Parking

Is it just me or is your local shopping centre squeezing out those of us who have no special parking needs??

Of course we used to have a Disability Parking Permit. And I did do my best not to abuse it - but there were times, I confess, I was guilty.

There was one memorable occasion a few years back when we had braved Chadstone in the lead up to Christmas. (I'm now much older and wiser and wouldn't be so foolish to tackle that expedition again. And I think my local retailers are in greater need of my hard-earned dollars than Chaddy.) Having driven around for just a small while - given the circumstances - I spotted a free disabled park, pulled in and jumped out.

A toot from behind.

A gentleman in a old Falcon was waving me over. I jogged over to the window he was winding down with considerable effort.

Yes? I enquired, cheerfully.
Excuse me, do you have a disability? He asked gruffly, not impolitely, but not exactly friendly either.
What, me? I looked aghast and clasped my hand to my chest in dramatic disbelief. No! I don't have a disability, I repeated, unnecessarily.
You do realise that's a disabled spot you've just pulled into?
I glanced in the direction of my car for effect..
Actually, yes, I did notice that. I replied, still upbeat and cheerful. My daughter has a disability. I was just about to get her wheelchair out.
That shut him up. And in fact, I did have Jaz, her wheel chair, George, Elle and Sass all on board. So that time, thankfully, I was not guilty!

But back to the shopping centre.

Elle and I popped up there last week, during the day and there were parks for people with a disability, parks for seniors and parks for mothers with prams - but none for us.
This is ridiculous! I said to Elle, swinging around for a second lap. Okay - there seems to be about four of the pram ones, I'm pulling in. I might just have to duck around and unbuckle you  - just for effect - you can be the baby, even though we have no pram.
As most of you know, Elle is 14, rising in the front seat and taller than me.

We pulled into the forbidden park and I got out. I grabbed the green bags out of the back.
Elle? What are you doing?
Waiting for you to come and unbuckle me.
Like that was actually going to happen.... Get out!!!

Tonight, Sass and I popped up to the centre. Same issue. This time I elected to be Senior!! Perhaps more appropriate?! Or is the large van with sliding doors, tinted windows and My Family stickers on the back a bit of a give away?

How's the parking where you shop?

The Letter

Sass came home tonight with a letter for us that had been addressed via her school. I recognised the hand writing immediately. This person wrote to us when Jaz died and I was so angry at the time I threatened to write back. I'm a tad more mellow this time, but my annoyance is still piqued.

Why? Because not only did this person not know George and Jaz, they don't know us. He cheerfully admits he gleaned our details from the death notices in the newspaper. You may think I'm being harsh about a well meaning stranger, but I find it objectionable and completely self-serving that this man chooses to quote chunks of the bible at us and suppose that he has any understanding of what we're going through. The entire letter is dripping with his own purpose - not ours.

"What I am writing is rather than a few nice words [sic], is what I have found has helped me under similar circumstances when my parents dies." Not even close, buddy.

"Although thought by many to be obsolete in this day and age, The Bible has the answers as to where the dead are and what the future holds for them and us." How does 'fuck off' sound?

"Having told you of my care and concern, I will not write again [thank Christ!!!] however if you feel I can be of any help, please do not hesitate to let me know." All contacted details provided. I was thinking of contacting him and telling him what I think, but then I remembered I am trying to be more gracious.

And finally, the icing on this cake: "PS I must apologise for using the computer for this personal letter [soooo personal - it's the exact same letter he sent when Jazzy died] because my disability makes it painful to write for any length of time." Mate, I'll tell you about disability - and it's a hell of lot worse that a sore hand.

Now never mind that we're non-believers as I've blogged about before, but the whiff of self-serving superiority and righteousness is down-right nauseating. This letter is NOT about us. It's about 'Richard' making himself feel like a top bloke for being so caring and sharing. And that's what makes me so god-damned angry.

I was reminded of the time I foolish allowed some unknown nutter at Chadstone say a prayer for Jaz. He'd clearly singled her out because of her disability. That alone should have been cause enough for me to tell him to fuck off too. And had I know he was going to fall to his knees, gripping the wheel of her chair like it was his last salvation, as we stood in the queue for New Zealand Natural Ice-Cream and loudly start chanting - no, actually, ranting - I would never have agreed. I should have gather up my flock and wheeled off. But no, shocked, we endured minutes of this torture, this public demonstration of his 'goodness' and god-fearing, heart-felt sincerity as Jaz sat there, looking both bewildered and yes, sorry for him! Never the less,I should never have allowed her to be subjected to that.

Am I wrong??

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Shabby Chic.....

Can the term apply to a school uniform for a fancy private school? I have no idea but my daughter (or is that 'dorta'?) is about to find out.

Although number 3, she’s the first in the family to attend private school. The older two’s disability precluded that option. Not because we decided that, but government regulation restricts assistance to kids with special needs if you move them into the private system. I’d call it discrimination, but there you go, and this isn’t really the forum for my campaign for reform.

So I get the uniform list and once I've stopped opened and shutting my mouth like a goldfish as I scan the prices, I decide second hand it is. When I was at school (another fancy-pants establishment) the older the dress the better. But have things changed?


Like all mothers, I’m desperate for my kids to fit in, but when a blazer is over $200 and a hat over $60, the whole package is looking like I won’t see any change from a grand at least, I’m thinking we can at least explore the second hand option.

We get to the uniform shop and a mother I don’t know sidles up to me and mutters, ‘Can I have a word with you please?’ I look blank. ‘In private,’ she nods her head towards the door. I meekly follow her out wondering if she’s been caught short and is in need of a tampon….but no, she has two, ‘virtually brand new’ blazers in her car she’s willing to sell me. Slightly awkward. I say if it’s the right size, sure, I’d be interested. It turns out they’re 3 sizes too big.

I later discover that the second hand uniform shop is run solely on ‘donations’ with no cash going the way of the previous owner – and all becomes apparent!

Is anyone else doing the second hand thing? Am I alone? Am I mean???