I really don’t feel like myself since I got home. At first I thought it was jet lag because I couldn’t sleep and had an attention span that could be counted in seconds, rather than minutes or hours.

Then the days moved on and now I’ve been home over a week, but still I lie awake at night with my mind racing and my legs twitching from nervous energy and it seems obvious that there might be a bit more to it.

Is it just post holiday blues or something more?

I don’t feel depressed and I was actually glad to come home. Routine is a vital part of life with young children and it was definitely tiring having to entertain Bunny all day every day. In Europe he had no pre-school, no mates, hardly any toys and little predictability. Usually Bunny is a child who thrives on predictability (so unlike me), but overseas he coped amazingly well and adapted to everything we threw at him. Even so, it’s nice to be home where there’s more support and a bedroom I can send him to when he’s throwing a wobbly.

But back to me - it’s ALL ABOUT ME, people!

If it was a welcome comfort to get home, why do I feel so disinterested in doing anything?

I started back up on my novel overseas, but am now dragging my feet. I have a few draft posts written that I can’t seem to finish. A client who wants me to start on a project, but I’m avoiding him. And I find myself mentally blank for long periods of the day with a physical restlessness which is keeping me up ’till all hours.

People are supposed to come home from holidays recharged, not drained!

I have to admit, this has happened before. Last year when I returned from Thailand, I wrote about my intuition that change was in the air. It made a lot of sense then because I’d been feeling very burned out before I went away, and when I came home I re-prioritized my life to stop copy writing for a few months and concentrate on my family.

This time the problem isn’t burn out, and maybe it’s not post holiday blues either. Maybe those over-active instincts of mine sense new challenges on the horizon for me and my poor little brain (it’s not what it once was - thanks Bunny) is struggling to keep up.

I did start to jot down some notes for a new creative project while I was away, the novel has spluttered back to life, and I’ve been mulling over some minor changes I want to make here at SHE-POWER. So, maybe I’m being too hard on myself.

Maybe just getting on with everyday life for a week or two is just what I need. Time for my ideas to germinate and bloom into something beautiful. Maybe it’s that old dilemma again about it being okay to do nothing. Sit, wait and create.

What do you think?

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“Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans.”

- John Lennon, Singer, Songwriter, Legend (1940 - 1980)


Hi all, just wanted you to know we arrived home safe and sound. The 22 hour plane flight home was FANTASTIC. No really, just great! I’d happily do it again tomorrow.

NOT!

The jet-lag seems to have left MusicMan and I completely brain dead, and though this is our third day home we’re both functioning on the most basic level and often find ourselves quite disoriented. I still have a half unpacked suitcase sitting next to my front door, for example.

I don’t have the attention span to finish the washing up, watch an hour long television show or read a book. So, writing my scrawled notes up into a meaningful post has proved impossible. Sorry. I have tried - believe me I have - but I only end up staring at the computer screen with no idea how I was going to finish that last sentence.

I will return when I am back in the swing of everyday life and find myself doing more than wandering around the house with no idea of where I’m heading or what I was supposed to be doing.

By the way, the photograph was taken of me in Sevilla. The doves are carnivorous there.

Kelly

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Yes, today we fly home. Not sure why I wrote bus there, but I was free writing and that’s what came out so I’ll leave it.

This week has passed in a blur and my internet time and connections did not go to plan so I have posts waiting to go when I get home. Please bear with me while I prattle on about this trip for the next week or so.

London was amazing and Paris sublime. Lots to report so check in here in a couple of days. Internet situation is so lousy I don’t even have a photo to show you. Cest la vie.

Au revoir.

Kelly

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some things about your colorful country are just plain loco.

First let me be clear, I had a great time in Spain and I will do a post with the highlights of our visit after I get home. I won’t be able to really give the research and writing the time it deserves until then because Musicman is working now and I’m entertaining Bunny.

But like any country, there were a few things that drove me absolutely nuts. Some are little and petty, some stressed me out, and some had me quite pissed off after awhile. In no particular order…

• The Spanish eat so much oily food that you can go to a tapas bar and EVERY item on the menu is fried. After two weeks, the most important question I asked when we were deciding where to eat was if the bar/cafe served salad.
• A mixed salad always has tuna in it. I don’t know why, but sometimes I just wanted a simple green salad, and they found this quite strange.
• Juice in Spain is always sweetened with sugar and sometimes is more like cordial. In Catalunya they take this further by serving up the sweetened orange juice with a spoon and a sachet of sugar. I tried asking for sin azucar, but this was usually ignored, leaving me to battle it out with Bunny over why he couldn’t dump two teaspoons of sugar in his already sugared juice. Yes, sugar sachets are huge here - at least two teaspoons.
• Even though the laws were changed to ban smoking in bars, cafes and restaurants, this is largely ignored. It is still common to sit in a small cafe/bar (they’re pretty much one and the same here) and have people smoking all around you. I found it really hard to cope with, particularly if I was eating. And it amazed me that people will light up in a confined eatery when they are sitting within a metre of a young child. To be fair, smoking is much more prevalent in the South than in the North of Spain, and Barcelona did have a few smoke free restaurants.
• In Sevilla we were actually served by a smoking barman and we could see the kitchen staff smoking while they cooked. Needless to say, we only ate there once.
• I noticed this a lot in the South, but it might happen in the North too: Spaniards often throw their cigarettes butts and rubbish on the floor so there is litter all around the bar area. Someone is then employed to walk around sweeping up this mess. They actually get in there between your feet and knees with the broom sometimes.
• In the South, siesta is strongly adhered to because of the searing heat and so you have quite strict hours as to when you can get a meal. If you get caught up sightseeing and snacking until 4.30pm, you’re out of luck. You’ll walk blocks and blocks in the vain hope of finding a bar or cafe who will serve you food. Lunch is usually 1pm to about 3.30pm. And if you want dinner at 7.30pm that’s probably too early too. Heading out to eat at 9pm is much more normal. In the North we had a bit more success with eating between 5 and 7pm, but we still had to hunt around.
• And the heat in Sevilla… it was a killer. I love hot weather and usually I choose travel destinations with a sun friendly climate, but Sevilla is by far the hottest place I have ever been. And it’s not even the peak of summer yet! We found ourselves getting so many cabs because Bunny was just wilting so quickly and we weren’t far behind. The locals cover up and many of them wear trousers, even on the hottest days. I joked to Musicman that it was because the ladies don’t want heat rash from sweat running down their thighs!

• Spanish inner city streets are so narrow (though gorgeous and full of character, particularly in Granada and Sevilla) that people park their cars on the curb, within a few centimeters of the buildings so they sometimes have to hop across to the passenger side to climb out. This also makes driving down these streets a nerve wracking exercise, especially for us Aussies who are used to wide roads and footpaths.
• The Spanish love to double park so you can turn into a street and get stuck because it’s impossible to go through with all the cars practically sitting on top of each other
• Roundabouts are massive affairs with up to 7 or 8 off roads and lots of lanes that everyone ignores. Cars and motorbikes cut in front of you barely missing your headlights to get where they want to go, and if you try and stay in the lines and follow the rules there’s a good chance you’ll be the one stuck and missing your turn off.
• Roundabouts can have lights which are there, but it’s hard to see which off road they’re serving. Sometimes the light in front of you is red so you stop, but then everyone keeps driving and apparently it’s for someone else, though god knows who.
• Sign posting to a destination is excellent until the final one or two turns and then there is nothing. You can get to a major intersection and there are no signs so you choose one and drive for another 5 minutes until you figure out you’ve got the wrong one. You then try another and it’s the right one because a sign to your destination appears within a minute or two. The question we struggled with is why there is no signage when you actually needed it!
• The arrows on road signs to indicate straight ahead are not vertical, they’re at a 45 degree angle. The first day we were driving, the missing road sign problem and the 45 degree angle problem had us driving in bloody circles for hours!
• In the South of Spain they have some of the most intense temperatures I have ever encountered, but for some reason they make the kids playgrounds with metal slides and play equipment. This means you can’t really use them until it’s night-time because the surfaces burn to the touch. This had Bunny constantly disappointed because he wanted to swing or go on the slide, but he couldn’t.

Okay, I think that’s enough; I don’t want to give the wrong impression about this wonderful country. But now you know what I won’t be pining for here in smoke free, eat at any hour London.

Will post about my time in London next. See you in a few days.

Kelly

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Well, we’ve left Spain and arrived in London and yay, I have internet connection!

It’s been a crazy day and we’ve had our share of transportation/travel nightmares, so today I’ll just post the Spain photos I was trying to upload the other day. I’ll write a proper post tomorrow.

By the way, the above family photo was taken at the Alhambra in Granada.

This is the highest peak of Parque Guell in Barcelona.

Bunny checking out Marbella on the Costa del Sol.

Musicians by the harbour in Barcelona.

Tarragona, and a scene from a typical spectacular Spanish city.

A wind farm riding the crest of the Andalucian skyline. That’s olive trees at the base of the mountain. They’re everywhere in Southern Spain.

Granada, Andalucia.

Llafranc, one of the most beautiful bays on the Costa Brava.

Hope you enjoyed this small collection of photos. Will actually write something tomorrow and I can say that with confidence now that I’ve arrived in London and I’m back on wireless. Oh my beautiful, beloved wireless…

See you tomorrow.

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Hola! Sorry I´ve been so long between stops, but the internet in Southern Spain is doing my head in. Wireless connection has been elusive so my laptop is gathering dust, and the broadband connections have been slow enough that writing and uploading photographs takes more time than mi familia are willing to give.

It´s been driving me nuts because I´ve been itching to write a post - I have pages of notes with ideas - but thus far I haven´t been able to actualize my desires. Online connection has been the paramour who is teasing me, dangling itself in front of me every other day or so and then proving itself disinterested in consumating our relationship. I´m like the most frustrated blogger in the world right now!

Yesterday I thought I´d found the right ingredients for a successful seduction. I had the internet cafe scoped out. I´d made introductions. I had arranged with my other loves to be amused elsewhere for an hour or so while I slipped out alone. I had my memory stick all prepped with photos and some scrawled notes to ensure I wasn´t caught up too long. Everything was organised. What could go wrong?

Our apartment, that´s what. Yes, a Spanish apartment kept me prisoner and I had to be rescued. After that I was too rattled to sneak away again and so clung close to the side of mi esposo, certain Spain was conspiring to keep me away from you. It sounds like I´m joking, but I´m not.

Let me first describe the apartment where we´re staying in Sevilla. It´s a building with three floors. The top has a roof terrace perfect for drinking cervezas with the fading sun in the evening warmth. The second floor is ours with an adorable, traditional Spanish apartment. One that has those full length windows/doors that open up in the lounge room and bedroom with the picturesque iron bars and flower pots to keep you from falling out. It´s like having a juliet balcony, but there´s no balcony.

Still the apartment is gorgeous and the view of cobbled streets and adobe buildings all around and the church at the end of the street (with bells that ring at times we find hard to comprehend) makes us feel like we are truly living like a Seville local.

The first floor is another apartment, which has been empty this week, so we are all alone in the building. Great for privacy. Terrible for when you need rescuing. The ground floor has a solid iron and double glassed security door, which needs a key to open it. Mui seguridad The only problem is you need a key to leave as well as to enter. Can you see where I am going here?

The realtor of the apartment only gave us one key for the front door. Musicman and Bunny left while I was having a shower. They unlocked the door and then closed it when they left, thereby locking me INTO the apartment block. Musicman had no idea what he had done.

So I toddle down 15 minutes later, notebook and memory stick in hand, psyched to get a post up and I only make it as far as the door to our apartment before I remember about the front security door. You see, we had noticed the annoying quirk of needing a key to get out on our first day, but then we´d forgotten about it. I was just about to close the front door to our apartment, thereby locking myself in the stairwell, when that memory flickered my mind and I stopped dead. “Oh shit!”

Now I look back and I am so grateful I realized before I shut that door. If I hadn´t had my mobile, I could have been stuck in the stairwell for hours. As it was, I could only text Musicman and hope for the best.

For some reason the fact that both our mobiles are roaming means we can only message each other. We can´t call. We can call other phones, just not each other. Do you think Musicman checked his mobile for messages? Of course not.

I texted him five times and he just couldn´t hear the beeps of the phone in his bag. Bunny had his attention, he was navigating roads, whizzing Spanish drivers and a 4 year old. He couldn´t hear me at all.

45 minutes later I was feeling quite claustrophobic. I couldn´t leave the apartment. I checked the windows - long drop, then there´s the bars - and I wrenched at that bloody front door for ages. I cried and punched the wall. I imagined myself stuck there all day and I began to panic.

That was until I had a brainwave. I remembered a girl´s best friend - her mum.

I called mum, apologised profusely for the late hour (damn that time difference) and got her to call Musicman. I knew he´d answer a phone call because it could be work and he´d definitely hear it. I was right. Mum sent out the rescue mission and I was freed within the next half hour.

Unfortunately, I was way too freaked to come out and write the post. I guess that´s the proof I still have not got over that childhood thing about small spaces. Even an apartment is small when you know you can´t get out. Please don´t think I´m too pathetic.

And now the stupid computer is saying it won´t upload any more photos. Of course not, that would be too efficient.

Sorry to leave you with no more visions of Spain. Will try again when I can, otherwise I´ll be home in 10 days or so. Hasta luego amigos.

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And it goes by the name of Cadaques.

This charming fishing town is nestled between the Pyranees Mountain range and the Mediterranean Sea and is just a short drive from the border of France and Spain. It was the home of Salvador Dali for over half his life and I can see why a man who could live anywhere in the world would choose to keep his home base here.

We actually stayed in the historic Hotel La Residencia, the first hotel in the town and a shrine to Dali. It’s a quirky place, full of art and history and with an elegance that is hard to replicate. Our room had a small juliet balcony and a sea view, and it was a wonderful spot for a beer and a bit of people watching.

I’m not sure if it’s the barren landscape hugging the cobbled streets and white adobe buildings, or the glare of the sun against the sparkling sea and brightly painted row boats, but there is magic and mystery in Cadaques. A sense that you have slipped back in time and you find yourself reveling in the salty air as you spend hours wandering through the rocky, rabbit warren streets and strolling around the bays. The reason it takes so long is due to the many seats along the promenade and dotted throughout the town which encourage you to rest your languid limbs and enjoy the view and soothing atmosphere.

Bunny had a ball with the pebble beach at Cadaques. Better than an amusement park in his eyes. All those rocks of different shapes and sizes, washed smooth by the sea and laid out decoratively for him to pick through and then toss vigorously into the water. The only way we could entice him away without a screaming tantrum was by promising him ice blocks. Never underestimate the power of a well placed bribe.

Musicman and I just couldn’t get enough of Cadaques. This is where we really got into living la vida Espana. Coffee solo and chocolate croissants for breakfast, cerveza and boccadillos or tapas for lunch, and paella and vino tinto for dinner around 9pm. Remember how I said I lost 10kgs? Well, I think I found 3 of them in Spain and it’s only been 7 days! Lord help me by the time I get home. I’m going to be living on bread and water and running every day just to get back to my pre-holiday weight. I think my dreams of sashaying down la playa on the Costa del Sol in a bikini have already been dashed.

We were only supposed to spend a night here, but ended up staying for two. In a week full of highlights, Cadaques has been the unexpected gem.

The rest of the trip has also been fabulous and I will post some more photos in the next day or two. It has been a revelation for Musicman and I to see Spain through Bunny’s eyes and we have both been surprised at how well he has adapted to the language and the change of food, culture and normal routines. He’s totally got into the late nights and half the time it’s Musicman and I who are falling asleep from our busy days while the boy is rearing for more. I should send him out clubbing with the locals - he’d probably love it! He’s also been busy charming all the women with his “Hola” and “Gracias”. There’s a lot of “Mui guapo” being thrown about and I don’t think Musicman is the handsome one they’re cooing over.

Bunny especially loved being spoiled by our amazing host, Anna in Barcelona. We stayed at a beautiful bed and breakfast called Anita’s on Mount Tribidabo above Barcelona. Spectacular views, comfortable rooms, mouth watering breakfasts which are practically two meals in one, and the kind of family style hospitality you can’t buy. And all for 80 Euros, which is great value here. Spain is definitely more expensive than we thought; I don’t know how the locals survive as apparently the wages are crap. I envy the English who get to travel with pounds.

Anyway, have to get to bed so will try and post again soon.

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The time has come. In about 15 hours I will be getting on a plane to Barcelona, Spain. Excuse me while I let out a high pitched squeal of excitement. But I can’t believe after weeks of planning and waiting that this holiday has finally arrived.

I don’t think I talked about it at the time, but this trip really did come out of nowhere. My husband had to have some business meetings in London and Paris and when I found out I was like “You can’t go all the way to Europe for a week!” Of course what I really meant was “You can’t go to Europe without me.”

In a matter of days the decision was made and we were booked on flights. Overnight we went from talking about the minor house renovations we’re doing, to a European holiday that hadn’t even been on the agenda, but was now only 7 weeks away. It was crazy exciting, especially for a die-hard traveller like me whose pack has been hung up for the past few years while I’ve raised a son and bought a house. But for a few days there, I was back where I love to be, floating around on a warm cloud of anticipation and joy. That was until I saw the cost of the airfares on our credit card and I started going through the Spain Lonely Planet and the reality sank in that we did not have the savings to pay for an unexpected jaunt to Europe.

And so the pre-holiday tension hit. The heart said “Go, this will be worth it. You need this” while the head said, “Are you f*cking insane? You’re going to end up in piles of debt!” The struggle between the two of course led my husband and I to struggle with each other. I think the first two weeks of our trip planning were spent arguing over money as I panicked and Musicman took the opposite tack of saying “We’ll work it out.” I would look at him hopefully, sure he must have a divine answer and ask “How?” And he would look back at me blankly and then say “I don’t know.” I would then resume panicking.

The reason I’m telling you this is because there is a lot of advice out there about managing our money responsibly, living frugally, and saving for our retirement (I still can’t get my head around thinking that far ahead), and it’s good, sensible advice. But when all is said and done, there are not many of us who are happy to be sensible all the time.

Sometimes when you REALLY REALLY want something you have to take a leap of faith, commit and then work your buns off to try and make it happen

About two weeks into our planning, after another exhausting fight, we gave up. We realised that we were just struggling against something we had already made a decision on. The airfares were paid for. We WANTED TO GO and it was time to commit to doing whatever it took to make sure we not only went on the holiday, but we could enjoy ourselves and be at peace with whatever the financial consequences were once we got home. We talked about it and we knew it was likely we’d come home to more debt and some post-trip scrimping and saving to get our equilibrium back, but we acknowledged that to us it was worth it.

Let me make it clear that this is not for everyone. Musicman has a very secure and well-paid job and though I work part-time as a freelance copy writer, if I HAD TO I could teach and work a lot more hours and earn a lot more money. It’s just not how I want to spend my time while my son is still so young.

Funny enough, because we were then so focused on going to Spain and HAVING THE MONEY (rather than thinking “We don’t have the money), that much talked about friend, the Law of Attraction kicked in and things started to fall into place that supported our plans.

• We experienced a small rise in income and will receive another larger one in the new financial year
• Some well-paid work basically fell in my lap, increasing my projected earnings
• We re-jigged our debts and expenses to save some money
• Our second car died and we decided to try and live without it to save costs. This has been so successful we’re not going to replace it once we return home
• And lastly we embraced cost cutting so much over the past 7 weeks we have saved a lot more money than we probably expected

All this means I await tomorrow with the excitement of a child at Christmas. Not only are Musicman and I fulfilling a long held dream of going to Spain, but we’re taking out son, showing him new people, a new language and another culture. And I can sleep well knowing this is a dream we MADE HAPPEN with a strong vision, faith, determination, and sacrifice.

If you always wait until you know HOW you’re going to achieve a goal before you take action, then maybe its time to shake things up. What dreams are you putting off? Where could you take a leap and do something bold in your life?

Photo1 by xip
Photo2 by no prawns

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When I started SHE-POWER Women with the beautiful Jemi, I always had in mind that I would do a partner interview series of SHE-POWER Men.

Like the women’s interview series, SHE-POWER Men is about celebrating ordinary men who live their lives in extraordinary, yet simple ways. Men who like and respect women. Men who strive to live with integrity and honesty.

Clay Collins was always my first choice to kick off SHE-POWER Men. His alternative productivity blog, The Growing Life is somewhat of a blogging phenomenon - over 1000 subscribers by the end of its second month. Then there’s his guest articles at blogs such as Dumb Little Man, Zenhabits, Write to Done and Copyblogger, making Clay one of blogging’s new rising stars.

But most of all I chose Clay Collins because he’s a smart and interesting man with a lot to say and a gifted writer with a truly fresh approach. He’s also been a great blogging buddy of mine and has an easy charm and sincerity that I really wanted to capture for SHE-POWER Men. And if you’ve ever read the Dedication to his Grandparents on The Growing Life then you’ll know why I’m voting him Blogging Bachelor of the Year.

Here is Clay Collins talking life, women, blogs, politics and more.

My idea of the perfect weekend is…

Waking up next to someone awesome, going for a run in the arboretum (or a long bike ride), having a picnic outside with friends, listening to some NPR, and doing some writing.

My mother always told me…

My mother is amazing. My mom always tells me to “be good.” The dialogue goes something like this:

———
Me: talk to you later, mom.

Mom: OK, Clay. Be good.

Me: [Sigh]. I’ll be good mom.

Mom: And you know what that means, Clay.

Me: Yeah, mom, I know what that means.

Mom: It means take care of yourself.

Me: I know. Thanks mom. I love you.

———
In this day and age, so many parents coerce their children into getting good grades, obtaining a respectable career, etc. Parents too frequently convey the notion that “being good” means towing the societal line. So I’m eternally grateful that my mom taught me that being good simply means doing what’s right for me and taking care of myself (physically, intellectually, emotionally, etc.). Taking care of myself, of course, also means taking care of others, because doing our part to lift each other up is a basic human need.

My mom also tried to brainwash me into thinking that I could do whatever I wanted to do. She always told me that “you can do whatever you want if you really want it.” For better or worse, the brainwashing attempts were successful.

What’s your favorite blog to read? Which is most overrated?

Melissa Pierce’s blog is damn cool. And my friend Laurie also has a pretty awesome blog as well. This blog is also pretty fantastic. I also really like 1000 Cuts by Monk Mojo.

The productivity/self-development blogosphere has its share of approval-seeking and overly sensitive writers, and it’s nice to see someone having fun with the whole genre. (Yes, it’s true that Monk Mojo’s made me look like a badass but his blog would probably be a favorite regardless). Rolf Potts vagabonding blog is also damn cool. That man’s my hero.

The problem I have with most self-help/productivity blogs is that they flood us with tips (we’ve hit the TIP tipping point and things have gone WAY too far). If I need to acquire a new skill, or am looking for a list of 100 motivation hacks, then I’ll go to Google.

What I want in my feed reader is (1) good & artful writing, and (2) perspective. I’m looking for creative non-fiction.

My most defining moment was…

When I discovered life and my adult self in Ghana, and when I returned from Ghana to Minneapolis and built a new reality. Like Ethan Zukerman, my heart’s in Accra. I want to go back.

Where do you hope to be in 10 years time?

Writing in Minneapolis, Minnesota. Like so many others, I love writing. I could do it all day. I don’t have issues with writers block, or passion. I just don’t have the time to write 24/7 and a man’s got to make a living. So my dream is to have enough money to feed my family and children, enough time to write, and to be somewhat well-received as an author. It’s nice to know that your work is being read.

What makes you angry and/or sad?

Oh god. HP technical support in Bangalore really pisses me off. President Bush. Military solutions to non-military problems. Hunger really makes me sad because it’s a problem that doesn’t have to exist. Xenophobia, water boarding, and human rights violations also get me worked up.

Do you think men are more likely to be unfaithful than women?

No I don’t. I’d recommend taking a look at two great books: Sperm Wars and The Red Queen.

Do you vote?

Absolutely. If you don’t then you’re partially responsible for this mess we’re in.

If YES, is there anything (eg. a scandal) that would change your mind about your preferred candidate?

Oh sure. If I found out about several covered-up connections between Barack Obama and big business then I’d have to reassess my preference.

Do you regard yourself as a “good catch”? Why or why not?

As always, it depends. I like trying new things so dating me usually involves trying out different camp sites, making new recipes, swimming in new bodies of water, going on impromptu road trips, and good substantive conversations combined with a healthy dose of nonsense.

That said, I’m meeting more and more women these days who are looking to start a family and want a guy to be (in part) infrastructure for their lives (or an enabler for a laundry list of goals). I’m not that guy right now. Someday I’ll want to be a father and when that day comes I’ll probably embrace a more conventional approach to relationships, but until that day comes I’m unlikely to be infrastructure for someone else’s life. I’ll welcome certain things when I’m ready but I’m not there yet.

I really hope that this doesn’t sound misogynistic.

At what point will you feel that you and The Growing Life are a success?

I think it’s already a success and I’m happy with who I am as a person. TGL’s a success because my readers and I are on the same page. When I write something that really resonates with me it also tends to resonate with them. I really didn’t know what to think when I started TGL, but I ended up with 200 subscribers the first month and 800 the second. Everything else feels like gravy. Life is good.

And a Few Questions From The Readers…

What is the biggest change you plan to make in your life this year?

Question courtesy of Cath Lawson

I really don’t know. I honestly haven’t thought about it very much. I’m really not very goal oriented. I’d like to buy a condo and Minneapolis and start laying down very deep roots there, so maybe that’s it.

Settling down, family, marriage: looking forward to, or scared of?

Question courtesy of Vered@MomGrind

Children are great and I’ll happily commit to someone when I’m ready to have children. Probably not earlier. Getting married prematurely, however, scares me sh*tless.

Do you think men remember romantic/relationship events like women do? Eg. First kiss

Question courtesy of Charlotte@CharmedLife

I actually think guys are far more sentimental than women. Guys savor deep emotional connections because they happen much less frequently. So while guys seem to be FAR TOO LOGICAL most of the time, those intense emotional moments are driven much deeper into our psyches because they’re peak experiences.

Was there ever a time when you considered giving up on your blog?

Question courtesy of Chris@WatdaWat

Not really. The whole experience has been great. Sometimes I think I should be spending more time on my book proposal and less time on blog entries, but I don’t think The Growing Life will be going away anytime soon. It’s too much fun, and growing far too fast, for me to put down.

Thanks

Clay

Photo 1 of Clay and friend
Photo 2 provided by StewieD
Photo 3 provided by hjl

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Like forever ago, Chris Austria of Wat da Wat? tagged me for a 3 Things About Me meme. Normally I don’t do stuff like this at SHE-POWER, but because it’s Chris and I worship at the altar of his unfailing wisdom and humor…. and because I’ve got ADD with no hope of writing a ‘proper’ article days out from the Spain trip, I’m going to let you in on a few fascinating Kelly facts.

1. I HATE runny, yolky eggs

Yes, stop the press, this is big news. I love to eat eggs, but they must be scrambled or flipped and beaten until they are DEAD DEAD DEAD. I am not over exaggerating here. If I order eggs at a cafe and they do not get what I mean by “Rock Hard” then I send them back. I cannot abide soft, mushy yolks. Not only do I hate the texture and taste of loose or runny eggs, the sight alone is enough to make me gag. Aghh, I’ve actually got the shivers just thinking about it…

2. I am fanatically feminist about women keeping their maiden name after marriage

I just know some of my friends who read this blog are groaning right now because they’ve heard the rants. The ones that go on and on because I absolutely do not get why the majority of women in this day and age still change their names when they get married. WHY????!!!!!

Obviously this means that Kelly Rigby is my maiden name. My son and husband have a different one, and mostly that is okay by my husband. Did he want me to change my name? In an ideal world I guess he thought it would be nice, but it never really bothered him and he’s never expected I would change my mind. The only concession he did ask for was that any children we had should carry his name. I was fine by that since it was just as important to him to carry on his dead father’s name as it was to me not to change mine.

It’s not as if I freak out if someone calls me Mrs Musicman. I don’t. My grandmother has refused to acknowledge I still use Rigby. I’ve told her often enough not to use my husband’s name, but it just doesn’t make sense to her so she perseveres. I am sure she isn’t intentionally trying to make a point, the whole idea is just outside of her reality and that’s okay. She’s my Nanna and I love her so she can call me Gertrude if it makes her happy.

I am also proud to be Musicman’s wife and partner so if people get it wrong socially, I let it slide. And I am aware that because we have a son, I’m probably going to get called Mrs Musicman a lot by kids in the years ahead. But all this does not change the fact that I felt it was important to keep my own name when I married. In fact, for me it was a deal breaker. I would never have married if my husband had insisted I change to his name.

Now, this could be called a case of personal preference and I get that. Most of my friends have changed their names and one has even done it for two husbands, but the thing that really baffles me is why I am still an absolute minority in a country where so many relationship norms and traditions have changed, but this has not. Why do women still change their names when they marry, and why are so many men offended and outraged when a woman does not want to?

Marriage used to be about ownership. A man bought himself a wife with a dowry so of course she adopted his name. This should not be relevant in the western world today, so why do people still do it, and why do woman think it’s romantic? I would really love someone to explain this to me because I truly don’t get it. Everyone talks to me about tradition and how changing a name isn’t important. But, we have given up plenty of other traditions (I have only ever been to one wedding that used the word OBEY) and your name should be important. Giving up a part of your identity, the name you may have been known by for over 30 years is a big deal. What did he give up to marry you?

3. The police were called to my wedding reception and I got so drunk that I was still hung over 2 days later

See, I am all class. Well, in a class of my own anyway. What other bride mixes champagne, tequila, red and white wine on her wedding day?

Maybe I’ll sound less of an alcoholic if I say this was almost 10 years ago and prior to the big day my husband and I AGREED we wanted a HUGE PARTY for our wedding. We figured that we had been living in sin for two years anyway and knew all each other’s best sexual moves so what was the big deal about a wedding night? We had the reception in the style of a cocktail party in a marquee at my father’s property. The idea was that it’s private, personal and a beautiful setting for a wedding. We even had medieval torches lighting the bridge that crosses the gully between the house and where the marquee was - so romantic, particularly as our grand entrance was to the sound of a Latin guitarist.

Dad’s property also seemed like a good idea because we wouldn’t get kicked out at 11pm like you do with a standard reception venue. We had people traveling from far and wide and a great live band and we wanted to celebrate our new life together with style. And this is where the police came in.

Dad’s place is on a higher rise at the foot of a mountain and the land around it dips down and then rises again on the other side. Well, someone on the other side didn’t appreciate the way our rocking band’s tunes carried across the land and into their delicate sleeping eardrums at 1am. They called the police, who warned us once, and then when we took too long with the encore came and shut us down. Not that this stopped the party.

My husband was just as disgraceful on our wedding night. I couldn’t find him when the police left so I searched high and low and sure enough, he was passed out in his tuxedo amongst the rose petals my sisters had thoughtfully placed all around our bedroom suite. I was still having a great time so I dragged him under the covers, shrugged off my wedding dress, slipped on some jeans, checked my tiara was still in place and went back to the party to do more tequila shots.

Four hours later, with my last few friends crawling onto lounges and chairs to sleep, I went to bed too. But the damage had already been done. I was sick as a dog and couldn’t move until the middle of the next afternoon, when my mother dragged my sorry ass out of bed to go down and open up some presents before my family traveled back to Melbourne. I can barely remember this and only have the vaguest recollection of later that afternoon when my new husband put me in the car and drove me down the coast for our romantic honeymoon. The one where I was ill and woozy for another 2 days. Girls and boys, don’t try this at home…

So there’s 3 fascinating facts about me. I’m a fussy egg eating, feminist ranting, drunk.

Join me Monday for my Clay Collins Interview as our first SHE-POWER MAN.

By the way, this photo is me and my brother getting messy with tequila shots at my wedding reception. I considered showing the one with me dancing in jeans and a tiara with a bottle of wine in my hand but that just seemed way too embarrassing, even for me

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