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| 'Crystal fairy' rose |
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| dahlia |
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| 'Fairy' rose |
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| nigella |
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| Love these great big flower heads of the 'Sally Holmes' rose |
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| Sweet peas cascading over the kids cubby house. They smell beautiful as they cast their spell over Spring. |
Monday, November 30, 2015
November garden
Monday, November 23, 2015
Mental health wards and christmas pageants
Hearing a nurse tell a copper you're son is psychotic, is hard. Almost a week ago he was admitted to the mental health ward in Mount Gambier. Drugs and alcohol.
It's been an emotional week. Nothing compared to what my parents have been putting up with, him living in their shed and all.
He was let out on Saturday overnight, and stayed at our place. He was OK. Quiet and calm. Like his old self. It's going to be a hard, long road to get him back on track. I am scared. Although I am scared, this is the time for me to step up, to help him, to ask for help. To find help.
We returned him to hospital yesterday, as per the order he is under.
The big task is to find things, when he is discharged to keep him busy. To build his confidence, and find his motivation for life again, with out the use of drugs.
I was a drug user up until I was twenty nine. A pot smoker, never anything else, which I suspect isn't the case with him. He isn't telling me and because he is an adult, they doctor can't tell me either, the results from those first blood tests in emergency.
I regret the money I gave to drug dealers. I regret associating with the people I did. I'd like to banish all the drug dealers from town, tell them they are not welcome and to fuck off somewhere else. Like Bali, but I hear they aren't killing them anymore.
Besides all that, while we were in the Mount on Saturday, we took the girls to see the 56th annual Christmas pageant in the Mount.
To follow our family tradition, we put the Christmas tree up in the afternoon, after the pageant. The girls loved that their brother helped, and Summer hasn't stopped telling everyone that he put the star at the very top of the tree. She hasn't stopped exclaiming how pretty and so beautiful the tree is.
It's been an emotional week. Nothing compared to what my parents have been putting up with, him living in their shed and all.
He was let out on Saturday overnight, and stayed at our place. He was OK. Quiet and calm. Like his old self. It's going to be a hard, long road to get him back on track. I am scared. Although I am scared, this is the time for me to step up, to help him, to ask for help. To find help.
We returned him to hospital yesterday, as per the order he is under.
The big task is to find things, when he is discharged to keep him busy. To build his confidence, and find his motivation for life again, with out the use of drugs.
I was a drug user up until I was twenty nine. A pot smoker, never anything else, which I suspect isn't the case with him. He isn't telling me and because he is an adult, they doctor can't tell me either, the results from those first blood tests in emergency.
I regret the money I gave to drug dealers. I regret associating with the people I did. I'd like to banish all the drug dealers from town, tell them they are not welcome and to fuck off somewhere else. Like Bali, but I hear they aren't killing them anymore.
Besides all that, while we were in the Mount on Saturday, we took the girls to see the 56th annual Christmas pageant in the Mount.
To follow our family tradition, we put the Christmas tree up in the afternoon, after the pageant. The girls loved that their brother helped, and Summer hasn't stopped telling everyone that he put the star at the very top of the tree. She hasn't stopped exclaiming how pretty and so beautiful the tree is.
Monday, November 16, 2015
Time flies when you're having fun.....
Time does fly when you're having fun. Or life is so batshit cray cray that you are just peddling like crazy to stay above water. So much has been happening lately, I have dedicated a complete lined book to list and cross everything off as it comes, to stay on top of it all.
Mostly it's kept me on top of things although I forgot to make fairy bread for the kids joint birthday party over the weekend, but it didn't matter. There was shitloads of food. We are still eating left overs.
Better to have too much, than not enough. Last year we ran out of party pies, husband was mortified. This year he was mortified that there was about twenty kids in attendance. It was what most were referring to as a class party, which more or less it was.
As most of the kids from Izzys class were invited, mind you mostly the same kids that have been at parties all year, I decided to invite the whole lot. Why the fuck not?
My conscious got the better of me, and I thought that some of the kids in her class had more than likely not been to a party all year. I am all about inclusion and being non discriminative. All kids are precious and deserve to be included.
It's something I want to instill in my kids. To welcome and have tolerance for all types of people, no matter where they sit on the ladder of life. All preconceptions are left at the letter box, until proven otherwise. Geez it felt good.
It was as crazy as all hell. Kids all over the shop. The two hours went by so quickly, helped along by a game of pin the tail on the donkey, pin the tail on the mermaid, and an ingeniously timed game of limbo (surprisingly initiated by the husband), it all went amazingly well.
Brett set the shed up as a disco, with lights and all. We were all buggered at the end of the day, and the day after, but it was memorable for all of us. Lucky we had great friends who took fab photos and helped out with games. It was a lot of organisation and preparing, by me, which didn't go unnoticed by the hubby at the end of the day, which was nice.
I hardly stood still all day, except for lighting the candles and singing the birthday songs, then it was on like donkey kong, dishing up cake. You might as well have called me Jesus. Whipping cake out of my arse to the masses. It is written. One day, you mark this down as legend, in two thousand years, people will be talking about this party and my saintly, almost godly endeavours to entertain a class of boisterous kids with only my wits and an oven full of pastry goods.
Of course I kid, but by god did I turn cordial and party bags into wine that night!
Mostly it's kept me on top of things although I forgot to make fairy bread for the kids joint birthday party over the weekend, but it didn't matter. There was shitloads of food. We are still eating left overs.
Better to have too much, than not enough. Last year we ran out of party pies, husband was mortified. This year he was mortified that there was about twenty kids in attendance. It was what most were referring to as a class party, which more or less it was.
As most of the kids from Izzys class were invited, mind you mostly the same kids that have been at parties all year, I decided to invite the whole lot. Why the fuck not?
My conscious got the better of me, and I thought that some of the kids in her class had more than likely not been to a party all year. I am all about inclusion and being non discriminative. All kids are precious and deserve to be included.
It's something I want to instill in my kids. To welcome and have tolerance for all types of people, no matter where they sit on the ladder of life. All preconceptions are left at the letter box, until proven otherwise. Geez it felt good.
It was as crazy as all hell. Kids all over the shop. The two hours went by so quickly, helped along by a game of pin the tail on the donkey, pin the tail on the mermaid, and an ingeniously timed game of limbo (surprisingly initiated by the husband), it all went amazingly well.
Brett set the shed up as a disco, with lights and all. We were all buggered at the end of the day, and the day after, but it was memorable for all of us. Lucky we had great friends who took fab photos and helped out with games. It was a lot of organisation and preparing, by me, which didn't go unnoticed by the hubby at the end of the day, which was nice.
I hardly stood still all day, except for lighting the candles and singing the birthday songs, then it was on like donkey kong, dishing up cake. You might as well have called me Jesus. Whipping cake out of my arse to the masses. It is written. One day, you mark this down as legend, in two thousand years, people will be talking about this party and my saintly, almost godly endeavours to entertain a class of boisterous kids with only my wits and an oven full of pastry goods.
Of course I kid, but by god did I turn cordial and party bags into wine that night!
