Love What You do

I have a pretty good life. Gorgeous family, great friends, and I love my job. 

Its true. I love the people I work with, I love the company I work for, and I really love what I get to do on a daily basis. 

AND 

I love telling people what I do and where I work and more importantly, I love it when people realise that I'm not just paying lip service to some ideal work/life balance, that I am genuinely living it. 

I caught up with an ex colleague yesterday after not seeing each other for 2 years, and it was such a delight to hear him comment on how "happy" and relaxed I looked. 

The day before, I had lunch with a friend who insisted I've had Botox. (she's a doctor so I squinshed up my face to prove to her my face was all me!). 

Its not just that I "look" happy and relaxed, I feel it. I have so much energy, and I feel as though I have truly found my place. Not one day since I started at that company have I felt the dread of a work day. Sure there are a few days that seem to go slower than others, and Friday is always the best day of the week - but every day is rewarding and different. 

A few years ago I was working in a large global organisation in a job that I really did love. I worked with some of the most amazing people who remain very dear friends, and I learnt some valuable skills that have set me on my path. But toward the end of my time there, I wasn't too happy and it was fairly obvious to those who knew me. 

After leaving and taking some time out from corporate life, I returned last year to a smaller company in a slightly different role. I was still able to bring my expertise to the role; the new company embraced it, and empowered me with greater challenges. I am recognised for my contributions and I really feel valued. 

The best part of my new job is that my children see me doing something that I love, and hearing me talk about my days with positive energy. I am passing on the lesson in life that work doesn't have to be a chore. If you follow your heart and are passionate about the role you play in the world, you will be happy. 

And more importantly, champagne is so much better than Botox! 

Would you let your son play League?

I'm torn. I am the mother of two boys who absolutely love the game of rugby league. I also happen to love watching the game, but I hate what the game has done to my family. 

One son is 11 years old and he has been playing with the same group of boys since they were 5. It's been a pleasure watching them grow and develop into great little players. Their coach is an ex-A grade player (and an ex Wallaby), and is training the boys to play fairly and confidently. 

My other son is a 17year old. The rules are different. The stakes are higher. And the boys are bigger with a hell of a lot more adrenaline and aggression. 

On Mothers Day this year, my 17yr old was playing at the same time as my little guy, and as I could only be at one game at the one time, I went to the youngest son's game. A phone call revealed my older son had been injured and was at the hospital waiting to be seen in emergency. It's not a nice phone call to get. 

After an Xray, an ultrasound and a CT Scan, we were told that my son had a posterior dislocation of the sterno-clavicular joint. Sounds fancy right? Well it is. It's that join between the sternum and the clavicle, and it was pushed in and pressing on his arteries. And his airway (he was having trouble breathing). It's quite rare to have this happen, in fact there have been less than 100 reported cases since 1824. Thankfully we were in the hands of amazing orthopaedic surgeons, cardiovascular surgeons, cardio thoracic, and beautiful caring nurses of Royal Prince Alfred. 

One doctor told me our son was extremely lucky. The injury was such that it could only have been caused through excessive force (think of those adrenaline, testosterone 17 year old boys), and that had it have been one centimetre to the left, his spine would have been snapped. A centimetre higher, and his neck would have been snapped, and any more force, it could have severed his artery and I would no longer have my beautiful boy. 

I waited three hours for him to come out of recovery from surgery, and then I called the club to let them know he wouldn't be playing for the rest of the season. If I had my way, he wouldn't be playing ever again. The club's manager really didn't care, or he hadn't been versed in customer service. He disputed that an incident took place because the referee and the linesmen didn't report it. Even when I asked about the incident report (because lets face it, a child leaves the field in an ambulance, surely an incident report must have been completed), he still denied there was an incident because.... the referee didn't record it. 

So I went to the NSW NRL. And here's where it got really interesting. They did their job - calling me as soon as they read my email with expressions of concern. And then they gathered some reports from the referees and linesmen. 

And they wrote me a letter. 

They considered this an "accident" that can happen from time to time in a game like rugby. 

The referee and linesmen reported nothing untoward during that game that they could recollect. 

Both clubs had been approached for comments. 

They also included in the letter the regulatory accreditations of the referees, linesmen, groundsmen, water boys etc. (But failed to confirm if the people on the field were actually accredited).

They were happy for me to provide some solutions on how to make the game safer. 

Here's where I'm torn. 

The way to make this game safer for my children is for them not to play. Ever. Because  according to the team at NSW NRL who have the power to educate and make our kids safe are happy with - "accidents like this happen from time to time"

Because teenage boys are big and they are allowed to jump on a player holding a ball even after the referee has called "held"

Because referees are normal people who sometimes miss an "illegal tackle".

Because even after a referee has called held, and then supposedly does not see another big teenage boy jump on the back of a player already on the ground holding a ball yet gives the penalty kick, cannot remember an "incident". 

Because even if a player is taken to hospital in an ambulance, has two surgeries, the club manager doesn't even have the courtesy to ask how a member of his club is. 

Because I am very lucky and grateful that I still have my son. 

My son is now lying in a hospital bed again after getting a post surgical infection. This is his final year of high school and this will be his third week off school due to this incident. Oops, I mean "accident which can happen from time to time". His HSC is not looking great. 

He has lost his social surroundings, a sport that he loves and to me it seems he has lost motivation. 

To say I am slightly angry at the sport, and the response we have been given is an understatement. And yet I am still torn about my younger son and when I should pull him out of the game. 

Young Dying Mum needs your help.

There was a moment in my day today when the universe stood still - if only for a second. My heart stopped beating, the clouds stopped moving and everyone around me walked and talked in slow motion. And then it clicked back into place and my mind was racing. 

What can I do? How can I help? How much time? Shit. Shit. Shit. 

The word "shit" just kept going around and around in my head and eventually it was the only word I could say. 

My friend. My lovely young friend. A struggling single mother of a beautiful pre-teen boy was no longer in remission. All I could say was "shit". 

Her son was likely to be burying her before testosterone managed his teenage life; sadly she would be the second parent he's buried, and it broke my heart. There is no guarantee life is meant to be fair, but "shit" - this isn't in the playbook either. 

After collecting my thoughts and my struggle with more than one word, I managed to ask her if she were given a cheque for something tangible, what would she spend it on. 

She would like to take her son on an 'around the world trip' to share some magical moments together in some magical places. 

And that's when I realised how I could help. 

Travelling is the lolly of my life. I could relate to her wish for one last "hoorah" exploring places with the most important person in her life. Even knowing the risks of her medical condition and knowing that no travel insurance company would likely insure her.... I thought her wish was fantastic and totally appropriate. 

So here's my public pledge. I am going to help make this happen. 

In August, our sons rugby team are going to hold a Trivia night in the inner city (Sydney) to raise money to send them on an amazing adventure. A gorgeous medical friend has offered to help repatriate her (if something happens while she is away) and I can assist in writing her travel/medical emergency response plan for her holiday. 

Here is where the universe answers. I need prizes to auction. Her cause needs exposure. I need a contact for affordable accommodation. I need an airline to offer flights. I need kind people to reach into their hearts and donate money. I need a miracle to pull this idea off. 

If you can help, or know of anyone who can help, please pass on my details. 

Time is of the essence. 

I need your help......

Dear Friends and Family,

I need help getting my husband out of the house. Its not that  I don't love spending time with him, but he has decided to run a marathon next year and he is way behind the eight ball on his training regime.

He has taken the very bold step of enrolling in the 2013 New York Marathon to raise funds for Amnesty International. I think he was drawn to location rather than the event, but regardless he is a man of his word and now needs to train extremely hard to be fit enough to fulfil his commitment.

Strong integrity - once he commits, he delivers.

His Amnesty International team of 20 hope to raise $180,000 to help create a world where justice freedom and dignity are not the birthright of a privileged few but a deeply held vision for all. If you are able to support this worthy cause, please visit http://ainym2013.gofundraise.com.au/page/John-Dobbin. 

Donations are tax-deductible and a receipt is emailed automatically. Which is great if you sometimes lose your paper receipts; just keep it in your inbox until tax time and print it out!

By January 4 John hopes to raise $2,000, so if you were planning on making a donation over Xmas to a worthy cause, I think I have found an answer for you!

If you know of any organisation who would like to sponsor a run, please pass on the details so that John can dedicate the run and use every form of social media to promote the great intentions!

Wishing you all a very merry Christmas, and a safe and happy New Year!

Lisa

  

Hey! My Glass is Empty!

Like most Australians, my childhood was fuelled by alcohol in all its ugly glory. A slab of beer was the staple of the weekly grocery shop and only consumed by the men. Wine was a luxury and only for the women. And gay men. Of which we knew very little.

Sunday afternoons were spent down at Gladesville Hospital Oval with dozens of other families where a huge marquee was set up as the “bar” and the queue for a sausage on a roll was longer than the queue for a new Apple iPhone. The dads would play cricket with a can of beer in their hands while the mums would chat and gossip on the picnic rugs in the shade drinking wine. The kids would spend the day exploring the lush bamboo forest, swimming in the pool and rolling up and down the terraced grass fields.

At the end of the day, everyone would pile into the family cars while one drunk parent drove home. Almost every Sunday ended in agony for our family, the graphic details of which are best left unsaid. Excess, abuse, violence, and shame were a part of my childhood, and while they have formed a strong character in me, they remain a painful memory of what alcohol can do to a family and a community.

As a teenager I binged. I look back at this time and cringe at the image, but I’m sure I’m not alone when I say that the $3 Donello Lambrusco made for what we thought was an entertaining night. The stories of a night out would last a week until the next Blue Light Disco when it would all happen again. In fact, I don’t  think I can remember a time when we would go out and not try to get drunk. (ok, so there were a few nights when we faked being drunk, but that being said - they were very few).

So, do I still drink now? You betcha. I love a glass of rosé or a glass of bubbles when I go out. I’m a  positive person and a social animal, I have a fantastic life and I don’t have to look far to find an excuse to celebrate. AND I have a wonderful circle of friends who are like minded. I fact, I have a few circles of friends who are happy to partake in celebrating life with me. I’m a controlled drinker and I don’t really get drunk; I can stop at one glass of wine or champagne if I want to, and in fact if I went to dinner and there was no wine, it wouldn’t be an issue for me. Thats not true for many people I know, including some people very close to me.

My dad hasn’t had a drop of anything alcoholic for over 30 years. My brother hasn’t had a drink in 12 years. My mum occasionally will have a glass of wine on Christmas Day but will stop at one. And my sister is trying to give it up for good. She’s been open and honest on her reasons why; she doesn’t want her children growing up with an image of their mother with a glass of wine in her hand all the time. It’s a noble reason and I’m behind her 100%.

This is why I’m committed to doing Ocsober. For my children. If my sister is brave enough to denounce alcohol forever, then I think I can manage one month to show my children that I can give up the booze and still have a brilliant time. An added benefit of doing Ocsober is that I want to raise money to put towards alcohol education for our schools. This is a community issue, and as part of the community I want to do something to support the cause - to educate our kids.

Thank you for reading my blog. If you feel strongly about educating our kids on the effects of alcohol and are able to donate towards this cause, please click on this link and the “donate” button.

Thanks.

Lisa

http://fundraise.ocsober.com.au/Lisa_Fryar

The Day I Grew a Tail

A very wise lady told me that it takes 12 months to grieve before you can start on the road to healing. I think she might be right. 

Twelve months allows for - "this time last summer, this time last birthday, this time last year...." where every memory is a painful one because it was the last "time" with someone special who is no longer there. Twelve months is enough time to go through the five stages of grieving. Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression and finally, acceptance. 

This time last year I started along my road of the grieving process. Waking up to a missed call, listening to my voicemail with an urgent message to call back, and finally making that call to learn that my beautiful friend was gone. This moment is frozen - one of those moments in your life where you will always remember where you were and what you were doing when you learnt the news. I was still in bed and it was a Sunday morning, my chest felt tight, I couldn't breath and I had to give the phone to my husband, I couldn't bear to hear the details. It hurt my heart. I cried deeply until there was nothing. 

The days that followed are a blur of nothing. The weeks became clearer and the months became kinder as I started to process and realise I would never see, hear, sing with, dance with, sms, email, laugh with (and at) my friend. We would never again sneak out for a chai latte and walk around the block chatting about our travels, lives and loves. We would never again have our little "in" jokes together and laugh hysterically at nothing. He will never call me at random times just to see how I am doing. No more lychee lollies and chrysanthemum tea. No more anything. 

I've accepted that he's gone, and yet I feel him with me all the time. 

My birthday was last week and he was there with me, with every glass of wine, sake and espresso martini. When it was time to leave the celebrations and collect my son from school camp, I jumped in a taxi and looked at my phone messages. He was always the first to send me a birthday mesage, sometimes he sang on my voicemail. I had a little "cry" in the taxi which surprised me, it was the first time in months that it hurt to think of him. The tears didn't last long, but I knew I had to wash my face before standing in the playground with the other parents, so I detoured into the local pub to use their facilities. 

On leaving the bathroom, I noticed people looking at me but dismissed it as being paranoid re the afternoon birthday martinis. We (my husband and I) walked the three blocks to the school and I still felt something or someone with me - following closely behind. It was such a weird feeling and I couldn't quite work out what it was. We reached the playground with plenty of time before the kids bus arrived back and that's when I saw my shadow - and what had been following me from the pub. 

Six metres of a toilet paper tail tucked into my stockings. **

Thats when I laughed, and I felt him beside me laughing as well. 

I miss you Whitey. Every. Single. Day. 

L xx

** Disclaimer - I am known to exxagerate. It wasn't 6 metres, probably no more than 3.5m. 

Proud of my boy!

Jack is my teenage son; my middle child who was nicknamed the "Buddha Reincarnate" as a baby because he was such a lovely, placid and calm boy. He never cried, never demanded much in life and was a compassionate soul from day one. 

And then he turned into a teenage boy. 

While I can't blame Jack for every one of my grey hairs, I can attribute a number of hair dye packs to Jacks antics of the last few months. I won't dwell on this here, nor will I publicly shame him, but what I will say is that the last year of mothering "Jack" has been more trying and stressful than the first few hours of his life. And this is saying something considering he spent the first 8 days in NICU. 

The last school holidays we decided to send Jack on an Outward Bound survivor course. When booking him in, I was told by the lovely lady this is not a course to "fix" wayward children - which was great because to me it meant that Jack wouldn't have the influences of children naughtier than him. He wasn't too keen on the idea of hanging out in a rainforest for two weeks without a phone or internet, but he also knew he wasn't in a position to bargain. 

Just before he went into the rainforest to become a man, I called him to wish him well. He grunted, which I interpreted as a "thanks". Two weeks later, we collected him from the airport and he said words - more than one! He spoke in sentences that we could understand. 

He joined the local PCYC and goes to the gym every morning. After school, he volunteers to collect his little brother, take him to the movies or do some reading with him. He does chores without being asked. He has a clean room - that's right, a teenage boy with a clean room! He does the laundry and knows how to separate whites to colours.

He does his homework!

He talks at the dinner table!!

(Parents - you can book your non-naughty teenage son into Outward Bound here: http://blog.outwardbound.org.au/) 

Last night he asked if he could hang out with his mates, this was the first time since he came back from camp. I was anxious about letting him go because I knew the trouble they got up to before. At the same time, I had to reward his maturity and give him space to prove himself. I gave him some conditions and waited up for him. 

This morning he volunteered the story about how his night went. 

Walking home, he came across some teenage boys who were pretty drunk. One of them was lying unconscious in the gutter covered in vomit while the rest looked on. 

So Jack called an ambulance and waited with the boy until the paramedics arrived. While waiting he took off his lovely Polo Ralph jumper and put it under the boys head so he wouldn't drown in his vomit, or hit his head on the gutter. He had saved up his pocket money for that jumper and it was really expensive.

A little while later, the paramedics attended to the boy and gave Jack back his vomit soaked jumper. He then walked home, popped his head in the door and said goodnight, then he went into the laundry to soak his shoes and jumper. 

I am very proud of my son, and extremely thankful to the teams at Outward Bound and PCYC. Sometimes parents need help in raising their kids the right way and how wonderful that we haves organisation like these that can make a difference. 

It's a cliche but it's true, it takes a community to raise a child. 

Jack at Porpoise Bay, Rottnest Island 2011.