The greatest of these is love

When I tell people my mum has dementia they invariably say,

“Does she still know who you are?”

She does when I hug her and hold her close and tell her I love her. Her brain may not remember my name but her body can feel that she loves me. I know it.

The gift of dementia is that I have had four years to say goodbye to my beautiful mama. Four years to create new memories and remember some of her old ones. To hear the same stories again and again so the family history is firmly locked in my brain until it is my turn to fade away.

Four years to hold her hands and tell her that she is still a devoted mother. Four years of visits to calm the madness rush of single mother life in my head while I put her hand in mine. Four years of quiet afternoons to sit with her in silence while I rub hand cream into her old dry hands. Four years of cups of tea and bickies. Four years of running away from the nursing home in tears with a broken heart while remembering all the small ways she loved me. Four years to be reminded how she cared for our dogs, yelled at me over homework, washed our clothes, fed us endless dinners and sang in the kitchen.

Mumma loved her career before kids but she loved us more. Her four kids and seven grandchildren were her life’s work. Having our family was the greatest joy of her life.

Four years of stories shared with whoever else came to visit. Four years being able to take in her I am your mother and I’m not going anywhere fierceness, and four years to realise that I don’t care any more about our differences, fights over my clothing and hairdos and politics, I feel grateful that she cared enough to argue with me.

Four years to look at old photos and realise what she built for us. Four years to be reminded that she introduced me to Stevie Wonder and Billie Holiday and Ella Fitzgerald and taught me how to sing.

My mum interviewed Squizzy Taylor and met Frank Sinatra and talked to colourful Sydney racing identities and was invited to all the best parties when she wrote the social pages. And still my dad, my brothers and sister and I and our kids were the best part of her life. Not all kids get to have a mumma like mine.

Some families have their loved ones snatched away in an instant, but I’ve had time to be with her and hug her tight and tell her how much she means to me.

In the past year she has wet her pants and worn her clothes backwards and spilt dinners and tea all over herself. She has let her hair go and not worried about matching her top with her skirt. All the petty little problems of life have slipped away and all that remains is that my mum’s face lights up when my kids and I walk in the room. That is love.

I know my dad is coming to get her soon, they will get to be together again and I have to remember that on the days that I’m missing her so much that I can’t breathe.

My mum was from a family of godbotherers, devout Anglicans who often quoted the bible. This is the only verse I remember from years of reluctant Sunday school attendance (Corinthians)

And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.


Dear Father who art in heaven (I think)

My dad would have been 92 this week, but his body didn’t want to stay around that long. He was a devoted da and a workaholic. He taught me:

*To do what I love for a living (he wrote/edited over 100 books)

*Travel opens your mind

*A sense of humour will help you in the darkest days of your life

*A good swim in the ocean can clear your mind

*Hard work is good for the soul

*A tough childhood doesn’t define the rest of your life

*Even if you haven’t had your own dad, you can achieve a lot

*Dancing a slow tango in the kitchen is magical

*Kids raised by single mums are tough

*A full fridge means you are doing really well

*Stray dogs are worth rescuing

*Some days we must get up and go to work even when we think we can’t

*Singing love songs is great for families

*Lovingly made freshly squeezed orange juice is better than an expensive restaurant breakfast

*Taking your kids back to your old childhood haunts opens their eyes

*Listening to the stories people tell you will help you learn about the world

*Love is a verb

*Singing to your kids at bedtime may soothe them or freak them out

*Saying yes to new opportunities is scary but worth it

*Never let the truth get in the way of a good story

 

16 years without him have gone by in a flash. I would sacrifice a few of my toes to see one of his cheeky smiles, hear his laugh and have a hug.

My dad was the Prince of Kings Cross

 

 


Traditional values

Thia week Australia celebrated a victorious YES vote for marriage equality. After all the hate that was unleashed on the LGBTQIA community,  it was beautiful to see my queer friends celebrating with their allies.

The religious hypocrites in the Anglican church spent $1million on an advertising campaign for the NO vote. ONE MILLION DOLLARS as homeless elderly people live under bridges and in cars.

I’m happy that most Australians stood up and fought for our friends so that we are all equal under the law. My gay friends have been bashed, spat at, ridiculed and put down by family and so-called friends and strangers. I’m writing this for all the times they’ve heard, “I don’t mind gays, but,” for all the times they’ve heard someone use the statement, “That’s so gay,” in a derogatory way. It breaks my heart to think of the pain they’ve experienced during this hateful campaign that could have been avoided if PM Turnbull had any courage.

All the gay parents I know have had to choose their path carefully, to consider what parenting really meant. I know happy, healthy kids who have two mums and two dads, and they’re thriving. My kids have one parent available to them 24/7 and they’ve had trying times. Heterosexual parenting is more likely to expose kids to harm.

These are the politicians who didn’t have the courage to vote yes or no. Remember their names at the next Federal election:

As Ellen de Generes said, “Here are the values I stand for: honesty, equality, kindness, compassion, treating people the way you want to be treated and helping those in need. To me, those are traditional values.”


That way madness lies

Appalling parenting alert! Apparently we must stop lying about Santa. ‘Experts’ have suggested that parents who lie about Santa may be motivated by selfish desires, and not what’s best for their children. 

I’m astonished. I can’t believe that parents would put themselves first. Does this mean Instagram parents who post constant photos of their awkward children in designer gear so the parents can get free stuff, adulation and insta-fame are self-obsessed? Quelle horreur! Next ‘they’ will be telling us that children are playing with toys kids don’t really need. 

I’m glad there are gurus who can point out these faux pas. I want to be a fabulous parent to ensure my daughters don’t end up on reality TV shows, so I will never tell a white lie. Ever. And I know single mothers make the best parents, so I’d like to supply sound advice for the thousands of parents who read this blog religiously, hanging off every word I utter.
What other things should parents stop lying about?

Daddy’s girlfriend really wants you to stay at their place for half the school holidays

Nanna means well, she just has a problem expressing herself in a non-passive-aggressive way

Mummy is very upset that the police charged our rude neighbour with DUI

I love your new friend, that little boy in your class is so special

Swearing in another language doesn’t count

G.F.Y means Good For You

 

(C) Pollard Perfect Parenting Plan 2017

 


Rage against the machine

Back in my day….

No one was allowed on a bus with a pram unless it was folded when I had babies. There were no special pram parking spots on buses or trains. But back then women didn’t think that spending two grand on a pram was a good idea because people actually believed they could one day own a home within four hours of Sydney, so they put the money towards their mortgage instead. Now everyone under the age of 50 in NSW is stuffing their faces with expensive avocadoes and craft cheeses because the idea of actually buying a car or a house in Broken Hill and commuting on overcrowded public transport and congested motorways is too much.

Rage is all the rage in our part of the world. Segue rage, bike rage, parking rage, WestConnex is raping my suburb rage, Saturday night there’s nowhere to go out and my rent is so high I can’t afford a social life anyway rage is all part of living in Sydney.

And the Bernard Salt groupies who voted for the anti-science numbskull pollies currently in power continue to negatively gear, tut tut and invoice government departments for their opinion. Sigh. Anyone else looking forward to the Sydney property crash?

Dean Martin – On The Street Where You Live 

 

 

 


Poke ’em & go

Dear 11-year-old child,

I know you’re really busy saving the world by watching people playing Minecraft on Youtube all day, but I’d like to ask a favour. Could you please catch and keep the following Pokemon people/creature/alien/thingies/whateverthehelltheyare?

Cleandyourbedroom a saurus

Oddishwasher won’t empty itself

Clefairy liquid over the sink and wash the dishes

Remove the Vileplume from your sister’s walk on floor-drobe

Meowth and change the kitty litter while you’re at it

Machop up some veggies for dinner

Rapidash to the bathroom to hang up your sisters’ wet towels

Slowpoke the dunny brush around the toilet

Weedle your way out of whinging about housework no more

Thank you great light of my life

Mother dearest

Whistle While You Work – Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs


I miss my dad

This week marks 14 years since I lost my dad (down the back of the couch, it was a big lounge suite). My dad was hard-working, larger-than-life, full of energy and a bit of a nut with a great sense of humour. I miss him every day.

I’m now at the age where too regularly my friends are losing their dads. Great dads who worked hard and weren’t around that much when we were young because they had to feed us and pay the bills and blokes of that generation were taught to get on with it and not complain. Lovely men who then became gorgeous grandpas who made up for the time they’d missed with their kids by sharing their attention and dad jokes with our kids. Now they’re old and frail and leaving us. As a single mum I could really do with my dad around some days, but life goes on with him in our hearts.
Farewell grand dads and grandpas. We miss you so.