One Day…

March 25, 2015 raphaela994 Comments

I met a complicated lady at the bus stop when my daughter was a baby. She was beautifully dressed, her hair coiffed. She had a cigarette dangling from her mouth and a haunted expression on her face. Our friendship grew over the years, and she delighted me with the wondrous and unexpected things that came out of her mouth. She excitedly told me one day that she had been to a sale at the local chemist shop. “What did you buy?” I asked. She retrieved the bag, and pulled out a tube of Vagisol, “for this old vag of mine!” she roared with laughter. The poor man sitting next to her at the bus stop went beet-red. I gave her some money for her fare, and a few day’s later I found a chemist bag in my letterbox. In it contained a thankyou note, the money I had leant her, and as I tremulously pulled out a box from the bag (thinking it was leftover Vagisol), I found a small bottle of perfume.

She came to my door a few weeks ago, and asked me to put on the kettle. We sat in silence for a bit, before she said “it’s the anniversary of when my mum died. I didn’t want to be alone.” I gave her a big cuddle, and she left with a tin of bikkies. We saw her on Monday. She called out to me in the street. Her arms and legs shook so severely, it appeared as though she were having a seizure. She said she had been in hospital. My little girl was concerned, and I explained that sometimes when people drink too much over a long time, they get the DT’s. “I wish we could make it go away,” she said. I do too. I have a sense that this lady’s mind holds many traumatic memories. She has been trying to drown them in alcohol and the mesmerizing light and sound spectacle poker machines offer. A well-dressed lady with a colourful array of hats, missing teeth, a cheeky grin and a complicated back story. We love you. I pray you are with us for some time yet.

Luminosity

March 22, 2015 raphaela99Leave a comment

Last night, we went to Luminosity at Australian Technology Park. It had been a rough week on many levels, and I dragged my aching bones out of bed to get ready. There was no way I was going to miss an event run by Endometriosis Australia. This wretched disease has taken so much from my life. My battle is over after a vicious ten-year fight from the time of diagnosis until I went into premature menopause. My fervent wish is that our girls don’t suffer as we did. My daughter and I walked into a foyer bustling with activity, yellow balloons and friendly faces. I caught up with a dear friend, Naomi, who had been an inspiration to me before I started my IVF journey. We embraced, and it was felt on a cellular level. I will never forget visiting her after she had yet another surgery at RPA, a lady of dignity, reclining in a chair and smiling in spite of her pain. It was the first time we had met in person. I met the marvellous Donna, who had also organized the Luminosity event in Melbourne on the 7th March. The volunteers were all awe-inspiring.

I sampled the most delicious raw food, and we got our fluoro paint on. I made friends with women who shared their endo journey’s and we swapped numbers at night’s end. My daughter chased boys around, and put me to shame with her hula-hooping.

We entered the main room engorged with music and neon lights, and I basked in the glow of over a hundred people who have been affected by this disease. They were glowing for real! Some had endured twenty years of agony, had their bowels resected, had been on a litany of powerful medications, had been burnt, lasered, cut open and had IVF. They were heroines at Luminosity. We watched amazing performances, even an acro-yoga display. With a fused spine, I wasn’t bendy, but I loved the stretches. I loved feeling a part of my body, at one with it. A body which had harboured disease the size of oranges, and had the consistency of elastic bands.My daughter thanked me for the lovely girl’s night she had experienced. I promise you, little one, that if your tummy aches when you are older, I will be watching. I will get you the best help. I pray I don’t have to. To find out more about endometriosis, or to donate either time or money, go to Endometriosis Australia.

Joy in Another’s Happiness

March 18, 2015March 18, 2015 raphaela995 Comments

This little girl ran into the bathroom yesterday morning, anxious to tell me some important news. I was half-asleep, and worried by how animated she was. Was something wrong? “Mummy! Exciting news! The Today show rang a lady and she answered and won $30,000! She’s a single mum and needed a new washing machine and vacuum cleaner! She can’t work anymore ’cause she hurt her shoulder. I am so happy for her! Isn’t that the best news?!” I hugged her so tight. It was indeed the best news, not only for that lady, but also for this one. My child has a beautiful heart. She understands that when one of us wins, we all do.

Stained Glass Wolves

March 7, 2015 raphaela996 Comments

In my travels, I met an extraordinary young lady called Celia. She started Stained Glass Wolves on Facebook. It is for ‘victims and survivors of abuse, homelessness, domestic violence and the people who support them.’ There are two projects on the hop at the moment, Basic Love Packs and Knitting to Spread the Love and Warmth. The mascot is The Mistress of Awesomeness and she certainly is! Apart from everything else she does, she is also a singer-songwriter.

Celia is 28, and lives in Sydney. She is currently an AIN, working in a nursing home, and is also studying nursing at university. She believes in true equality, love, loyalty, compassion,truth, genuineness, dignity and justice. She has three specific missions in life:
1. To run her charity, Stained Glass Wolves, and reach out to the broken.
2. To sing and write.
3. To be a qualified nurse educator specialising in brain trauma and also making specific care plans for individuals; working with families, carer’s and the client to make a manageable plan to give that person the best quality of life.

Celia has qualifications in mechanics, and in the hospitality industry. There is nothing she can’t do, teaching herself to knit via YouTube. As a child, she was abused in every way a young girl can be, and was told that she was worthless. She refused to believe it. How she healed, and what she has done, are truly inspirational. She has suffered depression, nightmares and flashbacks, but miraculously survived. The heart seared with great suffering often becomes the heart with the greatest capacity for love and compassion. Nobody came and rescued her from the thatch of thorns where she lay. She retrieved herself.

She found her calling in nursing after encountering a 104 year old lady in a nursing home who inspired her. She applied to study, and a letter arrived from the ACU. She reluctantly opened it, thinking it was a rejection letter. They instead wanted to know why she hadn’t accepted her placement. She checked her spam, and there was an acceptance email! Check your spam, people! At university, she noticed there was a scheme, offering placement overseas to the student with the highest mark. She applied and was accepted! She went to Cambodia, volunteering in health camps, and also travelled to Georgia College in Atlanta. Like I said, inspiring. She is the rainbow after the darkness dissipates. A survivor in every sense. If you would like to learn more, visit Stained Glass Wolves.

Summer didn’t want to let go.

March 2, 2015March 2, 2015 raphaela994 Comments

After a particular mum (not mentioning any names), mistook boy guinea pigs for girls, two ladies became mums! My daughter is an adoring aunt, whereas I am apparently a grandma! Nine little ones in all.

Homeschooling is amazing! Munchkin is progressing extremely well, and has a passion for learning that is an honour to witness.

We went to the library the other day, and she read a chapter of her book all by herself. She was excited, and I was overjoyed. This particular book is from her I Can Read program, and has codes at the top of each sentence, so she can easily decipher the words. Afterward, we went past a factory seconds store, and found a beautiful guitar. It is the right length for a child, and in her favourite colour! It was cheap, and the fellow said he could re-string it for my left-hander. I felt privileged to witness her excitement. She is learning guitar, and has often said that she didn’t mind not having her own. She rarely asks for anything, so this guitar shall be valued.

Saturday night, went to The Sound of Music Sing-A-Long at the State Theatre in Sydney. It was particularly special as it is the 50th anniversary of the movie this year, and I got to dress up as a nun! We happened to bump into a teacher from my daughter’s former school. This lady has inspired my child in so many ways, instilling a belief in herself and to think outside the box. For that, I shall love her forever. We became friends on the playground, and I am sure Mrs Z shall always be in our lives. You never forget the teacher that goes above and beyond. I find it quite moving, especially as Lizzie was never in her class.

Sunday, I went to Catalina for a friend’s birthday. This lady doesn’t usually celebrate her birthday, so this was special. It was a lesson to me that you are worth celebrating, and that life is far too precious and short not to gather friends. It was the first day of Autumn in Sydney, but the sun beat down mercilessly, pushing the temp up to the high 30’s. Summer stubbornly refused to release its grip. My daughter found these gorgeous floral displays abandoned around the side of the restaurant, and after gathering a few blooms for herself, we delighted in watching parents pick their children a flower or two.

As we left the city, the storm clouds gathered, and a torrent of raindrops thumped to the ground. The last grand summer storm before autumn colours the landscape in crimson and rusty hues. There are challenges, for myself and my loved ones, but when isn’t there? All we can do is stick together, embrace and love, and eat good food and ride it out. Winter is coming, but then, so is spring.

Graham Moore, thankyou!

February 24, 2015 raphaela992 Comments

This picture of an extremely talented man, and the condensed version of his inspired acceptance speech have gone viral. Thankyou, The Bully Project, for framing this heartrending speech. Thankyou for the work that you are doing.

I was thirteen years of age, when I tried to die. I felt different, and had the sinking feeling that I might never find my home in this world, nor a place to belong. I almost succeeded. I look at my life now, and you know what? Every day I feel like kissing the earth over the fact that I am still anchored here. To every kid that doesn’t fit in, and worries that they never will, the good news is that you don’t have to! There is a world out there wanting to embrace you. People needing your gifts and anxious to hear what you have to say. There are ideas waiting to be born, and places to visit. Adventures to be had. To concur with Graham, “I would like this moment to be for that kid out there who feels like she’s weird or she’s different and doesn’t fit in anywhere. Yes, you do. I promise you: You do. Stay weird and stay different.” It has worked for me! Those dark years gave way to a future I could only dream of. People that love and “get” me; a job I love. I am now home schooling my daughter, and seeing her flourish is one of my greatest joys. Thank God I am here. If all you have to hang onto at the moment is an audacious belief in yourself, it’s enough. It’s more than enough. I don’t know where my fellow classmates are now. My path dramatically diverged from theirs. I have found my tribe, and a place to belong. Hold on…You shall too. They are out there waiting for you.

Homeschooling and Dyslexia

February 17, 2015 raphaela994 Comments

The day the resources arrived. The little girl was so excited!

The mother would never forget the moment she realized our education system had few resources for dyslexic kids. She was talking to the teacher, her daughter outside, swinging her little legs to and fro. “Did I do okay Mummy? Are you proud of me?” Her mother smiled and replied that she was very proud of her, and that she had done very well. She could see the big picture, as parents are privy to. She could see her daughter being broken and scarred by the labels already stuck onto her skin, like a crude tattoo. If a child with dyslexia isn’t given adequate assistance by the time they reach adolescence, their view of themselves can be tragically aligned to their ability to learn within a system that won’t cater to them.

The mother enlisted the private tutor, and along the way, found another remarkable mentor. Elizabeth was an art teacher within the education department for a very long time. She resigned, and went into private practice, using a variety of modalities. She asked the mother to observe where the daughter’s eyes travelled when asked a question. “To the left,” her mother replied. Elizabeth explained that the little girl began to process information from the upper left of her eyes. “Does she have difficulty copying notes off the board, and does she have messy handwriting?” “Yes,” the mother replied. “She is having trouble coordinating what her eyes are seeing with her body movements. Reading off a board or piece of paper in front of her is bound to fail.” She put a coloured piece of paper-a complex word written on it- to the left of the child’s vision, and the child sighted it. Elizabeth then turned it over and asked the child to say the word. Not only could she say it, but she spelt it backwards and forwards! How can you adequately thank people who are giving a child the gift of self-esteem, dignity and a passion for learning? Elizabeth gave the mother exercises to do with the child at home. Even crawling around the floor would help.

The mother knew what she had to do. She studied the curriculum and designated outcomes for her daughter’s year, and developed a lesson plan, using resources and tutors she had uncovered. A home schooling mum she was blessed to befriend helped her. The education department came out and interviewed both her and her daughter, and she was given the go-ahead. Her registration came through toward the end of last year, and then it became real. She was terrified. Frightened of failing her daughter, of the enormity of the task ahead. She had to do it. Local schools weren’t equipped to accommodate dyslexic students. The competition started early, being judged by their class on their ability to write out their own speeches, then recite them publicly. After a month of home-schooling, her mother can already see the benefits. The child speaks with ease amongst adults and children alike. Her self-esteem has been lifted, and she is eager to learn. She often gets to her workbooks before her mother in the mornings. When she is stuck on a sentence, her mother is right there, to read it out. Able to learn on her terms, and in her own time. She has a full social life, to the extent that a day at home with just her mother is factored in. Rather than witnessing the reducing of a child, her mother is watching her grow.

Once Upon a Time… A Dyslexic’s Tale

February 14, 2015 raphaela996 Comments

Once upon a time, there lived a little girl. She created stories in her head, and regaled the class with her imagery and passion when relaying the tales. She found writing frustrating, and often wrote words backwards. She couldn’t spell. She fumbled along, until a private high school deemed her intolerably stupid; irretrievably incapable. She was broken by fourteen. She knew she was intelligent, not least because of all the dragons she outwitted, laying in wait along her path. At fifteen she resumed school via distance education. Able to learn in her own time, she excelled. She could look up words, and go over her writing until she felt it was right. She went on to write books, and edit other people’s essays. It made her angry, that people had labelled her and deemed her to be unteachable.

The years passed, and she went on to have a daughter. Determined to do all the right things, she ate well whilst pregnant, and offered her unborn a plethora of baby literature. By the time her daughter drew her first breath, her mother had a library of children’s books waiting for her. She read to her day and night, and her daughter loved the puppets and actions her mother performed to go along with the story. Her mother took her to the Opera House regularly, as well as the Sydney Theatre at Walsh Bay to see those books come to life. This child was so active, and so very curious, her mother felt assured that she would have no trouble when she started school.

It became clear early in kindergarten that this child was struggling. She wasn’t “getting” her phonic words, and was struggling to read whilst other children soared through the levels. Prescribed glasses were not to be the answer her mother had hoped. Alone and concerned, her mother sought the help of a private speech therapist. Dyslexia was suggested. Comprehensive testing occurred at the start of Year One, and it was confirmed. Her daughter’s language skills were above 95% of her peers, thus she had advanced language skills for her age. Her auditory memory was also excellent. The brain just had difficulty deciphering the information the eye was receiving. Her daughter’s self-esteem plummeted. She was offered a place on Reading Recovery, but it came to an end after a few weeks. School days were represented by frustration, and a weariness descended on her daughter. She had double the work of other children as she needed to complete set work from the speech pathologist as well. Headaches commonly came upon her. Her mother didn’t make her write out Christmas cards, as it proved too tiring. She would stand near her and whisper what a sign said when they were out together with other kids on outings and excursions.

Year Two began with the teacher remarking that they couldn’t help a dyslexic child. She said this child would always struggle at school, and would have a hard time with all sound words. She said she would get a job of some description later in life, as she had an agreeable personality. When the possibility of home schooling was mentioned, it was dismissed. The mother must keep her at school for the social aspect. The child had another assessment, and the results were marked dyslexia. The report insisted that the school and this centre must work together to support the child. The mother researched on her own, a lonely and frightening responsibility descending on her shoulders. She found an excellent program, her daughter eagerly rising each Saturday morning in anticipation. At her first assessment, the little girl cried, feeling exposed. The tutor was so very compassionate, having had over twenty years experience as a teacher. The mother and tutor had to start back at kindergarten level to teach her the basics. The child was so tired. Triple the workload of other kids. Sometimes she cried from the frustration. Sometimes her mother did as well. She worked so hard. The teacher approached the mother. She said the girl was doing extremely well with her reading and writing. She was beyond a basic level, but indicated that in her report she would mark her on the bottom rung so her third grade teacher would have no expectations of her. “No!” her mother screamed inside her head, “I want everyone to see who she is, without labels. This child was born to soar!” History repeating itself. This mother would be damned if she was going to let that happen…

Blogger Spotlight.

February 11, 2015 raphaela991 Comment

I am honoured to be featured in Anastasia Amour’s Blogger Spotlight for February. If you haven’t checked out her blog as yet, you are missing something special. This young woman is highlighting what it means to have self-esteem, and encourages her readers to stop listening to the negative voices in their heads. She has become a dear friend, and I love her dearly.

It’s okay to stuff up!

February 4, 2015February 4, 2015 raphaela993 Comments

This term has seen us hit the ground running. I thought I was on top of things, planning the weeks in advance in my diary and calendar. Attempting to sort through email. However, when more assignments come in, and appointments are running late, it all goes to hell. I noticed I had a heap of unanswered messages in my ‘Others’ folder on Facebook. Some were important, and not just from yucky old men who thought I was “lovely.” I no sooner had handled these unexpected messages, than the email box filled up, then Twitter, then Pinterest, then Facebook… I felt like Lucille Ball at her chocolate factory gig.

Getting through one task, then something else demands your time and energy. I still held onto the fantasy that I had it all under control. My endocrinologist advised that I need to slow down, and spend an hour each day exercising. I need to take preventative measures for my health. It all sounded great, and heck, my doctor said I could stop once in a while. It was prescribed.

That was until I discovered I had lost a whole day! I thought it was the 2nd Feb, when it was actually the 3rd! “You are only a day late,” a snooty receptionist snarled when I ventured into my appointment. Crap! I had missed a whole bunch of things. I glanced at my phone. On top of the 500 emails waiting to be read was one notifying me that an old friend had passed away. I teared up, and my daughter hugged me. “Just because you lost a day this time, doesn’t mean you will do it again,” she consoled. “You just need to prioritize and think about what is important in your day.” Such wise words. How did she get so mature and clever? She is right. I feel like I can’t stay on top of everything, no matter how much I try. I want to be a terrific friend, a fabulous mother, a consistent writer and respond to all messages swiftly. It is entirely unrealistic though. I can only do my best. We can only do our best. I believe intention is most powerful. My friends know that they are loved and will wait for me. My daughter adores her eccentric mother…

My friend Russell was a curmudgeonly former newspaper editor. We had some great times throughout the years. He was of an older age when he passed, but gee those years of life still zoomed by. My daughter is right (as is my endocrinologist). Slow down, breathe, walk and prioritize. Even it means losing a whole day now and again. The appointments were rescheduled. I was forgiven, and it wasn’t the end of the world.