Soapbox

Utter disgust and reclaiming some pride.

by Veronica on December 22, 2010

in Blogging, Soapbox

When a boat crashed into the rocks on Christmas Island last week, I watched the news reports come in and cried. All those families torn apart. They’d gone through so much to get to Australia, to somewhere where they would hopefully be able to find a new life and with one big wave, that hope was dashed.

Parents held their babies up above the water, screaming for help, while residents of the Island threw life jackets, only to watch the life jackets torn away and the babies drown. So much floating debris, that they couldn’t see what was wood and what was human anymore.

The death toll is expected to rise as high as 50, with exact numbers not being known. Some bodies won’t be recovered.

Three children were left orphaned. Can you imagine that? Arriving in a new land, a land that your parents have likely promised will be free of death, only to have your parents drown, leaving you alone in a foreign country. Those children are in the Christmas Island Detention Centre now, not knowing their fate. There are over 150 children locked up there.

I’ve been reading the news reports and stupidly, some of the comments below them. To the person who declared ‘We don’t want them here’, I’d like to know: Where did your family come from that you can afford to be so arrogant about the arrival of families who need our help? There is a very good chance they didn’t want to be here either, however their need to be here outweighs everything.

Thinking about it, would you want to leave your home, your extended family, your country and your culture on a whim, forever? No. It takes some major trauma to have to decide that a foreign country is your only hope. That’s why they’re asylum seekers, not holiday makers.

We don’t know their stories, or their horror. We don’t know what they were fleeing from. To trust their lives and the lives of their family to a people smuggler and boat that, at the end of the day, didn’t hold up so well, somehow I’d hedge a bet that it wasn’t rising rates and taxes that forced them here.

I am ashamed that in the wake of this tragedy, our politicians are using it as a stone to throw at each other, the ‘Boat People’ stone. It isn’t constructive to throw rocks and portion blame at this time, not when you could be using your collective powers to organise a better solution, a plan so that this doesn’t happen again. A decisive agreement on what should happen once they’re here, that is in the best interest of these human beings, not in the best interest of your polls.

Screeching at the cameras that you will ‘STOP THE BOATS’ is equally unproductive. By all accounts, the amount of asylum seekers who have made it to Australian shores this year aren’t in danger of flooding us out of our own country, like some people fear. “Boat people” has turned into a general term thrown around as a fear mongering tool that is handy for point scoring.

It makes me wonder if the politicians have forgotten that at the heart of this aren’t people with fangs and giant claws, but babies and mothers. Fathers holding their daughters, begging for them to be saved and now, orphans. They are families who are in search of a better life, one without starvation, or murder on the horizon. Not monsters who need to be stopped.

In a shining beacon of hope however, I’ve gotten to watch Louisa move heaven and earth to get gifts to the children incarcerated on Christmas Island. She’s organised for the parcel to make its way onto a Virgin Blue flight and clear customs quickly, in time for Christmas morning.

Louisa has helped me feel less ashamed to be Australian today. With her idea and the blogospheres support, amazing things have happened in the last few days. Blogging has, yet again, reminded me about the best in people, instead of showing me the worst in them.

So, thank you, to every single person who donated, who shared the love and who helped out. You people are amazing.

And to our politicians, maybe you should be looking at the outpouring of love coming from this community and realising that not all Australians are scared of The Boat People monsters that you created. Most Australians are sympathetic and think that they deserve to be here, in this so called Lucky Country.

Maybe you can see that too.

One day.

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Remember the greenhouse?

Well, it held up mostly brilliantly, until this morning. Obviously the holiday stress has been getting to it, because it tried to fly away this morning. Unfortunately, greenhouses built out of bendy metal poles aren’t designed for flying and instead it flopped down, 6 inches away from where it started, slightly bent and a little worse for wear. Also lucky, it tried to fly away while I was checking my morning emails, so I spotted it and had it pinned back down quite quickly.

An hour later, it tried to fly again, this time uprooting itself from the bottom poles in order to do so. A few bags of potting mix, some more tape and some ingeniousness, and it was stuck back down. Again.

The weather today has been getting progressively worse, colder and windier. Certainly a day for hiding inside with hot chocolate, not a day for preventing flying greenhouses, because you guessed it, it tried to fly again.

More successful than the first two attempts, this time it flew a good three feet in the air, before collapsing back down with a giant thud, trying again and pulling all of the support beams out.

I tried to fix it, I really did. But once I made my way into the internals of the flying greenhouse, it tried to impale me, rather viciously. The wind tore the plastic out of my grip, metal poles were flying everywhere and after being beaten by a flying pole and worrying about my internal organs, I bailed out.

Really, can you blame me?

It’s still tied down, so really, it’s not doing anything other than flopping around like a fish on the end of a line and occasionally trying to murder me when I get too close.

I was already short on Christmas spirit before the assassination attempt. A nasty flu virus that turned into a chest infection, coupled with a period that has lasted almost 5 weeks now (despite me being on the pill) and a course of prednisone to keep me breathing have all conspired to make me grinchy.
Really really grinchy.

But! It seems the blogosphere isn’t half as grinchy as I am, because we’ve managed to raise an extraordinary amount of money to send presents to the children stuck in detention on Christmas Island.

The amazing Louisa decided that she wanted to send things and she mobilised the blogsphere and our various sponsors into helping. As I write, she has almost made the amount of money needed to courier the gifts to the detention centre and any extra money donated will be spent on gifts to add to the parcels.

I even managed to get Cal Wilson to tweet about it.

If there is any chance you can donate, or if you’re in Melbourne, get gifts to Louisa to be sent, then please, go and check out her blog for how to do that.

And hopefully, by the time I’ve pressed publish, my inner grinch will have been tamed with something that isn’t a metal bar trying to stab me. I think the Universe is telling me something.

help

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The harlotry of mummyblogging

by Veronica on September 25, 2010

in Blogging, Soapbox

Mummyblogging: It sounds like a dirty word. Like something you’d spit out of your mouth, or scrape off your shoe. People say it with a snide smile, or throw it over their shoulder. Like ‘the dirty mummybloggers, bringing us all down’. It’s become the word for all that is boring and mundane in blogging.

It’s a bit of a rough deal, to be considered a mummyblogger. The rest of the blogosphere avoids mummyblogging like the plague, even as advertisers and sponsors court the hell out of you. Mummybloggers are considered to be sell outs, to be making money off the back of their children, to be blog whores.

It’s all a little bullshit if you ask me.

I spent a lot of time avoiding the whole mummyblogger cliche. I called myself a personal blogger, because I was writing about myself, with bits about the children thrown in. I wasn’t writing about poo or doing nothing but updating with photos of my kids and telling everyone how wonderful my life was.

It took a long time to come to terms with the fact I was a mummyblogger (spit, cough).

But I am.

I write about my kids, myself, my life.

THAT is mummyblogging. If you put photos of your kids on your blog, you are mummyblogging. Whinge about your sleepless night? Mummyblogging. Complain that nursing tops are hideously uncomfortable and that you tried to drown the baby in breastmilk? Mummyblogging. Remind everyone that kids are hard work and you’ve got it hard? Mummyblogging.

You might not do it all the time, but you’ve got to own the fact you do it sometimes. You might hate the term, it might make your insides curl up and die a little, but if you have ever blogged about your kids, then you’ve participated in that thing we call (spit, cough) mummyblogging.

Funnily enough it isn’t solely the genre of crap and mundane writing, in fact, some of the best writers I’ve ever read are writing about themselves and their children.

I’ve seen plenty of utterly crap blogs, written by people without children, so why don’t they get the (spit, cough) reaction that mummyblogging gets?

I share parts of my life and you guys click over to read about it. It’s a little voyeuristic, a little like being a whore, only without the need to shower afterwards. It’s also the closest thing I’ve got to a community and the most supportive network you’ll ever find.

Some people might exclaim that I’m selling out my children in exchange for Internet celebrity (hahahahahaa, cough, ahem), that children and disabilities are all currency that sells here in the InterWebs. And I’ll consider those points, probably while I tear my own hair out and the children bounce off the walls, and then I’ll disagree with them.

I’m selling myself, sure, maybe a little. After a fashion at least, but I don’t think I’m selling the kids.

Like most mummybloggers, the kids are the supporting cast to my (not-so-brightly-lit) stardom. They get their own lines, sure, but in the end it always comes back to me. Slightly narcissistic? Okay, probably. We’ll go with that.

But, that’s me, I’m the mummyblogger harlot. Taking off layers of my personality for money. Baring my soul for dollar signs. Supposedly.

I might as well own it.

And as the old saying goes, if you don’t like it, click away. It’s the Internet, it’s big enough for everyone.

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Team Ivy

by Veronica on July 2, 2010

in Blogging, Soapbox

I’ve blogged about Ivy before, see here and here.

But this? This is what one community can do.

Over $2000 raised for the John Hunter Children’s Hospital.

Amazing.

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So the protesters are doing their thing and shouting about the annual duck season. AGAIN.

‘Scuse me for a minute while I laugh a little.

Okay, protesters? You know who is out of a hobby if all the ducks get shot and can’t re-breed? The duck hunters. So don’t you think, that maybe they’re invested in the well being of the ducks as a whole? Just a teensy little bit invested?

And yes, there might be cowboys who are shooting for the sake of shooting. Screaming at them and disrupting the hunt is probably not the way to go about reeducating the idiots. Personally, if it’s the idiots you’re targeting, you couldn’t pay me to stand in front of them and whistle and dance while they try to shoot ducks.

So they’re probably not targeting the idiots.

Surely, just surely, there are worse things involving animals and turning them into food (because trust me, if you’ve gone to all the trouble of dodging the protesters and shooting a duck, you’re fucking well going to eat the thing). Like maybe, OH I DON’T KNOW, commercial pig farming? Just MAYBE, we ought to be protesting at a pig farm, or a battery hen farm. Or for those of you in the USA and Canada, the horse slaughter trade and auctions. Because it’s not that the animals are slaughtered, it’s the way they do it and how the animals are transported in the first place.

So MAYBE, just MAYBE, we have bigger issues than the fuzzy wuzzy ducks and cutsie wootsie wallabies being killed. Wallabies btw are vicious little things, invested in the serious business of garden and fruit tree murder. I’m pretty sure if you look at one wrong they’ll stab you with the knives they keep in their pouches. Kill em before they kill you is my theory [so long as that death is quick and humane. Please don’t try to suffocate one, or shoot it with little darts and a blow gun. Please].

Also, for the record, if a wild duck or two dropped into my yard, they’d be dinner, pretty fast. (My actual plan is to breed and eat Muscovy ducks, but that’s not happening. YET.)

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Quick question: If a blogger posts a post on a Sunday – and no one reads it, does it still exist? Enquiring minds want to know.

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