When A Dream Really Does Come True

When I started writing, I used to fantasize about being interviewed in the media. It seemed like an incredibly glamorous thing to do. Sometimes I would actually interview myself at home, just chat to myself in my kitchen, ask myself questions whilst I was chopping up veggies or washing the dishes. I always asked myself really interesting questions.

Now that I've released two books, I have done quite a few interviews, and let me tell you - it is pretty glamorous. There is nothing that makes you feel quite as important as having a radio or newspaper journo focus fully on you for a period of time. Of course, once the interview is over you just go back to being alone in the kitchen chopping veggies and washing the dishes, but it really is fun while it lasts.

It's amazing when a dream you have finally comes true. For me, publishing books and being interviewed and giving talks and meeting people who have actually read my books is totally a dream come true. I still pinch myself, every single day, that this has happened to me. I can't believe it. I often feel like I am living in a parallel universe as Writer Kerri, and that Other Kerri is still plodding along somewhere in the real world, doing work she doesn't enjoy, feeling pretty ordinary about herself, and being sure she will never amount to anything.

Still, this isn't the first time a dream has come true for me. The first time was way back in 1984, when I won a leading role in a television mini-series. I was a little Jewish girl from the suburbs, and a pretty crap actress at that, and the whole thing was absolutely unbelievable. I spent the entire three months of the shoot pinching myself (and the next three years trying to lose the 12 kilos I gained on set, but that's another story).

The next time it happened was in 1999, when I gave birth to my first child. I held that slippery little boy in my arms, and I could not comprehend that something so magical, so impossibly wonderful, had happened to me. Nearly thirteen years later, I look at my three kids daily and feel exactly the same thing.

And then the most recent time it happened was last Christmas in LA, when I met Simon Baker, and you all know how that turned out.

But there are many dreams that didn't come true. Josh Goldenbum never loved me, despite me loving him passionately from afar for three whole years of my life. I never grew big breasts, despite having fantasized about having them for years before puberty. I never won an Oscar, and I think it's probably too late now. And I didn't actually have sex with Simon Baker, which was more than a little disappointing.

Still, magic can happen in life, and dreams really can come true. But I guess if all of them did, then it wouldn't be as magical.

So what about you? Have any dreams come true for you?

Do You Believe In Good Luck (Charms)?

I have a good luck charm. I didn't consider it a good luck charm when I bought it - it was just a necklace I was buying for charity - but ever since I first put it around my neck a few months ago I have had a run of good fortune, and now I am too scared to take it off.

I think I am ridiculous for believing that a tiny inanimate object can bring me good luck. I am a very logical person and it simply doesn't make sense. We all have good luck and bad luck, I truly believe that. Life throws up a totally random series of events. The fact that I've had a mostly good run since I bought the charm is pure and simple coincidence.

And yet the necklace has a hold over me that I cannot explain. (Except that I can explain. It is called 'superstition'.) I have only taken it off once since I bought it, for about ten minutes, and I felt intensely naked. Not physically naked. Emotionally naked. I needed to put the necklace straight back on.

I originally bought the necklace from a friend of a friend, who was selling a small range of jewelry for charity. It was a Hamsa, an amulet that resembles a hand. I liked it for mainly aesthetic reasons - it was small and silver and a cute design. And I liked its traditional symbolism. Hamsas are supposed to ward off the evil eye, and though I don't believe in the evil eye, I'm still happy to ward it off.

Oh, and I liked it because it was inexpensive. A cute silver amulet to ward off the evil eye for $40, all of which went to charity? Who could refuse?

But now the Hamsa has a hold over me. I can't take it off and I dread losing it. I am convinced that my good fortune will end with my Hamsa, and a run of deep, jet-black luck will prevail. And given that my Hamsa is really a flimsy piece of silver on a thin and fragile chain, my good fortune is sure to be very short lived.

So what about you? Are you superstitious? Do you have a good luck charm or am I the only one?

tickled by a magic pen.... or something.....

Today I got tickled by a magical pen after I was caressed by a total stranger. Nothing weird about that. Right?

I'd booked myself in for a technologically advanced facial, with microdermabrasion, light therapy, and a massage. I've never had a facial before, but desperate times call for desperate measures. And if you saw me just after I rolled out of bed this morning you would know. The times, friends, they are a-desperate.

I walked into the salon and was introduced to my 'facialist' (as opposed to, say, my 'bottomlist'). Elizabeth was very friendly and asked me if I would like to use the toilet before my treatment (so, quite possibly, she actually was a bottomlist as well).

When I returned from my toilet trip, Elizabeth told me to relax, and then instructed me to take off my top. This surprised me as I assumed that, given that this was a 'facial' and not, say, a 'breastial', that Elizabeth would be working on my face. Apparently, however, she would be working on my shoulders too (which I guess made her a shoulderlist) and needed access to my 'decolletage'.

The first part of the facial wasn't so bad. Elizabeth cleansed my face with some kind of industrial strength potion, and then scraped a really rough rolling pin over my skin. This was, apparently, the 'microderm' portion of the treatment, and had something to do with exfoliation. It was scratchy and sandpapery and felt most uncomfortable and I enjoyed the process immensely. 

MAKE IT STOP!

Then came the facial massage. Elizabeth tilted my head back and caressed my face gently all over in delicate circular motions. It was healing and loving and caring and nurturing and it made me want to run and scream. For - as I remembered at the exact moment Elizabeth started the massage - I cannot stand people touching my face. Unless you're one of my kids, or actually having sex with me (which, depending on how many readers I currently have, rules out at least 50% of you), I do not want your hands on my facial skin. There's no deep psychological reason. I just don't like it. I'd rather you touched my bottom. And quite frankly, I don't want you touching my bottom at all.

Of course, Elizabeth didn't know that, and kept on with her rubbing. And, because I'm so passive in the hands of beauty professionals, I let her do it. Really, I'm pathetic. The woman could have started shaving my head, or tattooing my chest with a giant panda, and I would have just sighed inwardly and said nothing.

To my relief, Elizabeth stopped massaging after about 15 minutes and began the next part of the session. This was the most important part of the treatment, the part that would radically change my skin for the better. The Pulsing Light Therapy (or, you know... words to that effect).

Elizabeth put patches over my eyes so I wouldn't be blinded by the light (or revved up like a deuce, another runner in the night). And then I lay on my back for about 30 minutes while she trailed something that felt like a slim metal pen all over my face as an important 'beep beep beep' sounded rythmically in my ears.

Now, presumably that pen did something special and magical, because I now look far better now than before the treatment. (Sadly that last stanza was a lie. I actually look exactly the same now as before, but as I paid lots of money, I'm not going to admit it.) Still, as I lay there on the bed, I couldn't help but wonder if the joke was on me - if there was no Light Therapy, if Elizabeth really was just trailing a slim metal pen all over my face whilst playing a 'beep beep beep' in my ear, and then giggling all the way to the bank.

Still, I'm not even sure it matters. I had a nice little snooze while I was being tickled by the pen, so the session wasn't entirely wasted.

And besides, the relief after the massage stopped was enormous. It was worth paying money just for that.

Rapture Fail

So Saturday was supposed to be the Rapture. Hundreds of millions of believers were meant to ascend to heaven, naked and flapping their arms*. I didn't believe for a minute that the Rapture would take place, just like I never for a moment believed that the Y2K Bug would wipe out the world as we knew it**. Still, it did give me pause for thought.

How would you react if the Rapture actually happened? I mean, imagine walking outside and seeing dozens of your neighbours floating skywards in the nude.*** How would you feel? What would you do?

So far the only reactions I've experienced to truly fantastical events are on TV or in the movies, and, quite frankly, I don't buy them for a second. Whenever something mind-blowingly bizarre happens - a spaceship lands, a boy discovers he's a wizard, an alien turns up in a picnic basket - the heroes express disbelief for about 30 seconds, then accept the situation and move on. It's preposterous.

"Wow, an alien!" the lead character will cry, then shake his head with wonder, then help him back to his spaceship without a second thought. Or "We're flying!" a first-time witch will exclaim, then start to practice her technique as if she's just discovered a fabulous new cleasing bar with which to wash her face.

Yup. I don't think so. If I discovered an alien in my closet, I would close my eyes and block my ears and rock silently in a corner, convinced I was becoming psychotic and that I would spend the rest of my days in a locked room wrapped in a white dressing gown with very long arms. My brain is not geared to handle bizarre sights. I'm still freaked out by the TV show I saw about conjoined twins, and that was five years ago. An alien would utterly destroy my mind.

As for flying, well, as I would love to fly, actually put me up there in the sky and I would scream and vomit and quite probably faint with fear, which would not be at all good for aerodynamics. I get nervous on aeroplanes and they are real machines, with safety features and everything. There's no way you're getting me to trust just my wimpy little arms.

Now if the Rapture was to happen in the movies, it would go something like this:

People start floating skywards, never to be seen again. Our hero looks amazed for a count of three, after which he goes in search of his estranged wife, who he's suddenly decided he still loves. He finds her (not ascended, clearly they were both very naughty) after dodging some nasty natural disasters. They kiss passionately, and live happily ever after.

If the Rapture was to happen in my world, it would go something like this:

People start floating skywards, never to be seen again. Kerri looks out the window, screams, falls to the floor, and starts clutching her head crying 'It's a dream! It's a dream!' The Architect runs in the room and commands 'Help me find the rabbit!'**** He pulls Kerri to her feet. She runs around in circles howling wildly, before banging into a door and falling unconscious to the floor. The Architect revives her, she screams and faints, he revives her again, she faints again, and so on, until eventually he just leaves her on the floor and starts a new life with the rabbit.

Or something like that.

So what about you? How would you react to the Rapture? Do you think it would be like in the movies? Would you be freaked out by superpowers? Most importantly, do you want to fly???

*Okay, so I may have made up the flapping bit.
**(though I did, ahem, stock up on extra water just to be safe....)
***Or floating skywards yourself, though that seems a remote possibility for me...
****There's no WAY he'd ascend, the evil little bunny

My Superpower?

"So if you could have one superpower, Mum, what would it be?"  It was past eight thirty, and I was trying to get my nine year old daughter to bed, but it was a good question. And certainly far, far easier to answer than the last one.

"When is a good time to have your first kiss?" she asked me, just the previous day.

"Just a peck on the lips, or a proper kiss?" I asked without thinking (stupid, stupid mistake).

"Proper kiss," she said.

I thought for a moment. "Thirteen," I told her, and then kicked myself immediately for not answering 'twenty-one'.

"Um, Mum.... what's a proper kiss?" she asked next, and I kicked myself again. Harder, this time.

I tried to answer her question gently, using mild phrases such as 'open lips' and 'touch tongues', but my daughter responded with such violent horror that I feared I had done her permanent damage.

Happily, with the question of superpowers, I felt myself to be on much more solid ground. Then again, I had no idea what I'd choose.

"What superpower would you want?" I asked, hoping to buy myself a bit of time.

"I'd want to be invisible," she said confidently, "so I could sneak out of class." Then she thought for a moment, and wrinkled her nose. "Except that I wouldn't need to sneak out of class if no-one knew I was missing...."

I nodded. It was a good point.

My eleven year old son wandered into the room. "Invisibility is lame," he said, dismissively.
"Yeah, it's lame," my daughter agreed. "I don't want Invisibility. I want Duplicability."

My son laughed. "Huh? What's Duplicability?"

"You know - the ability to make two of me," she said. "One of me can stay in the classroom, and the other one can sneak out and play."

"But then you'd fight with each other about who goes to class and who gets to play!" he said. I was impressed. His logic was impeccable.

"So then we'd both be invisible and we'd both get to play!" she retorted.

"So then why do you need two of you?"

She looked momentarily confused, then giggled. "Okay, what superpower would you have?" she asked him.

"I'd want a force field around me," he said.

I raised my eyebrows. "Would you really need a forcefield?" I asked. "I mean, it's not like you get attacked very often. Not many Evil Supervillains around these parts."

My son rolled his eyes. "Yep, Mum, I do know that. But I could use it to win at hand ball."

Oh. Fair enough. I couldn't argue with that.

"So come on, Mum," my daughter prompted. "What superpower do you want?"

I thought intently. Did I want to fly? Did I want to read minds? Did I want to be able to eat whatever I wanted and never get fat? Did I want to be able to conjure family meals out of thin air? Did I want to make housework disappear with only the power of my mind?

I was tired. I couldn't think straight. It was late. And the kids were showing no signs of going to bed.

"I want the power to get you kids to sleep whenever I want!" I announced triumphantly.

They snorted. "Mum, that's never going to happen," they said.

True. But Force Fields and Duplicability aren't ever going to happen either. And hey, a mum's got to have a dream.

Something Slightly Magical

Yesterday I took just-turned-three year old Boo to her orientation day at pre-school. It's the same pre-school attended by her big brother and sister many years ago, the same pre-school in which I sat on a teeny tiny chair and sobbed uncontrollably for a full hour when my Pinkela 'graduated' in mini robes and a hat. Back then, four years ago, I didn't think I was going to have any more children, and my Pinkela, my baby, was all grown up.

Incredibly, just over a year after Pinkela moved to big school, my baby Boo was born. As many of you will know, it was a time of tremendous sadness as well as great joy, because my beloved sister had died only three weeks earlier. Tanya was very close to my big kids - her precious niece and nephew - and they loved their only Auntie deeply. But she never got to meet her youngest niece. Tanya never got to see Boo's huge dark eyes, or the fact that she has the only 'outy' belly-button in the family. She never got to discover Boo's ecclectic taste in music (everything from 'Incy Wincy Spider' to pretty much anything by the Black Eyed Peas), or her preference for 'tuna-from-a-can' and 'freddo-frog-the-head-AND-body!'. She never got to attend Boo's first birthday party, or see her first steps, or watch as she sat proudly on the toilet for the first time.

And of course, she wasn't there to hear about her orientation day at pre-school.

Or was she?

Because something slightly magical happened yesterday. We adults were sitting in a circle listening to a talk from the director whilst our children had morning tea with the teachers in the room next door. The director discussed opening hours, protocols, naptime arrangements, food, and all the minutia of daily life at pre-school. Then she handed out a few of the 'weekend books' to pass around and look at. The weekend books are scrapbooks, taken home by each child in each class once a year, and returned to pre-school to be shared and discussed. They detail what the child did on their weekend, and include pictures and drawings and various other details that paint a picture of each child's family life. Given that the pre-school has three classes per year, and each class has their own book, there have been many books over the years.

So what were the chances that the book that happened to land on my lap - the book helpfully passed to me by a mother I've never met - was from my daughter's last year at pre-school? And what were the chances that the particular weekend we'd documented in the book (a weekend I'd completely forgotten) was the weekend we'd all gone to Auntie Tanya's house for dinner to celebrate my birthday?

Chances or not, that's the book I got. And in some small way, it was like Tanya popping her head in, making her enduring presence known. It reminded me that I still have a relationship with my sister, even if it's not the relationship it was. I may not be able to call Tanya about Boo's first day at pre-school, or about Pinkela's dance concert, or my son's presentation ceremony at school, but I can still talk to her about them, and I believe she will hear.

As for little Boo, well, her Auntie Tanya is at pre-school with her, and always will be. And for some reason, I find this very comforting.

Caught Out?

My 11 year old son came running in triumphantly on Tuesday morning. Or rather, not quite triumphantly - kind of a mixture of triumph and anger, if that makes any sense. I guess if it was on your own child's face, you would recognise it.

"The tooth fairy didn't come!" he shouted.

I was utterly confused. "Why would the tooth fairy come?"

"Because I lost a tooth yesterday!"

I looked in his open mouth. And yes, it was true. He'd lost a tooth. He'd lost a tooth at school, he's brought it home in his pocket, he'd fetched a glass of water, and he'd put the tooth in the glass of water without telling me after I had gone to bed.

And the tooth fairy didn't come.

He looked at me, his huge eyes glittering. "The tooth fairy didn't come because you didn't know I lost a tooth! YOU'RE the tooth fairy!"

I was stunned. He was trying to catch me out.

I sat there, my mouth hanging open. I seriously had no idea what to say, which is very unusual for me. My son had thought of a hypothesis and falsified it by empirical observation, using true scientific method.

And I've always been crap at science.

I was racking my brains when my nine year old daughter ran into the room. "What happened?" she asked. "I heard yelling!"

My son held up his tooth. "I lost a tooth and the TOOTH FAIRY DIDN'T COME!"

"Oh no!" said my precious, innocent daughter. "Did you leave her a note? And snacks? She always likes to be left snacks."

"No," he said. "The tooth fairy didn't come because MUM DIDN'T KNOW I LOST A TOOTH!"

My daughter looked confused. "Why? Does Mum need to tell the tooth fairy you lost a tooth?"

"No," said my son. "Mum IS the tooth fairy!"

My daughter looks bewildered. I still couldn't speak. From the corner of my eye I saw my husband running into the kitchen in his boxers, rustling around in a cupboard. My son noticed, too. A second later, my husband emerged holding a glass of water with three coins in it.

"Why was this next to my bed?" he asked. Wow. The man is certainly quick. Quicker than me, anyway (which is probably not so very quick at all).

"Oh no!" I exclaimed. "The tooth fairy must have got confused and left your money on Dad's bedside table by mistake!"

My son looked at me with the withering glare he usually reserves for his Wii opponents. "Firstly, I SAW DAD GETTING THAT GLASS," he said. "And secondly, I STILL HAVE THE TOOTH. You guys are SO lame."

Bloody tooth fairy. Looked like she didn't exist after all.

Only the most amazing thing happened. When my son came home from school that afternoon, there was a package on his bed. It contained three Lego Mini-Figures, which my son absolutely loves, and a note.

"I'm so sorry for being late," explained the fairy. "I got struck by a huge kookaburra and broke my wing and spent the night in fairy hospital. Please leave your tooth again tonight and I'll collect it. Love, Your Tooth Fairy."

My son was thrilled, and his sister was no longer confused.

Science may have a lot to offer, but faith still reigns supreme.

The Strange Case Of The Disappearing Mouthguard

The day began badly, at 10pm last night. I reached into my bedside drawer to grab my mouthguard, and realized it wasn’t there. I’d taken it to the dentist to be checked, I recalled throwing it into the car after the appointment, but clearly it hadn’t made it home.

I trudged outside to search the car and it wasn’t there. Remember that. It will be important later. It. Was. Not. There. If it was there, I would have seen it, because it lives in a sizeable fluorescent orange container. It’s pretty easy to spot.

I began looking around the car in the dark, but then I remembered that a killer is on the loose in my area, so I decided it wasn’t a great idea to be hanging around outside at night wearing nothing but a long t-shirt and bedsocks.

I slept fitfully. (Actually, I slept fine, but it sounds better to say ‘fitfully’, and besides, it helps to justify the exorbitant cost of the mouthguard.)

This morning I awoke, thinking of my mouthguard. (Actually, I was thinking of my coffee and toast, but that doesn’t progress the story as well.)

I hustled the kids out to the car to go to school, and when I opened the car door, my mouthguard was there. Did you read that? It. Was. There. I was elated and disturbed at the same time, because, though I was thrilled to have my mouthguard back, I knew that something very strange had occured.

When we arrived home from school I put the mouthguard in my pocket. Remember that. It will be important later. In. My. Pocket. I picked up toddler and my bags and went into the house.

About ten minutes later I realised I couldn't remember where I'd put the mouthguard, and it was no longer in my pocket. I was not pleased. I searched the house. I examined every corner and the mouthguard wasn’t there. I even enlisted the Toddler in my hunt.

“Find my mouthguard!” I told her. “It’s orange!”

“Mama loss a moufgud?” she asked. “Oh no!” She helpfully presented me with an orange plate, an orange bowl, an orange crayon, and even an orange. When I explained gently that these items were, in fact, orange, but not a mouthguard, she seemed bewildered, and a little hurt.

In the end we gave up, and went out to the shops. When we got in the car, the mouthguard was there.

My head started to spin. I looked around for cameras, a ghost, a dentist... anything to explain the unexplainable.

But there was no making sense of it. I rubbed my temples, put the mouthguard into my handbag, did my shopping, came home, and put the toddler to bed.

And now I sit here, handbag is at my feet, terrified to open it.

Will the mouthguard be there, in its fluorescent orange case? Or will it have shifted again, through time and space, to the bedroom, my pocket, my car?

I don't know, but for now I'm going to have a little lie down. This day has done my head in.

And besides, my jaw is aching.