Alli Crane 1981 - 2009

In loving memory of my beloved best friend, Tinker's adored Godmother.

Alli passed away yesterday after a long and courageous fight with cancer.

Now she can finally rest peacefully.

I will miss her always, forever my best friend, soulmate, Tinker's Godmother.

xx

This photo was taken just a few weeks ago. Special memories.

Tuesday Snapshot- Gingerbread

One photo to describe an entire day?

Since today is only half done I can only say that this picture tells you enough about my morning. One word. Food. Some people when faced with stress & sadness, find it impossible to eat. They lose oodles of weight. The only oodles going down at my place are oodles of noodles. When stressed I eat. And eat. And eat. And eat. Oh why couldn't I be to the too stressed to eat type?

This morning on my way out to visit Alli at the hospital with Tinker my friendly postie delivered a small box. I was so excited to find a box of homemade gingerbread men inside. My wonderful friend Cazz sent them to cheer me up.

Now lets not even start on the fact that she manages to juggle two kids a demanding part time job and a husband and a home AND bakes and decorates armies of gingerbread men in her spare time.

So tell me, what cheers you up? Are you another unfortunate type like me who can never tire of sweets?

Oh and I'm sorry posts are a little light on the ground this week my plate is huge but perhaps not quite huge enough for all this food! Please keep praying for Alli she needs your thoughts and prayers right now. xx

Let's Talk Bad Weekends

Last week was a nightmare, we were all looking forward to the weekend. It got off to a rocky start when my best friend was told that she didn't win the competition I told you all about here. The consolation prize was haircare products. Nice touch when you are fighting cancer and you have lost all your hair. Don't start me.

Sunday was meant to be spent on a morning picnic before I toddled off to one of Retromummy's sewing classes. Instead it was spent with my heart in my mouth as our baby girl was rushed to hospital in an ambulance after going grey, then blue and losing consciousness for about 7 minutes even though it felt like 70. At the hospital all manner of tests were conducted and they found no apparent cause. We have to take her back for an EEG.

This blurry photo taken on my husband's crackberry shows our brave little Tinker listening as the kind nurse sang all of her favourite songs. She was so lovely and quite the jukebox.

Tinker was impressed, she is never that still when I sing. It isn't humanly possible to be still when I sing, I'm so bad that even my dogs get agitated when I belt out a few rounds of Miss Polly.

Who is that hottie on the left cutting a striking pose in the navy and white trench complete with hands on hips? Why that is me of course. What you can't see is that under my trench I wore animal print flannelette pj pants, bed socks and tan loafers. My hair was clipped back with one of Tinker's polka dot ribbon clips and I had no bra, nor had I brushed my teeth.

Oh yes I totally rocked hobo sloth chic this morning. Even I didn't dare ask the ambulance to wait a minute while I changed out of my PJs. What kind of shamefully vain mother even stops and considers such a request? Ok so maybe I did think about it but only for a super quick split second... or two.

For anyone who follows me on Twitter, you'd know I have been on a cooking strike much to my husband's dismay. It came about after a string of failed projects. I thought I might break the strike with some corned beef in the slow cooker. Ok that worked. And a batch of cupcakes. The neverfail variety. You know Nigella's recipe for the food processor? I added 3 punnets of strawberries and some pricey but yummy vanilla beans.

Failed again. The first 12 didn't rise and remained gooey, the last 12 were like rock cakes. So I think I'm going back over the picket line. The strike has resumed people, the strike has resumed.

So tell me, how bad was your weekend? I'm not up for cheesy smiley stories. Give me some ratty grumpy ones so I'm not the only whinger here. Come on, you know you want to...

Let me tell you a joke.

Alli & Me aged 15 in Noumea, roomates at the dorkiest hotel in New Caledonia.

So on Friday the oncologist rings my best friend.

The Dr says: We got the latest PET scan results and I'm not really sure what we can do for you so I'm going to ring another doctor. He is older than me so he might have some ideas. Before our next meeting, see if you can find anything on google as well.

verbatim. No I am not joking.

So we had a little laugh.

What else does one do when their oncologist recommends Dr Google? Or pulls the 'phone a friend' card because HE IS OLDER?!

Times like these... you laugh or you cry and we choose to laugh. Hysterically. It's what we've done since we were 14 see photo above and it is what we will keep on doing through this hilariously funny episode known as Alli's cancer shmancer.

So far through all her surgeries and chemo days and crazy days catching wee in a cup and dodging spew on my collar I have been able to put a funny spin on things and my best friend and I have continued to giggle.

On the odd chance that I run out of material Alli has found us a very funny excursion in a few weeks time. It is sure to give us and you (because how could I not share with my blog?) a very big chuckle.

We are going to a Laughter Yoga session. Yes, a laughter yoga session. What's so funny about yoga? Well aside from the fact I hate yoga with a passion (except in the context of my high maintenance preschool list) and the fact that I'm actually doing it is pretty funny, this is not a normal yoga session. This is a wacky kind of yoga designed to make you laugh. You can read all about it here.

I'm imagining ladies with hairy armpits and orange headbands and men in pastel lycra. We are expecting the participants to be funnier than the activity itself and if our predictions are right then I'll be back here with some funny takes for you as well.

When was the last time you had a really big proper belly laugh?

My best friend has cancer and needs YOUR support.

Pictures of me and Alli aged 15!

Another quick post in the midst of preparing dinner with Little Miss Energy bouncing off the walls.

As many of you know, my best friend Alli is seriously ill with a very rare and aggressive cancer. She is the bestest friend a girl could want and we have been two peas in a pod since we were 14.

All you need to do is click HERE and vote for Alli Crane.

That's all it takes, if anyone deserves this prize it is Alli. She is the most positive person, truly an inspiration. Coming from me (the girl who hates soppy stuff and corny talk) you know it is the truth.

Thank you all for taking 30 seconds out to help someone who always helps others. x

Mothers Day- Run Forest Run

As you all know, because I have been banging on for weeks- today was the Mothers Day Classic 4km run. I ran 4km and I raised $2500 in honour of my best friend and as promised I have some photos to prove that I actually did it. Who'd have believed someone as lazy and unfit as me would run 4km in the rain?

As my Mothers Day gift my Tinker bought me an ipod with the arm band so I could wear it during the race in order to cement my image of the uber fit mama. Ok fine, that isn't true it was so I could tune out my internal dialogue while running. I carefully selected a playlist that included such tracks as "Fat Bottomed Girls" (for obvious reasons) and "The Eye of the Tiger".


Approaching the start line it began to pour with rain and within minutes it was torrential. I alternated between worrying about my cancer stricken friend getting pneumonia and my new ipod dying. Fortunately they both fared ok.

Despite my best efforts with the music my internal chatter continued and for the 4km it went like this~

This is actually not too bad. I'm totally fit and cool, and the rain is kind of helpful.


No, no it's not that helpful I'm cold. I'm really cold. And wet. so wet. I wonder if I'll get pneumonia I'm totally soaked now and my feet are squelching. I knew I should have bought proper running shoes. Great my toes will freeze and slowly drop off this is shit I hate this run.


Runners each had a number pinned to the front of our shirts and on the back a dedication card with a note saying who we were running for. I couldn't help but read the notes in front of me. Being the pathetic soppy twit that I am, each note I read made me cry. I had to tell myself not to read them.

Stop reading the notes. You can't cry in a bloody fun run. Stop reading the notes. Look at the ground. No stop looking at the ground you'll totally trip. Surely I've done 1km now? Stop reading the notes.


I had to switch positions and start running on the inside edge so that there weren't people in front of me with notes I could read because as hard as I tried, it was like a train wreck. I couldn't stop reading them and it kept making me cry. I'm not good in the mornings. I needed to focus. Fortunately it was at that point that Fat Bottomed Girls came on and a bunch of fit looking tweens jogged past me.


Ok fatty move it. This is the halfway mark. Brrrr it's freezing, I wonder what the wind chill factor is. You can't even see the Harbour Bridge the rain is so heavy. Maybe I'll be lucky and slip and get stretchered out of here. Suck it up, you don't have cancer. Why is it all uphill now? What a dumb idea, they should have made the uphill bit the start not the end. Run fatty run for goodness' sake 4km really isn't that far. Those poor bastards doing the 8km run...


At the 2k mark I was a bit over it and at that point I happened to run past the 3rd parent so far who was chastising their child for slowing down. It was so awful. There were so many parents, obviously proper runners you know the type that wear those ugly shorts that come up really high on the hip? Who forces a child to run in torrential rain in Winter anyway? In a fun run for cancer. So many sobbing young people being bullied by their parents I was so unimpressed.

I am so going to thump that Dad. How can he speak to his son like that? No leave it it's not worth it. Save energy 1 k to go. Stuff that I'm going to say something. Keep running fatty stop trying to switch the focus. OMG is that lady wearing stirrup pants? Am I hallucinating? Maybe my blood pressure is too low. I'm going to faint I'm really going to collapse. No, they ARE stirrup pants. I know 80's is kinda cool now but that is going too far.

Then my Dad arrived and joined me for the last part of the race. Bless him he knew I'd slack off at the end! Not many people have a 59 year old father who whoops their ass in the fitness stakes. Coming around the bend toward the finish line I saw my husband who did not have the camera ready. He was too busy waving at me so he only snapped me from behind. Probably a good thing really because by then I was looking super red in the face.

Being the fantastic mother that I am, I slept in this morning so had to get ready for the run in record time. I realised I wouldn't have time to hire a timing chip at the race so I set about finding a watch to wear. With only 3 mins til we had to leave I decided it was more important to pack the Tinker some food to entertain her while I ran. So my run time isn't accurate. I had to go off my friend's time and she was after me. It took me about 27 minutes to do the run. I'm quite sure if I didn't waste time pondering some poor woman's choice of stirrup pants and some crazy fit parents decision to force their kid to run that maybe just maybe I could have run a little faster. All in all though it was a good enough effort for me.

The winner of the race in my mind was my best friend Alli who finished a couple of minutes after me and she ran the whole way with cancer, a collapsed lung, hardly any white blood cells, lousy red blood cells, during chemo treatment, in the torrential rain. I was quite prepared to quietly trip her over if she dared overtake me but luckily she didn't. I don't think I could ever live it down if a cancer patient beat me in a race.

So there you go, that was my Mothers Day morning, I got a medal! Following the run I came home to a hot shower, and breakfast made by my husband who not only made his way to the kitchen but actually used the stove. Brilliant effort. Later in the day I taught him how to make me a cup of tea and the Tinker presented me with my other gift. A huge power tool for the garden. A leaf blower vac. I love it. I was at it all afternoon. You can totally eat off the ground in my garden now, not a speck of dirt or a stray leaf in sight.

How was your Mother's day?

Cough up cancer money!

"Tissue timing is crucial when you have a runny nose and no nostril hair."

This is what my best friend just said to me. Funny, yes. The fact that she has to have chemo and it makes all her hair fall out- not funny.

Please, please please donate some money. The more money we raise, the more research can be done and the closer we are to a cure so that nobody else has to go through this.

Sure nostril hair can be unsightly, but losing it should be a thing of choice dammit.

Here is the link- the thought of me of all people attempting a 4km run is funny enough, the fact that I'm actually going to post pictures of my humiliation is even better. Worth $5 surely?

https://mothersdayclassic.trickytix.com.au/sponsor/view/1768/carolyn-galvin

Stitches

So there are plenty of things one can master without bothering to enrol in formal lessons. Cooking, I think, is one. Sewing, is not.

Well not for me anyway. I am an absolute dunce and even when I think I have made something half decent it only takes me a minute to either see an awful fault in my latest offering or I happen to stumble upon something one of my friends has made. Seeing the work of my fellow housewives who sew really reminds me that sewing is just not one of those things you can fudge.

It was December 2007 and I was extremely pregnant, extremely hormonal and as high on idealism as I've ever been. My husband asked me what I might like for Christmas. -A sewing machine, I answered. For what? He asked. -For sewing, darling. But you can't sew. -I know. So will you use it? He asked. -Oh yes, of course. The only reason I can't sew is that I don't have a sewing machine. Oh ok, I'll get you one then.

So he did. Days later, our tiny girl had arrived. It was about 40 degrees in the shade, we'd just moved into our new house. We had no airconditioning and about 65 million boxes to unpack. I figured once the house was sorted I'd be able to switch on the machine and whip up some dresses for my daughter, new curtains for the windows and maybe a dress or a skirt for myself.

Seriously.

Months later I unpacked the machine. My mind boggled. So I went straight for the manual. Not much better. Must be the sleep deprivation. Surely it is the baby's fault. I'll try again tomorrow. Nope, still no luck. So I called up a sewing machine shop and paid $40 for a grumpy old lady to show me how to thread the machine, how to switch it on and how to change the needle. If I wanted to actually learn to sew I'd have to enrol in a course and she didn't run courses anymore so that was that. I went home and whipped up a blanket. When I say "whipped" I do not mean for you to imagine any sort of efficient, successful outcome. No, it was pretty shonky.

Since then I have tried to make a dress for my daughter, a number of very wonky soft toys for friends' babies and I have even attempted to mend a shirt of my husband's. Every single thing has turned out badly. I've seen a few online tutorials, I've even unpicked my own clothing to get an idea how things are out together. I just can't do it!

Fine motor skills do not come easily to me. I think I am clumsy, also I am impatient. Either way, I need some serious sewing help. I keep trying to psyche myself up. I remind myself of the many years I spent at university, of my so-called intellect, of the millions of uneducated simple women folk who have been able to sew since the dinosaurs... still, I cannot master this skill. It is time to find a course.

Today I made a doll for my best friend. She isn't very well and needs some cheering up. So instead of flowers or chocolates I have my idealistic hat on for the day. I am a housewife dammit. I should be able to cheer friends up with freshly baked cookies and home made dolls. I have created a home made chemo companion. Her name is Polly and she is very very wonky. She is made of pretty materials so that is one good thing. She also has one of those "cancer bands" like Lance Armstrong. That's got to work in her favour. Other than that, she is another piece of evidence to support my argument- I need to do a course. "Husband, darling... the only reason I can't sew is that I haven't done a course."