Beware the lover that wraps hands around your throat.

19 Jun
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Intimidating behaviour is uncool.

Whether it’s hitting, grabbing, pushing, throwing stuff, slamming shit or even flipping your lid in an uncontrolled manner, if it’s scary in the slightest, it is intimidating behaviour.

And that blows.

Many people (I won’t just say women but it is mostly women who are at the pointy end of this behaviour) think that if they are not actually being hit, that it’s ok, but I can tell you first hand that it is not ok.

When I was 19 I had a boyfriend who I thought was cool as shit. He was powerful, built like a brick shithouse, commanded respect within his community (a group of Sydney surfers who have made the headlines time and again for all the wrong reasons….and then they went made a movie about them. Go figure) and was just a little bit crazy.

We partied a lot, and times were nutty. When he and I were given the moniker ‘Beauty and the Beast’, I thought it was cool. I presumed I was the Beauty, of course. If I were labeled the Beast, I probably would have thought it considerably less cool.

In the year and a half we dated, the police removed him from my house, after the neighbours called citing domestic violence, no less than three times. I never pressed charges.
He was also questioned two other times for aggression not shown towards me.

You see, this dude of mine, he had a bad temper.

Uncontrollable.

I moved house twice because my flatmates would end up banning him from our house because of his aggressive behaviour. He broke doors, smashed windows, and put holes in walls. My friends saw me belittled and pushed around and even threatened with a hammer.
My friends feared him, but worse than that, my friends feared for my safety.

I will never forget opening the front door one night to one of my best friends who took me by the head and rattled my brain.

‘You’re going to end up dead and I’m not going to watch it’

And she left.

And. I. Stayed.

He didn’t hit me. Not really. Sure, he smashed shit, but he only did it to emphasise his point. He didn’t really do more than push me a bit, and he was always sorry.

So very sorry.

Things came to a massive head in Bali on a surf safari when things got right out of hand.

As predicted, I really did nearly end up dead.

He lost his temper one night out partying. I left the venue and sought a safe place to chill until the storm passed.
A male friend, a little placid man, tried to protect me and hid me in his room. When my boyfriend found us, I remember seeing my protector fly through the air after being punched in the face, so I  left with this raging man who claimed to love me, before anyone else got in the line of fire.
We went downstairs to our room where he proceeded to unleash his wild temper in a display previously unmatched.

I remember the feeling of his hands tightening around my neck, squeezing the cords together. I had been crying hard, wracking the big blubs but I wasn’t crying now because you need breath to sob. I could still feel the tears on my cheeks as I looked up into his purple face. His eyes bulged with his anger and spittle rained down on me as he yelled at me while he pressed his weight onto my throat as I was pinned to the bed.

And then black.

When I came to he was rummaging around, throwing shit around and I dashed from the room while he was in the bathroom. The proprietors of the hotel, who had seen or heard most all of this disgusting scene, quickly beckoned me to hide in a little, dark, rat infested hole in the wall behind the front counter where they stored rice. The kind old lady pressed her finger to her lips in the international sign for silence as she closed the hatch on this tragic young girl.

I sat in there, wet with tears and snotting all over myself, listening to him raging around like a mad bull trying to find me, until I finally passed out, crouched in a corner.

Did I mention someone had given me a Rohypnol? Minor detail. It was the little placid dude, he said it would help me relax. Understatement of the century, FYI.

Anyway, I digress….

I woke the next day in a bed. Someone had carried me to another room and locked the door from the outside. I woke to the sound of the key unlocking the door and someone slid a tray bearing some tea and banana pancakes onto my doorstep.

My throat was covered in bruises but my ego had been beaten to death. I flew straight to my Mama in Melbourne where I stayed for a few weeks but when I returned to home, I also returned to him.

I know, right????

What was it going to take?

Truth is, I was scared to leave him now. Scared to stay and scared to go.

Quite the conundrum.

Then one day, I woke up one morning in an apartment with strange brown carpets and walls, that I didn’t want to be living in, with friends that didn’t want to see me, terrified of my lover and I just thought -

I don’t want this for my life.

Breaking up was hard. He couldn’t understand why I was leaving him.
He stalked me, and terrorised me at work trying to get me to get back together.

Further intimidation didn’t really work in his favour.

I moved house yet again and ended up pretty much repeating the mistake with someone else who intimidated me in a different way, but that’s another story. I think we can safely say I had a self-esteem issue in my early 20′s.

My point is, I’m a smart, sassy, spunky chick, but at that time of my life, I didn’t think I was worth more.

I don’t think Nigella needs our judgement. I dare say with her dirty laundry out flapping in the wind right now, she’s looking fairly closely at her lot.

We’ve seen some damning photos, that prove that no matter how successful or how rich and glamourous your life might look, everyone has dark secrets.

I hope you stay safe, Nigella. I hope you consider your children, not just their safety but the lessons you’re teaching them. Only you know what goes on inside your marriage…

But intimidating behaviour, on any level, is uncool. Scaring people you love is unacceptable.

Being scared by someone you love, is not good love.

If you, or someone you know is experiencing domestic violence, call the Domestic Violence Hotline now on 1800 656 463

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A comforting word from a stranger, and Lamb & Barley Soup

16 Jun

Lamb and barley soup ingredientsI was out with the munchkies last week going for a scoot and trike ride along the bayside promenade just like a David Lee Roth video clip, but with more clothes, and less roller skates.

Mister H was busting out a quick swim (yes, ocean swim in winter – freak) so we went up to a play area to eat a little picnic and play whilst waiting for him. When we arrived, we were sitting near another family with a girl similar to D Man in age and a babe in a pram, when suddenly D Man started his age in an exchange that went a bit like this.

(Capital letters indicate screaming in high-pitched, brain piercing frequency that attracted attention of everyone in a 5 mile radius.)

Me : Hey babe, want to take your helmet off and have a little play over with the kids?

Him : NOOOOOO! NOOOOOOOO!

Me : Oh, ok. Come and have a bite of lunch then and we can play later.

Him : I DON’T WANT TO. NNNNNNNNNO!!!

I stepped towards him and he made a run for it.

Him : DON’T HURT ME!!!

Nice play, D Man. Awesome. People were really looking now.

That’s his new favorite thing to yell if he’s about to get into trouble. I don’t know where it came from, but it’s very effective, as you can imagine,.

I dashed over, leaving Kiki sitting on her own on the grassy knoll, and I grabbed him by the top of his arm and squatted down in front of his face. In my nice calm, quiet, mummy voice I said -

You don’t yell at your mummy like that or we will go straight home right now. Do you hear me?

Sorry, Mama.

We walked back to Kiki, ate some carrot sticks, smeared some banana and enjoyed 30 seconds of peace and quiet before he decided he wanted to ride Kiki’s trike and she had to ride his scooter. Reasoning that she couldn’t even walk let alone scoot was a minor detail to him and held no weight.

A minor meltdown ensued.

I could see the lady near us looking. I knew what she was probably thinking.
At least, my paranoia thought it knew.

This is shit, I thought. It was supposed to be fun, I thought.

Let’s go find Daddy.

The lady looked me square in the eye and said in a soft voice -

I can see you’re really trying.

Trying?

Yes, I was jollywell trying. Trying not to yell at my kid in public or have some kind of mental breakdown. I was so relieved she said something nice to me I just blurted  -

Three, man. Terrible two ain’t got nothing on that stuff, eh?

She smiled a gentle smile and said -

Yep, it’s definitely three.

We chatted for a minute and she revealed to me that she was struggling. She had a three month old and a three year old and she was looking at me wondering how I was coping with the two…. and here I thought she was looking at me thinking my child was naughty and I’m a terrible mother for not being more in control.

Funny, isn’t it? I assumed she was judging when she looked at me, but in that one tiny exchange I felt a ‘Solidarity with the Chicks’ moment and I knew that I wasn’t alone in this business.

I took comfort in those words at the park, they were comforting like warm soup on a winter’s day.

All four of us Holsbys are loving soups at the moment, for a few reasons. Partly because it’s great winter fare, but also because it really is a one pot feeds all jobby….for a few days. I also freeze some for those days that I haven’t got my act together.
lamb and barley soup

What you will need :

  • 1kg lamb forequarter chops
  • 2L beef stock
  • 1 onion, chopped
  • 2 parsnips, peeled and chopped
  • 2 carrots, peeled and chopped
  • 2/3 cup barley
  • small tin of baked beans
  • 3 sprigs fresh rosemary
  • 2 bay leaves
  • salt and pepper

Chuck everything into a large pot, except for the baked beans. Get it up to boiling then turn down to a simmer. Leave it to cook for about an hour or until the lamb is falling apart.
Remove the lamb chops and set aside to cool.

Toss in your tin of beans.

Once cool, pull apart your chops into little chunks and discard the gristle, bone and fat.
Return meat to pot and make sure all is warmed through and delectable.

lamb and barley soup

 

If you think this soup looks yummy, you should like my Facebook page, or subscribe via email, to be sure you can always keep up with the Holsbys.

10 survival tactics to help you through toddlerhood.

14 Jun

tantrum (2 of 2)I’ve made no secret about the fact that sometimes (often) I struggle with parenthood.

Each age brings with it new and wonderful things. At six months I thought that was the best age EVER.
One brought all the cuddles and giggles and personality. One was surely the best age EVER.

Two was great. I love two. More talking, more comprehension, more joy. More personality, sure, more ‘push-back’ if you will but it was still an enjoyable journey.

Terrible twos, they said… and I thought, this ain’t that bad.

Hellooooooo, three. Aren’t you just a wilful, spirited age?

That’s what the books call it, but I think that’s because little shit is deemed offensive by many, if slightly more accurate.

I would like to loudly and boldly state that three is officially NOT the best age ever. There are many awesome bits, but I do find myself checking to see if there is suddenly a great big curl right in the middle of his forehead, for when he is good, he’s very, very good, and when he’s bad, he’s…….

A turd.

I feel like my sweet, loving, obedient and caring little friend has been abducted by aliens and replaced with a tantruming boy-bot.

tantrum (1 of 2)

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We lock horns terribly (pointless). I try reasoning with the crazed, screaming child (ridiculous) and I feel my rage gauge climbing and it appears that the roof of my head may simply spin off, and leave a terrible splatter on the roof (messy).

I have a few mums around me with beautifully behaved, slightly older children and what I’m observing with these parents is they do not take one single ounce of crap, and the argument is over before it even begins.

‘The answer is no’

Silence.

Wow. That’s not what happens in my experience.

Apparently, the key is this bit. This now bit. This three bit.

This turd bit.

If you get this right then it’s smoother sailing for the rest of your lives, but if you don’t nail it, you’ll have a big kid throwing these unsightly, mortifying tantrums and totally owning your arse in the process.

Oh, sweet Jesus, save me from that fate.

This is my game plan. Allow me to share, in case you know a wilful and spirited toddler.

tantrum (1 of 1)

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Stick to your guns

Don’t say no, and then cave in after incessant whining. If you cave even once, your kid will think you will do that every time if they keep it up long enough… and you’ll be amazed how long they can keep it up for.

Watch your words

Try not to say things like ‘you are a naughty child’, but more things like ‘your behaviour is unacceptable’ or ‘I don’t like it when you’re not listening to me’. Don’t ever say things like ‘you are stupid.’
It’s important to reprimand the behaviour, and not the child.

Deep breaths

Not just you, them too. If your child is one to throw things or lash out in anger, get them to take a few breaths. In theory, you’re aiming to get them to take breaths before the anger in the future.
Sometimes, D Man will fight against it, but if I breath deeply with him, it helps us both chillax.

Respect their anger

Anger is a valid emotion, just like happiness so we don’t want to try to get them to not feel their anger, just to control it.
When they’re losing their shizzle, let them know that you understand they’re really cranky right now, but you’ll listen to them when they calm down enough to talk to you.
Then walk away. Don’t watch the fireworks.

Change of scene

Sometimes it feels like your squalling kid is stuck in a screaming vortex long after the issue. I often wonder if he even remembers what he’s screaming and carrying on about.
Rather than flip your lid, try going for a walk. It’s not rewarding the behaviour, it’s just everyone getting some air because in times of stress the house becomes incredibly small and tense. Just mix it up, and everyone feels a bit better….and you can walk past the shop (bottlo) and buy a sneaky chocolate (wine) while you pretend you’re buying milk.

Naughty corner

I never understood the power of the naughty corner. I couldn’t see why a child would stay there….but they do.
I’m finding great success with the naughty corner. Stay there until you’re calm doesn’t work for me though, as he gets super upset by the thought of being punished. It just gives me an option to put him somewhere that expresses that he’s misbehaved and we get space from each other. He does get worked up by it so I don’t leave him there long, just a minute or two and they I ask if he’s ready come out and do what is asked of him.

No option

A common trap to fall into is asking your little one if they’d like to do something, thereby creating the space for a resounding NO.
Perhaps, instead of asking if they’d like to clean their teeth, come to dinner, or put their toys away, you gently suggest it, and lead the way.
‘Let’s go clean your teeth’ and take their hand….. or in some cases chase them around the lounge until you catch them and then gently take their hand (drag them) to the bathroom.

Two options

I love this one. If you don’t want them to do something, offer two options of things that they can do. This essentially gives them some power (which is what most of the issue is about), but not too much. You can guide them into a direction you want, and they feel like they’re in control. Everyone is happy.

Remember you’re a good mum (or dad, or non-specific carer)

It’s ok to get angry. If you smack because you lost your cool, don’t beat yourself up, just try to use better tactics next time. You’re human. This is a tough gig. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Try to breath instead of react, and act in a rational thoughtful way.

Drink wine

Or whatever floats your boat. Not before 5, not all night. Just a little bit. It really bloody helps the dinner/bath/bed vortex.
Above all always bear in mind that this too shall pass.

tantrum (1 of 1)

I am not a smarmy preachy parenting expert, and I have written this in a list as much for me as you.
If you have any crackers to add to help me through…..please don’t be shy!

Do you know anyone with a toddler?

Share this with them PRONTO. It may mean the difference between survival and not!!!!

Like what you’re reading? Like my Facebook page now, or sign up for my emails, and you’ll be sure to always keep up with the Holsbys.

Hooking up with the gorgeous and gracious With Some Grace for Flog Your Blog Friday.

Kissing Cousins

12 Jun cousins (1 of 10)

These kids don’t get to see each other very often, but when they do the way they play together, and love each other, warms my heart to it’s beating core.

There’s something precious about seeing the child of your sibling’s flesh play with the child of your own flesh.
Almost as though you’re recreating your past.

There’s something special indeed about the connection between cousins, and I hope these guys always love each other like they did this day.

cousins (9 of 10)cousins (3 of 10)cousins (2 of 10)cousins (4 of 10)cousinscousins (7 of 10)cousins (1 of 10)

 

 

Do you have special cousins in your family?

If you enjoyed this post, you should like my Facebook page right now, or subscribe via email to be sure you can always keep up with the Holsbys.

 

Linking up to My Little Drummer Boys for Wordless Wednesday.

Does your man have this disease?

9 Jun
Click image for 8 Steps to Finding a Lost Remote

Click image for 8 Steps to Finding a Lost Remote

There have been recent studies into a very real ailment that is causing much confusion and distress in the male of the human species.

This ailment has caused much anguish and frustration in households across the world as it appears that this epidemic knows no cultural boundaries.

Young or old, black or white, sadly, no one is exempt from this crippling scourge on man-kind. It seems that boys as young as three can be afflicted, and once it has set in, there is no cure.

Most males are fairly oblivious to this disability, so for the most part, they are thankfully, unaware of their impairment, but as the women – the wives and mothers- in their lives we see the steady decline and it affects us very deeply on emotional and physical levels.

I am, of course, referring to the very real issue that is  -

Male Pattern Blindness

This shocking disorder leaves dudes unable to see things right in front of their face, or find things where they left them.

It can be as simple as an inability to see mess, but it can become as debilitating as finding it impossible to find important things.
It is heartbreaking to see males frustratedly searching for keys, wallets and phones, time and again.

Often, the item is within plain site, but this terrible condition causes clouding of vision, and inability to see clearly.

A simple hunt for the remote can leave a man incredibly distressed, and missing items of clothing can cause full blown breakdowns which may include swearing, stomping, hurumphing or general uncool behaviour.
Pantries, refrigerators, and closets are all potential sites for causing an episode and I strongly urge you to be as supportive as you can when your man is searching for items deemed missing.

We, as carers, must endeavour not to take it personally when, caught in the flux of the condition, they may blame us for moving something, for hiding it, or shockingly, tidying something away.

Men and boys are unaware that they have this condition, and to draw attention may only cause them to become frightened, confused or angry, as it’s very difficult for their brains to register the disease.

As a carer you can endeavour to get your males to replace things in a specific location each time, but research indicates that merely leads to frustration of all parties, namely, you.

There is no cure. There is no prevention.

The only thing we can do is support one another.

Call the Association for Support of Male Optical Blindness now -

1800 ASS MOB

You don’t need to suffer alone.

Our Wilsons

5 Jun Wilsons (61 of 69)

You may remember about a year ago I made our dear friends a Yum Cha lunch to wish them farewell as they were moving to Melbourne.

They left a very Wilson shaped hole in our lives, so when a new Wilson arrived on the scene, in the form of a perfect baby girl, I took D Man and Kiki to spend some time south of the border.

It rained almost the whole trip, but it really didn’t matter.

What mattered was catching up with our Wilsons.

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Linking up with Wordless Wednesday over at My Little Drummer Boys. Go check it out.

What do toys teach our kids about gender?

4 Jun petit-colin-632551-poupe-bb-bio-lo-pitchounet-25-cm-8152599_medium

On the eve of Kiki’s birthday I popped onto my Facebook page a comment about how I was trying to find a lovely doll to gift her for her birthday.

I mentioned it because I was finding dolls that were ugly and freaky looking – think Chucky Baby Dolls – or worse, realistic life-like weeing, pooing, whining ones.

Chucky, just before the series of incidences that left him scarred.

Chucky, just before the series of unfortunate incidences that left him scarred.

I need fake wee in my life like a need fake chest hair.

I asked if anyone had any gift suggestions for my darling.

I had a suggestion of the Steiner Doll Without A Face (apparently that way the child can fill in the details), or hand making something sweet.
Then, one of my peeps responded that I ought to get her something else, and that she’ll be pushed in to feminine/maternal stereotypes soon enough by society.
Wait until she asks for it.

Oh. Shit balls. Really???

I didn’t have a Plan B for her birthday.  Now what was I supposed to do?

I’ll tell you what I did….I got her nothing, but that’s because when I went to the fancy schmancy doll shop the only one that I thought wouldn’t give us all nightmares was $150, but I digress.

petit-colin-632551-poupe-bb-bio-lo-pitchounet-25-cm-8152599_medium

This doll is more expensive than gold per weight…. but it would speak French if it could speak.

Are dolls un-pc these days?

Would I really be setting back the feminist movement if I was to buy her one?

Of course, I completely see what she’s saying and on some levels, I agree. I would never wish to push my daughter into gender stereotypes. That would be terrible.

However……

Is it perhaps a little cerebral? Or am I thoughtless?

The kid likes dolls. She also likes sticks and cars and chewing on shoes if you let her.

To my reader’s defence, I worded it as Kiki could have a doll instead of D Man’s trucks to play with, and perhaps I should have said as well…. so let’s not make this about that particular comment, but about the theme in general.

I was surprised how my baby boy was drawn towards cars and trucks and planes. I gave him non-gender specific toys initially. Not because I planned it that way but because most toys for wee bubbas are fairly non-specific.

His best-friend is a rat called Ratty, but as he evolved from a blob to a baby, he loved machines like a fat kid loves Smarties (also un-pc, a thousand apologies).

Time and again, he was drawn to cars, trains, trucks etc until I bought him some machines to smash and crash and cripple my bare instep.

stepping on toy carWhether it is right or wrong, it appears that gender-role development, and acquiring a gender identity, actually requires gender-role stereotyping. Yes, this stereotyping is often over-generalised, but it is what it is, and this is how we develop.

My daughter plays with cars and trucks, because that’s what we have……Had my son been born second he would have played with whatever was in the house too.

Kiki also lives in her brother’s hand-me-down clothes. We have been given lots of dresses and girly things, but the majority of our wardrobe staples are fairly masculine. She has not really been exposed much to ‘girly things’ and yet at a friend’s house recently she wanted to play with the dolls.

Even at such a young age, there are major intrinsic differences between boys and girls. It’s inherently in many children. Of course, they’re still very young and there is cross over. Children become most inflexible about gender roles at about 6 or 7 by which time children understand that gender is a constant and cannot be changed, according to some info a child psychologist friend of mine sent when she saw the discussion.

D Man loves his toy kitchen, tea set and painting his toenails….. is that gender inappropriate?

If pushing one way is creating gender stereotypes, is repelling also doing the same?

Would not having dolls or trucks in the house be making a statement much louder than I need to?

Or only giving toys when they are requested to ensure we’re not pushing anything onto our kids? Maybe that’s the way?

I don’t have an answer, I haven’t studied the matter further than reading a little into it but it brought up a lot of questions, and maybe an argument or two, up at the Holsby Bar & Grill…. until someone solved the entire matter and bought Kiki a doll that she delights in cuddling.

What do your kids play with? Are they drawn to gender specific toys?

I’d love to hear your thoughts about gender specific toys, or politically correct play things….. but please remember to keep it kind.

Hooking up with EssentiallyJess because I blog on Tuesday.

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