Author: The Domesticated Ms Hemsworth

2020. This year started as a shocker after the completion of the shocker that was 2019. As an Aussie we faced entry to the new decade surrounded by fires that had been burning the length of the state since October 2019.  The constant smoke haze and subsequent air quality and pollution was unprecedented. The damage caused – unfathomable and just when we felt like we had started to claw our way back and the world was helping us finance the disaster with celebrities everywhere sending funds – COVID 19 hit our shores.

I remember saying early on – late January when we were first getting reports – that the Zombies would come in ships. I was joking – but then… they let a ship – a contaminated ship – The Ruby Princess go out – and come in. This was to become one of the biggest sources of outbreak NSW was to see. The Zombies arrived.

I toddled into work on March 11. They had already started damage control. I was sent home – to hopefully return in a few weeks time. But to set up to work from home with a dongle, a laptop and a wing and a prayer. And then the closures all started happening. And then the panic. There was no birthday lunch this year, there was no trip to the movies as the cinemas closed that weekend. There was only chaos and sadness and things that got scary. And all we could do was prepare our homes, try to purchase toilet paper and hand sanitser and bunker down for whatever was to come.

Its now the end of May. The world is slowly starting to wake up again. Some would say too soon. Some would say not soon enough. Others are spruiking conspiracy theories.

We have Avatars popping into our socials, business is conducted by Zoom,  work is being conducted on sandy beaches (because they have reopened in time for winter). We can book a holiday in regional NSW from June 1, but once we get there the “holiday” needs to be planned with military precision as everything requires booking. There is no spontenaity allowed.

We are in this for the long haul now. The key will be to be very aware and wash your hands and stay safe.  May your Avatar represent who you are. Mine is fat. And Im fine with that.

For the past 12 months or so I have been in a quandary. A no mans land, a vortex of self doubt and pity. A land where I didn’t feel like it would be wise to sit at my desk and write and share with cyber space how I was feeling, how I was doing, what I was cooking, what we were renovating now.. because – well no excuses but I just couldn’t.

To say its been busy has been an understatement. To say the changes have been significant and many – also an understatement. I guess a while back I came to the realisation that my day alone was being spent not so alone, with children who had gotten into the groove of taking advantage of their mother being home and not being well enough to push them to go to school as much as she should.

Miss the bus? Ok go back to bed then. Feeling sick? Yes well go back to bed then. Don’t want to do people? Well neither do I so go back to bed then.

But lately the lights gone on.

So with Miss M reaching the 18 year old milestone this year, and HSC year its been a shock to the system. Ive had to go into push hard to keep her there, and boy its hard. We are near the finish line now. Three more trial exams to do and the plethora of major works to present, and then the exams themselves. What happens after this ? Who knows. But we will open that box when we get there.

Master L is embarking on his year 10 journey this year. Its filled with the decisions and choices that are normally faced down by a 16 year old. He will be 15 in two weeks and he’s facing it down like a true champion.

Whatever happened to the good old apprenticeship at 14 and 9 months? If he could, he would and he’d be a bloody good little apprentice too! Instead we are ticking boxes, like physics and construction and being a little confused. But that is ok. If there was ever a time to be confused do it in your teens. As long as you sort it by the time you are ready to fly, you’ll be right. You’ll be ok.

Now to me.

For the first time in nearly seven years I find myself totally at home alone, except for the cats, dog and chickens. From 7.30am to 3pm daily. THE FIRST TIME.

Last time this happened I was still juggling day care or school drop offs and working full time. Last time this happened I had a husband home, but working nightshift. So really in our almost 20 years together this has NEVER HAPPENED. NEVER

I guess I have some choices to make going forward. I guess its time to find who I am again. Ive always had my husband by my side through the week and Ive always had the kids on the weekends. Ive always been surrounded by voices and things to do, and company.  Fridays were my only days of solitude. My only day alone to get things done. Now I have Monday to Friday and well, Im kinda lost.

I dont know where to start. I don’t know what to do. Apparently on todays agenda is make salted caramel melting moments for husbands new department at works morning tea tomorrow.

and for that, I must go get ingredients.

But first, I blog.

I blog as the voice of the former Mummy blogger who is now the menopausal middle aged woman, surrounded by cats ( one of whom is a tiny panther trying to drink my coffee).

So heres to the new chapter. Heres to finding my new normal.

xox MsHemsworth

As we get older, we get wiser – mostly. We learn from the mistakes we’ve previously made, we become better people and we move on (mostly). As a woman in her mid to late 40s my level of tolerance of bull poopie has decreased I was going to say annually, but at the moment it seems daily.

With peri menopause my secret spidey senses have gone into overdrive, and there are some things I can see with more clarity, even though the prescription in my glasses has gotten higher and astigmatism sets in. In chatting with other women of a certain age, it seems to be a sound topic , once we start the discussion that come 40 something, we develop certain superpowers.

Other than the superpower to repel bull and malarkey with rapid fire intensity, we also develop other powers. One of mine I have discovered is invisibility.

I have always enjoyed people observing. It’s been always pleasurable for me to sit and people watch, enjoying the passing parade. People are fascinating to me. And I’ve always been happy to watch silently and invisibly. Yet, my disappearance into what we consider life, has been a threatening and daunting prospect. BUT, instead of thinking of this power as invisibility as a bad thing, I’ve decided to embrace it and use it as a power of stealth instead. Combine that with years of people observing and I think it’s perfect. For me.

Another power that has revealed itself , only really in the last week, is my ability to digest horrible words, reassess them, pop them into perspective in my head space and not put up with bullllllshiiitttt anymore.

Through all this however, there is still uncertainty. Why is it that as this distinguished older woman, I fear daily for my teenage children who walk from home to schools and bus stops? Why is it that as a woman, I need to teach my teenage daughter to look over her shoulder for fear she may be taken by some sick bastard without a conscience?

Recent events in our own backyard, and in a city in another state have made it abundant,y clear that we have a seriously flawed and failing system. And as an avid people watcher and observer, it is abundantly clear that this system fails us continually and let’s the dangerous walk among us. While we, look over our shoulders and teach our children to look over their shoulders. And this is wrong. So very very wrong.

We are the voices of a generation of change. We are the ones who have paved the way for our daughters and our daughters daughters to be able to walk proudly as functional independent women with voices. Why is it that it seems that so many want to tear this down and take it away?

What does it mean, that women can make movies and be empowered and set themselves up to be role models only to be pulled back down and stripped bare by mainstream media and people who sit behind keyboards (ironic hey) and troll and attempt to muddy reputations and deliberately set out to hurt people who are genuinely trying to make a difference?

One thing to me has been abundantly clear this week, and that is that it is my job to protect and build and shape and guide my children into the best people they can be. To have them, flaws and all shine like the stars they are meant to be. And to absolutely have no one take this from them.

My heart goes out to the local child who was taken this week, innocently walking to school. She has been touched by evil. Yet a big HUZZAH to her parents, who are obviously striving to teach this young lady strength and independence as even after her ordeal she managed to make her way to safety and has astonishingly managed to keep herself together enough to give an accurate description of her attacker.

She will be marked forever by this horrendous crime, but I firmly believe that this young lady will be a future leader, and her words and life will be meaningful and long. I hope for her she holds this strength she has found this week in the face of such terrible adversity and it follows her through her whole life. And that she finds her superpower to deflect anything that ever tries to pull her down again. She is a brave brave little lady.

If there is one thing as a mother and a woman this week, I can take from these horrendous events and crimes upon women and children, it’s to SPEAK OUT, with clarity and consideration and conscience and be heard. Some may not like what you have to say. Some will do their best to pull you down and stomp on you. But it is your job as a woman who is part of the generation of firsts (yes we are the generation that went out to work, we are the generation that made our voices be heard loudly). It’s our job not to lose this right former generations fought for. It’s our job to be seen and heard with clarity and sanity.

It’s our job to teach our children to be strong and resilient, but caring and nurturing. It’s our job to teach them to be wary but to not be afraid.

Once I had a Glomesh purse. It was a purchase I had made with funds that I had gathered from my multiple babysitting jobs and my part time after school job at McDonalds. On the grand sum of the $2.25 an hour I earned as a not quite 15 year old, you can imagine back in the 80s, my Glomesh purse was something I had coveted and once I had it, treasured.

It was not unlike the one pictured, but it wasn’t golden it was silver. It contained my meagre earning and my hopes and dreams and it was a symbol to me of freedom and everything I could become. I loved that purse. It wasn’t ever destined to be mine for very long, but i remember it with fondness and the lessons it taught me. And the nostalgia thoughts bring now.

How I loved that purse. That symbol of me growing  up entering the adult world of working status it gave me while still being a school girl at a Catholic all girls high school in a small town. It was my pride and joy. From the time my mother had shown me hers years before, I had coveted the sparkly business and I knew that once I had the money to purchase and something to put in it I would buy myself one.

I think it was my first meaningful grown up purchase. A far cry from the trend of the day, which was the velcro surfie wallet that everyone seemed to have. It was sparkly, it was girly, and IT WAS MINE! I had taken it to school with me in my hessian haversack (covered in the mandatory peace symbols and smiley face badges also popular in the day). Usually it would have been transferred from sack to locker. But on the one fateful day, I left it. In the sack. With a feeling of safety (after all everyone else around was in class right? ) but, as I returned to my sack, and collected it outside of the assembly hall it felt light. It felt empty, and I knew before I reached inside , my glosmesh purse was gone. Along with my shiny new ATM card and my earnings from my babysitting job the evening before (earmarked for entry into my account.. they never made it). Along with my naivety that nothing  bad could ever happen and that I was in a safe secure world where things you loved never got taken from you.

Someone else it seems had wanted my Glomesh purse more than me. They also wanted my bank account more than me, as they tried on several occasions to use it and withdraw my money. This was in the times before tap and go, imagine if that had been available? This was another adult first. The first time I’d been violated by theft.

I reported the left of my prize possession to the school principal, who took into account my description of my purse. Which as I’ve said before was not a common purchase amongst 14-15 year old girls but more so a treasured and coveted item. And again another first occurred. The indifference of someone (the principal was a Nun and therefore possessions of vanity like my Glomesh purse were not a priority for her). I could see on her face, that she in her righteousness felt my purse was a statement of vanity and wealth and that I should not have had my purse at school. That indeed I should not have had the audacity to have flaunted such wealth in front of my peers. And my heart sank and broke a little as I realised, and was made to feel that this theft was my own fault. For being so darned stupid to even bring it to school in the first place.

A few weeks past, and nary a mention of my purse, but many more haversack thefts occurred. The thieving ring was not only targeting the Glomesh purses, they had moved on and were stealing the velcro surfie wallets that I had downgraded too after the theft of my purse. Said velcro wallets were being found emptied and abandoned in bins in streets near by the school. Obviously the theiving ring was thriving and yet,  my Glomesh purse was never recovered. And they tried and tried to use my ATM card, but back then, there was no CCTV.

Once day I was sitting at lunch with a group of friends in the school yard when a girl who had wanted to join our table arrived and was welcomed. She sat beside us and with a wry smile, offered to shout us all drinks from canteen. A generous offer indeed. An offered accepted and friendships bought. From her haversack she pulled a glittery shiny object. From her haversack she pulled MY GLOMESH PURSE. And I could bet the contents of that purse were ill gotten gains from her thievery. And yet in the blinding flash that was my purse being pulled from her haversack in the autumnal sunshine, she also blinded my friendship group. In the purchase of cooling and delicious treats.

I knew it was my purse, but I could not prove it was my purse, and apparently it was a gross invasion of her privacy if I insisted I looked inside that purse , full well knowing my ATM card was still contained within along with a sneaky $10 in the hidden compartment. And my name, written in the lining discretely.

I informed the principal yet again of my suspicions, but again, I was made to feel showy and a stupid girl for having said purse at school in the first place. I don’t even know to this day if this young lady was questioned but I do know, that afternoon, I found my ATM card discarded by a bin. A few streets up from the school. And my friends drifted away and formed a circle around the girl who now held my Glomesh purse.

I’ve never been able to buy another. It breaks my heart.

I was reading an article this morning that was a letter written from the ex wife to a new girlfriend. It struck a chord with me. Not that it was about ex wives and new girlfriends but one statement in particular contained within the article.

Apparently once a woman enters her 40s she starts to disappear. And in this last 12 months in my life nothing could be more true.  I think I should stop reading articles as another I read this morning was about a career woman who was pregnant but didn’t want to announce her pregnancy as she felt it crushed her identity. And I totally and utterly understand where she is coming from. TOTALLY

When I was a career girl, I suffered countless labels. Labels placed on me by others. Labels I hated, labels I struggled against. Yet, when I met my husband and fell pregnant with our first child, my first inkling of the release of those labels, that were peeled off somewhat as brutally as they had been placed started to be.

I was no longer “party girl” or ” the one with the passionate temper” I was now a bride to be and a pending mother. And add to that a step mother (and obviously a wicked one at that). The minute I stepped into maternity leave zone, I discovered my first taste of the wasteland that my life could become. I simply ceased to be. Once I stopped working, once I stopped earning and providing for myself – a thing I’ve done since I was 14 years old, I simply ceased.

Sure I still functioned. I cooked, I cleaned, I paid bills with my husbands money. But I stopped having an identity. I had my baby in September and was informed in November that as I was on maternity leave in the world of work I didn’t exist, I had simply ceased to be. And it stung. I was no longer entitled to the Christmas party or bonus – that now was the privelidge of the younger, sexier non pregnant girl who had taken my role and my client base when I left to have my child. I simply vanished. I could no longer apply for a credit card without my husbands signature. I had no identity other than new mother, and I struggled silently with this. 

Now I’m officially middle aged. And I have given up working for a boss a while back, and I thought I’d come to terms with this disappearing act that is a middle age. I no longer own the car I drive, it’s my husbands. I didn’t qualify to be on the loan documentation for the car, I don’t earn a wage, I don’t have an identity. 

I set my original blog up seven years ago, in an attempt to forge myself some kind of identity. Some kind of place in the world. I worked on it for years and I lost myself for a while, and it vanished, like me, like the middle aged woman I am. And had to be resurrected, rise from the ashes so to speak. And this blog was created.

But for the last 12 months it’s languished like me, in a wasteland of self pity, wallowed in grief and been eaten by chronic pain. And I am lost. I have vanished into this oblivion of middle aged ness. So again, this blog – being the ever emerging beast it always has been will change and morph again.

I haven’t written on it in a while as I didn’t think the world needed nor required any more pain suffering and whinging that it already had. I wallowed instead. But it seems that my blog has renewed itself and so must I. So forward I go, attempting to reforge and refind me and acumulate some cooking along the way.

Xoxoxo Lyndal