I dreamed a dream

No doubt inspired by a very saddening episode of Australian Story last night, I was rocked by disturbing dreams all night that my Mum had died.*

*Note to reader: I'm referring to my grandma who raised me after my real mum actually did die years and years ago. We call her 'mum'. Let's move on.

It was unsettling, to say the least. Plus the ABC story itself stirred up some thoughts - for those of you who missed it, it was about Lyndall Hobbs, a journo/filmmaker/former girlfriend of Al Pacino, and the sacrifices she made to look after her ailing dad in his last years of life. It was her musings on trying to make up for the guilt she felt at having lived overseas chasing the dream for much of her life and thus missing out on family stuff, that really got me thinking.

And dreaming.

No conclusions really, just sharing the ingredients of my stirred up pot.

Then there was Caleb's dream last night:

"I was with Papa, and I messed up Papa's party, and then I ran across the road, and then the Cookie Monster cuddled me!"

I can't even compete with that.

Forecast: brighter and still Canadian

New week, new outlook.

After last week's corker of fevers, cancelled Canada plans and chest x-rays, I'm happy to report that I've had a few days to calm down and recover. And...while the disappointment is still raw, compared to other things that could happen in this life I guess it's really not the end of the world. There you go. My lightbulb moment, and it's not even ten past nine. Rock.

It's funny thinking back to why I was always too chicken to make the leap overseas. I've been delaying it for almost a decade, you see. And if I could pin it down to one reason why, I'd say it was fear of the beauracracy I'd have to deal with to make it all happen. What was a 'visa' anyway? I sure as heck didn't want to find out.

So when I started planning this trip...finally given a kick up the butt after getting the Arts Queensland grant for the Loose Moose Improv School (which I'm doing everything in my being to avoid thinking about, like how right now, they've just finished their second day of the warm-up camp and are probably back at the dorms chatting and geeking out over all things improv...see how I'm NOT thinking about that?) part of me thought I'd be pleasantly surprised. Like, 'wow, Jen, all this time you were freaked out about how hard organising an overseas jaunt would be and all this time it was easy as pie!!!'

But I wasn't. It has been every bit as hard as I'd ever dreaded, in fact, I think it's been worse. Every possible thing that could stuff up, has stuffed up and then some.

BUT...as Tim and I have gotten to the point last week of wondering if we should just bite the bullet, cut our losses and call the whole thing off, we realised something. It's now or never. Because we've come this far, it's been a shocking process...and if we turn around and cancel it now, we would NEVER be gluttonous enough for punishment that we would start all over in a few years and put ourselves through it all again.

So, we're doing it.

But Canada, let me warn you: you'd better be freakin amazing!!!

Just when I think life has run out of punches to throw at us...

...it finds more.

But I'm sick and tired of writing whingey blogs, so I'm gonna leave it at that for today. Let's change the subject.

How bout that Lindsay "it's not my coke" Lohan. Boy, isn't her life messed up right now?!

Ehem.

Waaaaaahhhh.

Last night I was supposed to be on my flight to a new exciting chapter of life! Instead I was in *drumroll please* the emergency room of Ipswich Hospital.

Believe me, that is no place I would go if I didn't really think it was necessary - and I ended up leaving without even seeing a doctor after realising some people had been already waiting almost six hours (I don't even like hanging around a place I LIKE for six hours!) - but the point is I'm feeling worse, there's still no sign of my passport and thus I have had to cancel, yes, CANCEL my time at Loose Moose Improv School. Oh alright 'postpone til next year' but that just doesn't sound as heartbreaking as this news has made me feel. Seriously, I haven't cried this much since watching Love Story in high school. What a loser.

But thanks guys for the messages of encouragement. I've laughed a lot at your prospective memoir titles!!! Sorry I haven't been commenting, but we've only just arrived at my in-laws - my mother-in-law is spoiling me with smoothies, sympathy and even booking me a proper doctor's appointment, and thus am just trying to ride the wave, get better and embrace our new plans as they come into being.

Woot.*

*Note: the above exclamation may have been one of hope, or merely a nose blow.

Keeping the dream alive...barely

So the bohemian dream of living footloose and fancy free, adventuring all over the world with our kids in tow, has been soured with a reality check: we are all as sick as dogs (I have not been this sick in YEARS), not to mention homeless, having moved out of our former abode and now living out of suitcases at my sister's house. My passport is still lost with neither Australia Post nor the US Consulate willing to take responsibility, my flights are cancelled and I'm all but crossing everything that it will all get sorted out by Friday.

In other words, living the dream seems at this point to be rather overrated.

Anyway, on the upside, it means I've had plenty of snuggling time in bed with my darling sick babies, I am truly relieved that I'm NOT doing the long-haul flight while my chest is raw as an open-mike stand-up and my nose is running like a Tanzanian Olympian and I've subsequently had a valid excuse to spend three days straight with my wonderful sister.

Plus we had a kick-ass goodbye party the other night (Mezz, I sent you an e-mail and a text with the change of venue, the bowls club just round the corner?!?!?! Apparently more proof of my shocking luck of late...) and as Tim said to me last night: "Even though rationally speaking, it seems like we're completely and utterly screwed, I just have this feeling deep down that everything is going to be okay. Don't you?"

I thought about it. "Yeah," I said. "It defies all logic, but I totally do."

Then again, that could just be the Codral talking.

Hiccups

Tim's uncle has passed away, Australia Post has LOST my passport - meaning that I have to change my flights to allow time for them to find it - and we're all sick.

Top that with the endless goodbyes to people I love, and I'm pretty much a bonafide nutcase.

Still, as Polly from Triple Zed said to me yesterday, maybe we're just getting all of the hiccups over in one hit. Get em done now, so the other side of the journey will be smooth sailing. Problem is with all the hurdles we've hit lately I feel like we've honestly been in a month-long hiccuping fit - here's hoping there's a massive glass of water around the corner and we can truly savour the peace and tranquility of an un-stressed diaphragm.

Now excuse me: I've got some mind-blowingly exciting house-scrubbing to get through.

Hicc.

A magical day

Mezza, you are an angel.

This afternoon was the kids' going-away party/playdate, at the very wicked PipSqueaks, thanks to the above-mentioned friend forever. In the end the only guests were Caleb, Ella and best friends for life Sam and Lilly(kids of my best friend for life Frankie), plus myself and Timmy - unfortunately feeling sick as and spending most of the time napping in the car - yet it was one of the most magical afternoons ever.

Even though I have consequently ingested an entire children's party worth of food.

That aside, I know Ella in particular, will remember this day for the rest of her life. As will I. But then again maybe that just says more about my disturbing tendency to find 'The Chicken Dance' cathartic.

Either way, Mezz, thank you so much.

I almost feel like a good mother. :-)

***
And finally...

MAGICAL QUOTE OF THE MAGICAL DAY

Ella to Sammy, my brother's girlfriend with whom we live:

Ella: I'm not listening to you, I don't have to do what you tell me, cos I didn't come out of your belly, I came out of JENNY's belly!

Hehe.

Damn straight, kid.

If Posh and Becks can move the family overseas...

...then it can't be that hard.

*breathing into a brown paper bag*

Is is still Friday the 13th?

It must be. Seriously.

I've never been one to buy into the 'Friday the 13th' moggly joggly, but the past two days just defy anti-superstition.

Consider the evidence before you, my friends:

- embarking on the trip from Byron to Nimbin - where I was all pumped to present a workshop for women on Life and Laughter - only to have our car break down en route, completely with hubbster and kids in the car. $103.
- running out of credit on our phone. $20.
- finding out - only after we had managed to score a ride back to Bangalow - that Tim had taken it upon himself to keep Caleb entertained by handing him possession of his mobile phone, whereupon Caleb had taken it upon himself to throw it: "IN THE DIRTY GRASS". $80.
- finally scoring a cab ride to Nimbin. $120.
- receiving a phone call from the Passports Office, telling me that one of my photos is damaged, makes me look like I have a scar on my lips and thus my passport has been delayed (again) and I have to bring in new photos ASAP. $14.
- getting back to the workshop to pick up our car, only to find the initial $103 quote didn't quite cover the myriad of turdships in the ocean of our vehicle. $140.
- driving back today to Brisbane, only to break down. In the middle of nowhere. Again. $100.
- being mid crisis-call, only to have our phone run out of credit. Again. $20.
- realising that our car is now completely foo-bahed, not worth fixing and thereby paying a tow-truck driver to bring us all back to Brisbane. $200.

But being able to blog about it and thus open the possibility of the past two days of pain being tax-deductible?

Priceless.

The Banff Centre, here I come...

In some good news amidst the stress of last-minute preps, I've just found out I've been accepted to do an independent residency at the Leighton Studios at the phenomenal Banff Centre, come January. Check it out - ain't it purdy?

My homeboy Sean from the fabbo Misinterpretato spent a couple of weeks doing some jazz masterclasses there last year and absolutely RAVED about it as one of the highlights of his life.

Excitement in a jar, batman!

*Note to self: what are you even writing?

Doesn't the tooth fairy leave share certificates?

Ella has been SOOOO mega-excited about losing her first tooth.

As have I, but more in that 'it feels like only yesterday my little muppet was sprouting it through, at this rate I'm going to blink and she's going to be driving, working and screaming at me for screwing up her life' kinda way.

Dang.

Thanks to all you guys too for all the tooth-fairy stories, by the way. :-) Ella was completely intruiged by the whole thing, if not a little perplexed.

Her: But mummy, where will the tooth fairy put the money?

Me: In the cup of water, where your tooth was!

Her: In the water?

Me: Yep. She'll take the tooth and leave the money there instead.

*dramatic pause*

Her: You mean...*shock horror* it's just a COIN?

Ella's first visit from the tooth fairy!!!

Why, oh why, do I feel so sad?

UPDATE: It gets better. Tim just accidentally tipped our daughter's first tooth down the sink.

Oh what a night...

An absolutely rockin night at the Paddo was had last night, a night so rockin in fact, that the 'g' has now been permanently removed from its descriptor.

Don't bother reading on if you don't feel like it. I just want to record this for sweet posterity:

- rocked up early to meet up with my mates Kel and Sam, who have only just gotten back from an 18-month globetrotting stint, only to firstly bump into Ang and Izzy, two of my favourite girlies in the entire world (we used to live together in a mad sharehouse - as if there's any other kind). Beers were clinked. ROCK.

- performed in what turned out to be a wicked night at the Sit Down, where the reunion expanded to include my fellow comedic mate in crime Damien Power, then my dear hubby surprised me by showing up and joining in the after-show merriment upstairs. DOUBLE ROCK.

- enjoyed hanging with some of the funniest people in the world. One thing that eats at me about this crazy jam-packed existence is that there's really only two sides to it: performing and family. Both of which kick buttocks in their own way, but sadly I feel like I've let the friendship factor fall by the wayside a bit. I hate myself for it, but the state of things of late is that unless mates come to gigs or we catch up with the kiddlies - not exactly conducive to deep and uninteruppted conversation - I really don't see any of them anymore. So to spend last night with people who make me laugh more than anything - official and unofficial comedians included - in off-duty mode no less (both family and work-wise) was just what the doctor ordered.

Timmy, Sam, Kel, Izy, Ang and the respectively bloody brilliant Lindsay Webb and Mickey D: I love yersh.

PS My wonderful Timmy even let me sleep in this morning. PHYSICAL ROCK.

2 and a bit weeks to go: AAGH!

Is it true that everybody feels terrified - even to the point of wondering if they've made the wrong decision - before major life upheavals?

Losing it in the Visa Queue in front of Shane from Neighbours

Gees I'm resenting beauracracy lately, not least because I'm not even 100% sure how to spell it. It's always been there, of course, but lately it's like it's taking over my life. Just when I get one bit of paperwork done, there's another. And another. And another. Today has been no different - I won't bore you with administrative details, but let me just tell you that as the admin requirements and FEES have continued fo pile up, I've been wondering quite often whether we are quite honestly insane in even trying to tackle such a ridiculous mission.

Just last Wednesday Tim and I had to fly to Sydney to get our US visas - basically so we can flit back and forth over the Canadian border until our little hearts are content - which would have been straightforward (still expensive, but straightforward) had I not lost my passport.

AAGH!

We tore the house to pieces looking for it (sorry landlord) but no luck. After much umming and ahing over what to do, we ended up flying down anyway, figuring that Tim and the kids could at least get theirs and I'd just have to fly back another time once I'd found/replaced my p'port.

To cut a very long and frustrating story short, the punchline is that after an unbelievable morning from hell trying to accumulate all the relevant paperwork in time for our US Consulate interview, I ended up spitting the dummy, running full-ball up to the visa processing office and bawling my eyes out...only to look up and realise that Peter O'Brien aka Shane from Neighbours (he was one of my fave dudes ever back when he was fighting Des for Daphne way back in the day) aka the lead guy from White Collar Blue aka the hubby of Miranda Otto from Lord of the Rings and other stuff, was sitting right there, looking up at me and offering a sympathetic smile.

I avoided eye contact and pretended it was not happening.

I was not crying. Not in the US Consulate. Not in front of Shane.

It took every inch of strength not to stick my fingers in my ears and start singing Mary had a little lamb. Boy am I glad I didn't do that. Cos hello?! Talk about embarrassing...

Warning: this is what happens when you let your kids watch too much Toy Story

Caleb: I NOT your friend Mummy!

Me: Oh. Why not?

Caleb: Cos you not being nice to Ella!

Tim: Caleb, Ella was being naughty and that's why Mummy put her in Time Out. It's not nice for you to speak to Mummy like that.

*Mummy nodding enthusiastically but with appropriate seriousness*

Caleb: Oh.

Me: So we can be friends still Cay.

*dramatic pause*

Caleb: YOU ARE A TOY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

*exits stage left*

The comedy family cocktail needs a warning label

Thanks guys for all the support to my second-last post - it's times like these you need Minties. Or blogging buddies, apparently. Anyway, thank you. :-)

The thing is, I've never felt so on track with the comedy stuff - it's not like I'm where I want to be yet, but I feel like I'm certainly travelling the right path and so long as I just keep doing what I'm doing, things will happen. What things exactly, I have no idea, but I have always believed that the best things in my entire life comprise stuff I could never have pre-planned myself (my daughter being the prime example) so generally speaking I'm happy to do the groundwork and then just go along for the ride to see where it takes me.

The thing is though, sometimes there's a lot of work involved in keeping the ride going. It's like a rollercoaster that operates Flinstone-power style, with you sticking your feet out constantly to keep it moving. And that can feel overwhelming, particularly when you're motoring it along with babes in arms.

Then there's also the recurring thought that maybe this 'success' (whatever that even means) that I've been chasing for so long, actually isn't what I really want anyway. i.e. I'm on a rollercoaster that I'm self-propelling yet I'm not even sure if the destination is going to be *snapping fingers* all that.

I mean, it's hard enough with things as busy as they are now, let alone taking the schizzle to the next level. And I soooo don't want to look back years from now and - as Sara-Lee said - realise that they're 21 and I missed it all. I'm already spun out enough that Ella's nearly 5. What the?!

But then I think of the alternative - to pursue a more traditional job, but that to me just sucks buttocks. I've spent just enough time in my life working for the man to know with certainty that it really isn't my thing.

And that's when I realise that performing has gone beyond being a 'choice' for me. There is nothing else I want to do with my life. It's as simple as that.

Now I just have to make it work for my family and not vice versa.

*taking a deep breath*