Sleepless Nights

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  • Baked and Delicious, the Winner!

    Yesterday, I seriously considered making focaccia bread and I seemed to remember that there was a recipe for it in my first copy of Baked and Delicious.

    And then I realised that my children had been “reading” the magazine and I absolutely had no idea where they’d put it. I decided that focaccia bread could be a job for in a few days, maybe when we’re not still all recovering from the flu and feeling exhausted and miserable.

    So, now I get to announce the winner of the Subscription to Baked and Delicious (RRP: $1106)

    Alannah Shore! Congratulations Alannah, I’ll be emailing you shortly.

  • 10 weeks. The countdown begins. (PS, I’m getting MARRIED, SOMEONE HELP)

    The last few months have flown in a haze of interstate trips, small whiny children, rain and miserable weather. I looked at my calendar today and freaked out a little at how far into this year it is. September is almost over? What happened September, I was counting on you!

    Anyway, today marks ten weeks before my wedding, which I am alternately excited about and panicking about the stuff! left! to! do!

    I have to send invites out soon (the lovely Toni is making my invites) and make sure that my cake and cupcakes are coming along nicely (thanks Cat and Watershedd!) and then, I have to sit down and prepare with my family for what is happening when and who is eating what and where can I find enough haybales to seat people during the ceremony and does anyone have magic grow powder so that I can coax my orchard into a semblance of maturity?

    In the middle of all of that though, I know that things will be okay.

    I have my dress.

    The Celebrant is booked.

    We have food mostly organised.

    Everything else is gravy, really.

    (YES? TELL ME IT WILL ALL BE FINE!)

    Anyway, one thing that I thought I might do and haven’t yet had a chance to pursue, is to see if any brands, or small businesses would like to help out with the wedding, in return for my eternal grattitude, plus advertising/in content mentions on Sleepless Nights, Twitter and Facebook.

    We’re also planning on trying to live stream the wedding for friends and family who live on the mainland/internationally, who may want to watch us tell everyone how much we love each other and try not to laugh inappropriately.

    The dress is from a small shop somewhere in Melbourne and cost me $15 and the leggings I am planning on wearing are from We Love Colours.

    So you know, if you’re a business, or representing any businesses that would like to be involved in my low key country wedding, I would love to hear from you.

    And if you’re a friend who lives too far away to come, would you like me to live stream it? What is the best way to do that?

  • So far from okay

    My last few years have been … eventful. Starting with a pregnancy that didn’t look like it was going to end well, cancer, death, family fuckwits, autism x 2, early intervention, Ehlers Danlos, a falling down house, debt and depression. It hasn’t exactly been the time frame that I would hold up to the light and dissect, more the time frame that you force to the bottom of your closet, stomping on it as you go, so that you don’t have to deal with it anymore.

    I signed up to participate in RUOK Day and then promptly decided that I would be better off stabbing myself in the eyes.

    I am not okay. I am so far from okay, that okay is the distant shore that I left some years ago, before doctors told me that things were “all in my head” and tossed around words like anorexia and problems at home to explain why I was sick and exhausted, why I threw up every day and why my joints hurt so badly.

    You tell me, how are you meant to trust the medical professionals to help out with mental issues, when mental issues are what they thought your major, genetic, connective tissue disorder was? I don’t trust them to help anymore.

    I watched my grandmother die. I dealt with the fallout that rewriting a eulogy caused. I read long winded rants about myself on the Internet, written by a family member. I dealt with the trolls. I helped clean out her house, knowing that it was never going to be okay that she was dead and we were parcelling up her belongings.

    I went to a doctor to discuss anxiety medication, only to be told that it would be better to sort out WHY I was anxious, rather than just medicating. You can’t cure grief by wanting it to hurt less, any more than you can make a broken bone heal faster than it does. I left with medication, that didn’t work anyway.

    My son was diagnosed with autism and while it wasn’t the worst thing to happen, it was the straw that broke the camels back. Really universe? Autism and Aspergers ON TOP OF EVERYTHING ELSE? REALLY?

    Fuck you.

    I would like to be okay, in the same way that I would like my joints to stop dislocating and to stop vomiting all of the time. To stop having to deal with meltdowns and the assumption that I am okay, because I tell everyone I am. I would like people to notice, without having to be told, just how far from okay this whole mess is and to stop assuming that they know how they would handle it.

    I would LIKE for the Pain Olympics on the Internet to stop and for people to stop negating what I am dealing with, because it could be so much worse. Sure it could be worse, but stop trying to fucking jinx me. Last time I thought that nothing else could go wrong, everything else went wrong.

    And you know what? I DON’T want to talk about this. I don’t want to cry anymore, or have to talk about this, or try to explain. Writing it is hard enough. The last psych I talked to about my anxiety and grief, seemed to think that it was nothing to worry about. Obviously I downplay things, really well.

    RUOK?

    No. No I am not.

    Now excuse me, while I get off the Internet, before I am tempted to swear anymore.

  • From this angle, the school holidays are feeling very long

    It’s no secret that I dislike early mornings with the kids and find school mornings inordinately stressful, even if I do have everything laid out and organised the night before. Let’s face it, I am just not a morning person and would much prefer to greet the day slowly, from the warmth and comfort of my bed.

    But, that’s not how it goes once your child is at school. Most mornings, I’m lucky if I even manage half a cup of tea, before we’re out the door, dropping Amy off at school.

    However, once the chaos of the actual drop-off is over and done with, we come home and Isaac and I have a leisurely breakfast, while he watches cartoons and I catch up on things I need to do.

    With school holidays happening at the moment, I may be getting a slower start of a morning, but that is counterbalanced by the amount of attention my children need. And frankly, at this point, I’ll forgo a lie in, in favour of no screaming/fighting/kicking/hitting/toy stealing/whining. Which is what it feels like my school holidays have been made up of, so far.

    I think half of the problem is that this is Tasmania and while the calendar says that it is Spring out there, my weather flat out refuses to play nicely and it’s been cold and windy. Cold and windy means that my children have been inside more than out and it’s starting to do our heads in, just a little.

    I took the kidlets to playgroup today and LO, it saved our sanity. Isaac only had two meltdowns, and Amy painted plaster figurines, leaving me mostly free to chat to other mothers and herd Isaac into the playdough table.

    After that, they weren’t even that terribly behaved in the supermarket! I am, exhausted, of course, but so are the children, so it’s not too bad.

    And all I can say is, how long until school goes back? (8 days)

  • Blaming everything

    I keep starting to write posts and them reminding myself that actually, no, I’m not meant to be writing about that on the Internet. You see, I’ve taken some pain killers and it’s been a while since I took them, so I wasn’t sure if I would end up passing out, or just getting really stoned. This time, it appears that instead of passing out, I am inflicting myself and my weird feeling ears on the Internet.

    You’re welcome.

    I haven’t slept properly in a week. I keep passing out and them waking up with half of my joints where they’re not meant to be, then putting everything back in place, before passing out again. If you do this every hour, by the time your children wake up in the morning, you are not only exhausted, but you feel like you’ve been beaten by a baseball bat all night. This is how I’ve spent the last week.

    Sure, I could blame the flu I have had (and I will) and I could blame the bed I have (and I will) and I could blame Nathan’s snoring (and I will), but really, it’s all the crappy joints, and the crappy problems that come with the crappy joints and I’m just a little bit over it.

    Okay, I’m a lot over it.

    I’ve been trying to work out why my shoulder was hurting and then I had a poke around in there to discover a dislocated collar bone. On top of dislocated ribs. And a hip that goes click-THUNK when I walk. Along with multiple other joints that have decided to rebel. I think my body wants a divorce from me, but I’m not quite sure where I would find the legal team to take on that nightmare.

    Also, I’m pretty sure that none of this is making sense, but that is okay. You can blame the pills.

    I was thinking about my pain management appointments and the fact that I’ve been handballed off to a psych, to get my anxiety issues sorted, before my physio will start to work with me again. I would have liked to handball my physio off to school, to learn more about EDS, before he could work with ME again, but it seems that you can’t demand that they do that.

    Pity.

    Of course, getting told I need to see a psych is the easy bit, the hard bit is actually getting my shit together to make the damn appointment (where did I write those numbers down?), making an appointment for some time that isn’t 2013 and then keeping my head together until I get there. Easier said than done, it feels.

    And now that I’ve put this out onto the Internet, probably regretting it tomorrow when I wake up aching and ill, I’m going to disappear to try and read a book.

    That is, if I can make my hands work properly.