Not zebras...

I guess all of this parenting that I have been doing has forced me to look at my own childhood and the ways in which I was parented.

I don't think that there could be a single soul out there who is entirely happy with their childhood. And if you're thinking, 'No. No, Kim: that's not really true" well, just keep it to yourself so that I can feel better about myself.

Mostly, my thinking revolves around my dad. He was the best. He was not the worst, but sometimes close to. He was funny. He was cruel.

My mom loves me and unintentionally makes sounds like Yoda. First son has a pair of Yoda slippers that he calls his odour slippers. And he loves his grandma.

My dad died in October 2006. Soon to be six years ago. I guess I think about my dad most as he isn't here to argue with. We had lots to argue about. All the usual topics I guess: religion, immigration, history, colour theory, and on and on. Most of our discussions started with the vulgar but much missed, 'Kim, the left cheek of my arse knows more about __'.

What with my post-natal anxiety and just generally being a worrier about everything, my dad always used to say 'When you hear hoofbeats think horses, not zebras.' I ALWAYS think the worst. What others think of me, what I think of myself, how a situation is going to work out - it's just zebras, zebras, zebras.

I do try to keep things positive and I did learn a lot about helping myself when I had my kids, but I thought I might change my blog name to maybe force me to reflect a little more often.

I also remember someone saying, 'Horses or Zebras, it's still going to be a stampede' and that made me laugh.

My next step will be to get rid of this foul blue background.