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December 19:


Something Beginning with S.



Photograph Holiday Preparation
Twinkle Lights | Burning Candles  | Something Golden


Watch a christmas movie.



Write about a favourite Christmas memory…


Email to say that the diary i ordered on the weekend is on its way cant wait. I so want to see how it turned out. i guess that means i need to figure out what i am going to put into it, so had better start getting that organised, and sorting out this years diary.

Then all of the shit started!!!!

Had a very stressful day. Our 11yr old was waiting for her school bus outside of our house, i checked she was there, all was ok, she would have only waited around 8 minutes. well in that time the Ambo lady (we live near a fire/ambo station) said that she would leave the door open incase it started raining again, and a man from the end of our street spoke to our daughter.

Whilst she was talking to this man which would have been under a minute or so, a car went by (the driver a youth worker for the local shire or high school i didn’t catch which) and considered that the man was too close to her, so called the police. (The man walked off and the bus came a minute later) The police then called the school (to find out if any children where absent none where) and the school pulled her out of class after figuring out who it was.

at 10am the Police called me to tell me what had happened and that they wanted to speak with me, because they didn’t know who the man was. i asked them to come after 11am as jack wasn’t home, well it was 12 when the police came, and just a minute before i managed to get hold of Jack.

I was made to feel like i had done something wrong, and that i was a bad mother for not being outside whilst my child was catching the bus. even though i watched her go outside, and checked once (obviously NOT seeing anyone around), and then i heard the bus stop and looked up and seen it go past. it wasnt until the police called me that i knew about the man.

and when she got into the car in the afternoon she had no idea that the police had been and that someone had contacted them in regards to her. She said it was the man from the end of our street and he asked her what she was holding in her hand, it was christmas cards and he said ok and walked off.

i feel it was an over reaction from this youth worker, and if they felt that my child was in that much danger that they had to call the police why didn’t they stop and ask her if she was ok.

The whole thing caused me as a mother a great deal of stress and anxiety 1. because the police officer didn’t immediately say that my child was ok, and then 2 hours of waiting for them to arrive, and also not knowing where my husband has gotten too. It isn’t a day i would like to have again thats for sure.

She was in the end safe and well and no harm came to her.

Then we get an email to say that all of the work jack did at the barn, wasn’t enough. Well and truly over people who think that they can walk all over us and that it wont hurt. well i can tell you that the scares are imbedded deep in me now, and it is my trust in people which has suffered… I really don’t like people. they are nasty and selfish.

We decided to take a drive to Burnie to de-stress.


school / work / christmas shopping.



no idea i was too consumed with my own events of the day.




i am going to leave this on my blog and if someone EVENTUALLY finds it i hope that they do the courtesy of filling it in.




In poll after poll, nicole, we’ve discovered that perhaps the very best thing about being truly enlightened is possessing that rapturous feeling of wanting to explode out of your skin with absolute joy, letting rip a couple of those “Oh yeah, Momma, Hallelujah!”s, yet being able to effortlessly contain yourself, without expressing so much as a hint of your ecstasy around those who just wouldn’t understand. Just thought you’d like to know. Oh, the secrets of illumination… what a trip, huh, nicole? Oh yeah, Momma, Hallelujah!
The Universe


Pick 1 fun social activity you can do this weekend and put it on your calendar.

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