My blog is dying and I feel bad.

My blog is dying and I feel bad. I do feel that I have some good reasons, since I have spent the last hectic month preparing to up and leave the country all while falling for a very nice boy (I am the master of horrendous timing).

So in between saying my goodbyes and packing up my life, I have neglected Bloggy friends and my Google reader may just collapse from the overflow. I am currently sitting in a gorgeous apartment in Hong Kong, looking out the lounge room window view of enormous ships sailing on the chilly harbour and wondering how my life got to the place where dreams actually come true.

I’m not sure if I will continue with this blog or begin a new one, in between the emails and the facebook updates. But I’ll be sure to let you know if my travelling begins the birth of a new blog. For now I’m taking a temporary break, but I’m still reading your posts and thinking about your lives.

Please e-mail me if you are wondering about mine.

Signing off for now..xx

What I know for sure. (It’s holidays and there’s a lot of Oprah involved).

I don’t know much, but I do know…

Trying to fix your mobile charger with a soldering iron doesn’t work. You end up using your Dad’s old clunky phone because your own phone is rendered flat and useless. Having a lamp lit ‘Storytime’ session with your friends, reading aloud old diary entries ensures hilarity.Singstar + work colleagues = fun. Strawberries taste nicer when you pick them yourself, even if it means you have to spend more time washing them than devouring them.

If you are a teacher and you go to shopping centres during school holidays, you WILL see your students. When trying new cocktail recipes, your efforts seem to improve with the more you make (and drink!) Hours at work may drag, but biannual dental appointments arrive in a flash.

Chocolate and water tastes better when it’s cold. Summer colds suck. There’s something nice about knowing that you are someone a friend calls in a 4am crisis. I will think nothing of spending $20 on a cocktail at 1am but will use the same disposable razor for months until it grates my legs.

You can tell a lot about someone from the content of their ipod. The world always seems a better place after a hot shower. Kissing is underrated. It’s always an appropriate time to play a John Farnham song. It’s always bin day. My self belief escalates rapidly if my nails are painted.

That’s all for now.

Delete, delete and start again.

I deleted 1024 text messages from my phone this morning.

This was a minute job that I had been avoiding for quite a while. Not because I am unable to use my hands or because I don’t know how to do it. Every time my phone took 5 million hours to load a photo or refused to take a picture for lack of memory, I knew some deleting was in order.

I know I’m crazy as a coconut, but I just could never do it. Each of those little texts was a pocket of a memory. A reference to a long forgotten in-joke, a reminder of why I dated that guy, a reminder of why I dumped that guy, late night mini conversations from friends continued in a sleepy haze and bland reminders about appointments kept.

I’ m one for hanging on. I hoard organisers from high school and university (there’s something blissful about realising that on this day in 2001, an English essay was due…) Hidden in the depths of cardboard boxes, deep in storage is a tiny sparkling bucket of erasers my Dad bought me when I was home sick from school in Grade 1. I constantly refer to the past for tips about the future.

But this is a new year. Some say a new decade. So, I’m resolving that the only object jammed up with memory will be my head. It’s a new day, I have an empty inbox and I feel good.

Nobody says it like Miley.

Yesterday I climbed a rocky tower at a hidden beach. One of those gigantic rocks that everyone in the town knows exists, but nobody eludes to where it actually is, because telling of its whereabouts could spoil its exclusivity. I’d spoken about this rock with friend’s siblings. Guys I have dated had asked me if I’d known about it. It’s that kind of rock.

My cousins dared me to climb. It was high. I’m scared of heights. But I love a challenge.

As I began to clamber up the vertical wall, loose sand spilled from under my bare feet. My fingers panicked and searched for rocks that jutted out, that would give me strong leverage. Reaching the top seemed impossible, but I could feel the smoothed, worn limestone where others had climbed before me. Other people had done it, so why shouldn’t I at least try? Even friggin’ kids were up there, it had to be possible.

I made the mistake of looking down while halfway up and realised that I had the choice to keep going or fall down. Vertigo shot through my body in a wild rush as I imagined tumbling down the rock face and I knew that like with so many things, it was easier to push on.

Eventually, crawling on all fours and clinging to the ledge at the top, I made it. A man I didn’t know, who had been climbing behind me gasped, “It’s like God made this rock just for us”.

As I tiptoed along the edge and stared at the azure water and people were   expectantly watching below, I couldn’t help but make a cheesy comparison to reaching a certain point in life and beginning a new year. Sometimes it’s easier to keep going when you feel like giving up or the dream seems too big. Maybe you keep going because it’s easier than going back. Perhaps it’s because you can’t let down those who are watching you climb. But you reach a stage when it’s a matter of self preservation. When it’s better to jump than be pushed. Jumping is scary, but standing on the edge waiting is worse.

So I hope you jump in to 2010, ready for whatever you may land on. (Just remember, it’s all about ‘The Climb’…cue Miley…)

Happy 2010 kiddies!

Think happy thoughts.

Brandy is one of my favourite favourite bloggers. Although I do not know her personally, I do know that she has an incredible taste in music and career choice. She also hits the nail on the head regarding just about everything. This post has been bobbing around the internet, however if you haven’t read it yet, please do and add her to your good holiday thoughts.

My name is brandy. And I have a blog.

And a plea.

I use my blog to showcase the crazy I meet everyday, share the stories of the kids I teach and document my love for tequila, dairy products and the abdominal muscles of Ryan Reynolds. Rarely do I talk about personal issues on my blog- as personal as the dude that I adore (who I actually met through my blog- single ladies, let that be a very good reason to blog, the possibility of meeting someone as wonderful as my man), but I need your help. And it involves my dude.

He’s a guy who made math comics for my class, so they would love learning about addition. He’s the kinda guy who sends my friends gift cards when they are having hard times, who remembers every story I ever told him, who was the first person I celebrated with when I got a teaching job. He’s the guy who sent flowers to me at school- dozens of my favourite pink roses just because he loves me. He’s a guy who has spent a year patiently explaining (and re-explaining) everything there is to know about football during the important games when silence is preferred. He’s made me word puzzles and comics and stayed up late playing Scrabble with me (even though I beat him almost every time). He’s listened to me cry about school and family and jobs. He is everything I never knew I needed and everything I always knew I wanted.

The holidays have hit us hard. He’s recently been told he may have something called multiple myeloma- an incurable cancer, that gives a person an average of five years of continued life. Though this news has came as a shock, he continues to be exactly who has always been- spending his time worrying about me, rather than worrying about himself. He’s the most selfless individual I know- (he stayed late on Christmas Eve to work, so his co-workers could leave early) and a post like this would never be something that he would promote or encourage but when I’m overwhelmed and feeling helpless, the blogging community has always given me tremendous support and comfort, two things I desperately need at this time.

As I write this, the future is uncertain and we aren’t sure what’s happening. He’ll need to see an oncologist soon, to verify what’s going on in his body. My hope is that everyone who reads this think positive thoughts and if you are a person who prays, could you add him to your list? (You can refer to him as ‘brandy’s hot awesome dude’). If you don’t pray, please keep him in your heart.This cancer is only a possibility and I believe that the prayers and positive thoughts of people can make sure it never becomes a reality.

I want to give a big thank you to the blog owner who scraped their original blog plans and graciously put this up. My goal is to get as many people as possible to see and read this post. If you are reading this and want to help, copy and paste my plea into your blog or send a link through twitter, so more people can keep him in their thoughts. I would be so very grateful (even more grateful than I am to my friend who first showed me the picture of Ryan Reynolds on the cover of Entertainment Weekly. If you haven’t seen it, google it. You. Are. Welcome).

I realize this all sounds dramatic, a Lifetime movie in the making- but this is life. Right now. And I’m throwing away any hint of ego and am humbly asking for you to pray or think kind thoughts. If you are able to pass this on, thank you and if you know anything regarding MM- please email me (my email is on my blog). This isn’t a call for sympathy or a plea for pity. It’s just one girl hoping you can think positive thoughts for the person she adores. If my current heartache provides you with anything, let it be with the reminder that life is short, love is unbending and no one knows what could happen next. Maybe it is silly, but I really do believe that positive thoughts can make a huge difference. Thank you for reading this and if you haven’t already? Please tell someone you love them today.

I did.

Lazy, hazy, crazy days…

It’s taken less than a week, yet I am completely and utterly settled into the passionate life of doing not much.

By ‘not much’, I kind of mean the active version of ‘not much’, that involves drinking wine, sitting on the beach, reading crappy novels (so deplorable that I wouldn’t even watch the mini series version) and wasting money on phone calls to friends in Paris while hoeing my way through leftover Christmas cake.

My remaining brain cells are working at 50% of their power and I’m wondering whether any of them will survive the duration of 2010, when I plan to be doing a lot more of the same, except with more dancing and foreign cities thrown in. (Not that I am at all stressed about this, as I’m having a fabulous time. It’s not normal that the memory of consuming soft cheese in every meal today could trigger such feelings of satisfaction).

It’s a comforting, easy thought knowing that I am spending Summer in the same little nook of the world where I have always holidayed, where I know every street, every short cut and every bitchy sales assistant who is angered by holiday crowds. I see the same strangers on the beach and watch their children grow up. My body virtually goes into first gear and my brain grins as soon as I arrive at this place.

I wonder whether I will return here with the same enchanted feeling of coming home after my big trip? Or whether I will be disillusioned by the small town beachside charm? (I doubt it, this place has the best home-made gelati and vanilla slice in Melbourne).

Do you have a little home away from home where you grew up? And do you still feel the same way about it? Tell me what you’re are thinking, super cool bloggy bunnies…

Life lessons from the greats.

Do you adore sameness and predictability? I’m a sucker for tradition.

I am comforted by the knowledge that no matter  the disasters that have occured throughout the year, my Mum will ensure that Santa still leaves pressies and Lotto scratchies fly out of the Christmas Bon Bons when they are ripped apart (even though nobody ever wins more than $5).

It feels good knowing that Christmas day is a small family affair, with the day sliding past in a slippery blur of chocolate for breakfast, lunch with all the trimmings, Macadamia Mango crunch for dessert, wine and sunshine all afternoon. Channel 9’s ‘Carols By Candlelight’ will buzz in the background, I will munch on cherries til I’m ill and will walk on the beach all afternoon.

I get a little lump of excitement in my throat, countered by reassurance, with the expectation that Boxing Day will be better than Christmas, that I will wear a new dress, shower my little cousins with tickles and glow on the inside when they brag to me about their VCE scores, performances in dancing contests and hopes of moving to the city. I will be forced to sit on the knee of a distant cousin in a tacky Santa costume, participate in Irish dancing competitions and sing ‘Fame’ with my many female cousins, even though I can’t carry a tune in a bucket.

I like these Christmas events because I understand them, I know how they work. As I get older, I begin to wonder if it’s merely the familiarity that makes them good or whether it’s the way that they remind me of past memories. I often think about the episode of ‘Sex and the City’ (‘cos this is where I get my life lessons) when Charlotte decides to give up Christmas for Harry, but is spurred on by the thought that the new memories they can create may be better then those she ever had.

Do you like to do the same thing every year? Or are you brave, do you try something new with the hope of a new tradition in the midst?

Do tell…. I wanna know.

Not really about Christmas, but…

The sun is shining, the birds are singing, holidays have arrived, Christmas is on its merry way and I spent last night dancing til my feet were bruised after slapping a random hot boy’s bum. Life is good.

I awoke this morning in a panicked state after dreaming that I hadn’t planned any lessons for the week, couldn’t teach anything normal I had thrown out all writing materials and my Preps had turned into 16 year olds. I need a plough to get past all the teacherish gifts of mugs, hand lotions, make-up bags and chocolates, yet it doesn’t feel like the end of the year. Evidently, the fact that work is over hasn’t quite seeped into my brain yet.

I watched my work life get packed away, carried by a train of tiny children and dumped into the boot of my car this week. I won’t miss the meetings or the writing of reports, however I know that while I’m off on my own adventure, my heart will yearn for some things.

I’ll miss walking around on yard duty in the playground while children probe me about my love life and gush about their aspirations, providing me with more entertainment than I could beg for.
“Miss, when I grow up, I want to be a teacher, just like you….hair in a bun, Chinese eyes…”

I’ll miss teaching my kids the ‘Nutbush’, ‘Macarena’ and ‘Timewarp’ during Sport lessons. That’s what happens when I’m asked to teach Sport. And, if you ask me, these dances are essential life lessons.

I’ll miss watching 23 children yelling “T-SHIRTS! T-SHIRTS!!” when asked which music they would like to listen to while they munch their lunch. My kids are addicted to Taylor Swift. Their mothers must curse me as their children sing the lyrics of ‘Love Story’ while in the bath. But I know for a fact that four of my girls are receiving tickets to Swifty’s concert from Santa. Because Santa’s cool like that.

I’ll miss complements that make my mornings easier. Being greeted with “Good morning Butterfly!” or “Good morning Optimus Prime!” is a pretty big complement from a 5 year old. Or implies that I look like a Transformer. I’m not sure.

I’ll miss doing a happy dance and high five-ing everyone in the immediate vicinity upon witnessing that after 10 months at school, a little girl has figured out letters signify sounds and can write a sentence phonetically. HALLELUJAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I’ll miss getting teary watching children dressed as angels sing carols. I’ll miss giggling about inside jokes regarding fruit cheese with my fabulous colleagues. I’ll miss Friday night “debriefs” (read: gossip). Sticky fingers. Crowning kids with sparkling birthday hats and eating cupcakes made my mums. Sticker bribery. Dress-up days.
How much do you want to bet I’ll be back?

What do you miss?

My Christmas brain and me.

The difference between what my brain plans for Christmas and what actually happens.

• Decide that I am going to be the Martha Stewart Prep teacher master crazy person and bombard my class with easy but attractive craft projects on a daily basis. Have a mental breakdown and threaten to axe Christmas craft altogether after glitter stars infect my carpet in a classroom version of herpes.
• Appease friends, save money and display my creativity by making homemade Christmas cards. Note to self- felt, glitter, craft glue and cardboard= $20. A box of ten purchased cards, which don’t look like they were made by a blind person wielding a glue gun= $3.
  
• Make a Gingerbread House. I went through a massive gingerbread phase this year. The house could still happen. Or, if I get lazy, it really could not.
• Become the person who has their Christmas shopping done and dusted by October. I started last week.
• Aim to expand my Christmas carol addiction. Become hooked on Hi5’s ‘Jingle Jangle Christmas’ CD. This wasn’t what I intended.
• Brainwash my Preps with magical Christmas memories, urging them to write letters to Santa. Take the letters home and write 23 individual replies. Spray them with water and stick in the school freezer. Interrupt class by running outside after hearing a ‘strange noise’ and return with frozen letters, direct from the North Pole. Giggle myself silly when the kids pretty much hyperventilating with excitement. Tick that box, baby. If I do nothing else my Christmas brain demands, I’m happy.

Pic from We Heart It.

Sir, I have an addiction…

Five year olds speak the truth. It’s a cold hard fact, in the same way that Britney is terrible at lip synching and Oprah is a god. This morning when my class sat down in front of me  one little girl gasped “WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOUR FACE?”

You know what was wrong? Today, fair ladies and gents, I went sans make up. This wasn’t due to laziness or a social experiment to see how people would react to my fresh skin, I just went to school early to do a bi-weekly fitness session with the other teachers and forgot my make up bag.

I know I am a princess, as I am frequently reminded by my brother. I do wear light make up daily (the usual combo consists of foundation, blush, mascara and lip gloss). However I do not apply said make up with a trowel and like to think my face is somewhat visible underneath it.

I was a little startled when I remembered my make up bag was sitting at home on my bathroom counter. My face felt naked and I spent the day feeling like I hadn’t woken up properly. It was all very “Stars Without Make-Up” edition of Who magazine. I wondered if I would get any other horrified reactions, but I only had a few of my colleagues ask if I was ok or comment that I looked tired (which I kinda am… but only 3 weeks til holidays!)

So maybe I do have a make-up addiction. Yet I’m not really keen to spend anymore work days looking exhausted and feeling that something is “wrong with my face” to find out.

How frequently do you wear make-up? Do you feel lost without out it? Tell, tell..

Me all made up on the weekend… I can’t help my ongoing lipstick/gloss infatuation.