That girl

You know those people that bloom and blossom with pregnancy, looking as ripe and dewy as a soft fuzzy peach?
I am not those people.
My pregnancies (all three of them) saw me spend a sizeable portion of the day with my head in a bucket, toilet or on a pillow.

I was so sick. Forget the morning sickness..it was an all day extravaganza.
When I fell pregnant with my third after a seven year hiatus I hoped for the best. Not to be.
I lost 10 kilos in the first few months of the pregnancy and developed pneumonia when she was 24 weeks.
I waddled away from my career, took early maternity leave and got some well earned rest.
When she was born she was perfect.

I have a special memory of that day that's just mine that I think of from time to time.
After Abbey was born, and I was recovering from the caesarean, Mr Ripe took her out in a crib to meet her overjoyed sister and brother.
I lay warmly wrapped up while a nurse pottered nearby and as I lay there I felt wave after wave of joy and relief wash over me.
It was a moment of pure happiness.
Today that little babe is 20 and is a little parcel of goodness. I'm most proud of her kindness and her ability to empathise with others.
Sure, she loves to leave plates, clothes, cups etc lying around but it's no biggie.
To use one of her favourite words #blessed

Survivor

In the House of Robbo, we are huge fans of the Survivor series.
We love Jeff and his quirky little eyebrow smirks.
We haven't always watched every one of the trimillion Survivor's out of the US.
But we've poked our noses into most.
However, we have been hanging for the Aussie one.
Did you know this is the second Aussie Survivor (the celebrity one doesn't count in our books).
The first one was back in 2002 and was set near Port Lincoln.
We would have hooked into that one regardless but we did have a special reason to watch.
An old friend of ours was on it and ended up winning! It was magnificent. He was magnificent.

Sadly, the lovely Rob lost his life a few years later in a terrible car crash that also took the life of his two sons, leaving his wife behind.
Doesn't bear thinking about even after all these years.


So this season of Survivor is set on Samoa and it's shaping up to be a cracker.
Jonathon LaPaglia (think Hector in The Slap) brother of Anthony is the host.
He has a great presence and a fair body with some extremely veiny veins.

He also has an excellent way of cutting through the spin of the contestants and exposing their manoeuvrings at tribal council which we endorse wholeheartedly.
Our favourites? Spiderman Sam and Lovely Lee (both blokes) and Courageous Kate and Kick-arse Kylie.

Least - Noxious Nick and Full-of-herself Flick.

Oh right...

So, I had a bit of an aha moment this weekend.
I was lucky to head along to the 9toThrive Business Chicks event to hear the amazing Zoe Foster Blake speak.

It was - a term she liked to use which I'm gonna adopt - lots of shiz and giggles.
There was some serious stuff, obviously you don't build a massive writing/makeup/media portfolio for yourself by giggling all day but...it sounded like fun, enjoyment, joy was a huge part of why she does what she does.
Truth be told I've been bypassing the fun.
I've been in a bit of a negative space of late - due to a number of things including an annoying shoulder injury that stops me sleeping properly and other things that have just dragged me down.
And I think I've been sending out this negativity to others, unknowingly and unwillingly. I just got swamped by it.
Being out and about in a room full of inspiring and inspired women, spending time with a couple of young women I love dearly woke me up a little to my good fortune and also my own potential, that delicious feeling in your gut when you feel alive and brimming with possibilities.

Even going to the loo become a moment of possibilities - guess this is what they mean by a captive audience...

It's going to be a gorgeous day beachside today. About to head out the door and embrace all its deliciousness.

Elsie

I love hearing stories about older people who chew life up, no matter their age.
Today a friend told me about her mum Mary who volunteers at a nursing home.
Mary would be in her 70s but she regularly pops in to visit people who don’t have any family nearby.
A few years ago, Mary used to help when some of these lovely old people would go to their fortnightly swimming class.
One of the people in this group was Elsie who at 98 wanted to learn to swim. 98!
Elsie was terrified of the water but was determined to learn. How incredible is that – to still want to learn a new skill at that age. So impressive.
It took a few goes and poor Elsie would cling terrified to Mary when she was in the water but soon she could float along happily hanging off a noodle.
Now 102, Elsie no longer takes to the water as the cold is a bit too much for her but really, she doesn’t need to. She conquered her fear and made her dream of learning to swim happen.
The right people, the right stories can teach us so much about never giving up on your dreams, about being brave, about not letting a number define you.

Little friends

So in today's news, as I try not to read anymore about the horrors in Orlando, I read instead about a story that took me back.
A few years back my trusty dark green Ford would not start.
Called the mechanic who got to work as I went back to the never-ending story of the laundry.
Soon after, there's a knock on the door and Ron poses the question "do you have a cat?"
Most certainly, I replied, I have Oscar the world's most delightful cat (now sadly in cat heaven).
"Do you feed it on your car bonnet?" he questioned.
"Are you crackers?" was my reply.
Ron then explained that he believed my car was being used regularly by RATS who were eating Oscar's food, squirming their disgusting hairy bodies under the bonnet of my car where it was snug and warm, regurgitating said food and eating it again. In the process, also using their ratty rat fangs on my wiring and rendering it stuffed! EEEkkkkk.

Ron beckoned me forward to examine my wiring, showing me the clumps of rotting stinky cat food attached to the wires. I looked for barely a second before taking off faster than Usain Bolt in case a furry face poked out at me.
Turns out the rats were also enjoying hospitality in my roof. You may ask what the most delightful cat was doing during this fun time for the rats. Not much it would seem.
The outcome? Car sold. House sold. Cat given stern talking to. *brushes hands together.
I am now advised that as of today Melbourne is officially undergoing a RAT PLAQUE. Something to do with the lack of rain or the end of civilisation. Rats as big as Fox Terriers (God help us) have been spotted prowling rubbish dumps and no doubt looking for warm cars.
Used to be the worst thing about going to a shopping centre car park was driving round and round stalking people to try and get a car park. Next thing will be the rats stalking too.

Sleep bandit

What I wouldn't give for a good night's sleep.
There's lots of reasons why I'm not spending the wee hours sleeping blissfully, immersed in glorious dreamland.
The Melbourne heat for one thing. It's like the country's gone arse-up.
Melbourne's weather is hot, tropical, humid...um no! We are not Queensland.
Maybe it's the crazy possum that likes to visit once or twice a week and pant heavily outside my window.
Gotta throw the meno in there as a contributing factor - it's been reasonably behaved but this heat is cranking it up and cranking me up too.
So I find myself awake at 3.52am or so, endless thoughts whirring around my head.
Endless, anxious thoughts about work, relationships, friends, choices, mistakes, opportunities missed. Shut up head!

Exhausting.
So I'm going to try a few things this long weekend to see if I can knock it on the head.
A brisk walk by the seaside
No social media after 10pm
One less glass of wine
Maybe lavender hand cream to be sniffed in during the night and keep me relaxed
Hopefully all this will help with the zzzzzz's

Gone

Today someone from my workplace died suddenly in a car crash.
I didn't know her well but it sent shockwaves through the building and understandably those who knew her well were very distressed.
She had a husband and daughter who was in her late teens.
I got on with my day but my mind keep returning to it.
Couldn't work out why.
Then a colleague stopped by my desk - "just goes to show, you have to say hello and goodbye every day to your family. You never know when it will be the last time you see them. Couldn't imagine what it's like to have someone die suddenly like that without a chance to say goodbye".
And then I realised what was eating at me.
When I was 18 - many years ago - my father Graeme Maxwell Hough died of a heart attack at his work. He was 42.
My parents had divorced three years earlier and he was living a two hour drive away.
While I still saw dad, it had been a few months.
We'd talked on the phone the week before, just the usual catchup but he'd asked if I had some time and of course I was busy being an 18 year old party girl and put him off.
I found out via a phone call at work.
Today bought it back again, thinking of that young woman receiving devastating news.
Not that it ever really goes away. Time removes how raw it is but it's there, buried under the layers of life.
So tonight I'm going home from work a little earlier and when I get there I'll hug those I love a little longer. Cos I can.