The Horror!

There have been a lot of movies over the course of time, that have starred children. Sometimes the kids are used in these movies to send chills down your spine such as the twins in The Shinning (1980) and Children of the Corn (1984). Sometimes these kid characters are there to act as homes for evil spirits such as those in The Exorcist and The Omen. These are the movies where you kind of feel sorry for the children, even if they did murder their dog. However, other times these kids play a detrimental role in the movie. Their aim is to hurt, trap or kill the adult cast. The Orphan (2009), Hard Candy (2005) and Insidious (2010) spring to my mind when I think about how truly disturbing kids have the potential to be.

After watching these movies and considering those characters, I look at my own children and think “But how could they ever do such a thing?” whilst tilting my head to the side with a “I’m so blessed” expression plastered on my face. Because children are inherently innocent, inquisitive and beautiful creatures. Right?

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If you read that and sweetly nodded your head, then you have never been woken up in the wee hours of the morning by a toddler standing quietly and patiently an inch from your face.

Because this has been happening to me for a few months now (sporadically, which makes it worse) and I can completely understand why horror filmmakers choose children as the stories antihero. Have you seen what a child looks like at 3 in the morning, quietly standing there with their dummy in their mouth, ‘blanky’ hanging from their hands and only the soft sounds of their breath filtering through the room. The way the tiny amount of light floating in from somewhere else in the house only highlights a small fraction of their facial features, making their eyes dark and their mouth appear in an evil smirk. It is positively demonic.

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The amount of times I have woken completely startled to the point of panic because my son is standing mere centimetres away from me as I sleep is getting out of control. How long was he standing there? What sinister thoughts is he thinking as I lay there completely unaware of his intentions? Does he want to murder me? He could pick up the axe that is next to the bed (burglars beware), open it up and bring it down on my skull and I would have no chance of survival.

Because who the heck knows what is going through a child’s mind right?!? Ill be giving A extra biscuits tonight so I don’t wake up with an amputated appendage…

Nup


Why Can’t We Talk Like ‘Ty’

Ty Dolla Sign is one of my secret indulgences. His song ‘Wavy’ is among other similar types of music I like to listen to while I am exercising. R & B and Hip Hop are my jam’s.

As I was walking my dogs the other night in this horrendous heat wave, I actually listened to the lyrics of the song. I have honestly heard this song about 20 different times and never actually listened to what Ty was saying. The verse in particular that got me thinking was:

I’m so wavy, I’m so wavy, all these b*tches wanna have my babies
I’m so handsome, I’m so ballin’, must be why all my ex’s calling

And it struck me like a taxi who didn’t see me stumbling off the side-walk – why don’t I talk to myself like that!? WHY DON’T MOTHERS AND WOMEN TALK TO THEMSELVES LIKE THAT?!

What a great form of positive self talk and reinforcement. Although I probably wouldn’t use such language and I wouldn’t say exactly those things, the principal would be the same. Why don’t I tell myself how awesome I really am? Why don’t I focus on the positive things I do rather than listing the things I don’t have.  You don’t hear Ty talking about his untoned stomach or wonky nose do you? You don’t hear him mentioning the fact that he might have a big bum or wish he was more like jay-z.

He owns himself and is talking up the things that make him feel good. And we should all do the same. We owe it to ourselves and our kids to remember the positives.

If this song was reflective of my own situation, It would probably go a bit like this:

I’m so ‘mazing, I’m so ‘mazing, my babies love me like crazy, 

I’m so patient, I’m so trustworthy, I love my hips even though they’re curvy. 

Although my lyric writing skills clearly need work, you get the point. With a lot of my mental focus going towards the fact that my fitness is not where it should be, I should also look at it that my body is a strong and resilient temple and who cares if my hips are curvy.

We all need to be a little bit more like Ty Dolla. Imagine the positive impact words and lyrics such as these would have on our mood if we rehearsed them as we brushed our teeth in the morning.

I dare you to come up with your own and repeat them to yourself. You are all amazing and deserve to be reminded


Time After Time

Since becoming a mother, I have found that the concept of ‘time’ has dramatically changed. More often than not, I have found there is no longer a happy medium when it comes to time and I am often left resenting it entirely.

I think when we decided to add another child into our family, time then changed again.

Through the minutes, hours, days, weeks and months, I constantly cycle through the same thoughts that I honestly didn’t think I would ever be caught dead saying:

  • I never have enough hours in the day
  • Where did the day go
  • I was meant to do x, y and x today but time got away from me
  • Flynn is 18 months, how did that happen?
  • I spent almost three hours in the kitchen today making food
  • Am I really 27? What have I done for the past 3 years?
  • I really need to factor in some me time during the day (insert blank face emoji who already knows this will not happen)

 

Time has become that homemade boat I spent hours making before testing it on the ‘river’ speeding quickly down the gutters after a major drop of rain. I smile broadly as I watch it speeding past before seeing it disappear down the storm water drain for good. I palm my head in frustration knowing I should have attached a string to the hull (is that the back of the boat?) to prolong the experience, attempted to catch it before it fell into the abyss or at the very least, video taped the whole thing so I could at least re-watch a few times to compensate for all my efforts.

 

This idea of time has been occupying my thoughts more often than not lately.

What I have come to realise, is that I have spent a lot of time blaming time – blaming it for being so cruel in its consistency and its blatant refusal to slow down. Instead I should have been accepting that with this ‘change’ in time comes the simple fact that I too need to change and adapt. I need to spend more time prioritising and being smart in how I want to spend my time and making it count for something.

 

As much as I hate to admit when I am wrong, I have had to remind myself that time is not speeding up to punish me – I have the exact same amount of time in my day as I did when I was 18. It just seems like I have less of it and that I don’t have any to myself because I am managing the survival of two other beings, as well as myself, every single minute of every single day. Up until this point I have been selfish in thinking that my time belongs to me, because it doesn’t.

 

So the challenge I have set myself going forward is to move away from saying ‘time hasn’t given me enough hours today’, to instead just making things happen. Rome wasn’t built in a day (hey hey Hey!) and if I want time to do things, then I need to find it and use it properly (and not to get lost in the time warp that is social media every spare moment I get).

 

Slowly but surely, as time moves forward, my children will become less dependent and more like ‘chore-doing’ little trolls who don’t need me to wipe their bums or brush their teeth or make their dinners. One day in the near future I will be saying to myself ‘how many days until I can see my sons again’, or ‘how many months are they away in Europe for’ and I will get the time I so desperately want now that will seem so much less important then. Because, life is a contradiction like that isn’t it?

 

You always want what you can’t have and you need to make your time count for something right now because that is what life is about – making your time on this earth and in these moments count.


Crazy Christmas Brain

Christmas time is an expensive time of year. It is worse now that I am a casual teacher. Christmas = no school = no income = need to be savvy. Christmas does not equal savvy

Now, I like to think of myself as a sensible spender (majority of the time). This means I tend to remember that although I really want that dress/gadget/accessory, the money should probably go towards my phone bill/day-care fees/groceries. I have goals and those goals mean I need to save my pennies.

But at Christmas time, something happens to my brain. It splits into two equal but juxtaposing halves, that are constantly at war with each other. It happens every year.

One part of my brain says “Now Tara, remember, you have set a strict budget for what we can and cannot spend on gifts for the family. Stick to it”. She is calm, collected and wears things like fitted pant suits and tight buns in her hair.

The other part, well, she isa little loopy. She has wild, unwashed hair and is red around the eyes from too much coffee. She tends to scream “SPEND ALL THE MONEY ON ALL THE PRESENTS BECAUSE YOUR FAMILY IS AMAZING AND YOU LOVE THEM AND WANT TO SPOIL THEM ALL.”. It takes a lot of effort to calm her down and get her to abandon the trolley she spent an hour filling up.

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I tend to like the later half better, because she is fun and shakes from too much caffeine but you know, the first half has some good, responsible points.

In all seriousness, I go through this every year. I would nothing more than to create a mountain of presents for the kids in front of the Christmas tree but I also know that it isn’t teaching them anything. I also know that those toys will end up in the dirt, pool, covered in dog poop or bits will come off and disappear into the abyss (under the couch). But as a mum, I love my kids and I become over whelmed with wanting to provide them with everything and would do anything to make them happy.

But like every year, as I come to the end of the christmas present buying period, I have reflected on my gift buying for the festive season. I survey my pile of presents and have realised crazy christmas lady was patient this year. She was smart in her approach and outdid herself. How she tricks Miss-Trunchbull into letting me spend that much I will never know. She is crafty I will give her that. Miss-Trunchbull will have to fill pick up the pieces in the new year, as I am exhausted from keeping them from tearing each others eyes out.

Where the egg-nog at?

If only I was skilled at photoshop… I would substitute these cats for presents and Flanders would be my fiance. You get the picture though right?

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What Is Your Mum Fantasy?

I watched Bad Moms last night and there was a scene where the three main characters were seated at the bar. They were drinking and discussing their mum fantasy – their dream for a perfect day that had nothing to do with being a mum.

And it got me thinking – what is my mum fantasy?

So many ideas popped into my mind – whole days spent in bed not moving an inch, sitting in a pool with a cocktail, sitting in a hammock surrounded by donuts that are all within arms reach. So many possibilities. But what is my ultimate mum fantasy.

And I have finally decided…

It would be a cool rainy day making it darker than usual in the morning. I would wake any time after the hour of 7 am. I would lie in bed looking at my phone until I decided to get out of bed. The house would be completely empty – no dogs, no fiancé and no kids. There would be a deliciously hot latte waiting for me next to a plate of bacon, eggs, haloumi and sourdough toast. I would eat this while reading a magazine or newspaper… or both if I am feeling dangerous. I would then have a long hot shower. I might even sit down for a little bit. I would then slowly get dressed, trying on multiple outfits until I was happy with what I was wearing.

I would then jump into my car and head to Westfield. I would put my extremely lightweight handbag over my shoulder and stride into the air-conditioned centre. I would find a nice coffee shop and enjoy another coffee and a little pastry because in my fantasy, there is no such thing as a mummy tummy. I would sit there until I felt like I was ready to get up – no screaming kids determining when I should leave my half-drunk coffee. When I was ready, I would simply rise from my seat and walk.No picking up random bits of food off the floor or wiping down goodbers off the table. Just rise, and walk. Bliss!

I would then go to Seed. I would spend as long as I liked in the change room making sure I chose coordinated pieces. I would choose accessories, bags and shoes. I would then put the purchases on my never ending debit card. I would then head to a massage parlour and get a head massage, followed by a manicure and pedicure at the nearest nail salon. I would then stroll slowly to the cinemas, chose the cheesiest chick flick, pick my gold class seat and then go on to buy a large popcorn, a pink slurpee and a family size packet of maltesers (no mummy tummy remember!).I would watch the movie from start to finish and not move the entire length of the film.

Shortly after the movie finishes, I would go to sushi train, say ‘table for one’ and slot into a seat straight away – no wait time. I would then take my seed purchases and go to the car. I would drive home blaring my expletive song choices. I would then walk into the house, my clothes would miraculously have hung themselves and a bath, with all my favourite Lush products, would already be filled and waiting for me. I would sit in it for close to an hour reading an Alex Cross novel. I would then hop out, get dressed in my pajamas and eat pad thai on the couch watching Criminal Minds episodes back to back. I might also eat some Nutella straight-out-the-tub. Who am I kidding? I would definitely eat Nutella straight out the tub.

I would then go to sleep whilst the cleaning fairies did my chose. I wouldn’t wake until the following morning. No interruptions-no waking to babes or snoring or dogs needing to pee. Just a good old teenage-tara sleep.

Would love to hear your mum fantasy

 


Shopping Trolley, Murdered

Going shopping with a child is always something that could go one of two ways – Good or Bad.

And this all depends on the mood of your baby and the length of your shop.

Going shopping with two children is a completely different ball game.

To have a successful shopping experience, you need both children to be

  • In a good mood,
  • Well fed,
  • Well rested
  • And the shopping trip needs to be exactly the right length to match their level of patience (This varies significantly from moment to moment).

If you do not have all of these ticked off, you can kiss your successful visit to the shops and your sanity, goodbye

I had one of these days last Friday.

We had come off a rough couple of days where my parenting and their moods were just not in sync. It is rare for both my children to be terrible at the same time but so far that week, they had both chipped away at my ability to cope and I was one brick away from being a falling Jenga tower.

I had put off the shop until the last minute and since we were already in the car on this particular morning, I was forced to take the opportunity to just get it down.

My first point of call after parking the car in the Aldi carpark was to get a trolley. I left both kids strapped in the car as I sprinted to grab a trolley and as I opened the door to grab Flynn, he was already crying. Not a good sign. I took his straps off and attempted to put him into the trolley’s seat. Not happening. He was gripping the sides with his feet and hands and locking his knees so that his legs so it became impossible to slide him into the seat. I quickly shoved him in the main section of the trolley and listened to him cry hysterically as I grabbed Archer out of the car.

Since Flynn was now crying in the trolley, I had lost my go-to threat of “Archer, If you are naughty, I will put you in the trolley’. How would I fit my food in the trolley if I had already filled it with two screaming children? Every item I attempted to put in would simple be picked up by the kids and thrown out.

Anyway, I started to sweat as I began the shop and I managed to tick three whole items off my grocery list before Flynn’s screaming got the better of me. I attempted to fix the situation. I was able to get him into the seat of the trolley purely because he had tired himself out from all the crying. This does little to fix the situation. As a matter of fact, I am pretty certain his crying increased a few decibels.

So off I went pushing the trolley and trying to get the shopping done as quickly as possible. When the crying turned to screeching, I made a beeline for the dairy section to get a yoghurt pouch – his favourite snack. Needless to say, of course it didn’t work. The screaming continued and I reached the point where I actually felt embarrassed. I rarely get there but I had hit a low point. I had no choice but to continue shopping because, as I said earlier, our food situation at home was getting desperate.

I continued on and eventually, after 10 more minutes of whinging, Flynn calmed down. He finally took interest in the yoghurt and was happily chatting away to me with the tears still dropping from his face. I literally looked at him and said “Are you trying to kill me?”

My next problem? With all my attention on Flynn, Archer had taken that as an opportunity to survey the aisles. I had to yell out to find out where he was (best mum award right here) and I found him looking intently at the few toys that were of course in Special Buys. I just thought – ‘today of all days!?!’ I love Aldi, I really do, but today I wanted to kick their Special Buys displays over, douse them in petrol and set them on fire.

Archer had picked up a Doc McStuffins medical kit and as I convinced him to get up off the floor where had been happily sitting, he began carrying it around with him. I had already decided to let him think there was a chance we would be buying the toy. I would deal with that meltdown later. I just need five minutes peace.

I was about 2/3 of the way through my shop now. I was filling a bag with bananas hwhen Archer came over to me, pulled up my top to expose my ever-so-sexy mummy tummy and declared “I need to check your tummy mum”, holding the doctor kit nice and high. At any other time it would have been cute. But right then, a middle aged man had copped a good look at what was suppose to be safely hidden underneath my singlet and I literally deflated a little. My jenga tower was swaying violently in that moment.

I quickly told Archer we were not getting the toy and of course, the screaming and yelling followed. He made a beeline for the front of the store and in that moment, I decided I didn’t care, and I quickly finished my shopping so we could leave.

I have never disliked the Aldi checkout system as much as I did in the last 15 minutes of that trip. I was stuck behind two full trolleys with Flynn who was suddenly aware the trolley had stopped and wanted out. Archer was hiding a few checkouts away and when he walked over to me, I could see he was chewing something. “OPEN YOUR MOUTH” I angry-whispered. I discovered he had found a kinder surprise, taken a big bite out of one and then put it back in its original spot. I spent ten minutes alternating between “Sit down Flynn! Put your leg back through the hoel” and “Archer, get back here. Don’t you dare touch those chocolates”.

When I finally left that store after having to unpack and repack the entire contents of my trolley (I WOULD HAVE PAYED AN EXTRA $100 FOR SOMEONE TO HAVE DONE IT FOR ME THAT DAY) and having to bribe Archer to come out from under the packing bench where he was lying on the floor, I gave a massive sigh of relief as I walked out the exit. I didn’t even realise I had been holding my breath.

Needless to say, I now realise that those cheap bottles of wine at the checkout? They are for those mums who suffer through their shops every week, just like me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


The Library

Why I thought my children were ready to go to a library, I will never know. Call me optimistic, but I had visions of us huddled together on a comfy seat reading a book they picked out themselves. It would be quiet, relaxing and my children would be learning.

HA. HA. HA.

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Firstly, it is so cute that I was naive enough to think ‘relaxing’ and ‘insert any type of outing with kids’ even go in the same sentence. Because kids never behave how you had hoped and now that mine both walk, they are without doubt always af completely different ends of wherever it is that I take them.
Firstly, tying in with this very ill-informed  idea of the library being relaxing, even if it were an option, there weren’t even any comfy seats in the whole library to which we could huddle together. Most were cranky leather futons with no back support. The other options were these weird red balancing-ball-death-traps that both Archer and Flynn fell off more than once. Watching them on these seats was like watching a drunk teenage girl walk in heels at the end of her 18th birthday party.
Secondly, quiet? WHAT PLANET WAS I ON WHEN I CONCIEVED THE IDEA THAT MY CHILDREN WOULD BE QUIET. Was it because my magical moment with the kids was set in a library? Because I should have known that the quieter the place, the louder my kids are. I apologize to those quiet HSC students who were pretending to study and those university goers attempting to fluff up their essays. My kids were loud. They were sprinting through the aisles of books, jumping off the crunchy futons and landing with loud thuds. There were self made ‘pew pew’ iron man noises as Archer fought off invisible villains and screams of delight as Flynn tried in vain to keep up as his brother ran off. I thought I had finally gotten through to Archer with my “shhh be quiet” when he began to whisper-yell, but this was short lived when Flynn lost his brains and wouldn’t stop yelling despite dummy intervention (which is inevitably where I drew our visit to a close).

Lastly, they were not even interested in looking at the books. I took the liberty of trying to get them excited by picking out an AMAZING dragon book. It was all about how to raise and rear a dragon. The illustrations were amazing and the writing was witty and fun. Flynn looked at it for a whole 2 seconds before slipping off the crusty leather and following Archer who didn’t even come within 5 meters of me as I sat there desparetly wanting them to engage in this magical library experience.
Maybe they were too young. Maybe it was because it was too hot. Or maybe it was because they both did a poo the moment we entered the place and essentially became feaces candles burning their essence in every inch of the library. Either way, the library visit will be put on hold for another 6 months. Maybe more. 
They didn’t have the book I wanted anyway… 

 


The First Vs. The Second Baby

There are a lot of things I did as a first time mum that I kind of scoffed at when it came to baby number 2.

I was your typical first time mum. I pre-washed all baby clothes in sensitive washing liquid that I specifically purchased for ‘baby-only’ use. I had the nursery all done and everything I threw in my hospital bag was new and probably organic. I said no to the ‘evil dummy’ and I was having no drugs during pregnancy. I was to breastfeed according to World Health Organisation guidelines.

For 12 months I sterilised everything and anything that touched Archer’s mouth. I had multiple arguments with my partner when he simply shared a bottle, spoon or other utensil with him [**”Don’t you know he could contract Meningoccocal!!!”**]. I couldn’t go to a store without buying him a new toy or book and I changed his clothes multiple times in one day to ensure he was always clean. I stressed about him sleeping anywhere but his cot and would operate my day around his sleep routine. I used antibacterial wipes on shopping trolleys and scolded him for licking anything that wasn’t in our house (you would not believe how many inanimate objects appear tasty if you don’t know any better). I used Dr. Google too much which lead to way to many visits to the GP and I fed him only organic food for probably the first 7-8 months (one time my grocery bill was $350 because I refused to shop anywhere other than the organic grocer!)

I look back over this list and realise it isn’t even half of my very specific and sometimes pandantic first-time-mum decisions. Of course a lot of my pre-pregnancy plans changed when Archer came along (especially the breastfeeding and washing baby clothes with organic sensitive laundry liquid… oh and the drugs thing. Just give me all the epidural). But looking back, I didn’t even consider an alternative. If there is one thing I have learnt, it is that you cannot tell a new mum (especially a first time one), how to mother, even if the things she is doing are wayyyy OTT.

It is only now, after I have done the whole baby thing again, that I now laugh a little at my first-time-mum ways.

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With Baby 2 (Flynn),:

  • I stopped sterilising after about two months (oops) because I figured the germs that were on Archer’s fingers, which were always in Flynn’s mouth, were so much worse than any bacteria on an unsterilised bottle
  • I think I sterilised his dummies twice…maybe three times
  • Didn’t even realise it was Flynn’s first trip to the beach yet I have the first time Archer picked his nose caught on camera
  • I gave him the dummy from day 1. He actually didn’t even like the dummy that much. I pretty much forced him to get used to it. It has become a saviour these days…
  • Washed his clothes with all our clothes, using commercial washing powder
  • I tend to leave him in the dirty clothes because changing him only leads to more dirty clothes and even more washing for me
  • There were child locks on every single cupboard and drawer in the house when Archer learnt to crawl. With Flynn, his baby proofing is a firm angry whisper  “DONT. TOUCH. THAT.” and the hope he remembers for the next time.
  • I have worked out it’s okay to walk out of the shop without buying any new toy or book – it is actually more than okay
  • I was a lot less bothered by the mess he made when learning to eat. Flynn was given finger food a lot earlier than Archer and he was also given a bigger variety from the beginning.
  • He eats both organic and non-organic foods. Sometimes he even eats stale sandwiches he finds under the couch and has been known to try a bit of dog poo here and there.
  • He is 15 months old and his nursery is still not ‘finished’

 

I could go on forever. The point is, I have relaxed about a lot of things which essentially means I have more time to look after two kids. The time I spent worrying about all the things I did with baby number on was relinquished when number two came along.

Mind you, there are two things I have been extra vigilant about with both babes. The first is that if they are in the sun, they will be white from the amount of sunscreen they have on them. And number two, there must not be dirty boogies in their nose. There must never be any bats in their caves.

I wonder how poor baby number three will survive in this house. They will be eating poo dressed in their three day old stained hand-me-downs, with no shoes and mould growing on their three dummies hanging around their neck.

Is there anything you were extra vigilant about with baby one that went out the window with baby two? Love to hear from you x


If You Don’t Get Here Right Now…

Motherhood has turned me into someone I didn’t want to be. You know, the mum who yells empty threats across the shop in a last ditch effort to get her ill-behaved toddler to do as he is told. The mum who, instead of offering reasonable, well thought out forms of punishment, clutches at straws and just says whatever pops into her head – usually something she instantly knows she will never follow through with. Chucking out all the toys? Please. That is like 100’s of dollars wasted.

Anyway, the amount of poop I seem to be speaking at the moment has hit its peak. Archer is in the middle of a Terrible Two ‘period’ (because having a bad ‘moment’ was sooo last month) which means I am pumping out threats left, right and centre. My usual ones are getting boring so I have to get creative.

Where has this left me? Sounding like my parents. And we all know how terrible that is.

Here are some of my winners. Not. But enjoy and have a laugh.

NB: They are all said with desperate-pleady-mum face which looks a little like this:

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“If you don’t stop doing that, there will be no Tiny Teddy’s for afternoon tea”

“That’s it, no more Tarzan for you”

“If you don’t stop doing that, you will get a big smack”

“If you don’t say sorry to your brother, I will throw out all your toys”

“If you don’t come here right now, there will be no more fun today.”

“Do you want a smack? Then stop. doing. that.”

“Thats it, to your chair…NOW”

“If you talk back to mum one more time, you will spend the rest of your day in your room”

“I will give you five seconds to come here right now. Five…four….three… two… ARCHER! That’s it!”

“You either eat your vegetables, or you go to bed”

“Say sorry, or I will lock all your superheroes in the cupboard”

“If you don’t eat your lunch, I will give all your cars to the boy across the road”

 


Be Accountable [*RANT*]

From a young age, I was always taught that everybody is different. From my kindergarten class to my senior school years, individuality was celebrated. I was encouraged to voice my opinions but also accept those that shared ideals different to my own. I was told to celebrate differences and learn from the beliefs and concerns of others especially when they differed from my own. I was taught never to demean or belittle someone who had an thought differently to me, because I could always learn more from them.

I am certain I was not the only one taught this growing up. Right?

Because these days, something seems to happen between those younger years and entering adulthood. I don’t know whether it is arrogance, our ability to become ‘invisible’ via social media or an actual shift in society’s ideals, but the idea that others are actually allowed to have opinions different to our own, is suddenly something we take offence to.

For a long while I have just passed it off as ‘the Australian way’. The Australian Way being that there is a fine line between being loved and applauded by the Australian audience and being chewed up and spat out for being too opinionated, too arrogant and therefore too annoying. I should mentioned that this line also happens to be an impossibly thin one. I am talking, one tiny filament of a string thin meaning it is very hard to successfully tread. I have seen celebrities, TV personalities and media types praised and encouraged for their individuality, talents and opinions and in the very next moment they have being callously torn down by those same, previously adoring crowds. I have always seen this as just what Australians do. We seem to love to build people up, but when we feel they get too high or successful, we quickly tear them down and claim we are ‘keeping them grounded’. But I am no longer buying it. I think by offering the “Australian Way” as a reason, it gives the public an excuse instead of making them accountable.

Since becoming a mother, I have taken a big interest in blogging and especially those bloggers who write about motherhood. Two of them in particular being Constance Hall of Queens of Constance and Mel Watts of The Modern Mumma. I have watched these two mums be rallied around by a big following of mothers and parents and continuously praised for their honesty, opinions and voicing their beliefs. But in recent months, I have also seen them be spectacularly torn down and squashed by the same followers. It made my blood boil.

Now, before I continue I want to point out the obvious. Yes these women have chosen to write, voice, record and video their lives and opinions. Making the choice to do this is not in any way narcissistic, but rather to create and build a platform. This platform is to ensure that no one feels alone in their triumphs and losses when it comes to birthing and raising children. They are there to make others feel less embarrassed, less isolated and also to help them laugh a little when nothing else seems to work. Before this, what did we have? Midwives, health workers, doctors, our friends and family telling us one thing or another and if that wasn’t what was happening to us, or that advice wasn’t fixing the problem, mothers were often left feeling lonely, like they were struggling or failing. This platform opens its arms and gives us a virtual hug when we need it and a high five when its due. They have opened my eyes and in many cases, opened up conversations I might have otherwise been too nervous or embarrassed to have.

On the other hand, the downside of them being so honest and open with their life and opinions is that they leave themselves exposed.

Now I would like to bring you back to the education I received as a child – that a difference in opinion is to be celebrated, accepted and should be used to educate ourselves on peoples invidiaulity. There have been many times that these two women, and other bloggers, have written about things that I don’t agree with. Sometimes I shake my head and just say “NUP” as I read. But I accept that whatever their opinion, thought and activity is, it is theirs, it works for them (and probably 1000s of others) and that’s that. Full stop. I MOVE ON. Both them and their families are happy, healthy and are functioning well. We differ in our opinions yet us and our families are both better than ok.

What I don’t understand is why people need to go out of their way to make women like Mel and Constance feel bad for their choices. They literally stop, calculate a purposefully nasty reponse and despite being given time to re-think their decision, they still go ahead and think it’s the right thing to do. It seems like that these awful people who write these nasty comments think that if they don’t try and bring that person down for doing or thinking differently to them, their computer or phone will surely blow up in their face and they will burn to death. That is the only legitimate reason for them making such horrible remarks.

Why do people feel like they have to tear others down? Do they think that what they are saying is right? That they are being nice? Do they walk away feeling better about themselves? I’m actually really interested in how people justify why they do it.

Well, in all my infinite wisdom, I have news for you: For all you haters and trolls who go out of your way to make someone feel bad for their parenting or life choices – you are simply being a d*ck. Now, you might come back and say to me “But right now you are going out of your way to be mean…” Well actually, no I am not. I am being honest. Stating a fact.

In the words of Nikki Gogan (Bachelor, 2016) “..blowing out someone else’s candle does not make yours burn brighter”. This my new philosophy. Because it is true.

You posting/typing/saying your nasty, well thought out response that outlines your disdain or disagreement is not going to change that persons mind. It is not going to make them suddenly realise “Now why didn’t I think of that!?”. We are humans with history who live our lives in a way that is shaped by the experiences and lessons learnt from our pasts. You taking a stab at them is not going to change years of experience, thought processes and life lessons.

I am all for freedom of speech. But I am also all for being a good and kind person who considers the weight that said ‘speech’ might have on those receiving it.

So people of Australia, social media, the world, just stop. Scroll on. Be accountable for the effect your words and actions might have on someones opinion of themselves. Spend the time it would have taken you to come up with that ahmazzzing response and do something nice with it. I dare you.

If you made it to the end… soz, it was a long one.

 

xx