All posts in Birthday Letters

Seeing the Man: Happy Birthday Jules

by admin on November 7, 2012 in , with No comments

Give me the child until he is seven, and I will show you the man.

So, looks like we’ve done our job then. Ah well, you’re on your own. Time to get a job…

Jules. My kind, funny, odd, smart baby Jules. My easygoing, sweet, Angry Birds-obsessed son. I apologise for using a clichéd phrase as the theme for this birthday letter, but hey, you are seven. And because we are in a place where I need to focus on the bigger picture, I often think about the man you will become. Grandma used to say that phrase a lot too, so, as I sit down to write, it is the most prominent thought.

Part of me hopes that it isn’t true, because I get you full time next year and I like to think that I can somehow undo some of the damage. Despite there being very good reasons for me being absent, I know how it affects you. I know it has hurt you. It has hurt me too. But I hope that one day, when you are a man, because we have done a good job, you have the capacity to understand and forgive.

I am so excited that you are coming to live with me. And I have to be honest, I am also terrified, because I know that there is a chance that your Dad is right, and you will want to go back to him after 3 months. I have learned to deal with my decision not to fight. I have learned to accept the emotional fallout of how my decisions are represented to you. I have learned to accept that someone else is raising my children. And I am thrilled that you have so many grownups that love you and want what is best for you, even if I end up on the periphery.

I chose this. It is difficult. It is painful. I frequently question my decision. But I have realised that even if I lived around the corner – I am forever the bad guy as long as I make my own choices. It occurred to me, earlier in the year, as I was being chastised for my apartment in West Perth… that no matter what I do, I am wrong. It occurred to me, when I was making the decision to move to Sydney, that even if I did suck it up for 10 years, living in a city I hate, with no career progression or other things that make me happy – I would still be wrong and that bar would just keep moving.

It’s why we are not together anymore. By opting out of the relationship, I opted out of the abuse. I let him have his way, avoid conflict, and try to make it work. And I just keep writing these letters… so that one day… when you are a man… you will understand.

But I am excited, because you are coming to live with me! And even though that also causes me intense fear… I still have hope that your Dad is wrong. Because I am a good mother. And I love you and can give you all of the support that you need. And if you do decide that you want to go back, I will not take it personally – because you should never have to choose. You have 3 parents that love you, and because of that, I am happy.

So in less than 6 weeks, you will be here with your brother and sister for Christmas. Then, it’s you and I. And Angus some of the time. So even though I am unable to make it today… I am hanging onto 6 weeks time, as the time I get my beautiful boy with me, full time. And despite some of the damage done in your first seven years, and even though despite this I know and love the man you will no doubt be, I will do my absolute best to make it right.

Happy birthday,

Mum.

Eleven.

by admin on September 6, 2012 in , , , with No comments

Mina, it’s your birthday and you are…OMFG… Eleven years old. I have posted this early for many reasons – partly because I am travelling on your actual birthday and time gets away from me when I get back, but also being the night before I fly to see you for your birthday, it just seems the right time (and mindset) to write your birthday post. With wine. Having missed you for a month.

It’s amazing, actually, the kind of pressure I feel now as I write this, not only because of my absence in your day-to-day life and trying to say something meaningful and reassuring that will somehow, magically, make up for that (I know it won’t), but also because this year, I heard the words that will make any mother recoil in horror:

“I read your blog, Mum”.

It’s enough to stop me dead in my tracks, really. Despite you not having a problem with it and reassuring me that you liked reading my posts, I have to be honest – I contemplated not writing a birthday post at all, because I know you are growing up and don’t necessarily need your mother gushing about you online for all and sundry to read. I want you to know that I nearly didn’t. But… bear with me. I promise I won’t embarrass you (too much).

It’s strange how something as simple as a blog post can come to mean so much, and have so much impact on someone’s life, as it has mine. This blog, that I have been writing for all of the time you have existed on this planet, well… it is quite an extraordinary thing to read back on. Much like going through old photo albums, going through and reading the letters I have written to you in the past provides just… so much reflection and insight into my thoughts and state of mind at the time. And I feel that pang of regret when I read it, because, there were times when life was a lot easier for you. And life will get harder, and more complex, and… well…

Much like photographs, my blog entries, for better or worse are a snapshot in time, that one day, will hopefully provide you with comfort.

I speak from experience.

As you probably know, I have a photograph that is 1″ wide and 1.5″ tall, in an oval frame, sitting on my bookshelf. It is innocuous, barely even noticeable, but it is the only photograph that I have of Grandma Chris, because she avoided photos. Well, that and our fractured family meant that, basically, I have one photo.

But, Grandma’s reluctance and fear of embarrassment means that now… there’s no photos. No record. I know it’s morbid, but…

I don’t want that for you. I want you to understand, and know that I love you. Have it written here, stored by the Internet in forever-land, that I battled daily with my decision to move away. But, I love you, and I fought, and continue to try to make it work. I made choices that I think will be better, and provide you with opportunities that can’t be provided in Perth, in the long term. And hopefully make you see that there is a world bigger than sitting around, staring at the TV, waiting to die.

It’s strange though, having written this blog for this long, that in part was started so that you would read about the cute and funny things you said and have a laugh at the “letters in a shoebox” when you were older… has, through the life of the blog, somehow morphed into this big, complicated need to tell my “side of the story”. My actual side of the story will come when you are an adult. In private. That is a private discussion that will no doubt occur, but just know that, in those moments where you doubt that I love you, or that I don’t miss you, or that I am not doing my very best with a situation where my hands are tied… I want you to know that… I’ve done my very best.

And that, right there, is why I decided to write the post. So you don’t have a 1″ photograph when you need me, and know that… in my words… that it’s going to be OK.

Happy birthday.

Mum x

Whereby she doth appear to be off her rocker.

by admin on April 15, 2012 in , , , with No comments

Dear Grandma Chris,

It is hard to believe that a year has passed since I first decided to write you a letter on my birthday. It seems a little bit, well, nuts, to write to someone who doesn’t exist anymore. But because you were the only person who ever consistently remembered (or cared about) my birthday, and this week being forever associated with the beginning of the end for you…Oh, and the divorce being final in 2 weeks too … it is inevitable that I will struggle emotionally.

And boy, am I struggling.

So, even though I am sure the fact that I am writing to a ghost is kind of crazy, I don’t care. Because it’s the only way I can really process it all – to talk to you as if you are here.

For the sake of accuracy, we probably wouldn’t be having a deep and meaningful conversation. I’d probably be refusing your offer of food for the 8th time (Seriously, no, I just ate and am not hungry… no, I don’t want you to cook me a meal. And no, that is not code for “I just want cake”. Or biscuits. Or lasagna. I am just not hungry!)

I’d also probably try to explain to you that the political rhetoric you heard on talkback radio was more complex than it seems, and watch you rant about something that you had clearly gotten the wrong end of the stick about, with me trying hard not to laugh.

Because you and I both know that if I dared to smirk at you, even affectionately, I’d be in big trouble. I’d be yelled at, held responsible for every other member of my family and everything else they had ever done… and… well… yeah.

Don’t laugh at Grandma when she’s been watching Today Tonight, because she may tell you to fuck off and change her phone number.

Ah, the eggshells.

Right now, I kind of miss them. Because I get it now. You just held me to a different standard to the others: you cared what I thought of you. And it hurt you when you thought I was judging you. I wasn’t. You’re just piss funny when you’re angry.

It is only as I grow up and experience the complexities of adult life, relationships, love, decisions… and make my own complex decisions (and mistakes), that I have started to realise: love is not as simple as I thought.

Now I am the one who needs to be talked down from my own simplistic ideas about what it means. Because not only can people hurt you and love you at the same time, sometimes they hurt you because they love you.

Heh, the irony. I’m the one who got the wrong end of the stick this time and bought into rhetoric.

I recently made the decision to leave the kids in Perth and move to Sydney. The plan is to visit frequently and bring Angus back on alternate months (and the older 2 for school holidays), but because that is dependent on a steady flow of WA work (which is proving harder than we thought it would be)… it has been really tough.

Every day, I hope that I made the right decision.

You always appear in a dream to me, with the answer to a dilemma. If I need to find a solution, or a direction, or make a decision (I know it’s not really you – it’s just a representation of my subconscious trying to communicate important things I need to stop and listen to…), you are there to make me listen… and you told me to pursue this.

I hope you’re right.

Last year, I was at a point where I was actively dating, getting “the marriage” out of my system, and had my fair share of hurt. Well, needless to say, I continue to be baffled about men and this year, I am going to just… wash over that issue completely and just say that I understand the complexities of love. And that is all I am going to say on that subject…

Anyway, so, it’s my 33rd birthday. I know 33 is not old, but to be honest I feel kind of old and tired… mostly because I am not too good when I feel like I am in flux, because of my anxiety issues. I can’t help but feel like… I am back where I was at 16. And at least, back then, I had you to fall back on. Now, I am on my own, in a new place. It is terrifying. It is stressful. And I frequently struggle with the overwhelming feelings of failure that go with everything that has happened.

I’d be lying if I didn’t admit there were times in the last few months where I have, quite seriously, and quite clinically, considered ending it. Don’t worry, I won’t. Because fortunately (or unfortunately depending on how you look at it…) I am also stubborn. And proud. And would never, ever, do that to my children. So, I am stuck here, having to fight.

Damn.

Looks like there’s a bit more of you in me than I care to admit. You know, having no choice but to… just keep swimming. Let the shit roll over me and to just keep moving forward and trying to see the positives and the lessons in everything. And I will. And like the grief that I felt would never end when you died, it will get easier. I just have to put one foot in front of the other.

Wouldn’t hurt to feel loved for a bit, though, even if it was by being stuffed with food and told off for smirking.

I miss you. I love you. And I hope that next year, things are a little better.

High five St Peter for me,

Téa

Happy Birthday Angus.

by admin on April 10, 2012 in , with No comments

So, it turns out that someone fell over drunk and accidentally knocked the Fast Forward button, Moo. Not only because you are now 3 years old, but also, like the Mother of the Year that I am, it took me 6 weeks to finish writing your birthday letter.

There isn’t really much I can write as an excuse to make you feel better about the lateness… because my excuse is that I was busy moving across the country. Which, I am sure, when you are old enough to read this, becomes yet another addition to the “reasons I hate my mother” list that you’ll no doubt be formulating.

ha ha ha. Awkward laughter…

Sigh.

The other, more truthful reason is… I find it painful to write to you when you aren’t around. I have written and re-written this post, trying to articulate how I feel about you, and, well… now the stakes feel so much higher. Because in many ways, this is now my chance to tell my side of the story. For you to read later. It’s kind of a bigger deal than it used to be.

I remember once, when I was Mina’s age and I said I couldn’t wait to grow up. Grandma said not to wish such a thing, because being an adult is not as great as I think… and that decades pass quickly once you turn 30.

And boy, was she right about that.

My youngest baby, my last baby, my vulnerable, sweet premature baby… is not a baby anymore. And as I ponder for a moment the changes that have occurred since your first laboured breath – where your Dad blamed himself so harshly for not realising that you were struggling to breathe – to us having to navigate our way through our separation, divorce & getting over ourselves for what is best for you… It hits me hard. Right in the guts.

Because this was not what I wanted for you.

And it’s definitely not what I wanted for me: to be away from my baby that I fought so hard to have… and to risk having that day come where you… decide to call someone else “Mum”. Of course, with this decision I have made, I have to live with that possibility. And all I can hope is that somehow, your Dad and I can find a way to make this work.

Somehow.

Despite it never being my plan for you. Despite me always viewing you being full time with your Dad as temporary.

But, how the time flies. And how that one decision, 18 months ago, made out of grief and fear, now has me needing to ask permission to have you. I hope we can work it out. For your sake.

I’m sorry this birthday post isn’t funny this year, but… I guess it speaks to my state of mind right now. I hope that, by next year’s post, things have settled down.

I love you.

Mum (1.0).

Rock star be six.

by admin on November 7, 2011 in , , with No comments

Jules.

My baby Julesy. My rock star, my shining light. My first foray into being the mother of a boy. My buddy, my quiet child, my geek.

My noodle-eater, my dag, my clown, my Mina-tormenter, my intense and utterly beautiful, kind-hearted son.

You’re six. SIX.

FUCK.

I remember writing Mina’s 6th Birthday post and that was 4 years ago.

I remember writing your birthday post about the Cheesecake shop raining Skittles from heaven and rescuing me from a cake disaster.

I remember this.

I remember this.

I remember this.

And this.

And this.

And this.

I remember Wiggles concerts.

I remember Pixar movie after Pixar movie.

I remember Wank. I remember… well…

everything, mate.

And I am watching them all tonight and grinning from ear to ear. It speaks for itself really :)

And I am just so immensely proud of you, I am finding it hard to put into words. Because, there was a time I was worried about you. And I am sorry for doubting you, because I was wrong. I have absolutely nothing to worry about, because you are kind, smart, cheeky and absolutely anything anyone could ever want in a son. Not that anyone else can have you because you are MY boy. And I am glad you chose me to be your Mum.

I’m sorry I couldn’t be with you on your actual birthday this year. As I am sure you know by the time you are reading this… I have health problems that sometimes prevent me from being able to do the things I want to do. This year, it was because you had 2 infections and it’s just too risky when I am in the middle of a flare. I felt awful and cried for a good portion of the weekend, because, well, noone really wants to be quarantined from their own children… but… my illness is getting more manageable as time goes on and hopefully, this will be a mere blip. Because you know I love you. I love you all, but Julesy, you have a special place in my heart.

It took me a while to really bond to you. Because I was prepared for losing you at 25 weeks, it was hard to not keep a safe emotional distance for the remainder of the pregnancy. Add to that the shock of having 2 kids (hahaha haha haha…. yeah)… well.. you know. But, you know I came back. And you are my special baby and always will be, even when you tower over me and smell like feet.

Keep being you.

I love you,

Mum

The Double Digits of Doom – Happy Birthday Mina.

by admin on September 9, 2011 in with No comments

The cursor keeps blinking at me. I have been staring at it, on and off for about ten minutes. I’ve checked my Facebook twice, my Twitter, refreshed my email… then… back to that damn cursor. It’s even worse than last year.

I know you’re able to read these now, and the pressure that I feel, to write something meaningful to you, but also entertaining for the others who have read these posts since you were a baby… it’s a tough, tough line to walk.

Because now, I just want you to think that I am cool. And… well… you and I both know that that is a tough ask.. because… you are a 10 year old girl and I am your mother.

But, I am cool, I swear. Sometimes. Ahem.

So, the blinking cursor becomes so overwhelming that I put my earphones on, and listen to music to try and find the flow. And, I put on the song “Still Fighting It” by Ben Folds. The song that was released the year you were born, and to this day makes me think of you.

You know, except for the pick-up truck.

And then I listen to that song, and it all comes flooding back. The 36 hours of the brow presentation pain from hell, the non-working c-section anaesthetic, the almost dying (for the first time), you in the humidicrib. The planes crashing into the towers. The painkillers. Watching my world begin, while fearing the world was ending all at the same time.

And you entered my life and changed it forever.

And I sit, stunned, that that was a decade ago. A DECADE. Then it hits me… I have a 10 year old child. It has been 10 years since the terrorist attacks in New York. It has been 10 years and it feels like… 2. The day that you were born, I was worried about the future of the world. And the grim threat of World War 3 that unfolded in the weeks after made me worry that there would even be a world in 10 years. That worry soon turned into worrying about whether I was doing the right thing as a parent. Wanting to create a world for you that was different to mine. Where you knew from the outset that you were loved, supported and could count on me.

And 10 years later, the world still continues to turn (despite being epically fucked up). And it is now not just my world, but yours now too. And despite having had some pretty huge reminders about how short and fragile life can be… the realisation of how fast a decade feels becomes a thought that is… overwhelming.

Because you now exist in a world that is separate from the one we created for you. You have your own experiences, your own thoughts, your own views on the world… and honestly? I am so pleased with what I see.

I remember being 10. And I remember the lifelong damage that can be done to a kid at this age, because… well… that’s where I was. The responsibility of that is crushing… knowing that you have mature thoughts, and conclusions about the world around you, and future aspirations… and…

Yeah… this is where you get the overthinking from.

Man, you are smart. And I don’t just mean book-smart. You are funny in a very clever way. And you are not afraid to be different… and the fairy princess of 5 years ago is a mere memory on YouTube. And as I reflect back on all the previous birthday letters that I write, I can look back and say… I think we are doing OK.

You are SO serious. And meticulous. In a way that I am not. And you drive me crazy with it. I do worry about you carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders too much sometimes. And if there is one thing I wish for you, it is for you to relax and enjoy just being a kid.

But, I can hardly talk… I am the classic overthinker and ruiner of everything by being too intense… and too smart for my own good. So I know… “relax” is a word you are going to hear an awful lot in years to come. Yeah, right? EASIER SAID THAN DONE.

In a way, I think it’s the result of the last few years of death, divorce, and your world changing so much. Last year, your Dad and I had separated a few weeks before and it has been a long, hard road. But we are getting there. And I think we are slowly finding a way to make it work. You’ve been witness to more fights than I would have liked. And certainly I haven’t been as involved in your life as I would have liked. But… you know… we do the best we can. My relationship with my own mother… my fears of having you feel the rejection I did, that follows me through ever relationship I have… it’s quite overwhelming at times. But… despite me having to fight a lot of my demons through this, I know that I am committed to doing the absolute best I can.

And in another 10 years, when I will no doubt lament at how 20 years has now gone by like it was 2 years, and I inevitably start to think about the big things, like I am now… I will want to look back and know that I did OK. Because today, I see the woman you are going to be. And I feel some relief, that because despite me thinking for many years that I was not a very good mother – despite me worrying every single day about the damage I am doing to you by leaving you with you Dad… or not being that cake-baking, assembly-attending kind of Mum playing on my mind… I look at the result and I know that we are doing OK.

I know you’re going to start hating me for the next few years, but… you’ll be back. last year, I was worried sick that I would lose my children to someone else. Hell, I am still worried sick about that every day. But… I am secretly confident that I have done OK and that even when we hate each other, we love each other too. And you’ll come back.

Happy birthday. And, if there is one piece of advice I can offer you… relax. The world won’t explode if you let go and have fun. Just not too much fun. You still have to do your homework.

Love you.

Mum.

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