Whenever you reject pieces of me

Published October 31, 2020 by insufficient mums

Whenever you reject pieces of me

Rest assured I will never trouble you with them again

For me there is a sadness in this

Because eventually we’ll just be two people living in a house

And you’ll wonder where the woman I used to be went

And feel used financially

If I offer you my sparkle

And you complain about its weight

Don’t forget that I once trusted you enough to offer it

Not My Revolution

Published February 13, 2019 by insufficient mums

Must resist the urge to engage in discourse. Must.not.use.the.words.
I might not use the right words. Worse still, I might use the wrong word.
Obviously I’m not invited to the party. Or the rest of us who think life should be fairer, safer, and more equitable.

If I don’t have the right words, the correct terminology, enough education, or a compatible background, I’m probably not welcome in the revolution.

The current leftist discourse shows an elitism – Joe Public is totally discouraged from showing up.

I’m not talking about the current USA rape issues. Everyone arguing would be against that, right?

I’m talking about the discourse that has followed it.
Only the perfect and the intellectual are invited to the revolution. The rest of us will never be invited.

The new wave of privileged lefties are as intimidating as all hell. FFS, we’re animals. Barely more than ants. And this lot wanna kill each other cos the best and the brightest of them have flaws.

Tell you what, they’re not part of my revolution. Viva the working class. Not necessarily  educated. Not necessarily correct. Also, not arseholes. Just humans doing our best.

What I’m trying to say is, a lot of us are poor, and dumb, and uneducated. And the current leftist discourse actually excludes us. There is a level of education and perfectionism implicit and required. And we all watch as folk get slaughtered on a misfooting. If folk as wonderful as these get hammered, what chance do the rest of us have?

Perhaps leftism has forgotten who it’s fighting for/with.


Moa Country

Published July 8, 2018 by insufficient mums

So, here’s what happened.

I got a new lawn mower. Took WINZ phoning me 5 times, cos I wasn’t gonna give up.

My new section is over 700m2. I am little. 5’1”, 70kg. And old – nearly 50. And sometimes I walk with a stick, cos life is hard, and so is sciatica.

My new section is lumpy and bumpy, with long grasses and short grasses and holes and areas so spongey it feels like you’re a walking on 6 foot of moss. There’s a gradual incline – not too scary, but enough to stop a tiny Woman.

WINZ wanted me to get a cheaper mower. A smaller mower. A second-hand mower. A refurbished mower.

And eventually they gave up.

My mower wasn’t expensive, you understand. And they don’t buy it for me. I do have to pay the money back.

Large 0d7ee886 27b2 4841 b866 2777ce97e8aaBut I got my 4-cylinder self-propelled mower in the end. Cos I’ll never be younger, stronger, bigger, or healthier than I currently am. And their argument didn’t make sense. So, ya know…

Anyway, I got it home, then it snowed, rained, hailed, massive frosts.

Then the sun came out, apparently. During this two-day event my son and I had the worst case of gastroenteritis I’ve ever encountered, but I have to believe the rumour that the sun was actually there.

Today was the day. I finally opened the box. I had no idea that when you buy a new lawnmower, you actually have to build it yourself.

So, today I built a lawnmower. Then I fuelled it and oiled it and mowed about a quarter of my grass.

An I gotta say, it feels like a job well done. Will take another hour and mow another quarter tomorrow.
If the snow holds off.

Ignore this

Published June 25, 2018 by insufficient mums

I think I loved you best

Cos you were never scared of me

Not ever

You held your dignity, and your self-respect

And none of that was dependant on me

And when I bought your team jersey, $100, from the UK, you tried it on

And took it off within 2 seconds

And threw it in the laundry

And when I bought a painting of the life I wanted

You said it was an old cold dreary hole

And my little house that I was so grateful for,

The décor was ugly 70s colours


I hadn’t noticed

That wasn’t my focus.

But you looked at me with those same eyes.

I know now why you don’t risk

Well, you risk your life in your sport

But not in your job, not in your home, and certainly not for me.

When we don’t take chances, we get what we’ve always gotten.

I guess that’s a form of security.

But not mine.

What I’ve always gotten is shit

So, I’m gonna risk everything till I die

Cos nothing is guaranteed

And something good might just happen.

For me, anyway.

Give Up

Published December 4, 2017 by insufficient mums

Struggling a bit. Cos I fekn hate people.

I mean, I love individuals. I have people I adore all over the world.
But the species – it’s toxic.

Actually, fair warning, this might not be worth a read. It’s just my struggle, and may likely be just a ramble.

But I like to write at these moments. Because by the end, I know what I think.

There’s a whole lot of shit going down. People killing groups of people. People killing animals. Farming as an industry. Humans behaviour towards pets and other beings. How we use our planet, as if it wasn’t our last breath.

Online news.

Human behaviour tears out my soul.

Okay, I know. I’m a sensitive. This is how it’s gonna be for me.

The class war kills me. Those privileged enough to not believe it’s happening make it worse. I know the difference between being able to pay for parking in town, and not being able to. I know what it’s like to have budget brand groceries in your trolley every fekn week, and never have anything nice.

But we’re not starving, as others in the world needn’t be.

But how the middle class hate us – as their debt burden. Because they’ve been told we’re the problem. So they don’t need any more information.

I hate that we’re set up not to succeed. To take on austerity jobs, as if there wasn’t another way. As if there wasn’t as much money as there’s always been. Only now it all goes to the top.

I hate the way we treat each other and our fellow earthlings of all species and our wild world – the very lungs of this planet.

I hate the way we treat indigenous folk as parasites – so they ask for nothing and wish for nothing.

I hate the way we plunder our homeship – as if she wasn’t alive.

Humans kill me.

But I fiercely love individuals. My kids, my partner, my friends and their kids. I know the hearts of these people, and I love them.

I don’t know why people act the way they do. Then blame the poor, who have no choice in their actions.

I’m light and dark. Love and hate.

And there’s so many times I could just opt out. Cos my own earthwalk isn’t an easy one. And seems pointless in the face of the opposition.

I think it’s bloody-mindedness. This refusal to cave or fold or shut up. This resolution to shine my light while I’m here.

It’s a hard walk. So disillusioned. Just trying to shine my light in my little part of the woods. While those with power and money cut down the woods. And dumbarses spout mainstream media in support of the hegemony.

Man, I’ve been working and fighting my entire life. While those one rung up the ladder take their moment of power to argue with me.

The fight is silly. They’re so much bigger than me. More powerful. They fight with money, usually wearing suits, to prove I’m wrong.

But if I’m wrong, I could have given up the first time I thought about giving up.

I hate my enemy. That keeps me going.

I will do everything I can get away with within their laws to change the focus.

Otherwise we’re just ants. Going about our business of eating things so we can reproduce.

Maybe that’s all we are. Maybe it’s me who has the problem, thinking ants should be fair and just and kind. And getting incredibly hurt because they aren’t. I can’t discard all this and stay alive in my own little bubble of happiness. Not while they kill all the things.

So I’ll fight while I’m here. Many of us will. But don’t rely on us to fight forever.

What will you do if those who care give up?

Liberation and the Wild Girl-God

Published October 22, 2017 by insufficient mums


Sometimes, a Wild Girl-God moves in and rearranges what you thought was real. She thumbs her nose at propriety and property, social and monetary capital. She wakes me up in the morning and asks, full of wonder-delight-menace-daring, “What are we going to do today?”

From Karina Black Heart


There’s a gorgeous poem-prose piece, “Sometimes a Wild God,” that everyone should read or listen to at least seven dozen times in their lives. For me, it is an affirmation of how I invite the Gods I am in relationship with to inform my life and give me courage to live as they do.

These symbiotic relationships with Gods have gotten me in all kinds of trouble, including roller-coaster relationships, courageous acts and harrowing feats, landing in foreign countries with less than $70 in my wallet, moving out of state to be near my Madre–the Sea, zip-lining, fire-walking, hand-crafting, vegetable gardening…

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And then it hit me…

Published August 24, 2017 by insufficient mums

So, here’s what happened. I did say I’d tell you.2017Summer

I was off to see a client on a damp Sunday afternoon. It had been a busy week – all sorts of commitments. Bit stressful really.

Driving along Highgate, I saw a car indicating to turn out of a minor side street. And turn she did. Right into the side of my car. Across the road I went diagonally into a car parked outside the giftshop. The driver was still sitting there behind the wheel. He didn’t even look my way. Stayed fixed like a statue as I watched his face get closer, fairly sure I was gonna kill him.

It was over with a bang. I managed to reverse a few inches out of his car before my car stopped. No forwards, no reverse, middle of the wrong lane. Hazard lights on.

I could hear cars crunching up scattered bits of my car as I climbed out. The driver’s door barely opened as my front guards were pushed back into the doors.

I went to the driver of the car I hit – standing on the side of the road – no injuries says he. A miracle – but the Mazda 323 he’s only just bought had taken some flack.

I went to the driver of the car that hit me. No injuries says she. Another minor miracle. But the front of her 3-day-old Jazz was gone. When I phoned the police and they asked for her number plate I had to go down the road to find it.

Now, in the last year I’ve gotten all new tyres – one just a couple of weeks ago. In the last month or two I’ve had all the mechanicals done – brakes, CV joints, the lot. A week ago I got a new battery. The Kaosmobile was older, but she’s looked after us through my divorce, moving house, taking kids to support services. She may have been valued at less than the repairs cost me, but she was worth it to us. And I wasn’t worried about equity. She was our bus.

And now here she was, both sides stoved in and the front falling off her. I knew she was gone.

The police came, and were brilliant. The rain was chilling, and we decided I may have broken my finger. I didn’t phone the kids – they might have panicked.

The police gave me a ride home, and my mate came and took me to the Emergency Department.

My hand is black but not broken. My arm is similar. I have an achy shoulder from the seatbelt, and my body was a bit stiff for a day or two. But how amazing is that?

All good people. No arguments or blaming. She simply didn’t see me.

Right now I’m sorting insurance and hoping I get paid out enough to get something that will work for us. I’m currently driving a rental 2016 Mazda 3, keyless, and the handbrake is a switch. It smells like clean.

All in all, much gratitude, some sadness, and a few more things to do in my day.

We Need a Socialist Party

Published August 22, 2017 by insufficient mums

International Socialists

000abd77-1500 The MP as revolutionary: Bernadette Devlin

By Shomi Yoon

In January 1972 Bernadette Devlin McAliskey, 25-year old MP for Mid Ulster elected on an ‘independent socialist’ ticket, crossed the floor of the House of Commons in the British Parliament and punched Home Secretary Reginald Maudling in the face.  He, a Conservative, had just spoken to Parliament blaming the deaths of “Bloody Sunday”, when British troops fired on demonstrators in the north of Ireland, killing thirteen, on the protestors themselves. Devlin, who had been a part of the civil rights movement in the North since she was a teenager, had been a part of the protest and was an eyewitness to the British military atrocity. She called her action in Parliament a “proletarian protest”. When asked by reporters if she would apologise to Maudling – the man slandering oppressed Catholic workers as terrorists – she said “I’m only sorry I didn’t…

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I Think We’re Alone Now

Published July 21, 2017 by insufficient mums

Did you know that I am never ever ever alone?

Not ever.

Not for 5 minutes. Not for 5 breaths.

There is always someone, whether of good of bad inclination, wanting something off me. Maybe food. Maybe transport. Maybe just my time.

If there is a clear moment during term time, that is demanded by the forms that need the filling, the things that need the fixing or the cleaning. Even getting an alone moment to do this shitty dross work is nigh on impossible.

Then I have friends who love me.

If you are my friend you already know that I cannot be your ‘only’ friend. That would be unwise. My availability for ‘friend things’ is restricted.

Feeling the pinch right now. Everybody wants a piece of me. Dammit I got my own shit I wanna get done.

And even if I didn’t have that impulse, I still want time to shower, to sit and breathe, to nap if I damn well want to.

I’m fekn over it really. I wanna upsticks and move to somewhere that no-one knows me. Or somewhere where there is no-one.

I want the chance to be lonely. To be so alone that I can have some writing time. To be so alone that some things are clean. To be so very totally alone that I have the impulse to go be with some folk for some time.

Only one place I can think of like this. And it calls me sometimes.

Maybe I’ll Leave

Published September 26, 2016 by insufficient mums

Sometimes Teen Elder is so convincing in her belief that I am a bad parent, that I need to take pause and look at it.

Sometimes I’m sure she bounces vilifications off teen younger, so they can present a united hateful front.
With their father’s projection of evilness onto me as a backdrop for their worldview, I become the source of every problem, and the one responsible for every solution.
And I’m tired.

Perhaps if I wasn’t doing anything else with my life? If I was just sitting at home on my bum being evil…

But no – I got this life thing that occupies most of my time. And it is somewhat challenging in and of itself.
This week has been particularly shit.

But then, I say that about a lot of weeks, as they pile one atop the other in an epic monument to just how shitty life can get.

However, this week has been the frosting on the top.

I find the urge to pack the car and go becoming increasingly strong. After all, who would miss me?

My own life is reduced to the tiny shreds of time I can commit to friends and pursuits that keep me alive.

The life I give to my children has no value. I pick the things up, clean the dirt up, and get in the way of what they want to do. They’re convinced they’d be better off without me, and treat me in appropriateness to this desire.
So why the hell am I here?

Parenting is hard. Holding my ground – keeping the line. Not under-reacting too often. Not overreacting too often.

Trying to maintain some sort of life of my own is hard. But if I do nothing that feeds me, I have nothing left to give. Too tired to go out. Too tired to stay in.

Everything financial is hard. I take consolation in the fact that it used to be harder. I don’t look at the future.

I am a ‘good enough’ parent. With better supports and better finances I would be a better parent.
Why do I refuse to do all the things for my children? While accused by my ex-husband of laissez faire parenting, and of some sort of abuse/neglect/unfair distillation by my kids. Because they need to learn to expect to do some of the things themselves.

Why do I hold the line during emotional manipulation that would bring a Saint to tears? Because I want to teach them that emotional manipulation doesn’t work. Ever.

Why do I teach them to do school subject that they love, while letting go of the ones they show talent in but are not passionate about? So their lives form around things they love.

Why do I focus on their social skills and navigating the choices they make in life above school grades and academic results? Because that is what this set of children need.
Why do I do these time-consuming, exhausting and challenging things for them, when they resent me for existing, at best?

Good question.

I would like to run away. To somewhere where I could sleep and sleep and sleep until I finally wasn’t tired anymore.

And once I wasn’t tired, I would write and draw and paint and read.

And voluntarily share time with friends, because I wouldn’t be struggling to find genuine time for them.

Trying to work out why I’m writing all this is like trying to work out why I’m still here.
There’s a lot of glib statements and affirmations that would tidy this up nicely, and make it look like a cohesive piece of writing.

But that’s just not how life is.

There’s a part of me that just wants to leap off a cliff, cos I’m not 100% convinced that I wont fly. ‘Reality’ has never been completely convincing to me.

And if I fall, would I even notice?