What makes a full life?

My beautiful mum turned 70 this month.  My sisters, brother and I are throwing her a big birthday bash on Saturday because she deserves it, she’s worth it, we love her to bits and want to make a big fuss of her, and making it to 70 is a pretty big deal!   It’s such a big deal that her sister, my aunt, flew into town earlier this week to help us get ready for the party (read: chill mum out and help her get ready for the party!).  After the initial excitement and fuss of seeing each other again, my mum answered my aunt’s exclamations of making it to 70 with “I’ve WASTED my life!” 

I was gob-smacked!  I was shocked at the time, but her words have been sitting in my mind since then like a stubborn bird on a branch in a storm.  “What do you mean you’ve wasted your life?”  Wind gust, lightening flash, rain dripping off beak.  She pretty much single-handedly raised four children who have grown into pretty awesome grown-ups.  She volunteered all through her life – from the school tuckshop and cake stalls and fetes, to fundraising drives and campaigns, to telephone counselling, which lead to her starting a university degree in her 50s and getting her Masters in counselling not long after.  “What do you mean you’ve wasted your life?”  Tree branch blown about, ruffled, soaked feathers, crash of thunder.  True my dad was a schmuck to her and left her for another woman, but she is now surrounded only by love - of family and friends and her seven beautiful grandchildren.  “What do you mean you’ve wasted your life?”

This got me thinking in the shower last night, where all good thoughts come and world problems are solved, what constitutes a fulfilled life?  Do you have to ride a bicycle around the world with nothing but a pump, spare tubes and a toothbrush?  Do you have to live on a remote Pacific island and build a school and teach poor children to read and write?  Do you have to go from rags to riches?   Do you have to foster 100 children and take in people in need? 

I’d never really thought about it before.  I like having adventures, though I’m getting more “settled” the older I get.  I’ve accumulated a few regrets in the first 34 years of my life, but I am content with where I am now – my beautiful husband, my beautiful daughter, our ramshackle house that needs work, my career (though I may still lose my job, I love what I do) and I have a small handful of awesome friends.   My life is small.  Meaningful and full of love, but small.   But since hearing my mum’s declaration, I’m starting to think…  Is that not enough?  Will I get to 70 (God willing) and be kicking myself for being so boring?

Maybe we should sell up and move to Tasmania to build that hay bail house my hubby and I talk about when we’re feeling crummy?  Maybe we should pack up and go live in a remote place of the globe and try and make a difference there?  Maybe we should throw caution to the wind and spend a year travelling around our own country?  Money, money, money!  Paper, plastic and coins run the world and we don't have much of it.  Dangnabit!

So what do you think constitutes a full and fulfilled life?  Is raising a family, paying off a house, working on your marriage, making friends, laughing and making memories and doing your part to make the world a better place (like having sponsor children, volunteering, raising your children well etc) not enough?  Or do you not figure it out until you’re 70?   I’ve only got 35.5 years to go!  Better get a wriggle on!

Facebook ditch?

Relatives of mine ditched their Facebook accounts last week, and it got me thinking – should I do the same?  If I’m honest, which is pretty much always, I’m a bit addicted to Facebook but particularly when I’m at work and there’s a few minutes lull in the workflow.  “I’ll just check Facebook,” I think… about 20 times a day.  And in this current climate with yet another round of redundancies around the corner at work, should I REALLY be checking Facebook at work 20 times a day?  Yeah, me either.

But it’s more than showing my bosses I’m not a slacker. 

I have 166 “friends”, some I haven’t “spoken to” since we friended each other several years ago.  That doesn’t mean I don’t like them or they don’t like me – we just don’t talk.  When I “friend” someone on Facebook or accept a friend request, it is because I genuinely like that person and would like to hear from them and keep in touch.  We all learned that lesson when Facebook was new and we friended anyone and everyone we’d ever met and ended up with 400 friends we could barely remember meeting in person!  There is one such old “friend” that I would love to hear from and reform a friendship with, but they seem content just to be number 150-something of 166 friends.  Weird.  But not unusual.  I’m not taking it personally.  Moving on!

But on throwing the question out there “What impression of me do you have from my Facebook life?” I was pleasantly surprised by the people who responded and what they had to say.  So then I think, “Hmm, perhaps I shouldn’t leave this little (massive) community just yet?  While I don’t hear from many people, there are actually people who take an interest in what I’m making for dinner or what epiphany I’ve had while hanging up the washing.  (Well, perhaps not interest so much as entertained by!)  And what if someone from 1987 wants to find me?”

And that is the dilemma – while I don’t always make contact with the 166 people on Facebook, I like knowing that I can.  If they need me for whatever reason, I know they can find me.  And if I ever need them, I know where to find them.  It’s the old fashioned equivalent of having everyone’s phone number in your old address book, though without the constantly changing numbers when people move cities!  And in those days, you didn’t rip out a page just because that person/those people hadn’t called you in two years.

But it’s more than the “friends” who aren’t actually friends.  Here is another reason to keep it. 

My life from 2007 onwards is on my Facebook account.  The milestones – meeting and falling in love with my now husband; rediscovering my faith and passion for Jesus; new jobs; moving cities; finding out I was pregnant and that whole journey; and now all the photos and stories of our beautiful girl – the ups and downs; the good, the bad, the ugly and the hilarious.  That’s all on Facebook, and if I take it down forever, I’ll lose that “family album”.  It would take me weeks to go through all my photos and save them.  But Facebook won’t be around forever so it’s probably not a bad job to start.

But it’s more than my family album.  And here’s the big reason to delete my account.

I want to focus on and add some new things into my life that are healthier and more productive – like starting to run again (but oh Lordy, that is going to hurt!), starting yoga, spending more time with friends, and no-technology-time with my husband.  And no, that’s not “code” for anything!  I mean spending time with my husband that doesn’t involve sitting in front of the TV, or sitting beside each other on the couch but each playing a game on our phones or checking Facebook for the 100^th time that day.

I don’t think I’ll go anywhere just yet – I need to get organised and save all those photos and videos first – and besides, how can I let anyone whose interested know that I’ve written another blog post??

Fight the frumps

My body and I have been around the block a few times.  We’ve run down dark roads on cold nights at 2am in high heels, hiding from passing cars in sugar cane fields (you know, just in case there was a mass murderer passing through town!).  We’ve jumped off roofs, out of planes, tripped down gutters, grown a baby, been in a car accident or two, run a race, skinned our knees and hands, broken a bone, crashed while skiing and slid downhill on my face, and all the rest. 

So, standing in the shower this week, it occurred to me just how little I actually look after my body.  I rarely do anything with my hair other than what one or two bobby pins can tackle.  I can’t remember the last time I went to a beautician for any reason.  My mum shouts me a haircut or two a year and I haven’t dyed the (ahhm!) greys for more than six months so I’m looking a little more salt and pepper than the 90s rapper girls.  And more often than not, my toenail or fingernail polish will wear off before I have a chance to get it with remover.  And that’s pretty sad people!  And I resolved to do something about it!

Now, money is tight so as much as I’d love to book in for a weekly massage like I used to in my single days, there are a few things I can do to look after my “vehicle” a little better.

1.        I can moisturise.  I’m usually beyond ready for bed by the time I get out of the shower at night, so I’m not going to kid myself into thinking I can do this every night, but I will try and do it more often than my current twice-a-winter.

2.       I can keep my polish in a reasonable state, especially when summer comes and my toes will be out in the breeze more often.

3.       I can dye my own hair.  Hair colour is regularly on special, so $15 for a box of colour every once in a while isn’t going to cause a mortgage default!

4.       I can make an effort to blowdry my hair before bed more often.  Sure it’s not perfect when I get up the next morning, but it sure is better than the scarecrow straw look I have going on most mornings after I’ve washed my hair!  Hence the bobbypins.

5.       I can give myself manicures, pedicures and facials at home sometimes.  Granted it’s never as nice as when you have it done professionally, but it’s better than nothing!

6.       Make-up and I get along about as well as me and hair product.  I love how I look with make-up on (especially when professionally done), but the next time I look in the mirror after applying it, you can’t even tell I’m wearing anything and my freckles and dark circles look just the same as always, so what’s the point?  It's like it just soaks in and disappears!  But a little compact “pat” every now and again through the day and a top-up of lippy (or pawpaw cream) helps.  Not every day, but at least on my office days.
 
7.       An occasional splurge isn’t going to break us, so perhaps every three or four months I will go and have a massage, or a facial, or have my eyebrows shaped *insert dreamy sigh here*

8.       Get moving!  I am still learning to walk properly after breaking my foot, so running is off the agenda for a while, but I’ve found a local yoga class at the end of my street.  I went on Monday night for my first class and really enjoyed myself – perhaps a little too much given I fell asleep in meditation!  The teacher is easily in her 50s and isn’t a small woman by any means, but my is she flexible!  I think going to her classes as often as I am able will also help my physical and mental health.  And it's so close I will be able to walk... when I can walk again!

9.       Me time.  I have a few really great friends who I love spending time with, and I’m always excited to make new friends, but I am one of those people who needs alone time to really recharge.  I’ve been so busy lately (and having lots of fun with friends) that I haven’t had much quiet time.  Again yoga and getting back out running will help when I’m able to do that again, but I will also try and find some time to myself – hec, even having an early shower and going to bed on my own to read for a while is enough to make me happy!

10.   Put in a bit more effort generally.  Yes I am at home doing the washing and cleaning and haven’t looked in the mirror that day, but instead of the tracksuit pants I will try and reach for a pair of jeans instead.  And instead of a super-sloppy jumper, perhaps a nice warm pullover instead.  And swap the Ugg boots for sneakers.  Frumpy is comfortable, but it does nothing to make you feel like a non-frump.

And a little aside here for my husband, who loves me even when I really am looking like a troll!  The man sure has his rosy glasses on when it comes to how beautiful he thinks his wife is, and I am so blessed by that!  I love that he loves my heart, even when the rest of me looks like something that fell out of a donation clothes bin backwards.  Thank you!

Lessons I've learned from breaking my foot

Things I’ve learned since breaking my foot:

• A split second is a really short measure of time, and no matter how young/fit/focused you are, you have no time to react or save yourself.  The first I knew something had happened was when I heard the crack.

• Moon boots are better suited to space endeavours.

• It’s amazing what you can do without if it requires bothering someone else to do, or more effort than desire – like cups of tea/coffee and beverages in general, bathroom trips if you’re not really busting (though don’t leave this too long either because it takes longer to get there and get organised!), snacks, and rolling over in bed.

• I do not cope well not being able to run my household!  Having read a friend’s blog today, I realise this is more about control.  Hello, my name is Jen and I’m a control freak.  I like controlling my household (though never the people in it because who else knows how THAT turns out!?!).  I like the kitchen “Jen” clean every night before bed, and in the morning before I leave the house for work.  I like everything picked up and put away before I leave the house for work.  I like the washing folded a certain way and put away in the right places.  I like the beds pulled up and smooth each morning.   Did the world stop turning while I wasn’t able to do these things?  Nope.  Did it drive me crazy sitting on the couch with my leg up watching dog hair dust bunnies tumble down the hall and around long-abandoned toddler toys?  OH MY YES!

• I can make it through the night only rolling over once or twice to save having to reorganise myself, the cat, the bedclothes and my husband.
  
• I have much better balance than I thought!
  
• I do not like to sit back while others work – I feel guilty, regardless of how justified my “stillness” is.  Could also be control, but mostly my work ethic.  I’m not lazy and would prefer to “do” than “receive”.

•  Simply being able to walk is wonderful!

•  I get fatter more easily these days, and will never take for granted how beneficial general movement is for burning off a calorie or two.  My pants are a bit tighter and I’m feeling pudgier, though my left leg has slimmed down nicely!  I’m looking forward to being able to run again and have the ap and sneakers all ready to go… once I’ve got this walking thing down pat.  It may be another month or two away, but I just can’t wait to get out there!

• People I thought would help didn’t.  But help came from people I didn’t expect, and in ways that really warmed my heart.  I’ve since joined the roster of people who cook meals for people in need at my church.
  
• My in-laws are incredible and I'm so blessed to have snagged their youngest son!
  
• My daughter doesn’t like it when I can’t pick her up and cuddle her nearly as much as me.  She really acted out through this process, with the change in routine and different people looking after her in my place.  On the upside, “moon boot” and “crutches” were added to her vocabulary.

•  And finally, God has a wicked sense of humour that I don’t always appreciate.  Let me explain.

 I hate asking people for help.  My husband doesn’t like it when I ask him to do things, like most husbands I’m sure.  The thing is, when you’ve broken your foot and you’re in pain and unable to move particularly well or with any speed, and carrying anything while you attempt to move around is out of the question, you tend to need to ask for help all the time.  With everything.  Uncomfortable position for me.  Uncomfortable position for my husband.   Though I did rediscover a childish way of carrying an empty cup by suctioning it onto my face!  Smile, however, and you're stuffed!  

The thing is, when you pray to God for help with something, He rarely fixes it but will put you in a place where you need to figure it out on your own – much like a parent leaving a child who’s cranky over a jigsaw puzzle they can’t do.   “You can throw all the puzzle pieces you like, but how’s that working out for you?” 
Or when people pray for God to give them patience, they find themselves stuck in traffic or at an airport with a delayed flight and the first thing they do is exclaim, "Oh, for crying out loud!  Are you serious God!"  Yep.  He is.  So I found it irritatingly amusing when I realised both my husband and I were in our uncomfortable states, of me asking for help and him having to do it!  Ah, what a sense of humour.

Are we any better in these issues now, six weeks later?  I’m not sure, but I sure am appreciating being able to run my household the way I like.  And my husband is sure appreciating me being able to run the household the way I like, too!  I actually enjoyed cooking two dinners in one night this week, and spending a good hour cleaning the kitchen while I chatted on the phone with a friend!  Ah, freedom of movement WHILE carrying objects in my hands!

Simple pleasures, really.  Big fan.

Doing what my Father asks me

For those of you who are friends of mine on Facebook, sorry for repeating myself, but I just wanted to share this story in another form, and in the full "director's cut" version.

I broke my left foot last week, tripping down a gutter.  I am now sporting a very sexy moon boot, which limits me to two pairs of jeans for the next five weeks.  They may very well be burnt after the five weeks is up, just because I'll be so sick of wearing them I'll never want to put them on again!  But I digress.  I had some problems with my original moon boot, so I went back to the hospital this morning to get it adjusted.  Still not sexy, but at least a bit more comfortable than before.

On the way to the hospital, my husband and I were talking about wanting more children - okay, I was doing all the talking and my poor husband was listening, at a loss of what to say.  We've been trying for a year without success.  Some months I'm very zen about it and trust God completely with our journey and timing.  Other months I cry and get angry and frustrated and confused about what's wrong/what to try next.  Anyone who has been trying to conceive will know exactly what I'm talking about!  And if one more person tells me to "Relax.  It'll happen when you relax", I'll smack them over the head with all the force I can muster!

Last week I was calm and had total faith about it all, but in the past week, a friend has given birth, a distant relative has given birth, another friend is about to pop, and another dear friend has just found out she's pregnant!  I am so happy for each and every one of these women/families, though my heart aches and I can't help but ask God, "Why isn't it our turn?"

And getting dropped off at the hospital this morning - one of the biggest in the state with a massive maternity ward where our daughter was born - you can imagine how many pregnant women and tiny babies I saw there!  I tried really hard not to let it get me down because these women are all so blessed to be having their gorgeous bubs, and I do remember what it was like to be blissfully expecting, so I decided to change my thinking around - share their joy and praise God for it!

I finished early from the orthotics department (sexy moon boot), so was just sitting down in the foyer, reading my text messages and sending others before I had to catch a taxi to work.  I used that time to pray about wanting more children, and praising God for all the babies and pregnant women around me, knowing God loved and had made each and every one of those babies-to-be-born.

I said, “God, if there’s something You want me to do for You - that You want me to do for You before You bless us - then I’ll do it, on one leg, hopping.”  Then an old man came and sat down beside me and the thought “You could pray for him” popped in my head.  Haaaaa haa haa!

“Yeah right!  I can’t do that!” I thought.

“But didn’t you just say you’d do anything, even hopping on one leg?”

“Yeah, I did.  But I can’t…. Arhg!  Okay then, if he starts talking to me or there’s an opening, I’ll do my best."  One minute later, he started talking to me. 

He told me what was going on – he and his wife had come in to have their pace makers checked – and they were trying to get hold of their daughter to come and pick them up.  And he was telling me that he’d had bowel cancer that the doctors fixed, but now it was in his stomach, and he was off to Toowoomba tomorrow to see a doctor about that.

“Right, this would be the opening then, hey God?”  So I asked “Would I be able to pray for you?”

“What?”

“Would you mind if I said a prayer for you?”

“Yeah, sure.  That’d be fine.”

So I skooched over, asked him his name, introduced myself, shook his hand, put a hand on his shoulder and prayed for him!  It might have been a bit short and not terribly “powerful” sounding, but I did it!  His wife came back from the payphone after I’d prayed, so we chatted a bit more and I gave her my mobile to use to try and call their daughter again, and then they left to find a different payphone and I left to find a taxi.

Before he left, he said “Thanks for what you did.”

I have to say, I'm a bit proud of myself - I'm a "shy" Christian because I've been burnt before, talking to others about my faith - but I think God is proud of me, too.  I think I'm like a little kid who gets a high-five from their dad for doing something they were asked to do but didn't really want to! 

And just to clarify, I don't think this will lead to me being pregnant next month just because I plucked up the courage to pray for a sick old man!  But hey, God's done some pretty crazy things in my life and others', and anything is possible!  Though I'll probably only believe it when I feel a baby kick!

In disguise

I pride myself on being honest.  But if I AM honest, there are parts of myself that I hide from some people because I fear their reaction.  I don't feel like I can be 100% myself, 100% of the time.  But don't we all have different hats for different situations?  That's okay, isn't it?

At work for example, you have your "professional self" hat - the one who is cool under pressure; who is friendly and courteous to everyone all of the time; the one who is upbeat and positive all of the time; the one who doesn't cry, even when you want to (though if you slip up you pull it together quicker than you can at home!); the one who doesn't swear out loud, even when you want to; and the one where you don't talk about the details of your family life (who in the office is going to care that after two days of no poos, your toddler exploded this morning and you feel so much happier because of it!  LOL!)

Then you wear your "friends" hat, which changes depending on the group of friends you're with.  The "new friend/I'd like to keep you as a friend" hat, where you usually put effort into your appearance, you keep the conversation moving and light, and you silently kick yourself for saying something stupid.  The "high school girlfriends" hat where you talk about the old days, wonder where certain people ended up, laugh a lot at how old you're all getting, while talking about partners and/or kids and usually drink a few glasses of wine.  There's also your "work friends" hat, where you talk about your jobs and likely moves/mergers, deadlines and budgets and general office chatter - more serious chatter and not usually for long.  Friends may move between categories or border more than one, but the hats stay in place.

And even in your family, where you're supposed to be able to be 100% yourself - the whole, real, uneditted you - don't we all keep something back?   Especially if you live your life a bit differently from the rest of the family.  Sharing or showing that part of you could mean a big fight and no more invitations to dinner!

I got to thinking today about what would happen if I wore just one hat - the "real" me hat that only a very few people get to see - regardless of the situation.  As much as I wish I could, it does make a lot of sense to keep wearing the right hat for the right occasion.  I think it sort of sucks, but I'm pretty sure everyone is doing it - to keep their jobs, and keep the peace.  Just so long as you look good and feel comfortable in each of the hats, I suppose.

I know where I belong

Sometimes you have to go a long way away to really be able to clearly see, appreciate and find new depths of love for what's always been right under your nose.

I went to Canada last month for a friend's wedding - and I hated it!  Not the wedding or the people or the country, but being away from home - away from my husband and darling daughter, my daggy but wonderful house, my job and my city.  I almost willed time to go faster - and after celebrating another birthday while I was there, that surprised me!

I'm a big girl and have lived and travelled away from home many, many times.  With some finger maths and head-scratching, I realised this latest trip to Canada was my 7th.  I love the country and have been so many times I've emeshed myself into the culture, especially of my adopted home town and a very special family there.  But this time I was so homesick, it almost physically hurt!  I struggled to sleep, even though I was exhausted.  I had an unsettled tummy - part rich Canadian food that my Aussie tummy isn't used to, but mostly due to stress/anxiety of being away from home.  I was plain, old fashioned sad!

I was almost ashamed of myself for not being tougher!  I would have thought I was made of tougher stuff than that!  So many mums told me before I left for my almost-two-week trip, "I'm so jealous of you!  You get two weeks of peace!"  But I wanted nothing more than to be home with my husband and my daughter, with lots of noise and no peace or quiet!  (Though, I did enjoy the first long-haul flight where I got to watch almost five movies back-to-back that I'd been meaning to watch for the past few years!  That was wonderful!)

Without making anyone gag, I fall more and more in love with my husband the longer we're together.  We're not perfect and we confuse and bug the snot out of each other at times, but he truly is my One.  He's my best friend and he makes me so happy, and he doesn't flinch at the ugly or hard parts of relationships - messy family stuff, child birth and all the mess and guts involved in that - but nothing has cemented the fact that he's my One more than being about 16,000km from him for two weeks!

And how much I missed my daughter goes without saying.  I burst into tears almost every time anyone asked about her while I was in Canada, so sincere apologies to the poor uncomfortable people who had a weeping Australian stranger to deal with!  I'm not usually like that, I promise.  I hate to fly, but I couldn't wait to get home so badly that I almost ran onto each plane!  The closer I got to home, the happier and lighter I felt.  I was getting closer to my family.

And my daggy old house that needs more work and love and facelifiting than we can afford right now - I missed it!  I missed schlepping around in my pyjamas, the hall light that sometimes works and sometimes doesn't, the daggy old bathroom with an amazing shower head and instant hot water, and mysterious wood pannelling in the kitchen that I can't help but wonder what's behind it...  I missed the whole bit - my neighbourhood, my city, the birds and sounds and the familiar light patterns at night...  I love home.  I love being home, and I had to be on the other side of the world to know that that's where I belong - at home with my family.

I will definitely be back in Canada at some point in the future, but next time, I'm bringing the troops with me!