April 14. Day 104. Superheroes

Do you ever wonder what super power you would choose if the super power gods decided to show some largess to us mere mortals? Hell I do.
As a mother I often feel like I am already called on to have eyes in the back of my head, be able to read minds and to somehow be two places at once.
That's novice stuff. But sometimes the pressure to be Wonder Woman - a pressure I fully admit comes mainly from myself - wears very, very thin. As I said yesterday, at the moment I am having difficulty holding the tuckshop lady arms up to the world and declaring in the way of Batfink: "Your bullets can not harm me. My wings are like a shield of steel". The shield of steel is feeling just a bit rusted and not quite bulletproof at the moment.
Which is why I commend the group that I ran into at South Bank this afternoon. These caped crusaders were promoting Capril A Beyond Blue anti depression and anxiety initiative. The idea is to encourage people to go about their everyday activities in April wearing a super hero cape to let people suffering know there is help available.
A gold star and an elephant stamp for whoever came up with that. Some days just getting out of bed seems to require a superhuman effort. It's like there's a big ball of kryptonite in the room. Knowing there is a utility belt out there if you are not afraid to ask is a great start. You guys really are heroes. The costumes rock too.

April 13. Day 103. Grey and miserable

I could blame the weather for the great cloud that seemed to follow my every move today. And it has to be said the bleakness did not help. At all. But there is more to it. Much more. Like the fact that for a so called smart person I can be really stupid and a very slow learner.
Some years back, also on a Saturday, I ended up in the GP's surgery dehydrated and very ill because of a flair up of a chronic inflammatory disease. As I was taken off to hospital and put on a drip I confessed that, well, I had stopped taking my medication because I was feeling okay.  Clearly I didn't actually bother to think through why I was feeling okay. Lesson learned the hard way. Never again.
Except.
A few weeks ago I stopped antidepressant medication because I really didn't think it was helping. Went cold turkey.
The big black cloud and its mate the black dog that have been circling since would suggest that it was working far better than I gave it credit for.
Let's just say I've had far better days than today.
So lesson learned this time hopefully for good.
As the photo shows, I can be a bit of a drip. But in the words of Annie, I feel confident the sun will come out tomorrow.

April 12. Day 102. The wet spot

My carpet is a patchwork quilt of wet patches formed from the little accidents of my new puppy pal. Actually I'm pretty sure the word accident is totally misplaced. It rather implies something occasional, unfortunate and out if the ordinary. Nope, that's not the situation here. Strike out the word accident and replace with deliberate. Perhaps that's why I liked this leaf I spied in the city at lunch time. Little puddles everywhere. That's my reality right now. And that's not all.
Chew marks are evident on shoes, in soft furnishings and on my limbs. Can I just say that puppy teeth are bloody sharp? It's no wonder their mums kick then off the breast at such a young age. Ouchy.
In addition, getting dressed is something of a challenge when something small but furry thinks that what he is seeing is an invite to a tug of war game with every item of clothing you try and put on.
So you might be thinking that the puppy honeymoon period is well and truly over.
Not so. I'm not saying I enjoy puddles of puppy piddle but I forget them in the blink of an eye when I open the door and this little furry ball of cute comes charging down the corridor to meet me tail wagging furiously.
A dog breath lick on the face and I know longer notice the chew marks in the sandals.
That unconditional love that a dog has for its human is special enough to make you forgive and forget the wet spot on the floor.
I mean accidents happen right? You can't let such wee matter get in the way.

April 11. Day 101. Sprains, strains and anaphylaxis

I was lying on the floor with a man I barely knew tying me up. I was bound by the ankles, at the knees and at the upper thighs - I know. How 50 Shades of Grey of me. Not so. My femur was broken.
A little later it was my forearm being bandaged and later still I was applying a defibrillator to the chest of a dummy.
First aid refresher day. Eight hours of reminders of all the things that can go wrong.
Not that I need much reminding. At the start of the course our trainer Bruce was working his way through the first aid responses to a series of common illness.
"Right, heart disease. Who has someone in the family with heart disease?" I raise my hand. Over the next hour or so he continued "Epilepsy". Tick "Asthma?" Tick "Diabetes?" Tick. "Febrile convulsions?" Tick, Tick Tick. Three members in my household and a veritable bingo card of chronic illnesses.
Which is precisely why my hand shot up when some years ago my employer was looking for volunteers to be first aid trained. And it is why I always agree to attend the refresher courses.
I was never a scout, but I will be prepared. I will also be more prepared for the course next time. Note to self. Wear a shirt that keeps you nice when you are leaning forward over a dummy delivering CPR. The idea is to treat heart attacks not cause them. And if there is a possibility of a stranger binding your legs, try to make sure you have waxed. It is only nice.

April 10. Day 100. A bit of a mess

Okay, I admit to being a bit of a mess today.
I thought my little puppy was ill. He seemed totally listless, lethargic and totally off colour,
But, to borrow from the Monty Python Dead Parrot sketch, I think he was just tired and shagged out after a long squawk. When the batteries were recharged the jumping, leaping energiser bunny of crazy was back and ready to par-tay.
I confess i can be a catastrophist.
It is not a question of whether you see the glass as half full or half empty. I am more likely to worry about would happen to the glass should there be an alien invasion.
Take a chill pill sister. Anyway with much of the day gone to work and worry there wasn't much creative energy left.
So after a 4pm lecture I wandered off into the visual art studio to see what students had been playing at.
This is how I envisage the contents of my stomach when in catastrophe mode. Colourful isn't it?

April 9. Day 99. Pretty little bird

 

I know. I know. Another bloody bird photo.

Can I just say it is not my fault? I try to take a photo of something that reminds me of what was unique or special or stuck in my mind that day. But today I was expressly forbidden from taking my camera out at that ah ha moment. Forbidden on threat of death.

So instead you get a pretty, colourful bright young bird. If all else fails, settle for a metaphor even if it is a bit tired. 

You see today Theatre Boy and his mate when to lunch and the movies with two girls they met at a dance. It was not, I have been told repeatedly, a date. Just a group of friends going out. As you do. But this is new territory for me. One step closer to the young one flying the nest (see what I did there? Another metaphor. I thought I'd better point it out because it was so subtle you might miss is).

I know no other details (anyone would think my son might be scared I'd blog about it if he said anything. What me? Noooo. I wouldn't stick my beak in where it wasn't wanted).

So there you have it. A bird in the tree and a mother who might just be allowed to live to blog another day. If there's no post tomorrow you'll know why.

April 8. Day 98. Riding high

I need to make it clear that I never rode a bike like this, not even close, mainly because that would require a level of skill way, way out of my league.
While I'm a huge adrenalin junkie most of the things I am drawn to really just involve falling - abseiling, bungee jumping, tandem parachuting - all you have to do is close your eyes and fall from a great height. There's nothing to it (except convincing yourself that really isn't as dangerous and stupid as it looks)
Falling I can do. In fact I still have the scars on my knees to prove that falling - especially off a bike or scooter - was something I was very good at.
As one scab almost healed there would be yet another fall and yet another wound to take its place.
You'd just get up, dust yourself off a bit and then get back on the bike.
That's pretty much what I saw at the skate park today where quite a crowd had gathered to enjoy a sunny school holiday Monday.
Showing off his quite amazing skills at the Table Top Air is 17-year-old Jacob who assured me that really this manoeuvre didn't need that much practice at all. I'll just have to take his word for it. That one, I have no desire to try. It looks a lot more complicated than advanced falling.
Boys and girls and teens of both genders were riding high at the skate park this afternoon and when the spills inevitably came, the kids would get up, check everything was in working order and then line up to do it all again. Oh to be young and fearless.
Having a go was as important as getting it right, practice make perfect and all that and if you have a few thrills and spills on the way so be it. The scabs, I can assure them, heal eventually until then you might as well go along for the ride.