Gratitudey crap

I keep seeing the word ‘gratitude’ popping up a lot at the moment.  I guess with the new year people are deciding it’s a fitting time to try and make more of an effort to appreciate the little things in life.  Like all resolutions made at the start of the year, I doubt it lasts past a few weeks for most people… but it’s the thought that counts, right?  Even if someone can do it for a few weeks, it may make a positive impact on their year, so what is to lose?

So I figured I’d jump on the bandwagon.  I highly doubt I’ll post it every day, or even every week… okay, being completely honest with myself, I will probably only make this one post, so I guess I better make it a good one!

My laptop battery is about to die so I guess I’ll just do three gratitudey things for today…

1.  I have an amazing wife who puts up with soooooooooooo much from me.  It takes a special person to be able to deal with someone who suffers from depression (and anxiety), but somehow my wife does it and, even more surprisingly, seems to be more in love with me as time passes.
2. Although I am sad my children are away for a prolonged period of time (though Gabrielle is back in two days!), I am grateful that in Emersyn’s case she has a whole other family who love spending time with her.  Right now she is bonding with her two younger sisters and developing her relationship with her dad and step-mum, as well as her step-mum’s family.  It is incredibly hard being away from her, but I am also glad that she has reason to be away from me for so long.  I am also grateful that, in Gabrielle’s case, my sister and parents wanted to spend extra time with her.  She is getting lots of cousin time, something they’ve all missed out on up until now, she is also getting quality time with her aunty & grandparents… something that I know from my own experience, is so important.
3. This one will sound stupid, but my final gratitudey thing for today is that so far, I haven’t cried today.  Actually, I can’t remember if I cried yesterday either.  Considering so far 2016 has been the year of the tear for me, it is a huge accomplishment and something I truly am grateful for.

 

So there you have it.  In amongst the depressive episode I’m currently having, there are at least three things I am grateful for; things that I can think about and smile, knowing that although at times it seems like there is nothing positive happening in my brain, there actually is.

Emma Masson-Oakden (BC (JS))

I competed my degree! 

I am still in shock because I never imagined the day would arrive where I would be walking across the stage in cap and gown, to receive a degree I completed.  I can’t quite describe how it feels, knowing I have accomplished something I first set out to do 14 years ago… after many false starts I finally made it; I am now a graduate, holding a Bachelor of Communication with a major in Journalism Studies.

Not only was the last semester my final one – it was also my most successful semester – with no grade lower than a B+.

My goal for both semesters this year was to not get anything below a ‘B’ grade, something I didn’t achieve in semester one, but most certainly achieved in semester two!  It feels good to know that I can set myself such a goal and actually achieve it.  To be honest, I think my grades in the final semester were just as exciting for me as completing my degree… the only other A grade (A-) I received was back in my first year, in my Media Skills class.  To achieve three in one semester just blew me away.

What’s next for me?

Being the stickler for punishment that I am, I am back to study next year and this time will be working toward my BA.  I am majoring in Classical Studies because it is something that I have been passionate about since high school and I know that if I don’t take the time to study it more in depth, I am going to regret it when I am older.

I am confident that in 2018 I will be in a similar situation, having successfully completed my BA!

Fuck you earthquakes. Fuck you PTSD.

I wish I had their innocence…

 

It’s 1.02am and I have been trying to sleep for… well, a long time now.  I was quite sleepy at some point, but then some process kicked in in my brain and the next thing I knew I was lying there remembering details – vivid details – of  the earthquakes that have stuck in my mind.

I went from drowsy and happily falling asleep to remembering the earthquake on Christmas Eve 2011.  I was at the mall with Mum, Gaby & Emmy when all of a sudden the world began shaking.  Again.  We were in the food court and all around us could here glass items breaking, chairs scraping, screams and cries from children and adults alike.  The lights went off the emergency siren sounded; we all made a rush to the exit.  Santa was there too.  Gaby was worried about Santa, considering he hadn’t been through an earthquake before.  Mum & I?  We were trying to keep it together, trying to be a good example for the kids; in reality it was Gaby who had it more together than the two of us put together.

Afterward we were able to go to the car – in the parking building – almost as soon as I started the car there was another god almighty shake and I lost it.  We were out of the car and back out in the open before I could even register what was happening.  A bus arrived at the bus stop across from the mall and we took it home.  There was a quake while we were on the bus; all I could think of was the people who’d died in the bus during the Feb 22 quake.  We made it home, well, to Mum and Dad’s.  Throughout the day there were more quakes and my nerves became severely frayed.

I made it home, I guess Mum or Dad dropped us off.  I remember vividly because I was talking to the woman who at the time, I considered my best friend… you may have heard of her, she goes by the name of Lauriel.  She was at her ex-husband’s for the night (as a separated parent you do all manner of crazy ass thing in the name of doing what is best for your kids) and had hacked into his WiFi password.  He had no idea we were IM’ing on Skype, and we thought it was hilarious.  Just before midnight I decided I had better go to bed, but knew there was no way in hell I would be getting to sleep unaided.  I took two codeine, knowing full well it makes me drowsy.

It didn’t take long before I felt sleepy enough to go to bed.  I logged off, I went to the toilet, brushed my teeth, walked through the kitchen and lounge to my bedroom.  I put my hand on the door frame to steady myself because I was a bit wobbly.  And then there was another fucking earthquake.  It was pitch black, the house was shaking… and there I was, a total fucking blithering idiot of a mess.  I text Lauriel and told her there had been another quake.  She text with me until I fell asleep.

My mind then took me to February 22, 2011.  THE EARTHQUAKE.  I could vividly remember the colour of the sky.  It was overcast.  Looked like rain.  It was a muddy grey colour… you could feel rain in the air, it just hadn’t quite arrived.  I can remember the terror I felt when THE quake stopped.  I was on auto pilot.  “OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD, OH MY GOD” I hyperventilated to myself as I picked Emersyn up from the middle of the floor, took my keys and went out to my car.  Backing down the driveway there was another quake.  I had to stop to regain composure, or at least the last tiny thread of it that remained.

I don’t know how I got there, but I was suddenly just down the road from Mum’s work (a supermarket).  There was another shake and I had stopped the car because I was hyperventilating and bawling at the same time.  A man who was walking along the footpath stopped to ask if I was okay.  I told him I wasn’t; he told me neither was he.  Composure regained once again, I drove the rest of the way to Mum’s work.  I parked.  I found her.  We hugged.  We cried.  We couldn’t let go of one another.

There ground was wet with wine.  Red.  White.  Rosé.  Cheap.  Expensive.  The earthquake didn’t care which, bottles were thrown to the ground in the violent shake, glass smashing, wine everywhere.  I hate to think how many dollars worth of wine was all over the floor, and the ground outside.

I remembered the panic as I tried to get to Gaby’s preschool.  I had to take a lot of detours due to flooding and roads being completely fucked.  I got there.  The kids were all sitting outside in the under 2’s playground area.  Gaby cried when she saw me.  But not because of the quake… because she didn’t want to go home, not when she’d only been there an hour!  I hugged that little girl so tightly.  I told myself I was hugging her to comfort her, but I know that in reality it was her comforting me.

Then I was back at my parents.  Outside with mum, in a state of… well, there is no word for it really.  Dad arrived home.  We were all safe and sound.

“Well, I almost died”.  The first words from Dad’s mouth.  Words I will never forget.  I can remember the tone with which he spoke them.  I can remember the look on his face.  I can remember the way my gut dropped.  I can remember the look of shock on Mum’s face, no doubt mirrored by my own.  He went on to tell us that he had just walked past the CTV building when it collapsed.  That he had had an appointment with his doctor – in the CTV building – an hour before the quake struck.  That he had had to choose between leaving a seminar early to get the earlier appointment, or to go after the seminar, at around 12.30.

My Dad made one seemingly mundane, inconsequential decision… he decided to be naughty and leave his seminar early.  In doing that… he avoided dying that day.  He made sure we didn’t get to experience the worst grief possible.  One little decision, one little choice, one tiny decision that was part of whatever else was going on that day.

And he could have died.

I still can’t get my head around that one.  I can’t fathom… I cry whenever I think about it.

One.  Little.  Decision.

————————————

I snuck out here to write this blog post.  Lauriel was sound asleep and I didn’t want to disturb her.  Naturally she caught me in the act.  Rather than saying “it’s almost 1.30, what the hell are you doing up?”, she simply told me “take your time baby, do what you’ve got to do“, kissed me, and went back to bed.

That was possibly the most reassuring, loving thing I could have been told.  She understands me.  She understands my thought process.  She understands that healing doesn’t happen overnight, more importantly she understands that perhaps healing is never complete and is instead an ongoing process.  Something we develop tools to cope with, but are never truly ‘over’.

Recipe – the most delicious macaroni salad EVER

Pretty strong statement to make, right?  Well I stand by it 100%.

Most people have one recipe they are famous for, at least amongst their friends and family anyway – it might be a particular cake, maybe a way to cook ribs, perhaps even a special sauce – whatever it is there are never any leftovers.

My mum is famous for her macaroni salad.  I think she made it for the first time when I was about seven, so we’re talking a good 24 years ago.  It is no longer requested for occasions such as Christmas, or for summer gatherings like a picnic or bbq – no – it is now expected.  While composing a list of food ‘Vicki’s macaroni salad’ will be the top of the list, mum won’t need to be asked, she won’t need to offer… it will just happen naturally.

A few years ago I began making the salad myself and those first few times were cause for nerves.  Could I do it justice?  Would people be disappointed?  Was there something magical about the way mum mixed the salad or made the sauce?  Would I have to hang my head in shame?  Would that particular occasion be referred to as ‘macaroni saladgate’?  Would it be something we never spoke of again?

Simple answer, no.  The recipe is easy and pretty forgiving.

The recipe has been passed on to a few people since it has been in my hands, and I decided to spread the joy even more and post the recipe right here, on my blog.

Vicki’s Macaroni Salad

Salad ingredients:
2-3 cups of uncooked macaroni (that you then go on to cook!) (mum just uses a whole bag of macaroni)
1c grated cheese
1c grated carrot
1x 450g tin whole kernel corn (drained)
1x 450g tin crushed pineapple (drained)

Dressing: (in microwave safe bowl)
Beat two eggs
Add 1 tsp salt, 1tsp mustard powder, 3/4c sugar, 2 tbsp flour
Whisk then bring slowly to boil in microwave (I do this in 30 second bursts)
Add 1/2c milk, 1/2c vinegar (mum uses malt vinegar, I use white vinegar, both are fine)
Cook using short bursts until thick (again I do this in 30 second bursts)
Leave to cool (I do this by putting the bowl with the sauce in a larger bowl with cold water in it, or in the sink with cold water in it, or you can just leave it to cool naturally)

To prepare:
Cook the macaroni – then drain it in cold water (this helps stop it going sticky and also cools down the macaroni)
When the macaroni is cool add cheese, carrot, corn and pineapple
Mix
Add the sauce when it is cool (if you put it in warm it will melt the cheese)

The above is the recipe as stated in mum’s recipe book, but the beauty of this recipe is that you can really use whatever you like in the actual salad and use the dressing as normal.

For example, last week we had a birthday party to go to, there was going to be a BBQ and everyone was asked to take something to contribute.  I wanted to do the macaroni salad but other than the macaroni and ingredients for the dressing, we didn’t have the exact ingredients.  Instead of the corn, cheese, pineapple I added shredded chicken, cubed cucumber,  sliced spring onions, cubed tomato and grated carrot.  It was just as delicious as always!  I made another one earlier this week and week with spiral pasta, cubed cucumber, sliced spring onions, cubed tomato and diced carrot.  Again, delicious!

Versatile, I guess that is a word you could use to describe this recipe.  Pasta and the dressing provides a delicious base that you can really add anything to.  A friend made it on Monday with lettuce, cheese, tomato and egg.  I would go as far as saying it would probably be just as yummy without any of the vegetable goodness.

What would a post about this delicious salad be without some photos?  I wasn’t with my family on Christmas day, but there was one common denominator in all of our Christmas lunches.  Macaroni salad.  My family in Dunedin made one, my mum in Christchurch made one, and I made one too right here in Wanganui.  I suggested we all post a photo of our salads on Facebook and that is what we did!

My macaroni salad

My cousin’s salad

Mum’s salad (this is a more accurate representation of the colour of the salad)

Enjoy!  I would love to hear about it if you make this salad!

Getting into the Christmas spirit

Of course I had to get my festive crochet on!

For me, the build up to Christmas 2014 has been one like never before.  Why?  For the first time in my 31 years in this world, I am going to be spending Christmas without my parents or my sister.

They did a good job with the Christmas tree!

We have all four kids this Christmas (which is awesome!) but that means we can’t go down to have Christmas with
my folks because it would mean hiring a big car… I priced it and it wasn’t in our price range, not if we wanted to, y’know, eat and pay bills!  Then there is the fact mum and dad have a three bedroom house and there are 6 of us, not to mention my sister, niece, and brother-in-law.  Eleven people in a three bedroom house?  It just doesn’t work.  Mum’s work constraints also mean that it isn’t really worth it for them to come up here, not when they would have to spend half of their time travelling to and from.  Christmas shouldn’t be about stress and both of our options for a family Christmas with my parents/sister equated to stress.

I am sad I won’t get to see my parents or sister on Christmas Day, I am sad we won’t be able to partake in our relaxed Christmas Day traditions, that we can’t watch the kids with their new toys together, that we can’t feed off their joy and excitement together.  Christmas is about familiy and it doesn’t feel completely like Christmas with the knowledge that part of my family won’t be with me on the day.

Has it ruined Christmas for me?  No.
Am I still excited about Christmas?  Yes.

Emersyn and her best bud with Santa at their preschool Christmas party

I may not be with my parents/sister for Christmas but I am with my family.  My wife, our four fantabulous kids… it sounds pretty amazing to me.  This will be our first Christmas spent together in our house as a happy little blended family; that in itself is a big (exciting) milestone and is what I have chosen to focus on.  It won’t just be us though, our surrogate family, Jess & Tony (Emersyn’s grandpa & step-grandma on her dad’s side) are going to come and spend part of the day with us so there will be more than enough cheer to go around.

I have tried not to complain about not being with my parents/sister for Christmas because Lauriel lives on the other side of the world from her family and Christmas without them is the norm for her.  Who am I to be miserable about one year away from the rest of my family when my poor wife goes years without seeing her family?  I know she will read this and tell me I have every right to be upset about it – and I know I do – but when I put it in perspective it isn’t as bad as some people have it.

At least my parents and sister are alive.  Some people have a lot more than distance and

money preventing them from spending time with loved ones on Christmas Day; I can imagine those people would love to be able to complain about the fact they’ll only be able to ring and/or Skype their family on Christmas Day.

It is also hard not to get excited about Christmas when you have kids.  They are already incredibly hyped up about Christmas Day and their excitement is catching.  Every now and then I find myself belting out a Christmas song or getting an it-was-a-good-idea-at-the-time idea for something crafty to do with the kids (please note: I am NOT patient enough for kiddy crafting sessions!).  I am looking forward to being woken up on Christmas morning by four very enthusiastic (read: hyperactive) kids who SIMPLY CANNOT WAIT to open their Santa sacks or the rest of their presents.

For me Christmas is all about love… I am going to be surrounded by plenty of love on Christmas Day so how can I possibly complain?

 

They say there is an app for everything…

I call bullshit on this one – there is one app you can’t find – one to magically give you patience with children.

Okay, maybe it’s me that needs that app rather than everyone in general… I seem to be lacking the part of my parental brain that allows me to be patient with my children.  It’s not so much everyday-patience I need, it is patience while helping my children with something.  Homework, craft, tidying up, I just don’t seem to have the necessary skill set to stay calm and be patient.  I see parents who spend hours a week doing crafty things with their kids and I have to wonder how the hell they manage it?

I guess part of it is that as a person I am impatient.  I like things to be done now.  I don’t like waiting.

I NEED to remember this

When it comes to Gabrielle I think part of my lack of patience is related to the fact she is a perfectionist and is very hard on herself.  If she makes a mistake she gets very upset and I don’t seem to be able to deal with that in a positive way.  It is one of the things I love about my eldest, she aims so high and has such huge personal standards, but the downside is how she reacts when she doesn’t do something perfect the first time.  I am quite the opposite.  I expect myself to royally f**k up whenever I try something, so don’t have these same high standards for myself (and I know what when reading this my wife will scowl and me and tell me I’m too hard on myself).

I try my hardest to be patient but 9/10 I will fail and then feel down on myself because I think this makes me a shitty parent.  I know it doesn’t make me a bad parent, but as a parent we tend to compare ourselves to other parents and when I see them with the patience of a saint… it’s a horrible part of being a parent.

My wife has more patience than me, she will say she doesn’t, but trust me – she does.  Last week I had the pleasure of watching Gabrielle and her lying on the floor together working on hard maths equations.  I got frustrated just looking at the equations and Gaby was in tears within a few seconds… but with Lauriel she grasped it and I could see her confidence growing with each correct maths equation she did.  I could see how proud she was of herself when she mastered a sum that was in the thousands.

It makes me feel better to know that while I’m lacking in the patience area my wife isn’t and that kind of makes up for me being so impatient.

As sooooooooooo often happens when you have children, you think back to your own childhood and see the similarities between you and your children, but also between yourself and your parents.

I remember frustrating the hell out of mum when I was doing maths in primary school.  She would explain and explain and explain, over and over and over, but I just wouldn’t grasp the concept.  I would get grumpy.  She would try to explain again.  I would yell.  She would try to stay calm.  I would yell more.  She would get frustrated and yell back.  Maths would go away and I would turn my attention to something else.

Knowing that my mum had this same patience issue (with maths anyway!) makes me feel better… my mum was/is an amazing parent so perhaps my little patience problem isn’t quite the terrible parenting affliction that I think it is.  Time will tell.

This I do believe!

Done having children. It’s not easy.

When I was thirteen weeks pregnant with Emersyn I decided I was going to get my tubes tied when I had my scheduled cesarean.  By that point I had experienced four pregnancy losses and two anxiety ridden pregnancies, I knew I couldn’t put myself – and more importantly, my children – through another anxiety filled nine months or the heartbreak and depression that comes with a loss.  The high risk ob I was seeing (due to my epilepsy) was very hesitant to do this – telling me I was young and I might ‘meet someone’ and want more babies – because she clearly knew me better than I knew myself.  I stood my ground and when she asked me moments after I heard Emersyn crying for the first time, if I still wanted my tubes tied, I confidently told her yes.

And I did want them done.  I knew there were no more babies in my future, that there were no more pregnancies in my future.  I had two healthy children and that was enough for me.

Four and a half years on I am still 100% confident in my decision – but sometimes the knowledge I won’t add to my family can be a little overwhelming – and upsetting.

As little girls we dream of the day we will have our own babies.  As teenagers we try to do what we can to prevent that happening.  Then we reach the exciting, much anticipated time of our lives when we can throw away the birth control and make those baby dreams a reality.  We dream about what our babies will look like, begin compiling lists of names, pay attention to the latest in baby related furniture and on-the-go equipment, from the first day of our period we are buzzing with excitement because this month might be the month.

You have your baby.  Maybe you have another one.  Maybe you have three or four more.  Maybe more.

Then you decide you are done.  No more babies.  No more pregnancies.  That part of your life is over.

The metaphorical tumbleweeds tumble past and there are echos.

Just like that a huge part of your life is over.

So long as the decision was made because it was really what you wanted you move on with your life.  You take great joy out of the child or children you have, they grow, they change, they become their own little person – and then their own big person – they amaze you, your heart bursts with love on a daily basis.  Life is GOOD.

That is how my life is 99% of the time.  I love watching our children growing up and seeing how they change in the space of a year.  I love being able to take them places and do things that I know they will enjoy or appreciate now they are a little older.  I like that they sleep through the night, that there are no 2, 3, 4, 5am nappy changes, I like that I don’t have to sit like a zombie and feed a baby when I really need to be sleeping.  I like that they are becoming more independent the older they get.  I love seeing what they accomplish, all the new milestones they reach – especially at school – reading, spelling, doing times tables, representing their school in sports.

Everyday there is another reason to be proud of the four fantastic children we are raising.

But sometimes something switches in my brain and I feel sad that there won’t be anymore babies, that there won’t be another baby bump, that there won’t be the excited anticipation that comes with pregnancy.  Will it be a boy or a girl?  How big will he or she be?  Who will he or she look like?  What will he or she look like?  What will the birth be like?  Will she or he be a good sleeper?  What about a good eater?  When will he or she start sleeping through?  Get his or her first teeth?  Crawl?  Walk?

When my brain makes that switch I find it very hard to look at pregnant women or to look at newborns.  Each little baby I see when my brain is in this stage is like a knife through the heart.  I start to mourn the little boy or girl who won’t be entering our lives, I grieve for the pregnancy that could have started but never did.  I yearn for those first days with a new baby, I dream about experiencing all the firsts again; the first smile, the first laugh, the first time rolling over, the first time they get on their hands and knees, the first time they crawl, walk, talk.

It’s a confusing thing.  Deep down you know you are happy with the way things are, that you don’t really want another baby… but another part of you remembers all the lovely things that come with having a new baby, a new little member to your family.  You know the joy they bring, the awe you feel when you look at them, the way they continue to surprise you and surpass all your expectations.

Nothing prepares you for the myriad of emotions that come after the decision to not have anymore children or the fact these emotions can sneak up on you years later and unexpectedly.  A walk past the baby section of a store can be full of ‘aw, how cute!’ one day and a painful pang of sorrow the next… sometimes it is just too damn hard to walk past that section of the store.  It’s the same with babies, one day you see a tiny baby and  again it’s a case of ‘awwwww, how cute!’, the next day the sight of the same baby brings tears to your eyes and you have to look away.

I know we are done having babies.  I know we are both happy with that decision and know it’s right for us… but sometimes that part of the brain we have no control over switches and our maternal instincts go into overdrive.  Perhaps it’s evolutionary, perhaps it’s just another of the joys of being a woman; either way I hope that at some point along the way that switch in my brain stops flicking.

Let there be storage!

The enormous mess that once was my wool pile is no longer.  No, I didn’t do something utterly moronic like get rid of my wool, instead I did something I am sure my mother will be very proud of.

I put it away.

I don’t claim to be the worlds tidiest person because that would be a horrendous lie… I do like to think I’m not the worlds messiest person though.  Even I get to a point though where I realise enough is enough and something has to be done about the mess.

The mess in question on Saturday was my wool which was spread through the house in a variety of bags and on a variety of surfaces.  I dragged all of it out into the lounge and moved two small storage unit book shelfy things beside the big bookshelf, then set about tidying it.

Me being me, I needed some sense of order to the project so naturally put the wool in colour groups.  Pinks together, blues together, greens together, purples together,  orange and red together… you get the idea.  There is one little square of storage that can’t really be ordered and that is my ‘special wool, don’t f**king touch!’ square of wool.  This is where my pretty merino sits, the nice 100% wool, basically anything that I am in love with.

Took a while but the process was finally completed and I have to say I am pretty dang proud of my efforts.

… if only the rest of the house was quite so easy to organise (let me not go into the hours we spent in Emersyn’s pigsty bedroom yesterday!)

The new and vastly improved wool storage space

A few thoughts on virginity…

I am nervous for our children… and that doesn’t just come from being a mum with an anxiety disorder.

The teenage years are horrible.  I remember them well and I know everyone reading this will remember them well.  The hormones, the pressure, the angst, the need for independence and not feeling as if you are getting enough, the decisions that you need to make about life (seriously, WHY are we expecting 17 year olds to know what they want to do with the rest of their life?!), and then there is everything sex related, but particularly the losing of one’s virginity.

I remember being a teenager and the huge deal that was made about losing the ‘big V’.  Parents and teachers were slamming home the point that you should wait until you are properly ready and that you lose it under the right circumstances.  Friends and peers brag about losing their virginity, about how awesome sex is, about what positions they’ve done it in, about how many people they have had sex with.  There is so much pressure from both sides – some of it intentional and some of it unintentional – and it makes for a hellishly confusing time.

I lost my virginity faaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaar too early.  Years too early.  So early that I am now ashamed about it, particularly about the way I lost it and who it was with.  The thought of any of our kids losing their virginity so young and in such a way fills me with dread.  I’m probably bloody lucky I was at boarding school when it happened to me and I didn’t have to physically look at my parents when they found out about it.

But you know what?  In one way I am… I’m not sure that ‘glad’ is the right word, but because I can’t think of another word, let’s go with glad.  The one way I am glad that I lost my virginity so young is that I didn’t have to put up with the pressure from either side.  When the rest of my friends and peers were going through the inner turmoil of should-I-or-shouldn’t-I, I didn’t have that worry.  I had lost it, that big, enormous, momentous, life-changing moment had been and gone (I might add that after I lost my virginity I didn’t have sex for another four years).

I wish such a huge deal wasn’t made about it, that teenagers and young adults could be given the tools required to make an informed decision for themselves (I know this is idealistic, not every teen or young adult has the mental capacity to do this!), without being told by x, y, and z, that a, b, or c was the right thing to do.

Having the benefit of hindsight (I know, old person saying…) I can see that too much emphasis is placed on the wrong aspects of losing your virginity.  It all seems to be about ‘do have sex’ or ‘don’t have sex’ and then about age.  Teenagers are told ‘DON’T HAVE SEX!’ but they aren’t told why.  They aren’t given a chance for real dialogue about it (*I say this in a general sense, I know there ARE plenty of adults out there who have great dialogue re sex with their teens).  People seem to focus on the physical reasons to abstain, especially with regard to pregnancy and STI transmission, but it needs to go a lot further.  The mental side of things, the emotional side, the spiritual side.

But then the same can be said for the peer pressure side of things.  ‘It feels so good’ yeah, true, it can feel good, but it can also be uncomfortable as well as opening up a new world of insecurities.  I didn’t orgasm, I must be broken.  He/she didn’t cum, I must be doing something wrong.  Sex doesn’t feel good, there must be something wrong with me.

There is stigma attached to losing virginity too young or in the wrong circumstances, but there is also a stigma attatched to not losing one’s virginity young enough. It is like if you have lost your virginity by the time you are 15 you are automatically a ‘slut’, if you haven’t lost your virginity by the time you are 20 you are ‘frigid’ or there is obviously something wrong with you.

It’s a complete and utter contradiction.  What is so wrong with someone not losing their virginity until they are 20?  30? 40?  Older?   Why should it bother me if Jane Bloggs down the road didn’t lose her virginity until she was 25?

Why can’t people just accept that the decision to lose your virginity should be a private one, one that is made when each individual feels the time is right?  We (when I say we, I mean we as a society)  can give teenagers and young people tools to help them with that decision, we should be available for them to talk to about it if they want, we should be there to guide them if and when they want our guidance.  On the flip side, we should accept that not everyone is ready to lose their virginity in their teens and that some people may have no interest in losing it at all.

Virginity is a big deal – but it should be a big deal on an individual level – not a societal level.  I wish our four children could grow up in a society where virginity is what it is – having sex for the first time – and that the pressure so commonly associated with it, whether from the ‘don’t do it’ or ‘do it now!’ camp, didn’t exist. Losing your virginity should most be seen as special and I am by no means saying people should lose their virginity when they are too young mentally, emotionally and physically to cope with it.

I guess when I think about our children, I want them to not feel pressured to lose their virginity, but I also don’t want them thinking sex is evil or a ‘bad’ thing to do.  I want them to be able to talk with us when they have questions or feel confused or just need a sounding board, and that, between my wife and I, we can give them the ability to make an informed decision and lose their virginity when the time is right for them, not when society thinks it is right for them.

The ocean

Ever since I was little I have loved going to the beach.  I have always found the ocean so calming.  The sound of the waves, looking out to the

Hard to be unhappy with a view like this… the kiddos, the ocean

horizon and knowing it stretches far beyond what I can see.  I love to see the relatively calm ocean on a sunny day and equally I love to see the almost angry looking ocean on a cold, wet, stormy day.

Since I began suffering from depression, the beach/ocean has been one of my happy places.  I go there when I need to think, when I need to feel, when I need to get a sense that the world is so much bigger than I think and to be reminded the world is in fact beautiful.  The thoughts in my brain might not be, but the world… it can be gorgeous when it wants to be!   The moment I get a glimpse of the ocean I can feel myself starting to refresh and when I am physically standing on the sand watching the waves rolling or crashing in, depending on the mood of the ocean that day, I feel as if my brain is getting recharged.  It’s as if the negative energy is getting swept out to sea and is being replaced by positive energy coming in with wave after wave after wave.

The waves caught us!

I’m not a religious person but I like to believe I am a spiritual person, and there is just something about the beach that lifts my spirit, that makes me realise I can do this, I can deal with the depression, the anxiety, the negative thinking.  It makes me realise that life goes on… I think it’s the continual movement of the waves.  Waves never stop.  Life never stops (until the very end).  The waves can’t be controlled and neither can life, not at the most basic level

We went to the beach yesterday and I took pleasure out of the seemingly small things.  I looked for pretty rocks and shells with Emersyn before we stood along the shore to see if the waves could catch us.  We laughed when the incoming water almost reached our toes, but didn’t quite make it.  We squealed when the water came in and went far beyond us, wetting my pants and her skirt.  Then we went to the playground and Lauriel and I sat and watched the kids playing (nicely together!) and laughing.  It was so relaxed and peaceful, even with all the noise associated with being at the

The ocean – my happy place

beach.

I hope to make it to the beach more this summer.  I hope to make it out of the house more often, full stop.

One of the things I hate about depression when it is at its worst is that I find it hard to leave the house.  The physical effort of walking to the car, the mental effort of being around other people, the emotional effort associated with trying to pretend I want to be there.  For too long I let my depression impact on our kids.  Rather than all of us going on an outing it would be Lauriel and the kids, with me staying at home to sulk.  If I did go out I would be snappy and grumpy the entire time.  Family outings weren’t fun… and I hate that so many potential fun family memories were ruined because of me, because of my depression.