Our Mothers' and Fathers' Stories

I just returned from a night at Gleebooks listening to some wonderful Australian authors talk about a book which by the title 'My Mother, My Father, On Losing a Parent', sounds like a bit of a downer, but it was filled with more laughter than tears.

The authors wrote of their experiences of their parents' passing in a way that made them think that they may be becoming their parents and the majority of the audience's reaction seemed to nod along.

I bought the book and lined up with the other fans for Thomas Keneally, David Marr and Kathryn Heyman to sign and possibly get to tell a little of me to them.  I always blurt out the weirdest shit when I meet someone I admire and this time was no different.  Let's just say David Marr was either impressed with my blurt and he really did think I should write about it or his eyebrows shoot up his forehead and he says this to shoo away pesky weirdos all the time.

Nevertheless, I actually said something for a change to all three of them (Thomas Keneally shared a joke about ever present dead mothers with me) and I wasn't totally embarrassed with myself.

On a related note (but a much sadder one), Mr Moneymaker's Little Nanny died last week (our kids called her Little Nanny as she was tinier than her daughter/their grandmother, Nanny).  She was 90 and only suffered for a short amount of time but lived the life of a tough, Maltese immigrant that lived through the bombing of her home and who almost single handedly brought up a large family in a new country with almost no English.

She spent her last years in the care of one of her daughters without complaint or demands (as far as I know). She must have had a huge influence on her children as all five of them kept close and lived within ten minutes of each other most of their lives, along with most of their children (I think Mr Moneymaker was the rebel there).

Unfortunately I cannot make the funeral but I hope that her progeny send her off in the manner she deserved. But with a touch of humour and sentiment.  I didn't have much contact with Little Nanny but the times I was with her I could tell there was more going on in her mind than what most of the family seemed to think (I could be wrong). But there were times at family gatherings where someone would almost always do something ridiculous and when I looked to see her reaction she would have a slightly Mona Lisa smile, possibly wondering how this huge, noisy and outspoken family originated from her.

Hopefully someone has remembered her story (I would love to have known what she was like as a girl) as David Marr did. As his father was on his death bed, David did what he always did throughout life - he took notes.  Its something I wished I did, along with asking, even urging, my parents for their story.  As it is, I'll just have to make some of it up.

Do you know your parents' stories?

**Joining up with Jess for IBOT**

Things I should have asked my Mum

Not to start on a downer, but today is the second Mother's Day without my Mum.  In the last few years she really wasn't aware what day it was any day of the year, so actually for the last 14 years Mother's Day has been all about me.  Don't get me wrong, I used to buy her a gift and wished her a happy day, but it would more than likely confuse her more.

Today I started thinking about what I would have liked to ask her when she was alive and aware. She was a fairly secretive woman and would occasionally come out with a little snippet of her past or some saying or advice which wouldn't be accompanied by an explanation. For example,

• "Don't volunteer for anything"
• "Bloody Harpers" (some mysterious family history there that I didn't find out till years later)
• "You get on my wick!"
• "Don't hang around like a wet week"
• "When you get your period you will finally be able to swim" (apparently tampons have magical powers in the pool)
• And the inexplicable "Don't put anything in your whatsie that you wouldn't put in your mouth first"(???)! 
• Whenever a car would honk their horn outside she would say dryly "Can't come out tonight, the old man is home".  
• "Weeee!" whenever a champagne/Spumante cork popped (which was more often than you would think!).
• "If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all" (I say this all the time!)

So to commemorate Mother's Day, here is a list of some questions I would have liked to have asked my Mum:

• What advice and stories did your Mum and Dad tell you?
• What was your favourite toy as a child?
• What was your favourite book?
• Did your Mum read you stories?
• Did you jump in your parents bed in the morning, like we did and like our kids do?
• What was your first job?
• Who was your first love?
• How did you cope when your first child passed away?

These are questions I will never get to ask her (and some others that are too private to put here).  Why didn't I ask her when she was alive. Probably because I knew she would give me a flippant answer and brush me off because she had a "sick headache". Not one to get deep and meaningful, our Mum. And she was a bit scary in her heyday!

So the lesson here is make sure you talk to your Mum while she's still around.  Even if you don't get on, what's there to lose? Don't leave it till it's too late, she can't talk to you from the other side (though my brother begs to differ!).  But if she CAN hear - if you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all.

Happy Mother's Day Mum!  Cheers!

*Joining up With Some Grace for Facebook Lovin' Sunday*

The Yellow Car© Story

Once upon a time there was a tiny little girl called Chicken who loved to go on expeditions with her Daddy.  These expeditions would take them all over the land of Sydney to pick up and deliver mysterious cardboard boxes which would contain tiny, shiny yellow and green digging machines that her Daddy would sell to excited collectors.

One day they were on a long expedition to the Far West when a very shiny, yellow sports car sped past them and Chicken yelled out "yellow car!" and because it was in the time when they was hardly any yellow cars around, they wanted to follow it.  Now as sports cars are very fast and blue station wagons are not, they tried to drive very fast on a lonely freeway to catch up to it.  

They never caught it.

And ever since then the legend of the Yellow Car began a tradition of the best car game in history, Yellow Car© .

For about 13 years we have been playing this game which is simply points given for every yellow car spotted. If you spot a yellow van, it's double points; a yellow truck or bus, triple points; a yellow helicopter (yes I have actually scored that one), 10 points.

This game has given our family hours of lively competition on long and short car trips.  Admittedly some are more competitive than others and this has developed into a list of rules mainly set by the main driver, Mr Moneymaker.  The rules have been contested fiercely as they seem to change with every spotted yellow car.  For example, cannot award points: if there are an odd number of people in the car; or if somebody is asleep unless it's Nugget; or if the car engine is not running; or if the yellow cars spotted are lined up in a row, say in a car yard.

They go on and have kept growing to the point where Chicken decided that a Yellow Car© Rule Book was needed.  So she created one with all the rules that were already set and extra pages for those that were yet to be created (and we knew there would be more!).

I know that we've never kept a record of our scores (even though that yellow helicopter spotting should have been the winner of all time), but this one I spotted in Akaroa, New Zealand last week should have been the all time classy winner:

(it's even got my species on it!)

This game created by our family has now been passed on to other families and friends so it can grow and spread throughout the land, perhaps one day to become more popular than I Spy (and don't tell me everybody's not getting totally sick of that game!).

So if you're hard up for a simple game to play in the car (it can even be played by yourself, not that I have, ever, no no no), please feel free to go right ahead.  And if you get a little bored of Yellow Car© you can try our offshoot game, Mattress©.  That's where you spot mattresses dumped on the side of the road, if you didn't guess it already.

*Don't forget to check out my fundraising page for Care Australia to motivate me doing 10,000 steps a day with the Digital Parents Conference team.

**This true fairytale is part of Essentially Jess's IBOT.

All Shook Up

At our last visit at our family namesake's street

This Thursday I will be flying off to Christchurch with my three sisters to take Mum's remaining ashes back to her birthplace.  In fact we were all born there but Mum was brought up on a dairy farm which is now the local golf course.  There are some massive pine trees at the outskirts of the grounds which, if we are discrete enough, is where we may be 'planting' her (I really hope no NZ golfing officials are reading this and decide to do a stakeout this weekend!).

Jess with her Grandad and Nanna

Now most people that know me well are aware of my (probably) unrealistic fear of flying.  Yes, yes, I know there's more chance of me dying in a car crash than falling out of the sky (and don't think I'm not a little jumpy in a passenger seat on a freeway!).  On top of unexpected turbulence (and expected by me of course), there is a real fear of disaster that is just a bit more real in Christchurch.

Earthquakes.

I avoided the airing of that documentary about the Christchurch earthquake 2 years ago accidentally on purpose.  I didn't need the reminder in graphic detail shown on hand held cameras. I did however catch the end of the program afterwards showing the volunteers clearing rubble for the five days after the disaster.  Sobering stuff.

I know its probably going to be an unsettling experience (particularly when I see the site where the TV station's building collapsed, killing many including the brother of a friend of mine), but I'm kind of looking forward to being there.

Just not looking forward to being in the air for three hours to get there.

And though we are doing something supposedly seriously sentimental (love a bit of alliteration), I'm looking forward to the four of us traipsing around our birthplace and having Mum come along for the ride.

Three sisters at lunch in Akaroa on last visit

The house that Dad built where I was born....

which is next to the cemetery (which happens to welcome Birds!)

Any Kiwi's out there need me to bring back some chocolate fish?

*Joining up with Essentially Jess for IBOT*