Good Grief

It's the end of the year, as we know it. Thank fuck. I'm tired.
But hang on, it wasn't all that bad... it has only been crap for the past two months.
Wait. It actually hasn't been that crap the last two months. The last two months just had a bit of crap in it. Maybe a few crap weeks.

So 2016 didn't really suck, it just had crap moments. Like most years. Yes, it was the year of loss: Bowie, Prince, Sharon Jones, my marriage break up, Leonard Cohen, Carrie Fisher, Debbie Reynolds and very recently my incredible 92 year old pa. But all of this loss was attached to great lives lived by radical people.

It's good to grieve loss, I've done it before - I'm sure most people have. But I do believe it's possible to turned grief into goodness. Good grief! It's healthy to cry, talk about your emotions (especially after a few tinnies), get cuddles from mates and family - sometimes strangers, weep at your desk (sorry colleagues) and feel lonely at the end of the day. It's just really bloody good to feel something because that makes you a decent human being.

I've had a little sparkle of goodness lately where I've discovered some really massive things about myself. I promise I will stop banging on about this one day, but it's the last day of the year so I feel the need to chuck in a bookend. Full  stop. New paragraph.

I have not been single or 'on my own' for close to 15 years. I was with my ex husband for 13 years, married for six. It was an excellent time, I don't regret it one bit. It just ended in a pile of shit, but I'm healing. We both are.
But here I am at 34, a single mum doing my bit in the world with an excellent tiny male-child at my side. And I'm ok. I didn't see this happening but hell, who knows what tomorrow will bring. I think that's kind of exciting. Perhaps I was a bit too much in control of my pre-separation life - or at least I thought I was.

I can't wait for this year to end as I'm looking for something to pinpoint a fresh start. The 1st January 2017 can be that moment.

As much as I don't know what tomorrow will bring, here's what I hope 2017 will have in store for me:

Adventures: bloody good, soulful, energetic, fresh, exciting, powerful, mindblowing adventures.
Friends: new and old, near and far. Just heaps of excellent humans around me.
Play: oh so many good times with my son. I just taught him the lyrics to Rapper's Delight.
Colour: I'm going to wear whatever I want - even if it is a bumbag - because that's how I roll.
Time: I refuse to use the word busy now. I will make time for my son, my pals, my family, you.
Music: I bought myself a record player for Christmas. Music sounds better with crackles. It's set up in my bedroom, like I'm a teenager. I'm thinking about putting up a poster of Johnny Diesel on the back of my door.
Food: I want people to come over and raid my fridge, let me cook for them while they sit along my bench and talk about 90s pop culture.
Good men: I've heard so many people say 'Men are hopeless/useless' lately since my husband and I split. Men are not hopeless or useless, just some people make mistakes. My son is certainly not hopeless or useless, he will grow up surrounded by decent, happy male buddies. As a society we really do need to change our gender-specific phrases. Men are excellent, ladies are excellent. Let's be excellent together.
Community: Gosh, I love living in Yarraville / inner west Melbourne. I want to write more stories about this fabulous area that I live in. Expect these soon.

And finally, I'm calling 2017 my year of winging it. If someone offers something rad, I won't feel uncomfortable about accepting. I'm excited about the adventures ahead!

Big love to all my beautiful pals for supporting me during the crap moments in 2016, but bigger love for just being super excellent people during my whole entire life.

Here's to winging it. Now crack a tinnie.

xx

Rad pic of my son and I above by the sensational Paul Large.

The one month mark

It's been bang on a month since my husband left me.

Let's just say, I don't want this shit situation to define me and I also don't want it to consume me. It sucks that so much was taken away from me, but hey, life throws massive challenges at you and the best you can do is the be the best you can be.

In a sucky situation, I have discovered sooo many things about me and have actually found some positives:

I have a gorgeous community of friends who are neighbours, neighbours who are friends, old mates, new mates, a most delicious mother's group who are also splendid caterers and a whole village that is Yarraville taking care of me and checking in. I've never felt such support and I'm so grateful that I have so many sweet people around me and my son.

I'm a good person. This situation is making me a better person. I have goals and they are exciting. Being a better person is one of them. Growing my son into a respectful, kind and adventurous young man is another.

I bought a new bed. I've never owned a new bed. It's so heavenly and fresh and soft and sweet. I love it. I also love my little Alfie running in at morning time and giving me a big cuddle in my gorgeous bed. He gives me a reason to get out of bed every morning. He's the best.

I have all the space I want in my own wardrobe. All. The. Space.

I have gazillion of display pillows on my new bed. And I don't need to explain their relevance, my display techniques or the fact that I want more.

I have a raging battle going on inside my belly. It's an angry ball. I'm not ashamed to say that I'm seeing a counsellor. It's good to dump angry balls in the bin. Anger can be poison inside a human body. It makes you smell, it gives you crook guts and keeps you up at night. I'm determined not to become bitter and angry. Life is way too short for that. I don't even know if I can face drinking lemon, lime and bitters this summer. I don't want any bitter inside of me. My counsellor has wiry hair and wears a kaftan. She gave me a cuddle and she smelt like rosemary.

I am an excellent female.

Mindfulness is not just a buzz word. It's good to be present. I've put down my phone. Actually, I've turned it off (outside of business hours).

It's ok to be successful. It is also ok to be happy. Success and happiness are not threats, they are actions that I want my son to grow up knowing to be awesome.

I'm actually a really organised person. I'm also very good at my job. There is nothing wrong with big plans, I'm good at making them happen. My country house plan didn't happen for a reason, that's not to say that my next cool plan won't become real.

I watch romcoms on the TV every night. Because I can. Sometimes I eat chocolate while doing this.

I painted my son's toenails the other night, the same colour as mine. They look beautiful.

Alfie and I have created a map marking the places where all the lighthouses live along the coast. We've got adventures planned.

This is a pic of us on our last adventure together in Hobart. We looked at heaps of cranes. If I can take anything out of this crap time in my life, it's to look forward to the adventures my son and I will have together in the future. We've been doing things as a duo for over three years, here's to millions of years more.

I can do this. I am doing this.

As my mum said, don't let his failure, fail you.

Be kind. Be adventurous. Reach for the stars. Love Ali

Shits and Piddles

We are toilet training. This is epic. I’m so inpatient; I thought learning to wee out a doodle would be easy. Isn’t it like a hose, you can aim? As I don’t have one myself, I just assumed that wee and doodle and aiming would all come together in three days.

Why three days? A friend of a friend told me that her son was toilet trained in three days. Was he 23? Three days. Snort.

My son is almost three. And I know he is super close to learning how to use a toilet, or at least know when he needs to go.

So how do you train a kid to use a potty? I have no answers for you here, but this is what I’ve learnt so far:

1.       If you smell a pop off, a poo is on the horizon. Dacks off and get potty ready.

2.       Nude aint rude, it’s so very good. Let the kid run and watch their wee go everywhere.

3.       Hold onto those old cloth nappies. Accidents and I mean LOTS of accidents, happen. I hope you have floorboards and a good mop, oh and a dog that doesn’t eat poo.

4.       Rewards are winners. We used stickers for wees, miniThomas trains for poo. I let my son put the stickers on the potty so it looks like a trophy.

5.       Undies with your kid’s favourite TV or cinematic characters rule the roost. There is no way my son is going to want to piss on Lightning McQueen’s face.

6.       Be super positive. Dance hard when a wee makes it in the potty. Let your kid press the button on the toilet. Tell your kid that the poo and wee is going to the ocean to swim with all the rad fishies and crocodiles and really cool happy sharks (don’t tell them that if they are shit-scared of fishies and crocs and sharks though).

7.       Poo is exciting not scary. My son loves looking at his afterwards. Yep, it’s gross, but I would rather my kid be excited about taking a crap than holding it in, terrified it’s going to eat him alive.

8.      Let your kid watch you go to the toilet. It’s creepy, but it’s been creepy these last few years hasn’t it– remember that kid was in your tummy. You haven’t had a private moment for almost three years, what’s a crap in front of your kid once a day in the scheme of things. Make sure you smile when you do it.

9.       If you find a poo on the floor… whoops, clean it up, highlight the potty  is nearby if your kid needs it, but let them know that once daddy did something similar and he hasn’t done it again because he’s a big boy. Poo on the floor happens to the best of us, let’s not dwell.

10.   And finally, when you are out in the world with your kid wearing undies, take them to the nearest toilet/gutter/tree/bush/garden the SECOND they say… “mummy, I need to wee”. You don’t have any longer than a second, that wee is coming out now. Run. Carry a towel with you.

So accidents have happened this summer, my son has taken a crap in the display cubby at Bunnings, weed on the card stand in the post office, pooed in his Lightning McQueen undies so massively that I just chucked them in the park bin, and told every person he meets that wee comes out of his doodle.

It’s ok. We are not quite there yet, but it’s on the horizon. We are so close, I can LITERALLY smell it.

This article first appeared in the Autumn issue of BubbaWest Magazine.