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Motherhood - by K.L. Almeroth

Tears for a lost Hero

September 20th 2006 06:05

Well, Miss Toddler and I had every intention of hanging out all of the three loads of washing we’d already done by 9am today.

But then we were sidetracked by the memorial service for Steve Irwin, and we stopped in our tracks.

We watched the service, and, what can I say? I cried. Cried and cried, for the loss of such a man. Yes, with Miss Toddler there.

There will be a lot of people out there, my family and friends included, who will be outraged or upset that I allowed her to see me cry. But how could I not? The world has lost a hero, one who worked very hard for the animals, for conservation, for Australia. We lost a great person, and I’m grieving for him, for his family and friends. I make no apologies for crying.


Miss Toddler watched the service in fascination, at all the crocodiles (she particularly liked the crocs and elephants!) and at all the singing. And, of course, when Blue Wiggle came on, you couldn’t wipe the smile off her face.

For me, the death of The Crocodile Hunter has really affected me. From the moment I heard the news (thank you, Husband, for breaking it to me), I went into a depression. For a couple of days, I was very, very sad, and, on top of that, feeling like some kind of freak, cause I didn’t even know the guy! All I know of him is from what I’ve seen…

And that’s enough for me to grieve. To mourn the loss of him. His death has affected me like no other celebrity or public death ever has before.

Perhaps because he was such an Australian icon. He was invincible. Hilarious. Strong. And he did such good for our wildlife, our homeland. He touched all of our hearts.

And his beautiful daughter, Bindi…she is the pin-up child for strength and resilience, I think. My heart just broke all over again at the speech she gave, and the inner strength and even defiance that came out of her. Natural defiance, that she was probably not even aware of, that yes, she loved her daddy above all else, but she will go. She will be strong, for her mother, her baby brother. And she will live up to her father’s name.


If you ask me, she already has. She is a little hero, or heroine (if this was a romance book; something I know well!), already. She will help her mother grieve, and her brother. They will continue Steve Irwin’s dream.

And I’m sure I’ll be touched and cry at many more instances, while the Irwin family put their lives back together. While, over the years, they continue Steve’s dream, and his wildlife park.

I want Miss Toddler to grow up with emotions, to see life, to experience feelings and know what they are. To not be ashamed of them, or of her mother, for crying.

I think today, as we farewell such a wonderful man, father, husband, friend, and best mate to the crocs – all animals, actually – allowances can be made for a weepy mother.

I’m sure there’s plenty more out there on this day.

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Toy Catalogues: A New Religion

September 14th 2006 13:34
Miss Toddler has gone to bed tonight, for the first time ever, without a battle.

This alone is suspicious.

Still, I had writing to do...that attractive, sexy hero to join (my lead character, before the gossip mills start churning)...my beautiful, bold heroine needed to kick some more butt (no, not me, my book character)...plus my frazzled, worn-out, Mummy body needed to rest at my desk.

Plus, my husband and I (or I) pride myself in knowing her room is completely, utterly, 100% baby/toddler/monster proof.

This is my excuse for accepting she's gone to bed (for the first time), with no getting up, no running around the house with us trying to catch her, none of the bribery bedtime entails (chocolate, McDonalds, we'll watch Hi-5 all day until Mummy is insane, anything if you'll just go to bed!)...

So what if there's an eery, highly suspicious quiet looming over the house? So what that she hasn't got up one hundred plus times to fetch one more book, one more toy, that pink coloring-in pencil she just must have to fall asleep with...as long as she's quiet and in bed.

Yeah, right. She may be quiet, but my instinct was right the first time: quiet equals she's up to something.

I finally drag myself from the computer, where hero and heroine are kicking supernatural butt, while getting it on (this is romance, after all...its not realistic...its what women want!) - I trudge to MIss Toddler's room...

To find her in the middle of munching on a toy catalogue.

See, Miss Toddler has a 'thing' for toy catalogues. She runs to the letterbox most days to see if any have arrived (much like Mummy, my friends tell me). She peruses them for long periods of time, with the seriousness of a scholar. She takes them to bed with her (one of many things she takes to bed with her).

This, however, is the first time she's decided to make her toy catalogue something of a ritualistic sacrifice.

I tell her no, take away the rest of the soggy catalogue, and inform her they'll be no Playgroup tomorrow because of this (who am I kidding? We'll be there, 9.30am sharp).

To which she starts merrily singing the 'Tomorrow' song from Annie.

You know the one. 'Tomorrow, tomorrow, I love ya, tomorrow...'

Of course, she can only say 'Tomorrow,' but she keeps the tune almost remarkably.

I scrub the black ink that's all over her face, as if she'd first laid on the catalogue before commencing making a meal of it, then leave her in her bed, without her entourage. I've taken everything off her, except for her blankets.

I worry, for the next couple of hours (okay, I'm still worrying now), that she'll be damaged permanantly from this in some way. I mean, after all, it was a K-Mart catalogue.



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Mummy the Romance Writer

September 13th 2006 07:45
I’ve been writing my whole life, it feels like. At least since I was about eight.
A couple of books under my belt, three stories published in magazines, and I’m still here – my actual books unpublished.

But that’s okay, I tell myself. It’ll happen one day.

In the meantime, I juggle Miss Toddler and my writing. I write romances, you see, which sometimes seems like a small miracle, inbetween all the daily ‘Mummy’ duties.

I try to cling to my tall, dark, handsome hero I created as I change yet another nappy. As I scrub the mountain of dishes piling up on the sink, I cling to that scene I was in the middle of, before I realized the plates were about to topple onto the kitchen floor if I didn’t clean them right this second - the scene where the hero and heroine were indulging in tequila shots before getting down and dirty.

I just get down and dirty with the dishes, and my mint-flavored dishwashing liquid (not that I've ever tasted it).

I come up with sexy dialogue while ‘Play School’ is on in the background – quite talented of me, really, with Big Ted and one of the presenters playing dress ups. Nothing sexy about that! At least, not in my view.

Yet I cling to the romance in my head, even if my life is lacking in said romance. Miss Toddler and I visit the library, once again (its what we do, its our day jobs), and as she tugs me along to the children’s section, I gaze longingly at all the books on the shelves, all the published books on the shelves, and feel incredible, overwhelming sadness that nobody’s read my book (apart from the friends and sister I email my work to and demand they read and critique and get back to me, all in one day), that my name’s not blaring from the cover, that no one’s perusing the blurb on the back of my book.

That no one's discovered my talent for romance writing.

Me, me, me. Its all about me.

Then I notice Miss Toddler is riffling through the kids books, searching madly, and saying, over and over, “Elmo, Elmo!” My heart just breaks at the adorable picture she presents, searching madly for an Elmo book to take home.

And I realize its not all about me, at all. Its all about her.

She’s my greatest gift, my greatest treasure, my greatest achievement. If it takes me forever to see my made-up romances come to print, I just have to remember the real-life romance of my husband and I that brought her into this world.

That’s all that matters.




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The Wonders of Elmo

September 12th 2006 04:26
Its been a long day in that hard, brutal land, where screams for chocolate, McDonalds and going to the park bellow out at random times, and where that cup of tea you made never gets the attention it so rightly deserves: that land being Motherhood.

Today Miss Toddler is in a mood. Granted, she’s recovering from being ill, but still, Motherhood is a trying land today. We’ve had tantrums, sobs, book throwing, and refusing to go to the toilet, unless its in one’s nappy. Yes, toilet training is a whole other story


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