Rain!

When I was little I used to think that I just loved winter, but as I have grown older I have realised that it isn’t just that.

I love the rain!

Whether that be a summer storm or a cold wet day I am happy when I can feel the wetness on my skin and smell the rain in the air as it falls. If you were able to bottle the smell of fresh rain I would always be happy. People often think that I am weird in this, but the truth is I don’t care!

I have danced in the rain more times that I care to recall. As a child it was only ever done when I wasn’t near mum and dad who would tell me that I would get a cold or get sick, but as I have grown up I lost my ability to care if I got sick, it was more about the fun factor. While everyone else around me reaches for an umbrella the moment that the skies start to look threatening or the forecast says that there is a chance of a shower, I reach for my glasses wipe for after the rain is over and wish that I had worn contacts so that even that wouldn’t be needed. It doesn’t matter if I am exploring Venice, if I am standing on a bridge overlooking a flooded river in Katherine, NT or if I am just dancing in the rain with my nephews, it is all about the fun and the rain.

Driving to work today there was the remnants of overnight rain still in the air. I smelt it before even leaving the house and I knew that it was going to be a good day. After not having rain for over 90 days it was a welcome change. Walking outside I was assaulted with the smell and couldn’t help the smile, even in my still sleepy state, that rose on my face. Getting into my car I lowered the window so that I could have the smell follow me all the way to work. It started to rain a little, but it still wasn’t enough to make me wind the window back up.

Given that it is still warm outside the rain hasn’t done much for the humidity in the air, but I am still smiling and hoping that this rain will last for just a little longer. A storm would be complete it. The only thing better than rain is thunder and lightning as well. I live in hope that it will happen today, but if not, it isn’t going to be long before winter is upon us and rain becomes the norm for each day again.

Give me the wet wintery days over the heat and sun any day!

It doesn't rain, it pours!

I am tired. Oh so tired. It is more than that though, I feel fragile emotionally. I am not one to like admitting to weakness, but I can admit to this. Shattered is a good way to describe it.

It started last Thursday when I got a call at work from my sister asking me to get the afternoon off work and take dad to the hospital. This was the beginning of the week I have been living. After numerous hours in emergency they agreed to admit him so I was finally on my way home. The parking fee was disgusting (don't even get me started on that), but I was too tired and hungry to care.
The next few days have been like walking a tightrope between work, home and the hospital. Emails, SMS' s and phone calls between my mum, dad, sister and me have been at an all time high. Today marked day 7 of dad's hospital stay with no end in sight. The last 2 days I haven't made it to the hospital I have just been too tired.

Tonight I am sitting at my sister's house while her kids sleep and she goes to Netball. Easy really but I am tired and can't wait to get home to sleep, or at least try to sleep. It is one thing that hasn't come easily in the last few days. My mind won't stop running.  Part of me wants to chuck a sick day, but I won't. For some reason exhaustion doesn't seem like a good enough reason to have a day off work. I am not dead or dying. There are others worse off than me.

My brother had a scare earlier and we called an ambulance for him, but thankfully he didn't need to go to hospital. Instead he will see his gp tomorrow.

The positive to all this is that even with the stress, the constant worry and the lack of sleep, I haven't had a migraine. At least that is something (now so when my doctor was convinced that stress was causing them).

Now I wait. It had rained, poured for a little and now I am back to rain again. Let's see what tomorrow brings.

It's not a tumour!

I get headaches and migraines. Not a big deal you may think be for someone who prior to 2 years ago rarely took any kind of pain relief it is a big deal.
Even now after many doctors visits and him assuring me there is nothing wrong,  sometimes when the pain is to much I seriously think that there is something majorly wrong with me.

In my head I have imaginary conversations with my doctor.

Me: The headaches are back, I think it is a tumour.
Doctor: It's not a tumour! (for those who have seen the movie Kindergarten Cop you will understand how my doctor sounds)

I can go weeks or months with no issues at all and then wham they are back. In the last 2 years I have worked out that it happens either of 2 ways.

Option 1 has no warning and can keep me in bed, light sensitive, for days at a time. If I am out our at work I know that I need to get home and get home fast otherwise someone is going to have to come and get me.  I can't work and I can barely get our of bed on those days to do the basic things like eat, go to the toilet or shower. The pain is indescribable and a lot of the time pain relief doesn't touch the sides.

Option 2 is like a cyclone forming. You know that it is coming but don't know when it is going to hit. I find personally that I can function enough to work most of the time, but that is my limit. As soon as the day is over I struggle to drive home and make it to bed. If it is a weekend I sometimes don't even make it out of bed as it requires to much energy.  I am constantly tired but the pain in my head is not strong enough to call it a migraine,  but is still enough to knock me on my butt. In saying that, if it continues for to long the end result is not being able to get up and function at all. Work is out of the question and my best friends become my bed, my eye mask and pain relief.

Both options leave me lethargic and while the initial headache/migraine may only last a day or two the after effects are, what I find, longer to recover from.

Neither is overly pleasant, however it had become a part of my life recently. Not exactly one that I want to stay though. Some days I wish that I knew what the trigger was so that I could just avoid it.

Nicknames

Everyone has a nickname or at least a name that they get called even if it is not one they have chosen for themselves.

I was recently emailing a friend and had a laugh. I have always emailed her and call her slapper every time. I can't for the life of me recall how she got that name.  All I know is that everyone called her that when we worked together and it stuck. In return she called me buggerlugs this week and I had a chuckle to myself remembering (surprised me too) that when I was little I used to get called the same thing. Now thinking about it more I got called a lot of lil nicknames growing up. None of which I ever picked for myself. 

These days the most common nickname I get is one more not one that I would have chosen for myself. It does however make for a good punishment. Before I tell you what it is I will tell you my recollection of how it came about (I am pretty sure that my sister will tell it differently).
When my sister was pregnant with her first child she asked what everyone wanted to be called. My parents are nan and pop. My brother was happy with just being an uncle. I on the other hand didn't want to be called aunty. (I have never been a fan of the word or the term. I don't know why, it just didn't sound right to my ears). I was given 9 months to work out what I wanted to be called or my sister was going to decide for me. In her eyes it wasn't respectful enough for me to just be called by my first name. At the time it didn't seem like such a hard thing to work out, but it turns out it wasn't as easy as I thought. 

9 months passed and so did my deadline. It wasn't until my oldest nephew started to talk that I realised that my nephew was learning to call me moo moo! Not exactly what I had in mind when I said that I didn't want to be called aunty.
Now another nephew is on the scene and between the two I have lucked out and frequently get called aunty moo or aunty moo moo.

I have up a long time ago trying to change their minds on what they call me. These days or kind of makes me smile. Like all nicknames though it really does encourage people to talk about it and how it came about. Part of me thinks my sister in her subtle way was calling me a cow for being difficult. Personally I don't care, it sure isn't the worst thing that I have ever been called.

My memory and crocheting

My memory at times can be a little iffy. Especially when I am trying to remember things from years ago. Like everyone I have my days where I get up, walk into a room and then forget why I am there. What scares me though is that sometimes it is the important stuff that I forget even when the conversation is recent.

I can look at old photos from my childhood and not remember when they were taken or who I am with, but I recognise the faces. They seem familiar and I never know if it is because of the photo or a memory. Through photos I know that I did gymnastics but I don't recall it at all. There are many such moments that I have no recollection of. It bothers me when I go to places and they seem familiar but I just can't place why they are so.

With this in mind it did however come as a surprise that I recalled learning to crochet as a child. Granted I don't remember if I was any good at it, but I remembered it so that was a starting point. Recently I decided to get a refresher on it and see if I could relearn it. Turns out that even though I remember nothing, but the fact that I used to know it, even after what I assume to be over 15yrs since I attempted it, I still have the skill.

It was a Friday night and while I was having some mother daughter time I asked mum to show me again. Now in the past I have been told that I used to try and learn it left handed. This time around I didn't care which way I learnt as my dexterity had improved in my opinion. Mum started me of and did a few rows before slowing it down for me. That was all that it tookfor me to pick it back up again. I can't describe what a rush that was. To realise that even though I can't remember some things about growing up, I still,  somewhere in my head, know them.

It was an even better thing to be on the train back home from a friend's place and be crocheting during the 45 minute trip. The best part was when a young girl asked me what I was doing and her grandmother explained it for me to her.

Sure I look like a nanna, but I don't care. At the end of it I am going to be the one who has a handmade blanket to keep me warm. Made by me with my blood (well that might be an exaggeration), sweat (it is hot in the Perth summer), tears (in frustration at the wool slipping off of the hook) and numb fingers. It will be worth it though!