I Want To Be a Doctor When I Grow Up

Hello Blog, I’m back.  But I’m sorry; this writing thing may be coming to an end because I’ve had the realisation that I want to be a doctor.

I have a weird little fascination with hospitals.  I’ve spent a bit of time up there of late and now I know for certain, I want to be a doctor.

I pity the fool who ends up with me as their doctor

Fortunately I’ve only experienced hospitals first hand on a couple of occasions and most of those times took home a baby with me, so it’s been a pretty good run so far.  On the occasions I’ve been to hospital as a visitor though, I am often found lurking the corridors and lingering in door-ways a little too long to find out what’s wrong with Mrs Smith in Bed 5. 

This isn’t a new fascination; it’s something I’ve toyed with for years.  I was actually accepted into a Nursing degree when I finished high school, but I deferred when I was offered a job too good to be refused – a dental assistant.  Why they think children of 16 and 17 can make sensible decisions on their career continues to baffle me.

I know being a doctor would be hard.  I watch Grey’s Anatomy.  All that study, the long hours, those hot doctors, it’s going to be tough!

Reality can be a cruel bitch sometimes though and it seems for the time being I’m stuck in the role of Dr Mummy.  I’m going to be back up the hospital next week with the kids though, I’ll be the lady with the Fisher Price stethoscope around her neck.  

What do you want to be when you grow up?

I’ll Have a Skinny Cappuccino, Hold the Muffin-Top

I tried on my “test pants” last week.  You know, that item of clothing you stash away at the back of your wardrobe waiting for that day when you’ll slip effortlessly back in like an old friend.

Please note:  This is not me.  It's a stunt muffin top.

My Test Pants are a slim little Allannah Hill number,  chocolate brown with cheeky little pink stitching in just the right places.  BB (Before Babies) I’d love nothing more than rocking them with a killer pair of heels and a strappy singlet.

Between B1 and B2, I had a brief moment of glory when the planets aligned for me to fasten zipper and buttons.  I celebrated my achievement, then quickly removed them when my legs started to tingle from lack of blood supply.

What I was thinking the other day when I put them on I don’t know.  Exercise is a random occurrence these days and I still eat like a pregnant lady.  Food is my problem and I know it.  I’m a comfort eater and reward myself with food.  “Treating Myself” or “Me Time” these days generally involves something sweet and even on our trips to the park I stop via my local café for a Skinny Cap and a little somethin’ somethin’.

It’s going to be a hard habit to kick, but I’m determined to get off the sugar before I need to sacrifice my favourite jeans and summer shorts. 

It’s seems the old girl ain’t what she used to be, but I’m hanging onto my Allannah’s for next winter.

Do you have "test clothes"?  What are they?

The Story of the Owl and the Lark

This week I had the pleasure of interviewing a psychology professor for a magazine article I’m writing.  He specialises in the human body clock, which in a nutshell puts some theory behind things like why we reach for a Tim Tam and cuppa at 3pm.  Among many interesting tid-bits, he shared with me the world of the Lark and the Owl.

It seems there’s two kinds of people in this world.  Larks and Owls.  Owls as you may have guessed, love to stay up late into the night and enjoy long leisurely sleep in’s the next day.  Larks are a bit like those annoying birds you hear chirping away just as the sun is starting to peak over the horizon.  They greet the day in full song and then nestle back into bed straight after Masterchef.

I’m going to challenge that there’s a third kind of person in this world, and that is whatever kind of ungodly creature my children can be represented as.  You see, before the Larks even begin to stir my children are up and at ‘em and probably on their 2^nd round of raisin toast.  I’m talking 4am people and that’s even in the middle of Winter.

B.C (Before Children) and B.H (Before Husband), I was an owl.  I have truly spent whole days in the wonderful self-indulgent bliss of sleeping, reading, sleeping, eating, sleeping.  My only conclusion is I slept too much in my early 20’s and am now being repaid with a lifetime of sleep debt.

I’ve gradually grown accustomed to a lack of sleep and once the sun actually rises, I’m feeling quite good.   After a shower and with clean teeth, I’m ready to face the day.  It doesn’t make it any easier though EVERY MORNING when my children bound into the day long before dawn.

I conclude with two questions for you dear reader.  Are you an Owl or a Lark?  And does anyone know how the F@#@ I can get my kids to sleep longer!  

The Booby Trap

What kind of bee’s make milk?
Boo-bee’s!

Funny?  Yeah a little isn’t it.  The sort of thing I thought my 3 year old son would lap up.  You see he is a bit of an early starter when it comes to his toilet humour.  I simply have to throw Bum or Poo into a conversation and by his reaction you would think that I’m Jerry Seinfeld.  So I told him my Bee joke and was met with a very serious face and his reply, “No Mum, bee’s make honey.”

You see, boobies are very serious business around here.

I was fortunate to have been able to breastfeed my 3 year old until he was 13 months old when I fell pregnant with #2.  Now my beautiful B#2 is nearing 17 months and is still being breastfed.  It’s a habit I’ve been meaning to break since her first birthday and every week I create a new reason for myself to keep going for a few more days; she’s sick, I’m sick, it’s too cold.  As you can see I’m starting to run out of reasons.

The funny thing is the decision to breastfeed or to not breastfeed and then when to stop should really be no one’s business at all but every so often a story will appear in the news or online and suddenly everyone has an opinion.  Pink recently posted a beautiful photo on Twitter of her breastfeeding her 1 year old.  This special moment that she chose to share publicly was ripped into shreds by the seemingly well-meaning public. 

For me, I know these precious days are coming to an end with my little one and I know that it’s highly likely I’ll never have another baby to connect with in this way.  It makes me sad.  So sad. 

With all that said, the fact that my daughter attempts to seduce me with moves akin to her father in order to have her way with me is starting to weird me out a little, so I’m going to stop breastfeeding next week.  Promise…

Pounding the Path to Your Purpose

I had the absolute honour of speaking to the amazing Dick Hoyt recently.  Never heard of him?  Do yourself a favour and read on...

The path to finding ones purpose is a unique and personal journey.  For some, it strikes them like a lightning bolt from the heavens.  Others have it thrust upon them, like Dick Hoyt whose son Rick was born with cerebral palsy.  For anyone still searching or struggling to find their purpose or passion, Dick Hoyt has one simple message, “Yes you can.” 

Dick Hoyt didn’t set out to be an inspiration.  As one of ten children, he was raised to do things the hard way, perhaps that’s what attracted him to a career in the military.  Life changed forever when his first son, Rick, was born with cerebral palsy in 1962.  Dick and Judy Hoyt were told their son was a vegetable and should be institutionalised.  “Forget about him,” they were told.  “We cried a bit and then we talked,” Dick recalls.  “You could tell by looking in his eyes that he was smart and paying attention to everything we said.”  The Hoyts took one day at a time with their special little boy and eventually convinced a team of engineers to create a custom-designed computer to help Rick communicate.  This incredible machine enabled Rick to not only complete school but to then move on to university where he achieved a degree in special education. 

It was while at university that Rick first convinced his father to compete in a charity run for a student who had become paralysed in an accident.   Rick said to his father, “I want to let him know that life goes on.”  Despite finishing next to last, after the race Rick typed a simple sentence to his Father that changed his life forever, “When I’m running it feels like I’m not handicapped.”

More than 30 years later, Dick has pushed, pulled and carried Rick in 1073 different marathons, triathlons and ironman triathlons.  The numbers are extraordinary; a gruelling 32 races a year (down from 50 a year at their peak), the longest being the notorious Ironman Triathlon with  distances of 3.86km swim, 180.25 bike, 42.2 run.  The most extraordinary number though is their ages.  Rick is 50 and Dick will turn 72 later this year.  Team Hoyt, as they are now collectively known, are an unstoppable force.

The pure joy on Rick’s face as they cross the finish line is moving stuff and is the fuel Dick needs to continue.  Watch any footage of the pair in action and Team Hoyts message of “Yes you can” feels absolutely possible.  Dick’s motivation has never been in question.  Only once have they pulled out of a race, after they crashed out in the bike leg of the Hawaiian Ironman.  “There’s something that gets into me when we’re out there that I can’t explain. It makes me go faster,” Dick says with his relaxed Boston drawl.

He is often asked the question of how much longer he can keep this up.  While most of his contemporaries are deeply settled into retirement, Dick laces up his sneakers each morning often in temperatures that plummet to -5 degrees.  He admits that the early mornings are getting harder but he only needs to look at his son for inspiration.  “The easiest thing Rick could have done was quit,” he says.  “But he’s a fighter, he never gives up.  We’ll keep this up as long as we’re still enjoying it”. 

It’s not suprising that when Dick does have any precious down time he prefers to spend it enjoying the company of his family.  Simple pleasures like fishing or water skiing with his four grandsons bring him the greatest joy.  The family also own a small restaurant and ice-cream stand, Team Hoyt’s Finish Line.  As well as a reputation for the best ice-cream, the café is full of Team Hoyt memorabilia and is a popular stop for tourists.

Any break is never too long though.  With mounting injuries and state of the art equipment required for races, the cost to maintain Team Hoyt is astounding, so now on top of his training, Dick also travels the world as a motivational speaker.  His “yes you can” message is a powerful one that has changed the lives of alcoholics, drug addicts and people on the verge of suicide.  What began as a quest to bring happiness to his son, now feels like a much broader duty.

Dick is most proud of the changes he has seen in other families with disabled children and how they have been encouraged to take a more active role in their child’s life.  In 1962 people with disability were removed from mainstream society and most people would never have seen anyone in a wheelchair.  The Hoyts were determined that their child wouldn’t miss out on a thing.  “We took Rick everywhere with us.  To the shops, to restaurants, and people would leave because they didn’t want to be around us,” says Dick.  Team Hoyt have now inspired similar pairings around the world with athletes volunteering their time and bodies to give those with a disability the chance to feel free of their physical boundaries.   Where the Hoyts were once not even accepted in their own home town, they are welcomed with open arms the world over.  Dick admits there’s still some work to be done in overcoming people’s prejudices, but through the sheer determination of his family, Rick has been fortunate to live a fuller life than many able-bodied people.

Dick’s advice can be applied to virtually any dilemma and is almost frustratingly simple.  “If you are focused you will be able to accomplish almost anything you set your mind to.  It might be hard, but you can do it.”

It seems the Team Hoyt phenomenon is far from finished.  There are many races still on their ‘to do’ list and they would love to one day compete in Australia.  It’s been a journey that has given Dick’s life a depth of purpose he could never have imagined and for Rick it’s a journey that transcends the limitations of his body, and other people’s minds.

The Melody of Life (A picture says ...)

The latest of my creative writing posts in the Picture Says... series set by my writing friend Kelly Exeter. 

The melody still dances through my mind, as vivid today as it was 30 years ago.  It’s the weirdest things that trigger the memory; the smell of gravy, the sound of a shovel piercing through fresh earth…

Most afternoons, my mother would call out over the fence to Mrs Tucker and obediently I would follow.  I was always in the way whenever my mother was around and especially so at 4pm when her latest boyfriend would be about to arrive for a midweek sleep over.  My fear and confusion would be washed away in a sea of iced vovo’s and milk the moment I stepped into the sanctuary of Mrs Tuckers home.

I would potter around the house with her, helping shell peas or mending her husband’s trousers and she would ask me about my day as if it was the most important information she’d ever heard.  Every so often she would pull the old sheet off her piano and play for me.  She would sit at her stool, apologising in advance, “I’m a little rusty,” she would always say, crack her knuckles and wince as she took one long sip of her warm sherry.  With fingers poised, she would wait as if for some signal from above, and then she would start. 

Her fingers would glide across the keys and I would stare, trance-like watching them.  The music transported me to another time and place, far from my suburban prison.  As she played, her eyes gleamed with the vibrancy of youth and her arthritic hands seemed suddenly cured.  Then as abruptly as she started, she would stop, her eyes moist from the time and memory the music evoked.

One day my mum picked me up from school and we didn’t go home.  I would sometimes dream that Mrs Tucker asked me to live with her and we lived together cosy in little fibro shack, without a worry in the world and a big garden at the front to display her prized Azalea’s. 

I cried every night until I forgot to.  Many years later I was reminded of my afternoons at Mrs Tucker’s house when at a party I heard the sound of neglected piano brought back to life by a man emboldened by one too many boutique beers.  I’ve even been inspired to take lessons myself, determined to find the beauty she did in the music.

She’d be long gone now, but the memory of her music will always play in my heart.

65 Years of Holding Hands

Recently I had the pleasure of interviewing a couple celebrating their 65th wedding anniversary.  So forget Hollywood for a moment and enjoy a real-life love story...

While Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman starred in one of the greatest romances of the silver screen in Casablanca, another love story was blossoming between Cliff & Jean Collins.  It was 1942 and only 15 at the time, Cliff spotted Jean while working as a postal messenger.  He came close to falling off his delivery bike when he spotted her sitting inside her Fathers Model-A Ford truck parked across the road from him.  On their first meeting he held her hand and he hasn’t let go since.

This week Cliff & Jean celebrated 65 years of marriage, a union which produced six children, 15 grandchildren and in the coming weeks will welcome great grandchildren numbers 13 and 14.  Family members are travelling from across Australia to be with the couple at their home on the Sunshine Coast to celebrate this special occasion.

Family is clearly important to Cliff and Jean and they credit this as being one of the foundations of their marriage.  “We’ve always done everything together and as the kids grew up our lives revolved around them and their activities,” said Cliff. 

Family also brought Cliff and Jean the biggest challenge of their partnership when their eldest son tragically died after an accident playing AFL at age 17.  Cliff remembers, “It was a really tough time, but where many couples would have fallen apart, his death actually brought us closer together.”

Despite the odd challenge, life as a young couple was simple and revolved around the cornerstones of family and hard work.  Farmers of wheat and sheep, Cliff and Jean retired from the farm in Victoria at 60 to move to Queensland to be closer to their children. 

“People today undervalue the importance of the connection between husband and wife,” says Cliff.  “The love in a home starts with the parents and is reflected onto the children of the family, who then pass this onto their own children.  It’s the most important legacy we can leave.”

They are now aged 85 and 86 respectively and have been fortunate to always had good health.  He doesn’t take it for granted though, Cliff begins each day by kissing his wife and telling her he loves her.  Their “love affair”, as he describes it, has only grown stronger over the years.

Over the past week, messages of best wishes have arrived from The Queen, The Prime Minister, QLD Premier, Governor General and local politicians.  This touching tradition reminds us just how momentous this occasion is.  65 years.  With modern couples marrying later in life, marriages of this length will soon be a thing of a past.

How did Cliff and Jean celebrate the day?  They enjoyed pumpkin scones for morning tea with their daughter and were treated to a roast lunch with friends.  Forget the traditional gift for a 65^th anniversary of blue sapphires.  After seven decades together, this couple understand that the most important things can’t be bought.

Relationships today are unnecessarily complicated.  We spend more time with our virtual friends than real ones and entire romances are conducted (and ended) via email, text and Skype.  Cliff’s answer to the secret of a long and happy marriage is frustratingly simple.  “A good marriage is like a bank account,” he shares.  “Put a little bit into it every day and the richer you will become.”  This may be the reason that throughout 65 years together, they have never had a fight.

After the commotion of their anniversary celebrations settle, Cliff and Jean look forward to what is for them a perfect night in: sitting in their matching recliners watching Dads Army DVD’s, and still after 65 years, holding hands.