Rebecca Addison's Blog, page 6

15. What I am addicted to and why.

I’m addicted to a few things. Tea. Books. Knowing every little thing my children have eaten that day. The one I am going to share with you is new.

When I became a stay at home mum, I made a simple rule for myself and I’ve managed to stick to it about 90% of the time. Before kids, I worked in fashion as a designer. I love (and still love) fashion. Getting dressed in the morning was one of my favourite parts of the day. With nowhere to go anymore except playgroup or the supermarket.. what was the point of getting dressed up? Hence, the rule. I decided at the wise old age of 25, that I would not wear sloppy clothes. I would still choose my clothes carefully and enjoy getting ready. I would still be me.

I’m not saying I wear heels and cocktail dresses around the house or do the school run with a snazzy little fascinator on my head (although that could be fun). I wear jeans mostly, or dresses. I always wear flats. But they’re nice jeans, and nice dresses, and nice flats. I can’t afford designer pieces anymore so I get them on eBay and I look for vintage things. I still feel like me.

My sister came to visit last week. We went to Sydney one day and marvelled at the women. They were so put together. So perfect. We went shopping together and looked at all the things we couldn’t buy and talked about what my life could be like if I lived in the city and wore clothes like that every day. We must have come back down to earth at some point because we didn’t buy heels or fancy handbags. We bought.. and I still don’t know how this happened…

Trackpants.

I have always said that I will never buy trackpants. I know myself. I was convinced that if I owned them, I would never take the bloody things off. Then I’d be wearing them to the shops or to school. I have nothing against people who do this, by the way, it’s just not for me. I feel better when I’m dressed and ‘done’. When I wear trackpants I feel like I should be convalescing.

So somehow I bought a pair of navy trackpants in a Bonds Outlet 40% off sale. Those sales – I tell you! They’re evil. That night, I decided to change out of my skinny jeans and into these new pants.. which were still quite skinny (who knew there are different styles of trackpants now?!). Oh, the comfort. Nothing pressing into my belly. No pinching behind the knees. I snuggled into our bean bag couch thing and tried not to let the pure joy show on my face,

It’s school holidays at the moment. Yesterday, I wore the trackpants all day. When I had to pick my daughter up from a friend’s place, I hesitated before taking them off, thinking that maybe I could just keep them on. I’m starting to feel a little lost when I know they’re in the wash.

My name is Rebecca and I am addicted to my trackpants.

But I’m still not going to wear them out.

14. The best Christmas I’ve ever had.

This post was meant to be about the worst Christmas I’ve ever had but I’m sick of writing about negative things. It’s my confession.. so I changed it.

I grew up in a household with my mum and two sisters. My dad, step-mother and two half siblings lived in another city. When I married, there was another family to consider. Deciding where to spend Christmas was usually tinged with a little bit of anxiety that started up around the first week of November. When we moved to Australia, I knew we were going to change how our children experienced Christmas Day because there would be no big extended family to spend it with. Sure, we always said Oh, we’ll go home for Christmas but the reality is that we never have. Flying four people overseas at that time of year is super expensive.

Our first Christmas here was an easy transition because we had family visiting. The next one was the first time the four of us had Christmas lunch alone. I really tried. I had a red and white theme. I ordered an expensive free range ham. I had a gluten free Christmas cake and an allergy friendly trifle. When I called my mum to wish her a merry Christmas, I heard people and glassware and carols playing in the background – and promptly burst into desperate tears.

So in 2012, I decided that if we couldn’t have family around, then we would do something completely different.

The Christmas I’m about to describe was unconventional and I’m hesitant to say it was the best one ever. But it is the one I look back on and smile about. And it’s definitely one I would try to recreate.

We were in a National Park at a camping ground where only 30 people are allowed to camp. I’d won our site in a ballot that I’d entered back in August on a whim. The camp itself is 20km off the highway on a dirt road. 20km didn’t sound that long when I read about it. Navigating it at dusk with two kids in the back (in a VW Golf!) was something different. The campground has no showers, no kitchen. We had to be self-sufficient for a week.

Because we were away for Christmas, the children had already opened some presents at home before we left. We had a small stocking of gifts for them to open on the day. We ate pancakes for breakfast with tinned fruit. Lunch was cooked over the fire pit – sausages, fried potatoes, onions. I’m sure there were marshmallows.

All day, we heard the other campers moving about their sites, cooking food and playing Christmas carols softly from their car stereos. The trees were decorated with tinsel and solar powered lights. In the afternoon, we went for a long bushwalk and saw three giant kangaroos bounding through the scrubby grass.

We’ve had a couple more Christmases alone since then, and they’ve been wonderful. I still miss the big family lunch but there are advantages to having the day free to do what you like. A couple of years ago, we had antipasto platters instead of a cooked lunch. Last year, the children stayed in pyjamas for hours and built Lego. We went for a lazy walk in the afternoon.

With just the four of us here to celebrate, Christmas is whatever we want it to be.

13. That thing that really gets my goat.

Lying.

The End.

No? Well.. okay, then.

I already admitted to being a mighty fine liar in my early years when I wrote about it here. You would think that having been someone with a penchant for moderate exaggeration in the past, I would be understanding when others slip out a white lie or two. But….

My daughter is a bad liar. She will still insist on giving it a good crack every now and then. She is a Heston Blumenthal level foodie with the impulse control of an eleven-year-old. She lives and breathes to eat. She reads recipe books for fun. She bakes like it’s the last cake she’ll ever eat. If you want to discipline her, all you have to do is give her brother something nice to eat and tell her she can’t have any. The couple of times I’ve tried it, I felt lucky to make it to the next morning unscathed. The world was ending, I tell you. It was so unfair it was apocalyptic. So when this food-obsessed kid rises super early as she is wont to do, she often uses this time to poke about in the cupboards and scarf down a packet of crackers. When she lies about it, it gets my goat.

 

So what gets your goat? Tell me in the comments!

Tell me in the comments!

 

12. My earliest childhood memory.

This one is really hard for me to answer because I remember most of my childhood in vivid detail. My memories are in full colour with sound, taste and smell. Sometimes, I can attach a day of the week or the time of day to them but most often it’s just the temperature or the way the light looked. It’s hard to place the earliest memory I have because there are a lot of them and the timeline isn’t clear.

I do remember wearing thick, cloth nappies held together by safety pins with pale pink tops to them. The feel of the metal under my fingers as I flicked them back and forth against the fabric. Sitting on a cool vinyl floor with my short, fat legs spread out in front of me. Music on the radio. My mother’s bare feet in front of kitchen cabinets. The sun, gilded and speckled with dust as it streamed in the window and lit up the floor. I think I’m about one in this memory, although I could be younger.

The photo above is of my third birthday. I always had a cake with green icing because green was (and is) my favourite colour. On my last birthday, my daughter and husband made me a cake just like that. It even had pebbles on the top.

Did you say giveaway?? (US only)

If you’re from the USA I have a Goodreads giveaway running until May 10. Enter here!

Goodreads Book Giveaway


The ‘Ohana Tree
by Rebecca Addison

Giveaway ends May 10, 2016.

See the giveaway details

at Goodreads.

Enter Giveaway

11. The last time I cried.

I know exactly when it was. Last Saturday at precisely 9am.

If you’ve ever been to Sydney Airport’s departures drop off zone you’ll appreciate how little time they give you to say goodbye. As you ascend the ramp, you’re met with guys wearing hi-vis vests and angry faces as they direct your car to where they think it should go. If you manage a park in the designated drop off area (and good luck to you), then they’ll eyeball you while you say your goodbyes lest you take too long or God forbid, move away from your vehicle to get something superfluous like, I don’t know, a trolley for your bags.

On Saturday, we dropped my little sister at this evil conveyor belt of rushed hugs and panicked farewells. As my husband lifted her bags onto her trolley and we fell into each other’s arms, she said, “Gosh, no time to get emotional!” And then we promptly got emotional.

My sister lives in Canada, which completely sucks. Canada is a nice place, I’ve visited and I liked  it, they have maple syrup and nice scenery and I appreciate the way they roll their rrrrrs and say ‘aboot’. I have nothing against Canada, except for the fact that it has stolen my sister from me, twice now, and frankly, I don’t think it realises how damn lucky it is to have her.

Because my sister isn’t just any sister. She is the most generous person you’ll ever meet. As a child, she used to buy me things with her pocket money – most famously, a Chicken Dance cassette tape. As an adult, she has shouted my mum, sister and I to a mother’s day at a spa, looked after my children, sent me things from overseas when she knew I was sad. What I’m telling you is a drop in the ocean. She is amazing.

She’s also the only person in my life who I can craft with or watch really bad TV with. We have almost 34 years worth of love and history between us. I want more. More memories, more dinners together, more movie nights and shopping dates and just.. more.

More time.

After she leaves, I walk around the house with a hole in my chest and tears threatening. I hate that she lives up there and I live down here, and neither of us are near the rest of our family.

I can’t help but feel that this isn’t the way it’s supposed to be.

So on Saturday when I drove away from the drop off zone and saw her standing there, pink-cheeked and glassy-eyed, you can bet your bottom dollar I cried. Because my kids were in the car, I kept it as discreet as possible (sunglasses, tissues and lots of sniffing) but I wanted to sob so bad that my throat ached.

Lil’ sis. We’ve said it a thousand times. There will always be a bed in our house with your name on it.

Come back, Poohead.

xxx

 

10. 7 things I learned from being a kid.

It is remarkably easy to manipulate someone if they look up to you. My sister fell for any trick in the book if it meant I would allow her to remain in my presence. One game we played was called Please. It involved holding out  my hand, and saying “Please” to which she would have to immediately offer up anything she was eating or playing with. Another game was called Maids. No explanation necessary. Lesson learned: Status comes with both power and responsibility.
If someone is mean to others, they’ll probably get around to being mean to you eventually. Be careful of nasty gossips.
Sometimes life isn’t fair. The mess might not be yours, but you’ll still have to clean it up. Your mum/boss/partner/friend may believe something about you that’s not true – and you might not be able to convince them otherwise. Sometimes, you’re just going to have to deal.
Good things will happen to some people more than they will happen to you. Bad things happen to all of us. There were a few girls in school who seemed to have pretty great lives from where I was standing. The latest My Little Ponies, that Barbie with the arms that moved when you pressed the button sticking out of her spine.. the full set of Pound Puppies. Trips overseas. A mum and a dad living in the same house. That kind of stuff. One of my friends was on easy street until her dad was diagnosed with cancer when she was in her teens. No one is immune to bad things happening. Also, there is no point in being jealous (see point 3).
Wear sunscreen for heaven’s sake! SPF factor 6 was considered lame in the 80s because you wouldn’t tan. I used to peel every summer as a sadistic kind of right of passage – hurrah! Summer is here! Let’s hurry up and give ourselves burns! That kind of carry on catches up with you right around 35.
You may not remember all the holidays you went on, or what birthday parties you had, but you will always remember every pet you owned. Pets and kids can be a pain in the ass (we are in the midst of negotiations about getting blue tongue lizards..) but they’re always worth it. Love, life, responsibility, death – these are all lessons pets can teach us.
It’s okay to be quiet. I’m thinking back to a garden where there’s a little girl with short hair and red gumboots. She’s by herself, making daisy chains and dreaming up adventures. She’s a little worried that she looks weird playing all on her own like she does. But she also loves the quiet and the space. Don’t worry, kid, I see you. You’re going to turn out just fine.

9. The most difficult decision I have ever made.

I’ve made a few hard decisions in my life so far. I have no doubt that there are more to come. We moved to Australia in 2010, that was pretty hard. A year after our son was born, my husband got the snip. Even though I knew I couldn’t safely carry another baby, it was still hard. Giving up breastfeeding was tough. Moving our daughter to a new school was another hard one.

How do we rank the tough choices we have to make in life?

When I look back at mine, I realise that there is one advantage to a big life decision over everyday ones. Big decisions usually come with discussion with loved ones and lots of thought. Pros and cons. Big decisions mean rationalising your choice to yourself and others. Because of this, we’re rarely alone in the really important decisions we have to make.

The small decisions though – the ones we make hundreds of times in a day – when it comes to those we’re on our own.

The choice to respond to an annoying interruption with patience or a scowl.

Putting down my phone when my son wants to tell me a story.

Loving my husband when he’s driving me nuts.

Saying no to something I don’t want to do.

Saying yes to something that will challenge me.

I think that maybe these are the hard decisions. The mundane, boring, relentless ones. The ones where it’s too easy to make the wrong choice. They’re not monumental and your life won’t change when you make one (unless you choose the wrong thing too many times) but they’re still hard. Because when it comes to deciding on the kind of person you want to be, you only have yourself to blame.

8. The day I started writing – what was I thinking?

Like a lot of writers, I can’t remember a time when I wasn’t writing down stories. When I was a kid, I used to save my pocket money and buy notebooks and pens from the Miramar stationery shop then hide myself away to write.

The day I started writing online, well, that’s another story.

In 2010, we moved to Australia and I found myself in a place without any family or friends for the first time in my life. My kids were getting older and needing me less (or in different ways) and I had some time on my hands. I didn’t know whether I should get a part-time job or learn something new but I knew that something had to happen. I needed something for myself, something independent of the children and my husband.

It was my sister who suggested I write a blog. I didn’t really know what to write about so I just started making stuff out of things I found in op shops and then posted about it. That blog became born again creations which you can have a nosy at here. It’s been in hibernation for a while now, but I keep it active so that people can still access the old tutorials and crafty projects.

When I think about my journey towards where I am now – writing books and making them – I like to think that each step led on to a bigger, more challenging one. Writing born again creations helped me share what I was doing with people who weren’t my immediate family. It got me writing again, even if it wasn’t fiction. After that, I wrote a children’s book for my daughter..then another one, and another one. Soon, I’ll be releasing my second novel. I have a third ready for editing and a brand new story waiting to come out. Life is good.

7. The story of my first kiss (not skipping all the awkward details!)

Hmmmm.

Not sure about this month of confessions anymore. Picture me as you read this. I’m typing a few letters then pausing while I try to work out how I can get out of writing this post.  It seems I can’t. So here goes.

I was sixteen. A late bloomer I guess, by today’s standards anyway. It was the mid-90s where thrift store men’s pants and knitted vests reigned supreme. I listened to Nirvana and Stone Temple Pilots and painted my nails crimson. I was a bit of a nerd with a huge inner life and not much of an outer one. I have some diaries from that time and they’re full of big dreams and long rants professing my outrage over something I’d seen on the news. When I read them I want to say, I see you. I also want to say, Buckle up, girly, your life is about to change.

My husband was my first boyfriend and my first kiss. We were in a room in front of a frosted glass window. It was night outside, but inside it was lit up by one of those bulbs that hang down from the ceiling by the wire. The kiss wasn’t great (sorry, husband, but it’s true. You know it is. We both got better with practice). I thought we were in a private space but when we broke apart, cheers and taunts rang out through the night. We were a perfect silhouette in front of that frosted window; two awkward shadow puppets bumping lips. It’s not a very exciting first kiss story but it’s mine, and I told it.

Goodnight!