family – phonakins

Frog Ponds Rock

Remembering Kim Foale

Ahh the Golden days of mummy blogging – or whatever it was us peripherical misfit non-mummy bloggers were doing at the times. Whatever it was it really was about the friends we made along the way, and one of them was Kim of Frog Ponds Rock, kinda a mummy figure to many of us, Mum to Veronica, and one of the first middle aged women I knew diagnosed with Autism (Think she was fifty at the time) with many more of the blogging crowd to follow. They’re in Tasmania, and I had the privilege to be picked up from the airport by Kim and visit her home and studio and visit Veronica at home – she was pregnant with her youngest who’s in highschool now. I was down for a speech pathology conference, it wasn’t a great time in my life but I remember those visits fondly. I was devastated when Veronica’s house burnt down, it was always a work in progress before that and I remember parts of it from my visit and ugh, why do bad things happen to good people? (Check your smoke alarms, it’s the reason the humans were able to get out at least).

This is an amazing tribute to Kim. I was sitting with my own mum who’s in the rehab hospital when I saw Veronica’s post that Kim had died that morning. Kim was 60. Mum’s 69 on Thursday and was in great health until the sudden brain bleed January 28, with another a few weeks later. She’s back in good health now, but is disabled by it, will probably have to use a wheelchair for the rest of her life, needs hoisting in and out of bed, is getting function back in her right hand – at least she’s left dominant right? But for someone who truly prefers to do things for herself it’s a huge adjustment, all the other stuff aside.

So mum and I were watching a gameshow, she was back in bed after a busy day at rehab – gym, arm exercises etc. I as scrolling my phone and the post seemed so sudden, because it was. Kim had been in hospital but was meant to be getting out that morning.

I know Veronica’s worries are now with her father – how will he cope with her suddenly gone, no matter how beautifully maddening Kim could be at times with her wonderful creativity and neurodivergence and just being a good soul. I worry the same for Dad. He’s been in crisis mode since the stroke, and hasn’t really come down from it. Still visiting every day. Still off work, but not ready to retire officially, even though age and his own health wise, let alone mum’s would make sense. He’s still overwhelmed about the prospect of renovating the house to get mum back but I think is more confronted by the idea of her going to a nursing home, either while that’s done or permanently. And I worry what would become of him then?

Mum keeps saying her first reaction to the rehab teach recommending aged care was that she’s not old. And she’s not. She’s also the healthy one, the one that looked after herself, did all the right things. And was there for everyone else. So being the one needing care is a big adjustment.

I still hope to get her home. But in the meantime, her wheelchair’s been approved (manual but she’s warming to the idea of getting the power adaptation) and we’ve been looking at vehicles to get her around in regardless of where she’s spending the night – the Voxy is one cool little option dad’s warming to with encouragement.

So, it’s all a big thing, but something I’m even more grateful for after Kim’s sudden passing. Grateful we’ve had the last four months no matter how hard they’ve been and that we’ll have whatever time is ahead. All mum can do is keep her blood pressure low (it was never high) and no take anything blood thinning to have to best chance of not having another bleed. But it may be sudden or, like I said to her, we might have another 20 years ahead of us and I want to get the house and equipment right if I’m going to be caring for her til I’m in MY sixties.

So, we take it as it comes. We enjoy the little things, eat the little cakes, look after our own health so we can all look after each other. Gp for my partner today, looking into some of his own health issues after years of ignoring them. I’ll see my own GP Friday for my scripts and will probably get the form for my annual bloodwork that hopefully still says that I many be fat but my numbers look good. Harassing my father to try to follow up things so he can care for mum – physio mostly since his own knees are not young and spritely any more, and trying to help my sister to where I can.

And of course Maxi. Maxi just has sensitive skin so it’s baths and creams and anti-allergy pills wrapped in cheese for him.

Go buy some soap from Veronica, or food for her foster kitties. Or help me and my little family out here.

Budget asks and existential dread

Feeling a bit like Tweek from the 2016 South Park where President Garrison is threatening North Korea and cupcakes don’t solve the problem but I’m here making cupcakes (or muffins or whatever I throw together) feeding myself, feeding others and just trying to get through the days and weeks.

So, the Treasurer says the budget isn’t finalised, while preparing the ground for cuts to the NDIS, while disabled people just want to be supported to live. We want access to pensions that cover the rent and health care and food. We want governments and financiers to stop with the narrative of rorts, and perhaps approve the supports we know we need and know would make disabled lives worth living. We want some certainty.

We want fairer taxation. We want you to spend money housing people rather than allowing people to build their “wealth” and property portfolios while tent and caravan cities pop up.

I want aged and disabled care plans determined by qualified people, not an algorithm. I want the NDIS to stop fighting people who are just trying to survive. I want to know that my mother will be able to go back home after her stroke and get more than maybe one shower a week. I want to know that while I’m probably going to be my mother’s main carer, I’ll have support and equipment and extra paid supports as needed to make that a sustainable an safe undertaking for us all.

I want us to not suck up to genocidal presidents. I want to stop reading that it’s been x hours since a ceasefire started in an article about a town being bombed in Southern Lebanon.

I want a lot. Or not very much if you look at it as just wanting a rich country to support its people to live happy, healthy and dignified lives. That involves housing and welfare for all, adequate and safe disability and aged care. That involves being able to go to the GP when I need to and afford the medications I need to sustain my mental health.

I’m very much still running day by day. There’s equipment trials and a family meeting for mum on Friday. There’s helping my sister out so she can take care of her own mental health beyond what the NDIS will support her and her kids to. There’s walks with my dog and dinner and snuggles with my partner to sustain me. There’s a new Hello Kitty Island Adventure expansion pack and a mochi cafe to run. It’s about balance.

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It’s all about timing

In the featured image for this post you will see Maxi looking pleased with himself because he got to tag along for a 2km drive to the end of the road with his head hanging out the window, past the cows in paddocks and the construction for the new twin servos off the M1, to get petrol before the prices jumped on Tuesday with the news about conflict continuing in the Middle East. Obviously, Maxi didn’t care about the oil prices, but I was pleased to say I got $50 of fuel into my tank at $1.65 before it went up 25c overnight at that particular station. The ABC was reporting that households could see an extra $14 a week needing to go to petrol over the coming months, which to some isn’t much, to some a lot, and to me who’s still making 3 80+km round trips a week to see mum in hospital (she’s moved to the rehab hospital which is AWESOME) it matters that I was able to work it so I put petrol in Tuesday instead of tomorrow when my pension goes in.

Waiting on the indexation amounts to be published so I can redo my budget for the next 6 months. It’ll probably be about $20 more a fortnight overall between rent assistance and disability.

I got my first “weird hot cross buns” of the year yesterday at my bread collection – Carrot Cake Inspired ones from Aldi. I microwaved one for 15 seconds and it was awesome! Little bits of cream cheese icing inside and nice and soft and spiced.

Been perfecting my “getting a car park at the hospital” strats. Yesterday I let all the cars go off ahead of me and waited where I was since there was noone behind me needing to go. And I lucked out a Mum and her twin boys came out of the elevator and indicated they were going to their car just in front of me. Score! Sadly, I was charged the advertised parking price for pensioners of $6.80 for the day rather than the $5.60 they have been charging me. Swings and roundabouts I guess.

Mum’s been getting assessed and set up with physio, occupational therapy and speech pathology goals and activities to get her moving again. It’s exhausting for her but she’s hopefully going to make good gains. I’m still aiming to go in Monday, Wednesday and Fridays to see her and support however I can. Yesterday we got outside for a little walk around the grounds. It was super humid! No wonder there’s mould in so many of the local hospitals :/ Nothing is drying anywhere!

That said, I’m attempting to get the sheets and towels washed today, whether they dry or not is another story!

Love yas!

Wanna help me with petrol and parking costs or send some snacks?

When you have the Capability, but your Capacity screams “STOP!”

It’s okay, my capacity isn’t yet screaming at me to stop – I’ve been managing myself alright given the other things I’ve taken on. But the little twitch in my left eye this morning was telling me to slow down a little.

“yeah, I have capacity, what do you need?” pic.twitter.com/kuekymfpgh

— Neil Renic (@NC_Renic) August 15, 2025

Ness often talks about the difference between having capability and having capacity (but damned if I can get my head around funding a good post on her blog or socials, let’s see if I can come back with one) in the context of work expectations, but also in what can be supported for disabled people.

Like, I was asked if I’d be presiding officer for the HSC exams at the school I’ve been supervising at for 2026. Yes, I have the skills needed. I might baulk at some of the people management stuff but I can do it. But I know I simply cannot sustain that level of work – not even counting the lead in time and prep – of 12 hour days for the four weeks, with the responsibility of making sure those 150 kids get their HSC delivered, AND not go insane or crash out or something less dramatic but equally threatening to the delivery of the exams and my long term well-being.

So I declined. Which is the right choice. Given that even the 2-3 days, some half some full, I’ve been doing, with days off in between is more than enough for me. I’m thriving off doing it – I like being able to be responsible and capable and respected for my skills and being able to train and support other staff, but an unofficial 2ic role is more my speed than taking on the whole thing.

It means I can also still function outside of that – once I recover from the day of being “on” and do the other things I want and need to do to look after and be with myself and others I care for. Which some have needed more of lately. Which is all good, and I feel useful and closer to them for it. But again, balance and capacity need to be respected. And I need to be in charge of that for me because I know me best and can regulate me best.

tiny coloured ducks in a row — Are your ducks in a row?

Finding the balance of stubborn and holding my ground that actually serves me

At my last work place, I got quite angry when a senior worker said she’d been leaving a piece of rubbish behind a door to see how long it took for other staff to clean behind that door. I’m all “just tell them they need to pay more attention to that when they mop”. but no, they persisted with things like that.

I’m very much tell me what to do, tell me what I’m missing, it might not be obvious to me. Or, like some things, I might not actually notice that certain thing, at night, when my vision is at its worst.

So, why do I find myself getting stubborn when it comes to my stepkids and them not cleaning things? When Bee was with us they said they weren’t bringing out their rubbish all the time and that it would help to have a bin in their room. So I got a bin, and then they just filled it and left rubbish around it. Because there was the baby involved I really couldn’t leave it, and cracked it a few times and just cleaned everything when they were out of the house. But that was more extenuating circumstances, with child protection hovering around the edges.

How many times do I ask my stepson to bring out his dishes, to clean up after himself, before it’s reasonable to be irritated? Still in post-inspection mode, how did it take a day for there not be enough dishes in the kitchen for me to serve and make dinner how I like? I felt a little bitchy, but since I didn’t have to dishes to plate up for three, I didn’t and only served up for two and he could find his own dinner when he got home from work. That of course then leads to him using more dishes and me having to clean stuff ahead of the next meal I make. It’s not personal on him, it’s how it works with any person you share a space with, I remember in my first share house cracking it at someone who never cleaned up the cutting board.

We all have out own ways, and my ways surely irritate others. But right now I just have to strike the right balance of doing what needs to be done fore cleanliness and my sanity and not letting others walk over me whether that’s their intention or not.

A bit worse for wear. Woke up feeling all refluxy, got up and started gagging and made it to the bathroom for a spew. Ugh. So another day of pottering. I might find some basil for my Sim. I’ve been told it’s in a certain map, so I’ll head there and pick some for her to take to work to make the hot stuff potion. It’s good for what ails ya.