his money.  A good, respectful son.  An upstanding citizen for a twenty-something fella.

It was a short relationship but I liked this guy.  He was a good person who immediately, involuntarily gave his everything.  He was bright, witty, very attractive and he had great hair.  Gorgeous, long, thick hair.  He was without compromise, quite the Adonis and undoubtedly, the loveliest young man I ever had the pleasure of dating.

It goes without saying that upon my return home I Googled the hell out of his unique name and it goes without saying that of course, I found nothing.  I stayed on the case for a while, scouring the internet for a clue of what had happened. As the days turned into weeks, I resigned myself to the fact that I’d been party to back fence talk.  She had facts outrageously wrong and probably on purpose.

Fucking Gossip Girl.

Years went by without bumping into my Ex, Gossip Girl, or our mutual friend.  I had moved to Sydney and lived far from all three people, so the chances of seeing anyone were slim.  These people were from another lifetime and there would be no contact unless by coincidence.

But I did think of this Ex-boyfriend of mine often.  The kind, sensitive, caring guy that I almost loved.  The guy who wept the night our relationship ran its course.  I will always admire the way this young man displayed such raw sensitivity.  He possessed the types of qualities I hope my daughter will look for in her partner when the time comes.  Those lovely personal attributes.

The story continued to play on my mind.  When I thought of this Ex of mine, I always had the same thought process:  Did he do it?  Maybe…  From what Gossip Girl explained, he could have done so quite easily.  He may have… But no! Ex was such a nice guy! There is no way he had that in him.  No way…

More than a decade had passed since our innocent little romance.  A marriage and two babies later I found myself thinking of Ex again.  I was lying in bed, My Man was out at a concert and my baby daughter slept beside me.

I Googled his name and there in black and white, one lone article that detailed the crime.

Guilty.

Fuck.

With this revelation began a tirade of fierce, frenzied Googling.  Names, street names, work places, hangouts, friends’ names, the make and model of his car.  Everything I could remember.  Anything I could read between the lines of this one online article.  I was determined to know.

Hours passed with nothing.  Nothing until I searched the databases of the Supreme Court of NSW.

Ex  v Regina.

Guilty as all hell.

Sadly I read through the court notes.

Crime committed 2002

Sentenced 2004

Release date 2011

Desperate. Devastated.  Overwhelmed.

I was getting married back in ‘02 and he was allegedly planning a crime.  I lived the best years of my life while he was incarcerated.  I was planning to start my family while he had hit the pause button on his.  Instead of finding his one true love like I did, he found the inside of a gaol cell.

Shame.  Stigma. Dishonour.

His poor family.

People do bad things.  We stuff up.

Some of us commit crimes.

We say bad things.  Steal things.

We hurt ourselves.  Hurt others.

I respect our laws.  I know he did a terrible thing.  He committed a crime.  But when I think of Ex, I can’t help but feel concern.

I hope his experience has not completely damaged that sensitivity, that loveliness.

I hope he is healthy of mind.

I hope the trauma his family went through has subsided.

I hope that some semblance of normality has been reinstated for them all.

Sometimes good people make big mistakes.

Like the Ex-boyfriend I can’t stop thinking about.

Happy and Silly

‘Today we’re being happy and silly’.

I tweeted something like that earlier today and stuck by it all day.

I overlooked the biscuit crumbs on the rug, stepped over the toys and spent the day being happy and silly.

I hung out in the retro kitchen today, cooking, pottering and straightening the foodstuffs in my pantry.  Sounds like work but as sad as it is, I enjoy doing this type of thing. It makes me calm.

Every now and then I ran through the living room yelling at the top of my lungs, “You can’t catch me!” This of course started a sprint race around the house and a dust storm, clearly visible in the sunshine streaming through the windows.  I ignored the dust as my son and I stomped out Usain Bolt lightning bolt manoeuvres in the hall way.

My Man took the kids out one by one to buy a few things from the local shops.  Even when hubby appeared at the front door with a naked Little Missy, (she threw up in my Crapastra), I didn’t let it bother me, I just ran a bath and let My Man deal with the cleaning of the car seat.

Today I am being happy and silly.

We went outside.  Played with our dog and walked around the yard.  Lots of weeds and fallen over pots plants.  Leaves in the pool. Toys absolutely everywhere.  I also nearly stepped in dog shit, so I picked that up. But as for the rest, I ignored it.

I spent some time in our sun room, writing.  I just put a few thoughts down while watching my gorgeous kids laugh and play together.  I felt tranquil for the first time in a long time.  The pressures of the week at work slowly dissolved, the manic, ‘getting it all done’ craziness just didn’t figure in today.

Our beautiful friends we’re due to come around at 4pm for a BBQ.  Instead of cleaning up and packing away toys as I normally would, I played in the kitchen making family favourites we could all enjoy together.  After all, they came to spend time with us, not assess the tidiness of our home.

I was happy.

And now, the kids are in bed and the friends have gone but instead of cleaning up the BBQ mess and heading off to bed, I’m just going to write, tweet, watch James Bond on TV and drink the rest of this twenty one dollar red that The Man bought on special.  Housework can wait until tomorrow.  Or Monday after work.

Today I was happy and silly and I loved it. 

I Heart Chrissie Swan

Re-posting to show my support to the wonderful Chrissie Swan. 

Yes people…  She is human!

As always, just the awkward excruciating truth.

All the best Chrissie

Robo X

 

I have a girl crush on Chrissie Swan, so at the risk of sounding stalkeresque, unstable or both, I’ll try to explain.

Maybe girl crush is the wrong choice of words. I have a deep affection for her.  An admiration. When Chrissie talks, along with thousands of others, I listen.

The Teacher in me has created this simple flow chart detailing all the reasons for said girl crush:

She’s a real Sista!

I’m not on TV or radio but (and here’s my long bow), I am a mum, wife and writer so I feel as though I share an affinity with her.

Here’s why:

• All of our kidlets are similar ages so we were pregnancy buddies together, via the TV, (which she doesn’t really know about).
•  She’s famous.  In my capacity as High School Teacher, it could be said that I have a certain claim to fame too.
•  In our respective roles, we are both required to give as much of ourselves as is conceivable to make a difference and achieve pleasing results for others.
•  We’re busy, worn-out mums-on-the-run who get through the day slowly, crazily and theatrically, with lots of coffee, of course.

Chrissie Swan

Mother, Wife, TV and Radio Presenter, Writer.  A busy, everyone-wants-a-piece-of-her woman.  To use a cliché, I don’t know how she does it.  Or at least I didn’t know, until I read this article.

Having it all

I laughed when reading Having it All, but I shed a little tear too.  It was a strange comfort to realise that someone like Chrissie has the same daily dramas as me.  And it was a breath of fresh air to read what she shared about her life.

Here’s an excerpt.  And my reaction too.

My alarm goes off at 4.45am. I sneak out of the marital bed and get dressed in the kitchen because everyone is still asleep. I lay my clothes out the night before and sometimes forget my shoes or undergarments, so at least once a week I turn up to the studio with no shoes/a floppy maternity bra/no undies 

I hear you Chrissie!   I’m tiptoeing down the stairs of death, (they’re deathly steep), at 5.45am to shower.  While trying to rouse myself from slumber, I’m thinking about what I have in my limited, ill-fitting wardrobe that will conceal my butt and gut on this God-given day.

I could probably get up a bit earlier and run a straightener over my hair, but I opt for the extra 15 minutes sleep. The drawback of this is that I spend the majority of my day looking like an escapee from an asylum.

Two words…Pony tail.

I always forget to make sure there are enough bananas. We run out of them – often. And they’re the only fruit my one-year-old will eat.

 The only fruit I bother to buy is bananas.  Not lying. Other fruits are either ordered at day care or provided by my dear Mother-in-law when my kids see her.

 

Last week, I put my three-year-old to bed and quickly read him a story. I confess I skipped every second page and invented The End when I felt like it.

 When exhausted, I summon my most animated voice and tell Little Man this: “Sleep right away because tomorrow is going to be so exciting you’ll need all your rest and energy!”

Weet-Bix and blueberries can double as dinner.

 Weet-Bix + banana = dinner

 I just measured a hair on my leg and it came in at an impressive 1.2 centimetres. Clearly, I need a Post-it note in the bathroom that says “shave”.

In the winter months I’ve been known to visit random waxing salons in faraway suburbs. I don’t care that they converse in a foreign language, even though I’m convinced they’re saying, “Get a load of this hairy bitch!”

Last week my gas was nearly cut off because I forgot to pay the bill. I had to call them and beg for an extension, spurred on by visions of my children in layers of clothing huddled around the cat for warmth.

I moved house a few months ago and forgot to cancel the electricity. Now I have to pay bills for both old and new homes.  Apparently there is no recourse for stupidity.

 

I made a terrible waldorf salad and chicken spare ribs for dinner and I couldn’t even talk about how foul it was. Later that night, I heard my partner stirring up a glass of Fybogel to make up for the distinct lack of edible anything in the meal department.

 When I read this I had a revelation.  My man goes through Mylanta like they’re lollies. They’re permanently on the fridge. Fark!

The “service me NOW” light has been on in my car for about four months – but, seriously, how can I survive without the car for two days? I will probably drive it until it explodes. And work it out then.

Same here!  Well different really but car issue all the same.  I’m so terrified about my Crapastra dying that I service it ALL THE TIME.  I won’t drive it at the weekend and insist on using it only for short trips.  The Crapastra has given me OCD but I can’t afford to replace it at this point.

My three-year-old knows 15 types of dinosaur and I have no idea who taught him. Where have I been?

My 4 year old son can download games on the Samsung Galaxy and navigate YouTube like a pro and I know I didn’t teach him that.

This candid honesty is what I adore about Chrissie.  She’s not afraid to admit defeat, admit the eff ups, admit the unfortunate, raw, embarrassing truths that so many of us Mums pretend do not exist.  I love her for this! And I wish to goodness that more well-known Australian women would bite the bullet, stop glossing over the fucking truth and call a spade a spade.

So as new as it is, I’ve committed to a blog of candid honesty and embarrassing truths.  I will not succumb to a Sham blog.

No lies.

No make-believe or gloss.

Just the awkward, excruciating truth.

So that’s me for this Post.  If you are yet to meet Ms Chrissie Swan, grab Google, a coffee and acquaint yourself.

She really is one of the most inspiring women of our generation.

Love X

The Very First Post

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Add your First Ever Post link below

 

 

I haven’t written in years.  Truly written. I haven’t sat down with pen or paper and poured out my mind out onto the page. I haven’t chosen words carefully for effect.  I haven’t punctuated for impact.  I haven’t drafted, edited, re-read or re-drafted in so many years.

 

 

I used to be a writer.  A strong reader and a strong writer.  I had an appreciation for poetry, comedy, parody, dialogue, monologue, fairy tale.  Any tale.  I’d write in any mood, any location and any time of the day or night.  I’d write for courage and for comfort.  I’d write how others might pray.  With unadulterated honesty.  I’d write to organise my thoughts and to make decisions.  Clarity.

 

 

It’s ironic.  I graduated university in 1999 with new letters after my name.  An Arts degree.  An Arts degree in Text and Writing.  But for so many years thereafter, nothing.  No reading but little snippets in papers and in magazines.  No writing but greeting cards and shopping lists.  No clarity.

 

 

Life took me on an interesting journey through Womanhood, Coupledom, Marriage and Motherhood.  And this is the Hood I’m in right now.  Ins and outs, ups and downs, the journey of life has led me here.

 

 

A husband, two kids, a mortgage, a full-time job and a partridge in a pear tree that’s owned by the Bank.

 

 

I will not gloss over the truth in my next sentence.  Some days in Motherhood, it’s so fucking hard to get my shit together I have no idea how the day will start let alone how it will end.  Like many Mums I know and hear about, I do such little for myself it is almost impossible to imagine.  I’m last, when in my previous Hood, I was always first.

 

 

I’m still me.  I’m still here.  I’m just hiding.  I’m drowning actually, sinking well into Motherhood and losing more and more of myself with every day that passes.

 

 

Having said all that, I’m not complaining.  Really.  I’m accepting and I’m changing what I can to rebalance.  Clarity of Mind, Spirit and Self.

 

 

So after a long hiatus I have picked up the proverbial pen and paper again, well laptop now.  And I will write.

 

Honestly, accurately, transparently.

 

I will write until it’s all out and I won’t stop until I reorganise my thoughts.  Reclaim myself.  I will write for Clarity.  Until Clarity.

 

 

I am Robomum.

Let me know if you are too.

 

 

Love,

Robo X