Top 5 Strange Toddler Games

#1 Hello Light
We have a security system which has movement sensors in various places in the house. When something bigger than the cat makes any kind of movement, BAM, a light flicks on in the corner.

The child figured this out one day and has proceeded to drag every adult she comes into contact with, into the corridor to show them this incredible phenomenon at any available opportunity, and even at very unavailable opportunities.

"Hello light!" rings out for a good half minute before the light switches off, at which point she frantically waves and cries out 'bye bye light' until it switches back on and just like that, the game starts again.

#2 Close The Door
All doors must be closed. At all times. This includes (but is not limited to)
- Pantry Door
- Fridge Door
- Dishwasher Door
- Cupboard Doors
- Drawer Doors
- Car Doors

If it's open - it must be shut. The rules are simple and relatively easy to learn. There doesn't seem to be a clear winner in this game, but it seems more of a 'personal best' kind of thing.

#3 Get The Alphabet Magnets onto the Floor
Similar to the rules of 'Close the Door', I haven't yet figured out the ultimate way to win at this particular game. It seems to be a 'beat your best time' strategy around how fast the letters can be swiped off the fridge door before mummy says 'stop', and then how many more you can get off before she picks you up and removes you from the game.

It certainly seems like it's entertaining, and she is definitely improving at it.

#4 Make Mummy Say Ow!
This is a more sadistic game, resulting in uproarious laughter whenever she succeeds. As usual, the goal is simple, but worryingly, there doesn't seem to be any rules around how you are allowed to get there. So far I've been subjected to some crazy hair styling, eye lid flicking, ear pulling, hair pulling and being the incredibly sneaky 'water on the kitchen floor' premeditated attack. I shudder to think what she will come up with next!

#5 What Can I Make People Do If I Pretend To Cry?
This is definitely a more advanced game, and not one for the faint hearted, involving the use of rather impressive drama skills.

The goal is simple, but difficult to achieve. Make the adult give you what you want.

You win if you get it.
You lose if they catch on and start mimicking your fake crying, forcing you to start laughing at how silly your face looks.

What interesting games does your toddler play?

CAA Bullies Small Business Owners To Breaking Point

A slight shift from my usual topics. But one that is very important to me. Please SHARE far and wide!

A little over a week ago, a group of people from New Zealand’s Civil Aviation Authority (CAA), walked into a friendly, family run flight training business( www.uflyextreme.co.nz ) in small town Motueka, at the end of a long day of flying. They pretended to be interested in going for a flight, and, despite having been getting ready to leave for the day, the husband and wife pair happily obliged them.

Moments later, after having received a full instructional pre flight briefing, and before the ‘customer’ even got into the plane (where the real instruction begins), the group revealed their true identities and declared the long running and very successful business to be operating illegally.

U Fly Extreme has operated under a unique business model for nearly 20 years. That is – they can and will teach you to fly a Pitts Special aircraft, and if you are really keen, will also instruct you through performing some exciting aerobatic manoeuvres. This is only possible because the pilot, Vincent D’Ath is an extremely capable, fully trained flight instructor. If you need convincing – liken it to having a driving lesson, but instead of taking out the old Starlet, you get to drive a race car.

After you fly, you receive a certificate, which states how much flight time you logged, and who with and your log number. So that if you are training elsewhere, or you intend to start, you can include this flight in your total flight hours.

Just over a year ago, British actor James Nesbitt came to our shores and learned to fly as part of a tourism documentary, which screened in multiple countries. (http://www.stuff.co.nz/…/Nesbitt-doco-pushes-tourists-our-w…),

The reviews that flood in from around this world are without exception, glowing, like this one from Canadian’s Jordan and Jenna (http://www.stokedforsaturday.com/…/11/time-flew-stunt-plane/), or this one from England’s Arianwen Morris(http://beyondblighty.com/pilot-a-stunt-plane-in-abel-tasman/), and even this one which lists the flight in it’s top 10 things to do in New Zealand(http://www.gapyear.com/…/10-activities-in-new-zealand-for-a…).

And that’s before you even look at sites such as tripadvisor.co.nz which list a 100% 5 star rating with reviews such as this one from Aucklander Mitchell Taylor “What a thrill !! I've just logged my FOURTH instructional flight with Vince and Alison's Pitts special. I cannot recommend enough this opportunity to everyone, especially since it is right here in our own back yard !! You will not be disappointed, this will be the one you want to tick off the bucket list more than once. See you soon for another lesson :D” (sic);

Or activities ranking site Rankers.co.nz which has 95% of customers giving it a 10/10 rating. You only have to scroll through the first page to be flooded with reviews which all seem to say the same thing:

“My flight in the Pitts special was so incredible. It's like race car driving in a 3 Dimensional world! Despite the extreme nature of the flight I always felt safe and secure in the aircraft. The attention to detail concerning both my safety and comfort was fantastic. I learned a lot about flying and have since offered rides to everyone in our family and will be back again soon! "

So why has the CAA suspended this license? They claim that U Fly Extreme does not offer Instructional Flights, and therefore cannot fly under its current Flight Training license.

Just like that, the red tape has gone up. The bureaucrats have struck once more and another gem in the crown of New Zealand entrepreneurialism will be destroyed. A hardworking couple will have their lives pulled out from under them in their mid fifties, and will have to start again.

And the truly sad part is, that whether the owners are in the right or the wrong is no longer relevant, because in order to fight this, two exceptional kiwis who dared to offer people a different kind of flight training, and for many, the experience of a lifetime, must face bankruptcy in order to fight it.

Even worse, this is not the first small aviation business this has happened to.

Surely, there is someone out there who can help?

Videos To Watch When You Need To Giggle

Sometimes, as a mum, you find yourself in desperate need of something to laugh about. However, the idea of trawling the internet for funnies is more than you can bare!

Fear not fellow Mummies! I have done the work for you!

Below are five (hopefully) guaranteed to make you laugh youtube clips - they haven't failed me yet.

German Words:

Oh the hilarity of the German language! Don't mistake me, I love Germany and it's people, but this clip plays to cultural stereotypes beautifully.

Michael Mcintyre - People With No Children Don't Know.

Let's be honest - people without children, really, really, don't have a clue. But they honestly believe they do, and once upon a time, so did we. But now we know better, so, so much better. And at times, we honestly wish we didn't.

Dear Cool Mum - from Whatsupmoms.com

Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about, the weird mum thing that happens when your kid starts interacting with another kids and suddenly you are having a crazy interaction with the other kids mum via a strange conversation through your respective children, but all you really want is for that other mum to think you are cool.... Actually, just go to that website, it's brilliant.

Parks and Recreation

Any episode from season 2 onwards - just binge watch them all! My personal favourite character is Ben Wyatt, and Andy Dwyer. Oh and Ron Swanson...Dammit I just love them all!

Babies in Tunnels

Yeah, you read that right. It's hilarious. I have got to try this with our monster one day soon. Very soon. Maybe today.

I hope one of these makes you smile xxx

Super Nutricious Disaster

There comes a time, in most mothers' lives, when they really do wonder how on earth their brains have deteriorated into the motherly mush they have become. Days of the week quickly become redundant as each day blurs into the next, sometimes days and nights have no meaning as you count the minutes of sleep you managed, or wonder where you put your cup of tea, only to find it days later in the pantry next to the plastic container of formula powder you forgot you had switched out of the tin! 

This moment happened to me over the weekend, when I attempted to make some muffins. I was running a masterclass and thought it would be nice to have some food out for the students.

Now, I make muffins all the time, in fact, I would happily call myself something of a muffin connoisseur, an expert even, if you will. I regularly substitute ingredients, play with quantities and create entirely new and delicious muffin recipes, so when I accidentally put in double the amount of milk, I was mortified!

Luckily I still had the tupperware container of flour out on the bench, which confused me for a second cos I had put all the containers away - but clearly not. I am obviously losing my mind, or getting early onset alzheimers (oh please don't let that be the case). I frantically tried to save my recipe by trying to double the flour - I managed to salvage almost two whole cups of it before it ran out, which was strange because I swore there was more a moment ago. For a moment I thought - is this even flour? Because weirdly the mixture didn't really thicken! In the end, I gave up on trying to make them into muffins, and instead, poured the enormous amount of mixture into two cake tins. I sprinkled the tops with cinnamon sugar and crossed my fingers that they would turn out ok.

Fortunately, they did turn out ok. I mean, the middle of each 'cake' sunk, but I cut them in half long ways, so no-one would ever know and presented them beautifully on a plate.

The students loved them! Success!! Someone even asked for the recipe!

It wasn't until two days later, when was giving the little one her bottle that I realised it wasn't flour I had tried to save the recipe with.

It was baby formula.

 

The Best Time

I have decided, that right now, is the best time in my life.

I am pretty sure that right now, is the time I will look back on and remember most fondly. That this will be when I was happiest, that life may not get much better than what it is right now.

I say this, because, although I get frustrated and bored and lonely and angry and just downright grumpy as usual, things are pretty darn ok.

The little one is no longer 100% dependant on me for everything. She is fun to play with, she loves to hug and she even gives the odd big sloppy kiss. Let me tell you, kisses from your kid are as close to heaven as you can get, in my humble opinion. Sure, she throws tantrums regularly, but they are short lived and she hasn't yet started to answer back or proclaim her hatred of us. I can see why people decide to have another kid when theirs around this age - but I must admit, my memories of having a new born haven't blurred enough to persuade me just yet!

I have enough singing students coming through to keep me sane, in contact with teens and adults daily and to make ends meet. The psychologist has a job he appears to love and so he comes home relatively happy on most days.

It's been a fantastic summer, with a brilliant family beach-bach holiday thrown in over new years, and the good weather has ensured we get in lots of fun family bike rides at weekends.

Perhaps that's why I am not writing so regularly? Because, who wants to write about how great things are, when you can close the computer and live it?

Telling Lies on Facebook

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a person in possession of a facebook page, must carefully curate what is posted.

And this sucks.

Seriously.

I have a strong hate-love-hate relationship with the social media giant, in that I hate that I love it, and also love that I hate it. It messes with me, as you can tell.

I love that it means I don't lose touch with old friends who I actually care about, or overseas friends who I would never see. Because let's be honest, writing letters is hard work and phone calls are expensive...and tricky when you start to forget a language you once 'kind of spoke for a while'. To be brutal, most of my friends would have vanished from my periphery, to be swallowed up by the endless pull of real life, never to be seen or heard from again, if it weren't for easy one line status updates and posting of photos straight from your phone.

Because I suck at keeping in touch.

But you have to take the good with the bad, and oh boy there is some bad! It comes in tricky disguises, not the obvious 'Gah, my day is sucking so bad' vague status updates of that friend who seems to need constant reassurance (guilty). Or the 'this man went to stroke a tiger, what happens next WILL SHOCK YOU' click bait spam generated by computer illiterate old timey facebook friends *cough* family. No, no, no. The worst kind of bad there is on facebook, are the happy posts. The pretty posts, the 'I'm more in love with you every year' anniversary updates and 'here's me at the eiffel tower with my french beau having just a glorious time' holiday uploads, or the 'Hey guys, can't update right now because I have no internet connection because I'm helping baby turtles into the ocean in guatemala while building houses for humanity in a warzone and I have given my phone to an orphan' once a year posts from the off-the-grid friend who you literally never see anymore because, well, they are helping baby turtles and...just...GAH!

ENOUGH!

A picture speaks a thousand words. Which facebook certainly doesn't let you post...I don't think. But sometimes pictures obscure the truth, blur the edges of a sharp reality and hide what you don't want others to see. Status updates do the same thing but with words, which you edit and rewrite and think about until they are perfect, then you click 'post'.

Here are some pictures taken yesterday by our friend and photographer Raewyn Murray .

Don't we look amazing! The happiest most perfect and harmonious family, pretty much in the history of the world - and god my hair has grown!

Look at us, laughing and having so much fun (which we were). Nothing can break us apart! We are what everyone dreams of being. We have what everyone wants.

Sigh. Even I want that!

What you don't see amongst the incredible beauty (ha!), is that just half an hour before this, the wee one had been throwing a tantrum, screaming, refusing to be put down and crying loud grumpy tears for the better part of an hour, and we were at our wits end with how to make it stop.

What you also don't see is that earlier in the day, hubby and I had a huge fight in the middle of a park where we all but decided we should get a divorce. But then, what should we do with the child?

Photos may be beautiful, filtered works of art, and status updates often envy inducing slaps in the face. But as we approach our fifth wedding anniversary (and our tenth year of being together), we have learnt one thing for sure.

People only let you see what they want you to see. Life is hard. Love is harder and Facebook blurs the edges of it all.

xx

On the Good Side of Mental Illness

As I sit and watch my daughter dedicatedly remove each strand of pasta from her bowl, place it on the high chair tray beside her bowl, eat a couple of them and then proceed to move them all back into the bowl, I am struck with how far we have come.

It seems inconceivable that this time last year she was not even three months old. Twelve months ago she was not much more than a blob who couldn't even roll over yet and whom we were worried would never be able to lift her head on her own.

Yet here she is now, climbing the steps to the slide, feeding herself - albeit with the spoon upside down for the most part -, speaking words only we can decipher and bit by bit, developing a cheeky yet remarkably serious personality.

If people kept developing at the rate they do in the first year of life, we'd all be either;
1) Giants
2) Geniuses
3) Giant Geniuses

Then I think about where I was this time twelve months ago. I was struggling, but had not yet fallen into the darkest place I was going to go. I had no idea how to get my life back while being a mum. The idea of working was unfathomable. Sleep was almost a foreign concept with baby waking every few hours. I was lost in the new Mum haze, desperately waiting for the magical three month mark I kept being told was when things would get better.

Yet, twelve months on, I am in a place I couldn't have imagined possible in those first few months. Somehow I am living my life again, making things work, doing things I enjoy and finding time for myself in amongst it all. Making sure things don't slip again is hard, but we are better at recognising some warning signs of things going awry as a family now.

I guess that's the good side of mental illness. In order to manage, get well and stay well, we are forced to alter our lifestyles and stick with those changes. If I don't get enough sleep, eat well, find time for myself and do things that make me happy, I get very unwell, very quickly.

As long as our work, life, baby balance is in check, everything will be ok.

Street Harrassment

I feel a need to address the current push for awareness of street harassment.

A lot of people feel like it isn't an issue.

But I'm here to tell you it is.

Growing up in small town NZ you wouldn't think it would be an issue.

But it is.

Most people imagine that it must only happen to girls who somehow ask for it.

But it doesn't.

And sadly, until I started seeing these calls for growing awareness, I actually believed that it is something girls just had to 'deal' with.

At 29 years old, I am suddenly being made aware that perhaps, we don't.

I didn't think I was a 'victim' of sexual harassment. I never thought I had been sexually abused. Sure - I don't feel safe walking alone after dark. I always put my keys between my fingers walking to my car in the dark. I keep my head down and consciously avoid eye contact with men, when I'm forced to walk in an alleyway or through a park. But that's just normal, sensible behaviour.

Right?

Now, I am reconsidering. This campaign is making me remember the countless times I've been cat called, wolf whistled, tailed, bothered and 'harassed'.

I never considered myself a pretty person. I have never thought I look beautiful. I certainly was never been a 'popular' kid, or even felt like I had any shot at being 'cool'.

I was a moody, awkward, acne blessed, fashion faux-pas of a teenager, who never knew what to do with her hair, and would rather wear comfy clothes and read a book than dress up and go drinking.

I know I didn't feel sexy when I was cat-called from a car at just 15 years old while walking to church.

I definitely didn't feel happily complimented when I was followed by a man in a car while biking home from my zucchini packing summer job at 17 years old.

I didn't feel pretty when I hid behind a bush in a driveway and watched that same car drive slowly past - the driver actively looking for where I had gone.

I sure didn't feel loved when at 18 years old I was tailed by a man in Italy whom I tried to ignore  - which quickly became impossible to do, because he got out of his car and proceeded to try and drag me into it.

I didn't feel beautiful when he then grabbed me round the throat and tried to kiss me and grab my ass.

I didn't smile with pride when I was yelled at, abused and sworn at, for not responding to a middle aged man calling me baby while walking to work in the middle of Christchurch at 19 years old.

I'm nobody special. I'm not especially beautiful. I do not dress especially well, and definitely not provocatively. Yet all of these things happened to me.

These are the times that stick in my memory, and make me keep my eyes down, make me put my keys between my fingers and make me afraid to walk alone in cities, side streets, empty streets, parks and alley-ways. There have been countless other times - but I guess they just get blotted out, become a blur because they are so frequent and normalised.

Besides, I should feel happy that these men consider me worthy of attention.

Right?

Ridiculous Things You Say and Do, When You Have Kids - Or, A Day In the Life Of Me

"No Giraffes at breakfast."

"Stop biting the Cat!"

"Sooo, my baby stole my foundation...."

"What do you mean I have to get changed just because my jeans now have pee on them? No one at the mall will know."

"Hang on, just gotta wash this vomit off my collar."

"Why is there poop in my hair?"

"No Giraffes at lunch!"

"Nope, that's not a Duck, that's a Penguin."

"Nope, not a Duck. That's a Dog."

"Well, that does look like a Duck...but it's actually a Seagull."

"Why have you taught her to say Llama?"

"Oh my, she really does say Llama."

"Nope, that isn't a Llama."

"No, that's also not a Llama, that is a Duck."

"Don't put the Giraffe in your mince!"

"I know it's only 5pm, but can we pretend it's 7pm? She'll never know the difference..."

"For goodness sake, she has FIVE Giraffes - they can't All be lost!"

"Why, is there a Giraffe in our Bath Tub?"

Life After Baby - With Baby

For the first time in more than 2 years, I am feeling...

Happy.

I feel normal. I feel like everything is alright.

I am not manic. I am not depressed. I am not anxious.

I am simply, being, me.

It's been a long time between writing, but that is simply, because, I am...

Happy.

Things are going well. I am starting to glimpse a life where I actually can have a life outside of being Mum.

I can feel bits of me returning. Like my soul has figured out how to live my life again. After two years of adjustment and overhaul, the fragments of myself are coming back together.

Daycare has saved my life. Those precious few hours each weekday where I can catch a breath, where I can enter the world of the Adult, and teach a few kids or eager adults some beautiful songs. That blissful Friday afternoon I have managed to keep completely free of work, where I can sleep, or go to a movie. All of this has saved me, and because of that, I can really start to live again.

My new medication is doing its job. I don't feel cloudy, I don't feel suicidal, I don't feel dizzy, or nauseated, over-ambitious, crazy or any more tired than what I should be with a 13 month old running around the house.

My husband encouraged me to audition for Phantom of the Opera, which is coming here next April. I figured why not, but didn't think I had a hope in hell of actually getting in.

But I did.

I am dumbfounded, and excited and nervous about how it will work - but at the same time, this is the first show I will have done in over 2 years, and the thought (stupid and obvious though it may be) that I can do a show whilst being a stay-at-home-mum, is ......

Indescribable.

Decluttering the House to Declutter My Mind

I've been thinking and thinking about this blog, and about what to write about in this post. Each day comes and goes and I think I have something and then the next day arrives and that thing is gone.

I am finding myself in a strange state of motivation - one which my therapist says is a 'normal' state. But which might feel very elevated to me after being so down for so long. Either way, I am getting an awful lot done at the moment. I am also not getting much sleep.

Here are some good things -

• The little one is back at preschool (YAY!) 
• She hasn't vomited in exactly 14 days (YAY!)
• Two days ago she finally stood on her own! (multiple times!)
• Unfortunately she was naked at the time - so I can't post the photos here (Not so yay)
• I've started writing again! (YUSS) - although I'm not sure if that's good or not - as I seem to only really write when I'm not doing so well.....but I feel like I'm doing fine, so I will roll with it.
• I've been decluttering. 

Now, my husband says this always happens when The Block is on TV. But I disagree, I declutter when it's spring. When the flowers start to come out. When the air warms up and the seasons start to shift from grey and dead to brand new. 

I also see it as a way to declutter my head. To enact physically what I am trying to do mentally. The less 'junk' around me, the less in my head. The less crap I have to look at daily, the more time I can focus on my sanity.

At least, that's what I think it is - perhaps I am just headed for another crash. Fingers crossed that's not the case!

The First Birthday Which Came and Went

Writing is hard.

Like, really hard.

Not like, 'I-can't-eat-that-gingernut-without-dunking-it-in-a-cup-of-tea-or-I'll-break-my-teeth', hard.

More like, 'why-am-I-still-sitting-here-looking-at-a-blank-page-when-my-sink-is-full-of-dishes-and-I-don't-remember-what-my-bedroom-carpet-looks-like', hard.

I don't know how long it's been since the Little One actually made it through 24 hours without vomiting. It's definitely not a bug, we've been sterilising like mad. Boiling her drinking water. Soaking her bottles, sippy cups and utensils in Milton laced water, which, incidentally smells like hospital, and so, takes me rushing back to the psych ward in my mind, every single time the scent invades my nostrils.

I've now un-enrolled her from preschool because it wasn't making any financial sense to be paying for their services when she wasn't actually able to go. Unfortunately, this has meant that I am starting to go a little bit mental again. I need the daily break. I need to know that that break is coming. Which is why, over the past month, I have found myself staring at this screen, willing myself to write something. Anything. But nothing will come.

Yesterday, I cancelled her first birthday party, hours before it was due to start. Husband was none-to-impressed to say the least, but I didn't feel like I had a choice. My stress levels are on overdrive, we have family coming at us from all angles for her birthday, we are swamped in an ungodly amount of toys, I have vomit bowls placed all over the house, I am trying to make her drink to avoid dehydration, she isn't sleeping, I'm not sleeping, I'm having flashbacks of the birth, I'm terrified I'm losing my mind again, family need hosting, house needs cleaning, She is screaming uncontrollably. On, and On, and On and ON!

I'm about to be discharged from the mothers and babies outpatients unit because Little Miss is now 12 months old and that is their cut off criteria. I'm finding that I don't really care, or perhaps I haven't really thought about it. I haven't really had time to really contemplate it amongst all the madness lately.

I can feel my supports slipping away. I'm supposed to be 'better' by now. I'm supposed to be coping. I'm supposed to be getting on with my life.

I find myself being asked the same two questions over and over;

"When are you going back to work?"

"Are you going to have another one?"

But the thought of going back to work seems impossible, if she is sick all the time, how can I take that amount of time off from a job to care for her? How could I possibly manage the stupid amount of extra hours that come with being a High School Teacher, how could I find time to plan, mark, write reports? Could I find the strength to put on my teaching face every day? Perhaps it would be helpful to return to work though, perhaps it would be what saves me, perhaps it's what I need...

And then there's the second question.

Another one?

Really?

Writing is hard.

Getting Sick

In the past three weeks, my daughter has only made it to daycare on average once every three days. In fact, I've lost count of exactly how many times she's been in, because I'd swear that every time she returns, I get a phone-call mere hours later requesting that I pick her up.

Of course, whenever I see the centre's number on my phone now, I feel my heart skip a beat.

Seeing that number means a 48 hour exclusion.
48 hours before she can return to the centre.
10 hours of paid for childcare we aren't able to use.
2 days and nights of having a frustratingly happy, and healthy baby at home.

And then the weekends come, and she really is sick!

We've had four, maybe five trips to the after hours surgery in the past three weeks. Thank God for free doctors visits for kids. Thank God for healthline, we really should just put them on speed dial.

We've had chest infections, fevers, vomiting, hand-foot-and mouth disease, another stomach bug, a days respite and then straight onto the next round.

I am immune to vomit. And starting to question whether it's worth keeping her enrolled in daycare at all?

Why Depression Needs to be Treated Like Other Life Threatening Illnesses

I know. Another post about suicide in a week filled with posts about suicide. Because one man, close to so many of our hearts, felt so hopeless that he did the 'unthinkable' and ended his life, and suddenly, everyone is talking about it.

This week, all the mental health facebook groups I am part of, have been full of trigger warnings, posts by people being deeply affected by the ignorant status updates, tweets and columns being written by people who have absolutely no idea what they are talking about.

I've had this conversation before. "Suicide is the ultimate act of selfishness" I've been told by professionals in no uncertain terms. "Think of your family. Think of your friends".

I've had this conversation with a fellow colleague in regards to a student who committed suicide, he was angry and kept talking about how 'selfish' the student had been.

I've had this conversation with my husband in regards to my own depressive thoughts. Only to be pushed further into despair because truly, at that time he could not understand.

But they were wrong.

Suicide may be selfish, but those who attempt it, are not being selfish. 

In those moments, days, seconds when you are in that much pain, when you are watching those around you suffer because of your suffering, you do not try to kill yourself because you want out regardless of what it will do to those you love. You do it because you want out because of the relief it will bring them.

You see the pain you are causing them and you no longer want to be their burden but you can't see any other way to make this happen.

You see the toll it is taking on their lives, their spirits, their daily routines and you no longer want to be the one bringing everyone else down with you. But the pain is so great, that you literally feel it in every fibre and you have no idea how to make it stop.

Depression that deep, messes with you in ways that no one can articulate. It is an illness so insidious that most people who get it, will fight it silently for years, over and over again, without anyone knowing.

So next time you see a friend who is 'down', or you are confided in by someone who trusts you enough to tell you that they are feeling so bad they want to kill themselves, don't push them closer to the edge by telling them to think of their friends and family. Don't pull them deeper into despair by telling them how selfish they are being.

When you are well, you can see that taking your own life is not the answer. You can see that there is hope. But until we, as a society, are able to take Depression as seriously as any other life threatening illness, then those who are in need, are going to remain in the shadows.

Because would you admit to being unwell, if you knew you have a high chance of being told to simply 'get over it', or worse, being judged as selfish?

Helpful things to do/say instead;

Sometimes you don't need to say anything, sometimes nothing you can say is going to help anyway.

But what will help - and possibly save a life - is just to be there. Whether that's in the same room, or in the same house, having someone around when you are in that deep can really make you feel a lot safer. Sometimes you don't feel like you have control of your own actions, so having someone around to make sure that you don't do 'something stupid', no matter how bad you feel is always a good thing.

If they have told you they feel suicidal, call a psychiatric emergency service, and do a check of their house for potentially threatening items - especially if they are going to be alone for any reason! As I mentioned above, it can feel like you are losing control of your mind, and everyday items suddenly seemed magnified and dangerous. Think about areas of the house they might go to, and what might be useful to remove for the time being. If somehow they do find a way to move from their bed, not having to look at the knives in the kitchen,  or the razor in the shower, or the pills in the cabinet can really make a difference.

Make them a cup of tea/coffee/hot chocolate. Actions speak loud. Real loud. And if someone takes the time to do these little things for you it does get through, sometimes just a tiny bit but perhaps that will be enough.

Make them muffins/food/casserole. Just like you would if they had a bad flu, or a new baby. Having good food they can stick in the microwave and eat without having to actually cook or create is a godsend. When you are depressed, your energy and will power are sapped, you end up eating whatever is at hand, or often, nothing at all because it's just too hard. Having frozen food will actually help keep your loved one healthy and help them get better.

Of course, being there in a non judgemental way is sometimes hard, and if you are having to care for a depressed person alone, you are going to struggle. So make sure you have support for yourself too!


Obligatory 'get help' contact details

• Lifeline: 0800 543 354 - Provides 24 hour telephone counselling
• Youthline: 0800 376 633 or free text 234 - Provides 24 hour telephone and text counselling services for young people
• Samaritans: 0800 726 666 - Provides 24 hour telephone counselling.
• Tautoko: 0508 828 865 - provides support, information and resources to people at risk of suicide, and their family, whānau and friends.
• Alcohol & Drug Helpline 0800 787 797  
• Whatsup: 0800 942 8787 (noon to 11pm)
• Kidsline: 0800 543 754 (4pm - 6pm weekdays)
  

Nappies

A week ago, this happened.

For those of you of the international persuasion, Pams is the non-branded brand of 'things'. They make the cheap versions, and are just one step up from 'Budget' who are the really cheap option.

As you can tell, I was horrified by this. I had horrible visions of the nappies falling apart. Of having to change them hourly. Of nappy rash to rival the black plague. Of having to change the cot linen every single morning!

After days, and days of telling everyone I could find how INHUMAN my husband had become, and exchanging tales of foreboding with everyone from the staff at the preschool to my Mum, I finally finished the bag of beautiful Treasures Nappies, and was forced to use....

...a Pams.

"You're on morning nappy duty." I smugly informed the Husband. Knowing without a doubt that he would instantly regret his thrifty purchase. Revelling in my self righteous wisdom on the superiority of the Treasures.

Morning came, and in typical fashion, the Husband did not 'get around' to changing her nappy before running out the door late as usual, and it was with a sinking heart and an increasing sense of despair that I shuffled half asleep into the nursery.

What I saw, absolutely defied explanation.

The sheets were dry. 

Her pyjamas were dry.

Her nappy was full to exploding, but it was still DRY!!

Well, world. I am forced to eat humble pie, and it is a bitter, bitter taste.

It has been a full week now, and I have not had a nappy fall apart. I haven't had to change her any more often than usual. She has not died of nappy rash. She doesn't wake up wet, and I haven't had to change the cot linen even once.

This week, I was the one who did the groceries. When I made it to the nappy aisle, I found myself reaching for a pack of Pams Nappies.

Because, at half the price, why wouldn't you?

Searching for Faith

For a long time now, I've found myself becoming increasingly jealous of my christian friends.

They always seemed so...happy.

While I was floundering about in a confused daze of 'what the hell is going on in my life', they all seemed to have life sorted, they had 'the big guy' to fall back on, they had faith and they had answers to their questions.

I wanted that too. I wanted the security of knowing that everything had a reason. I wanted to be assured that I was never alone. I wanted to know that someone always had my back.

But I just didn't believe like they did.

I couldn't just 'accept' like they did.

I would ask questions of them, in an attempt to understand a little better what their secret was. Sometimes they answered me as best as they could, sometimes they got defensive, many times even offended by my often relentless inquiry.

How do you know he's real? How do you talk to Him? Do you really hear Him speaking? Can't you see that you have been brainwashed? Why does He let all the bad stuff happen if He is so good? Aren't you just burying your head in the sand, ignoring what is really going on in life?

I would sometimes mention in passing to my Husband - "I think we should become Christian." As if it  could happened, just like that. "We should start going to church again." I would say.

He would ask, why?

I would answer with a shrug, "Because they are so happy. I want that."

But I had too many questions. Too much cynism. Too much fear after watching what my sister went through. How cut off from our family she became. How little we all understood her, feared for her, feared for US if we lost her.

But then I hit my lowest ebb. And, as many of have and will do, I had nowhere left to turn. I was begging for help of a power I did not know.

But something responded. Something spoke back. Something took me to a church, brought my sister to me when I needed her the most. Something showed me that even with the tiny grain of desire for faith that I had, I could find a way through that darkness.

Months on from that fall, I am still trying to find my way. I am going to church and listening to the ministry. I am asking the same questions and searching for the same answers, but now, I am open to hearing the replies.

15 Minutes of Fame and Terror

Stroller update: After my (admittedly excellent) complaint letter I sent them, the company responded in less than 24 hours and picked up, couriered and fixed the stroller all at no cost! Well done, Britax.co.nz!

On a similar note, our pretty cool phil&teds high chair almost killed the child, when the screws became loose in their plastic and the base of the table fell off. I complained on their website repairs request form, and despite not having a proof of purchase (I uploaded a note stating as such in place of the required proof), the company have sent out a replacement chair at no cost. Well done, Phil&Teds NZ!

Now - on with business.

I've been submitting some of my blog posts as articles for different news/current affairs outlets here in NZ recently, in a bid to get a bit more practise writing, a few more things to add to my writers CV, and to gain a bit more exposure in the hope of actually one day getting paid to write (one can hope).

I didn't expect much to come from it, and then, out of the blue (on the one day that our internet decided to crash and leave me without access for 24 WHOLE HOURS(!!), my Mum calls me (which she never does, it's always me doing the calling - just sayin' mum) and practically screams into the phone;

"What on earth have you been up to!"

I had no idea what she was talking about, and responded in kind.

After much to-ing and fro-ing I finally managed to extract from her overexcited self, that my face was apparently plastered all over the nz news website 'stuff'.

I feel that 'plastered' may be a bit of an exaggeration. As is, 'making it to the front page' as my sister delighted in telling me, those stories are not above the fold after all. But, it was definitely there.

I felt a bit proud about it all, and when I was able to have a look at it, the number of comments and likes and shares was simply staggering.

My first thought was;

"Oh my god my face is on stuff and hundreds of strangers have read my story!" 

Which promptly sent my stomach into somersaulting flips of socially anxious terror. I immediately jumped to the conclusion that everyone would know it was me. Everyone was going to be judging me. I was never going to be able to leave my house again!

I breathed.

I told myself that was ridiculous.

I said "in a week, no one will even remember the article. Let alone, who wrote it."

Then I smiled, realising suddenly, that someone with Social Anxiety Disorder would not be able to do this. That a few years ago I wouldn't have even posted a picture of myself on the internet, or commented on something online, let alone considered sending such a personal story complete with a picture, into NZ's most popular news site. The social anxiety disorder which has plagued me for nearly two decades, and which would have rendered me an absolute panicking wreck had I been in the same position in the past (which would never have happened because I never would have written a public blog ever!), was no longer there. 

Finally, I am taking pride in what I actually love to do, and making a go of it. I shouldn't be ashamed, I should let myself read the comments, surely that many comments can't be all bad. So I took another breath, and I read some of them.

And then I read some more.

And I was amazed, every single comment (103 so far), was either from someone who had been through a similar experience, or from someone who was being supportive. 

1,200 people were moved enough by my writing to actually hit the facebook 'like' button and post it to their page. 

This.
Is.
Insane.

My second thought was;

"Why didn't I include a link to my blog!"

Maybe I'll have to submit another story...

Death of a Stroller

Dear Stroller People,

13 months ago I purchased a strider 3 stroller from an unnamed store in Christchurch Canterbury. It's been a great stroller, it did everything I needed and wanted a stroller to do. 

However, just on 3 months ago, something started clicking in the left wheel. At first we thought nothing of it, we figured out that we simply had to push the break lever up a bit more securely to stop the clicking from happening.

But over the 3 months it has gone from a semi irritating click that we were able to stop from happening, to an unfixable, insanity causing, incessant clicking from which there is simply no escape! 

I finally reached the point last week where I am actually unwilling to take my now 10-month-old out in the stroller, because the clicking from the wheel is absolutely horrendous. I swear you can hear us coming half-way down the road, and there is nothing I can do to fix it.

We took it back to the store - receipt in hand this morning, realising that we had unfortunately just passed the one year date a mere 3 weeks ago, yet hoping nonetheless that perhaps, the store would be able to help us out and either replace it or fix it. Of course, we were out of luck, and so I am writing to you.

This was a $600 stroller. I had intended to use it until my daughter could no longer fit in it. But apparently, that is not going to happen, because I am being aurally tortured every time I use it.

We have only been using it for 10 months. I am thoroughly disappointed that it has rendered itself unusable in such a short amount of time.

Until now, I had been recommending it to all my baby friends, as it is such a fantastic stroller. But now, I just want to through it away.

I don't know what sort of warrantee or guarantee you have as the supplier or manufacturer of this stroller, but if there is anything you can do, that would be eternally appreciated. As a new family who have had to go down to one income, buying a new stroller is not something that is going to affect us lightly.

Sincerely,

A frustrated mum

Hope and Wire - clear headed review

Dear Friends who are of Maori descent,

I am sorry for somehow forgetting about that fact in last nights traumatic unloading! I sat there thinking, hang on, almost every major character is Maori. I live in christchurch, and I don't think I have any maori friends - aren't we 'supposed' to be the 'whitest' city in the country? I scanned through everyone I know and thought - nope, I am a horrible Chch stereotype, I have no indigenous friends. So, lovely maori friends - of which you are surprisingly many - Feel free to smack me with your Taiaha when we next catch up! (I'm joking, please don't).

Hope and Wire was, at best, an attempt at a documentary, trying to make you feel something for the characters and then perhaps feel something for them when the fake-quakes struck.

Unfortunately, those quakes were poorly executed - not enough noise during, not enough silence after, but I guess we shouldn't expect too much from an auckland production.

I was angry at how the (I assume) Merivale or FendAlton family were portrayed, I felt slighted by the extraordinary display of poshness presented by the mother of that family. I think we were supposed to be feeling something for her once her son got hurt, but I didn't. I was just annoyed by her hair.

The best and most believable characters in the show are the little maori family from Bexley. The mum in particular was by far the most relatable and convincing on the show. Her emotions were raw, her trauma and her anxieties spot on. Her character wasn't actually there for the Feb Quake, but it was her character that I felt the most for when it happened.

People are talking about all the focus on the christchurch stereotypes that were rife - anti asian, skin heads, drinking, property tycoons vs the tenants, teenage girls in health clinics and uni students being activists. It didn't make any sense. Who are they trying to reach with these stories?  I feel like they tried to appeal to everyone at once, and in doing so, have completely failed to connect with anyone.

I think it would have been better to focus on one family - the Bexley Family, and to focus on how they survive before, during and after. That would be a programme worth watching. That would do the earthquakes and the people a justice they are otherwise being denied as this programme tries to be both poorly done soap opera, and ground breaking not-quite documentary. No pun intended.

Hope and Wire

As I sit here watching the TV3 dramatisation of the earthquakes, I am wondering why I decided to watch it at all.

I think maybe, I wanted to feel something, relief perhaps. Maybe I wanted to prove that I am over it, that I don't care anymore, that I can actually watch something with earthquake footage in it and be ok.

I was an extra in one scene. I'd auditioned for the show the day I found out I was pregnant, and when I got called up to be in a scene I thought it would be fun. But it wasn't. It was cold, and took 5 hours longer than we were told it would. Plus, they didn't pay a lot of us. I didn't say yes to any other offers of work.

I was impressed that they started in September. It seems like everyone else has forgotten that February wasn't the start of it all. Like it was just one earthquake. All the others not as serious and therefore, not really there.

I thought it was funny, the way they filmed the September Quake, a lot of screaming, camera shaking and a funny scene with a naked property tycoon and his young asian wife. I also thought it was funny how many maori people were playing lead roles, since I hardly know any maori people, and I live in Christchurch - the whitest city in NZ. Then I chastised myself for being so racist.

But then graphic showed up telling us it was now February 22nd, and out of nowhere I felt nervous.

Little graphics started popping up, 10:38, 11:07, 12:35. I was messaging my sister, telling her I was getting nervous. One of the characters was driving, trying to get away from the city for a quake-break, leaving her husband behind for work. Then the clock ticked to 1:07. She turns on the radio to news of the quake and I start to cry as I see her face. I remember making that same face. I remember too much.

And then it was 12.51pm.

They interspersed shots of drama with actual news footage. Shelves shaking. Cars shaking. Cathedral square and Cashel St. Bits of building falling to the ground.

Suddenly it all comes rushing back. The sound of the 'cannot get through' signal on the cell phones. My fear that my husband was dead. That surely the uni had collapsed. The gridlock. The sirens. The immediate and numerous aftershocks. I was shaking so bad I feared I shouldn't be driving. But then I wasn't sure if I was shaking, or the ground was shaking.

Then I am crying, and I can't stop. The most I've cried about the event since it happened. The fear, all rushing back. I'm remembering being sure that my husband was dead. That the university must have collapsed in such a shake. I remember the desperation of pressing redial, redial, redial, and hearing those horrible, lonely trio of 'cant get through' tones. I'm remembering the desperation of parking on the side of the road and running to the university because the roads were stuck. No one could move. The students were evacuating. Everyone was trying to reach everyone else.

I wanted to watch this show to prove I was ok. I haven't watched anything else about the earthquakes until now. But clearly, I am not.

I wonder how long it takes to get over something like that. Or if perhaps, you just don't?