Sunday Selections #16. The Ekka and more backyard wildlife….

I’ve missed a couple of weeks due to the Ekka coming to town and it being “birthday week” and all but once again, I am joining in with Kim at Frog Ponds Rock in posting some pretty pics of my life…….

These are the ones I’m happy to share here, but regular readers can view the party photos on facebook or 365.

Ekka-tastic…. the crowds were insane….
When the show comes to town on 365 Project

…and more backyard wildlife….

bush gem on 365 Project
Bush Pearl.

I'm a stick! I'm a stick on 365 Project
Bearded Dragon

Harry Potter on 365 Project
Harry Potter (so named because he lives in the cupboard under the stairs)

I am really loving the flowers blooming and the lizards starting to come out of hiding .. but I don’t look forward to the snakes coming out of hiding nor the mosquitoes “blooming”!

Hope you enjoyed these photos.


Nine years ago today ….

…. I became a mother.

I had finally achieved my life’s ambition – to be a wife and mother and have my very own perfect family.


That’s always what I wanted to be, despite my prizes and academic awards and the push from every direction to focus on my career and climb that fickle beast known as “the ladder”.

…and I achieved a lot before I became a mother.  …. before I became a wife.

I got myself a science degree and backed it up with first class honours the following year and a PhD shortly thereafter…. courtesy of a cushy scholarship which some bigwigs saw fit to give me .

I travelled the world and spent a few months living and working in Africa.

I ran a research station and worked as a scientist managing huge budgets, staff and still trying to do actual science in the middle somewhere….

But all I ever really wanted was to be a wife and mother.

…and on this day nine years ago, my beautiful girl was born and Greg and I were so proud of ourselves we thought we wold burst with happiness.

I had Done It.  My own nirvana, right there in the form of a tiny baby girl and my husband’s loving embrace.

I never had post-natal depression … I had post-natal elation.

…and we were lucky enough to repeat the performance two years later when I gave birth to our son.

My wonderful husband AND my pigeon pair: my perfect family.  Nirvana.

…but I only got to have it all for seven and a half years.

Not long enough.  not long enough at all.

On this day last year, all I could think about was what I’d lost.

But this year, I am choosing to remember what I have … two very wonderful children and to have known the love of a husband and father who was perfectly imperfect.

So Happy 9th birthday, darling K.  I am so lucky to be your Mum.


The Screaming

It started when the policeman told me he was dead.
I was still sitting in my car in my parent’s driveway at the time.
It was loud.
It was hysterical.
It was guttural.
It was primal.
It continued as I was led inside the house, up the stairs.
It went on for a long time before I wore myself out.
It stopped long enough to listen to the police and the chaplain and my parents as I tried to think what to do next.
To search their faces for the next sentence “Oh sorry, we made a mistake. He’s not dead. He’s in the hospital waiting for you”.
It stopped long enough for me to leave a message on the answering machine of my best friend because I could not get a hold of a single other family member or friend to tell them.

To sob this news to them.

But that’s when the screaming started inside my head.

I spoke calmly to people on the phone. They swore at me with shock when they heard the news: I was the calm one.


But inwardly, I was screaming “He’s Dead. DEAD. DEAD……”.

It didn’t stop while I was talking to those other people.
It didn’t stop when I sipped water to sooth my ruined throat.
It didn’t stop when I showered.
It didn’t stop when I stared at the food people kept putting in front of me, only to take it away again hours later after it was cold.

And it didn’t stop while I slept.

I screamed aloud in my sleep.
It rang in my ears for most of the first 6 months.

It screeched in the background to all my thoughts; sometimes loud, sometimes whispered.

That desperate, aching cry “he’s DEAD!”

Now, it lurks inside, waiting for my brain to think t
oo hard about it, just for a minute.

For the most part, I’m learning to ignore it, but sometimes it screeches into the forefront of my mind with alarming speed.

And once more I crumple under the weight of the screaming.

The endless internal screaming in my head.