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  • All the possibilities: Supporting the community which supports me

    Look, I only support Pozibles when I think the rewards are cool enough to warrant my money. I look at it as pre-buying something, rather than donating. It’s not a charity, right?

    Which is why I’ve been so happy to see cool Pozibles popping up lately.

    This one is from my friend Sallyanne who is a professional balloonist, a single mother of three girls (one with serious complex disabilities) and a fantastic lady. And she’s offering you awesome rewards so she can get to a ballooning conference, which sounds like she might be trying to run away somewhere, but I don’t think so.

    If you’re interested in a children’s entertainer for a birthday party or event, or a bouquet of balloon flowers, or a freaking jet pack, you really ought to check out her pozible.

    Sallyanne is also my friend and she’s supported me while Eve was in hospital, being all around awesome. I feel like the least we can do is support her now. And receive SUPER AWESOME things in return.

    Sallyanne Pozible

    Speaking of super awesome things, you know who else is running a Pozible at the moment? Frogpondsrock. She’s met her goal, but with every dollar over, it takes the pressure off the travel costs she’s already paid.

    Plus, it might allow her to do some cool things like see Lake Ballard at dawn, and buy fripperies like super powerful sunscreen so she doesn’t fry in the Kalgoorlie sunshine.

    If you’d like to Pozible up a pledge, it’s basically like preordering her ceramic art, only it’s wholesale prices, not gallery prices, so you really can’t lose.

    Also available are family workshops and corporate workshops – the former is great for birthday parties also, and the latter is a good way to make your work colleagues get dirty in the name of art.

    Kim Pozible

    So my lovely friends, if you’ve got a spare dollar or three hundred, there are things up for grabs you might otherwise not get at such good prices.

    Go forth! Support!

     

  • My disability does not define my worth.

    Yesterday, standing out in the paddock with the two youngest children, I waited for the lovely Helen from ABC radio to come up and interview me about my disability, reproductive choices and quality of life.

    At the same time, I kicked a ball to Evelyn and tried not to panic.

    Something I thought was nobody’s business but ours has turned into a Thing, and frankly, I have a headache over it.

    You see, what you are saying when you say we should not have had a third baby, is that people like me shouldn’t exist. That I am somehow worth less as a person because of my genetics. When you judge my children based on a small string of genetic code and find them wanting, you are telling them they are worth no more than their genetics.

    How is that not eugenics? This idea of some people having less value to a society because of their genetic fitness.

    It’s a slippery slope, and yes, I know, your situation is different. But that’s the thing – your situation may require different choices to mine. Your situation may be entirely different.

    Different people decide different things about having children all the time.

    This is not the pain olympics. Your situation does not define mine, nor mine yours.

    Asking me to say I was irresponsible for bringing children in to this world is asking me to regret my choices, my children. I can’t do that. I will never do that.

    It also implies that had we known about Ehlers Danlos Syndrome, my mother should have aborted me, and so on, back through our family line. Cleansed the world of a genetic fault before any one could ever “suffer”.

    But I’m not “suffering”. I don’t find my existence to be one of suffering. I don’t sit here, waiting for my life to be done, wishing my mother had aborted me.

    When everyone else sees me as merely the sum of my disability, a collection of “issues” that they would “hate to live with” and “I can’t even imagine how you live”, I am busy getting on with my life.

    This is the body I was born in. I don’t spend time regretting my inability to run marathons. Instead I do all the things that make me happy. And maybe I am lucky – my interests align well with my abilities.

    I spend time with my family. We play video games and laugh uproariously. We read books. I write things (lots of things). I make soap.

    We’re happy.

    Let me repeat that.

    I am so happy with my life and the path I am on.

    I don’t spend all day dwelling on how my joints work. Do you? Do you spend all day noticing how your ankles move? Or how your hair colour affects the way people speak to you? Or how you breathe? Or how your eye movements control what you see?

    Of course you don’t.

    We don’t spend every moment of every day aware of our bodies and the things we can and cannot do.

    Why would you think I sit here in a pit of angst worrying about how I can’t weightlift? Or run?

    Ridiculous.

    I’d been loathe to write about this again, because hear this: What I decide to do with my uterus is none of your business. Not even a little bit. Not an ounce. You don’t get a say. If I decided to go and have another five babies, you still wouldn’t get a say.

    My disability does not define my worth, nor does it define the worth of my family.

    Remember that the next time you feel inclined to say something to me.

    Comments are moderated on this post and all others from here on in. It’s not something I ever wanted to do, preferring instead to foster a group of commenters who were adult and able to agree or disagree with me without resorting to vitriol and assholery.

    That’s changed now and I am controlling the conversation. If you feel the need to comment like a dick and it doesn’t add to the conversation, I will delete you, but not before mocking you on social media.

    You can disagree with me. You can comment with an entirely different perspective and situation. You can talk about your own situation or your reaction to my situation all you like.

    But you can’t attack me or my family personally, you can’t attack choices other commenters make and you can’t spread your vitriol around like manure on the garden.

     

  • ALL THE SOAPS

    I’m working on the shop website today after realising last night May is almost over.

    Where did the time go? I DON’T KNOW BUT SEPTEMBER IS GETTING CLOSER hold me.

    Part of getting the website ready is doing bits and pieces each week so that once September is here and the final paperwork is finalised, I don’t have to spend a week adding all the products, their descriptions and details.

    This means, product shots!

    And because it’s Sunday and I haven’t yet managed a proper breakfast or cup of tea yet (Eve is quite unwell and has gifted Amy and I with the plague), I thought I’d share the photos here first.

    You guys like soap photos, right?

    Lemonade

    Above: Lemonade soap. Sweet and sharp, this fragrance smells exactly like lemonade in summer.

    Below: Lemon hand soap – “Potter’s Soap” designed for ceramicists who constantly have their hands in and out of water, and covered with drying clay. Also good for anyone who has issues with soap drying their skin. Scented with a tart lemon smell.

    Lemon Hand Soap

    Lavender Hand Soap

    Above: Luxurious Lavender Hand Soap – another “Potter’s Soap”

    Below: Hunter’s Night soap.  This fragrance is described as “Very sexy masculine scent, with notes of exotic woods, musk, oakmoss and hints of lime and cyclamen ” – I just think it’s delicious. My whole house smells like this one. You can see the discolouration on the edges, over the next fortnight the soap should turn a glossy brown.

    Hunter's Night

    Wild Wild West

    Above: Wild Wild West. I probably need to rename this. The fragrance: “Top notes of Tumble Weeds, Basil Leaves, and Tonka Beans; followed by middle notes of Brushed Suede, Earthy Patchouli, and Amber Stone; all sitting on manly base notes of Aged Saddle Leather, Red Cedar, and Full Musk.”

    I can’t promise I can smell all those scents, but it smells smoky and sexy, with an undernote of saddles and horses.

    Below: Dragon’s Blood.

    I held off on buying this fragrance, worried it would be too hippy. However, I can see why it’s such a best seller for people who make soap.

    Warm, woody and earthy scent, with notes of amber, vanilla, sandalwood, patchouli & light tones of powdery musks and hints of asian florals to bring out subtle spice undertones.

    Dragon Blood

    Unscented with beeswax

    Above: An unscented soap with beeswax. There is a very faint smell of beeswax and honey in this soap still, but nothing artificial to bother people with sensitive skin.

    Below: Spearmint and Eucalyptus.

    Originally I thought I’d use these smells to make a scrubby foot soap, but it’s so nice I made regular bath soap with it too.

    Spearmint Eucalyptus

    Edited to add:

    If you’re interested in being notified by email when the soap shop is about to launch, you can sign up for my email list right here. HANDY DANDY.

    Veronica Foale Essentials Launch




    Email Format

  • Jamie’s Garden: Am I convinced? I don’t think so.

    I received this in the mail today, which is kind of cool, on the surface.

    Jamie's Garden

    Upsides:

    It’s filled with notes, recipes and spots for stickers, perfect for a slightly older child, or a strong reader. I think Amy will like it, but struggle to read it at the moment.

    It also came with a terracotta pot which Eve promptly smashed. Toddlers. Don’t trust them. Luckily Kim Foale Ceramics has made me some pots which hold up to toddlers and actual growing things much better than crappy terracotta.

    Downsides:

    The seeds it came with. Tomato. In May. For Tasmania. Even watercress, or mustard would have been a more sensible choice. Or spring onions. Or parsley. Anything you can grow inside on a window ledge really, which isn’t tomatoes. Especially Grosse Lisse Tomatoes, which hate Tasmania.

    Even more downside-y – my kid is allergic to tomatoes. I’m not picking at the company, but yeah, I kind of am. No tomatoes for us. Poor choice.

    Also had a stuffed toy and a toy spade, which Eve commandeered immediately.

    It’s a promotion for Woolworths, obviously, and while I think I like it better than the animal cards, or whatever the last thing was, I find the notion of providing collectable things for children in order to get kids to bug parents about shopping at Woolies, slightly less than ethical.

    It causes people to go insane, and we have enough one-upmanship happening with kids as it is, without adding collectable swappable things to the mix.

    Am I convinced?

    I don’t think so. I like the theme of healthy eating they’ve got happening, but the execution needs work, especially as Woolworths is more invested in selling junk at low prices than providing healthy affordable options.

    Unless of course you want to eat rice and beans, which hey, we might all have to in this current climate.

    Now if Woolworths had sent better seeds, or better pots, or actual suggestions on growing a garden, coupled with a promise to drop prices on the food I want to eat, I might be more sympathetic. As it is, it feels like a cheap ploy to pretend to be interested in healthy food while promoting coke, chips and junk as the affordable options.

    This post is kind of sponsored. I got stuff, and even though I didn’t have to write about it, I had ALL THE FEELS, so I guess I’m still promoting their new campaign and giving it space, even though it didn’t win me over.

  • Poverty isn’t a choice you make

    I watched Bill Shorten’s Budget Reply Speech last night, quietly cheering from my couch as he addressed issues which concerned me. Youth Newstart, poverty, the medicare co-payment. I sat there, waiting for him to go in to bat for young disabled Australians.

    Only he didn’t.

    Sure, he mentioned pensioners multiple times, but unless recipients of the Disability Support Pension (DSP) have suddenly morphed into senior citizens, he wasn’t talking about us.

    Yet again, the disabled are relegated to the corners, out of sight out of mind. We don’t count – not in a visceral way. Surely people in wheelchairs can work? After all, they’re sitting down all day anyway.

    There is despair in my household today.

    The solar panels we installed to hopefully cut our energy costs aren’t helping us out and my power bill arrived. $670 I have to find from somewhere, while also paying off the stupid panels. Multiple phone calls to the solar company complaining have netted me a lot of reassurance about “we’ll have to check your contract and see what we promised we’d deliver” and “we’re looking into it”, but that doesn’t stop my bills arriving, or the money being paid off the panels leaving my bank account.

    I can tell you there is a vast difference between what we were promised, and what has been delivered.

    I was reading the Griffith Review this morning; a powerful piece about poverty.

    It hit home, hard.

    Poverty isn’t a choice you make. It’s the result of a series of impossible choices thrust upon you. Food on the table today, or money for a train ticket to a job interview. Getting the kids school uniforms, or buying a work shirt. Petrol for the car or money for power. A prescription, or food.

    And I understand it.

    The difference between those women and my situation is a fine line. There’s no domestic violence here, and no addiction to hold us hostage. A very fine line. I’m not beholden to market place rent, just interest rates. I don’t have to worry about a landlord kicking us out onto the street.

    I am lucky, and how lucky I am. I chose a man who doesn’t beat me. It seems like it should be an easy choice, but look around you. Domestic violence is everywhere, fueled by the hopelessness and despair of poverty and the addictions that take hold when you try to forget how bad your situation is.

    Poverty is insidious and it isn’t as simple as asking us to choose not to be poor. It’s more than the ‘just get a job’ rhetoric. Youth uneployment in Tasmania is 20%. You can’t tell me there are enough jobs to go around.

    My car is at the mechanic today, having wheel bearings replaced. It’s a necessary thing – there’s no public transport here and we need a car. But it’s also an extra chunk out of the budget I would have preferred to spend on things like groceries and new shoes for the kids.

    A fine line between surviving and not.

    We will be fine, but many other people will not be.

    In September, I’m due to open up my shop to sales. We had planned to launch in November, but we’re moving it up because we can’t afford to wait the extra two months. We’re hopeful our networks will support us, and our business will grow and thrive.

    Like I said yesterday, I have options many people do not. I can write articles and pitch to magazines. I can make soap and sell it. I can put my head down and push through until things look brighter.

    I can make my work fit around my disability.

    I could not make my disability fit around my work.

    And that is what is wrong with the politicians right now. They truly believe we can make our disabilities fit around a job. This shows an intrinsic misunderstanding of the nature of disability, which is a complex and nuanced issue. We’re not all in wheelchairs. We’re not all mobility impaired. We’re not all paralysed.

    What we are right now though, is hopeless. Filled with despair at what our future might hold.

    Tired from fighting it.

    That’s what we are.