Dairy free two weeks

We’re doing dairy free for B1 and B2. Hopefully it might have some impact on their skin and tummy issues, as the wheat free really didn’t. I think stress is a big factor for them as well.

So for two weeks we will all be dairy free.

What this means for me in reality is no:

  • Chocolate
  • Hot chocolate from Koko Black
  • Butter on toast
  • Cheese on pasta or toasties
  • Yoghurt on granola
  • Work cake treats or desserts
  • Milk in Milo (or Milo at all).

We will be checking foods for milk solids and eliminating them as well.

What do I hope to get it out of the next two weeks?

Well I’ll be enjoying the vegan hot chocolate the kids have me for Mother’s Day as it goes Ok with soy milk!

I’ll be hoping that cold turkey helps reset my chocolate cravings.

Losing some weight would be good as I’ve gone up again despite my healing session (not anyone’s fault except for holiday indulgence and ready availability of desserts in WA!). I actually don’t have any bad feelings about this gain so much as knowing that the number has to come down and my focus is on my healthy and maintainable goal weight.

However weight loss is not the aim here, just a bonus if it happens. Cutting dairy for me means cutting a bit of sugar as well which is probably more the point!

I’d really like to see the kids have some relief from their symptoms and my own periodic tummy issues eased as well.

Let the trial begin, and I’m not unhappy the cow Mums and babies will have a rest from us too. I am finding it increasingly difficult to rationalise the dairy industry and we currently try to source cow milk from small dairies or ones that actively let calves stay with cows for six months. I won’t be unhappy to change our milk drinking habits here because none of our human babies need milk nutritionally.

Wishing you all the happiness the Universe can bring



A short story

The noblewoman strolled along the river in the early morning light. Despite the chill, it was the best part of her day, away from the confines of the castle, the nobleman, the servants, the children. Here she could just walk in nature and be herself, even if that was highly strung up in the clothes of her station.

She didn’t spot the serf woman initially.

The serf woman spotted the noblewoman first. Cursing internally, there was no place to hide in the middle of the shallow river, where she had been hunting for fish. She crouched down slowly, hoping her drab shirt and pants would blend her into the rocks and the river in the dim light of the morning.

Despite her efforts though, the noblewoman spotted her. Although she wasn’t quite sure what she had spotted. Was there a dead body floating in the river? It was not something the noblewoman had seen before. When the body didn’t move, she became more intrigued, and despite the water on her drapery, she picked her way carefully, across the river. She stumbled twice as she was unfamiliar with such uneven ground, never having been in the river before.

As the noblewoman neared, the serf woman began to rise. No point getting thoroughly soaked, she thought, although she pretty much was already. The man’s shirt she wore clung to her chest and her pants were soaked as well. She cursed internally again for her foolishness at coming so far down the river, but the pickings had been slim further up. She was hungry.

Seeing the curves on the boy’s chest gave her cause. Entitled due to her station, she reached across and pulled aside the half worn and wet shirt, exposing a soft breast. She looked at the face of the person in front of her. She could see from the rough landscape of mouth, nose and eyes that this was someone whose life had been much harder than hers, but still was distinctly feminine.

Before she could say anything though, the serf woman took her hand and removed it from the shirt, but not quite let go of it.

‘What are you doing here?’ the noblewoman asked, more harshly than she wished to. Truth be known, those eyes and that breast had stirred some feeling in her that she did not recognise.

‘Nothing,’ the serf woman replied, still holding both gaze and hand, defiantly.

‘You’re not allowed here, this is my property.’ Terse, entitled.

‘You don’t own the river!’ Defiant, firm.

‘It’s on my property!’ Such insolence from someone so below her station, thought the noblewoman. But somehow she did not remove her hand from the woman’s grip.

‘It flows through your property! It comes and it goes. Just like the birds and the animals. You don’t own them!’ The serf woman continued to defiantly hold her gaze.

‘Just like you don’t own this!’ and she pulled the soft, clean hand and placed it between her legs. The noblewoman gasped, not just because of the pure impudence of the act, but also because her own reaction of physical and cerebral feeling surprised her. The pulse of electricity from her own place was almost unknown to her. It bought back thoughts of when she occasionally spied plump breasts bursting from her maid servant’s dress; the round bottoms beneath as they bent to pour hot water in her bath; a laugh and a smile as they passed the stableboy. Such things had stirred her but not electrified her like this.

Seeing that she had the reaction, or some reaction that she wasn’t quite sure of, the serf woman dropped the noblewoman’s hand. She smiled, knowing that she had caused some sort of ruckus inside the noblewoman, and skipped off nimbly through the water, into the forest beyond and out of sight.

Now standing alone, and getting heavier by the minute with her dress soaking up the river, the noblewoman again picked her way back to the water’s edge. Her mind was ablaze with the woman’s eyes, her insolence! Her calm and certain ways. So different to the crush of the stone, the dimness, the oppressive role with which the noblewoman held. Her nobleman was good enough she supposed, but no amount of goodness helped when he came to take his dues from her in the night. She shook her head from the thoughts and dragged her heavy dress up towards the stark building in front of her.

The serf woman watched her go. The noblewoman was much surer on land but periodically she seemed to be distracted by thoughts, shaking her head. Was that about her, the serf woman wondered? She had never seen someone so beautiful up close except in her youth. Those eyes, the soft lips, the clear and slightly pink cheeks. The serf woman had long ago noted her pleasure was for and from women, and she’d managed to have some of that magic in her life. Now though, she was alone, living in a shack on borrowed land deep in the forest, trying to forage a life for herself and her daughter that was free.

And for both women the thought appeared, now knowing that they could meet, would they?

Wishing you all the happiness the Universe can bring,


Currently the lovely and I are having a wonderful trip to Perth and surrounding areas of Western Australia. So we were on the road after a wonderful dawn experience at the Pinnacles when we heard that a Canberra man had won the entire 50 million lotto jackpot on his own.

On his own!

Oh what we could do with 50 million! Even ten per cent of that would be more than we would need!

I confess, I’ve been feeling mildly jealous. It’s unusual because I normally don’t take more than two minutes time on someone else winning big on the lotto. Not sure if it is because it is so close to home – we work in Canberra – or something else. Like wanting to retire and just do whatever we want!

Life seems endless sometimes and sometimes even us grownups just want to win the lotto and forget about all our responsibilities.

However, no can do!

We will just have to have a lovely trip in the next few days around WA and then head back to work next week, 50 million dollars not being in our bank account.

PS. No, I didn’t even buy a ticket!

PPS. No, I probably won’t buy one in the future. A psychic once told me I would not be a big winner so if they aren’t even going to give you false hope of a big win, I don’t see why I should bother!

PPS. I’m not saying never…

Wishing you all the happiness the Universe can bring,

The cancer that is not good enough

Not literal cancer, but the one that infects so many of us and says, ‘you’re not good enough’.

Perhaps it was someone you loved giving you some of their own shame or anger or guilt as a child.

I’m positive whoever it was, they didn’t mean to put that poison inside me for life.

But it lodged there, like a defective cell, and was fed by further interactions, societal pressure, the media, puberty, and itself. Once it’s big enough, it gathers it’s own food and grows.

And so every time something good happens, the feeling of needing to be balanced by something else occurs. The success of one area of life cannot be replicated in other spheres. ‘You don’t deserve it,’ that poison says. ‘You’re not good enough.’

Be pretty. But not too pretty because that means you’ll be vain.

Be proud. But not too proud because that means you’ll be arrogant.

Be successful. But not too successful because that means you’ll forget where you came from.

Don’t be too good, because you’re not good enough. You are not worthy.

And all of this poison and black, yucky cancerous cells in your emotional body make you sick. In my case, it manifested in one way as a limit on the amount of weight I could maintain. Sure, I could lose it but staying there? No way. I was back with more weight within a year. Do that a few times and it really feels pointless to try at all.

It also manifested in my desire to be the ‘perfect’ person in my relationships. The perfect partner. The perfect parent. The perfect step parent. Of course, I failed, sometimes a little, sometimes badly. My crushing self-talk agreed that of course, I was not good enough to be someone who could just be calm and cool and conscious all the time. I couldn’t do this. I was worthless and not good enough.

The poisoned, black, infected cells of my emotional body were so sick, how could I do anything else, or think anything else?

So I went to see someone to help me with a symptom – “an indication of the existence of something, especially of an undesirable situation (Oxford Dictionary)” – emotional or non-conscious eating.

However, in chatting she could see the ‘not good enough’ was needing to be focussed on. So she asked me when it was that I started feeling that way, that I was not good enough. And immediately my mind said ‘ten’. I have no memory that I could recall but that was the response.

(Later I found a picture and low and behold, you can see it in my eyes. Something happened, something that shamed me, took the light out. The poison was injected then.)

So we went back to when I was ten and then I looked for that painful poison with my ten year old self to get it out of us. That’s how I know what it looks like, because as we worked to remove this emotional pain, it got uncovered.

At first it was a black space that revealed itself suddenly. I could feel the surge of emotion. It physically moved me to tears, to lip shaking and stomach trembling. It became clearer that it was a wound, a cancerous, black sore. It was so clear.

Eventually as we worked together, my ten year old self and I, we cleared the black to pink. The pink of a newly cleaned wound, a fresh wound just healed but still sensitive and a little painful.

This happened three times. And then together we tied it off, let it go and exploded it into the sky.

At the end I was raw, still emotional and exhausted. I felt as if I’d been operated on – and I had, I’d operated on myself to clean those wounds so they could heal and not keep infecting me 36 years later.

Will I feel ‘not good enough’ again? I don’t know. Are there more cavernous, cancerous wounds inside to heal? Probably.

But me and my ten year old self rocked that session and I couldn’t have done it without her.

Keep searching for those wounds and freeing yourself, because you are good enough, you do deserve success in all things, you are a beautiful wonderful good and kind creature of light, just like when you were ten.

Wishing you all the happiness the Universe can bring,

My breast reduction surgery – update

It’s been three months since my surgery.

I very much enjoy the new size of my breasts! I still get some pain through them occasionally but mostly they are good.

I’m still using the silicon tape on my scars. I’m pretty sure this has made a difference to the shape my nipples have become – in a good way! I feel more confident that they will look relatively normal in the near future. I don’t have much tape left so hopefully all that extra stuff will be done soon!

Due to the tape, we still haven’t gotten them out ‘to play’ yet, the lovely and I. It definitely has, along with some other things, interrupted our sex life. This is something to bear in mind when you have the surgery – you won’t feel like getting them out for some time because of how they look and feel.

You may, like me, feel quite emotional about how they look at various stages. Like me, you might be shocked by how the scarred nipples look, or worried that they are going to stay that way.

The only thing I can say is to be patient and also kind to yourself. This is one time where TIME definitely does heal and unlike other things I’ve gone through, because it’s so visible, it really takes it out of you emotionally to cope with those radical changes.

Things do settle though, even if you don’t quite believe it yourself.

So now, three months on, I’m much happier than I was with how they look – especially the nipples. I can look in the mirror now and not be so concerned that I will have ‘frankenboobs’ forever. And I’ve stopped calling them that, because it’s unkind.

Wishing you all the happiness the Universe can bring,