by Jessica Rowe
There’s my dark-haired, green-eyed pal Georgia who endured endless playground sessions with me and our kids. Every Thursday afternoon we would spread out our stained picnic rug in the park, order takeaway pizza and hot chips and compare notes. The pair of us would debate about: whether cargo pants could ever be stylish (no!), federal politics, the best way to get poo off wooden floorboards, and whether we’d ever get paid work again. We would get so absorbed in these discussions that sometimes we missed preventing our tiny children from ducking behind a tree to go to the toilet.
Georgia had kept me sane during those mind-numbing afternoons of swings and sandpits. She was an early ally, someone who I could talk honestly with about the boring bits of having little children. We had first met in prenatal classes and thanks to Georgia’s organisational skills we started catching up again when I had the confidence to leave the house with Allegra. It was a huge feat getting out the front door with a little baby, and sleep deprivation combined with the Herculean task of packing all the equipment I needed for one small soul were often enough to make me want to stay at home. I’m glad that Georgia made me get out of the house to meet up each week with our babies.
We also had our second children at the same time, so again we were stuck together in the trenches of tedium and utter exhaustion at the same period. Our shared experience helped me to survive as often the highlight of my week was getting together with our small children in the park. I’d chase the dirty grey pigeons off our picnic rug to stop them from eating our prized chips, while Georgia would try to stop our eldest kids from walking straight over the pizza boxes, squashing their dinner, in their rush to get to a rare spare swing they had spotted at the other end of the playground.
The swings were my favourite part of the park. And that’s a big call because playgrounds do my head in. No, I didn’t enjoy the endless pushing or the way my heart would stop when I saw any child walk too close to the front of the swing while it was in mid-air. But what I loved about the swings was that I could strap Allegra into it, preventing her from wandering off around the park. This moment of containment meant a delay in any brawls or ‘negotiations’ between my daughter and other kids over buckets and spades in the grotty sandpit.
‘Let’s count to 50, Allegra. How about 50 more pushes on the swing?’ I suggested, pushing Allegra on the swing.
I was perfectly balanced; able to push her with one hand while I cradled my other hand around her baby sister Giselle, who was strapped onto the front of my chest in her Baby Bjorn sling.
Since I was busy with this balancing act, I was able to ignore the little boy dressed in a blue Octonauts T-shirt who was patiently waiting for his turn. I’d successfully avoided eye contact with his mother, whose laser-beam look said: ‘For god’s sake, get your daughter off the swing. It’s my son’s turn now.’
Reluctantly, I unstrapped Allegra and she scampered across the park to join Georgia’s son on the pirate ship. The pair of us laughed when we spotted our kids on top of the pirate ship, the pair of them spinning the plastic steering wheel wildly next to another little girl. Georgia was by my side as we managed to convince the kids to share their captain’s duties with the other girl. She was my wing woman and her like-mindedness helped me to shrug off the glare of other mothers that I could often sense in the playground. Her stories, solidarity and healthy, hard-to-find snacks helped glue us together during these years in the wilderness with our small children. However, circumstances, including her moving interstate and my inability to return text messages, have conspired to keep us apart for too long.
# CRAPHOUSEWIFE
Another treasured friend who had kept me afloat when I was sinking in quicksand was Suz. At the time my career was in the toilet, I was suffocating under baskets of dirty washing and my brain was a mush of pureed apples and failed controlled-crying routines. Suz got me—she understood me—and her friendship was a connection to an earlier life but also to a future. Although I was struggling, I knew I’d be okay because although we lived in different cities and we didn’t see enough of each other, I knew my girlfriend was out there. I could call her, I didn’t have to pretend life was sparkling and I knew she would listen to me. And not just listen but really hear me.
But getting a spare, uninterrupted millisecond to chat on the phone was an impossible luxury. My little girls had a honing device that meant they could ferret me out the minute I even looked at my mobile. I remember hiding in the pantry cupboard or in my bedroom with the phone trying to talk to my girlfriend. Once I resorted to throwing fistfuls of rainbow-coloured Smarties through the tiny opening of my wardrobe door to get a few more moments on the phone (a handy technique that I have used a lot over the years). We made up for those half-finished stories when we would see each other, maybe twice a year. The time lapse between seeing each other didn’t matter; those years would fall away and the pair of us filled in the missing gaps with laughter, tears and gifts of diamantes and leopard print. It was an easy friendship—easy because of the lack of pretence between us. She knew the warts-and-all me, and I didn’t need to make an impression. And I’m sorry that I’ve let this beautiful girl slip out of my life.
# CRAPHOUSEWIFE
What about those friendships tinged with envy and jealousy? I admit I haven’t always been an angel in this department as I’ve been guilty of feeling that gentle stab in the heart when a friend’s career takes off at the same time that mine has been floundering. Of course, I now realise it’s more about me and my insecurity about some of my professional failings. It’s been revealing for me to recognise my habit of criticising people that I had perceived as doing ‘better than me’. Now I’ve discovered that the happier I am, the more I’m able to celebrate other people’s success rather than having that destructive voice inside me, saying: ‘Why isn’t that me? It’s not fair …’
Unfortunately, I’ve been guilty of letting both good friends and toxic friends leave my life in the same way. I now realise that this is not very brave of me and I have a habit of walking away from difficult conversations. This has meant some friendships have ended not through my pure laziness but because they were destructive and energy-sapping for me and my spirit. Friendships shouldn’t be hard work; sure, relationships need to be nurtured but once it becomes exhausting you need to find an exit clause. However, I’ve always been hopeless at ‘breaking up’ and have used the very same traits and techniques to end friendships that I had raged about former boyfriends using against me all those years ago. I start by not returning phone calls—calling people back has never been a strength of mine. But I know that this behaviour sends out mixed messages, as I’ll also forget to call good friends back.
# CRAPHOUSEWIFE
Let’s have a look at those friends you need to remove from your life. Firstly, there are those high-maintenance type of friends—the ones that call on you for every ‘crisis’ … and everything in their lives is a crisis! I’ve had my share of one-sided friendships where it’s all about the other person. Listen, I can debrief relationship breakdowns, the merits of one type of baby wipe over the other, the best padded bra, and why Brandi is the best housewife in The Real Housewives franchise for weeks. But the conversation can’t always be heading in the one direction. More and more I’m trying to take note of the mantra I teach my daughters: that ‘friends are people who make you feel better about yourself ’.
Pip, my nit-checking friend, has introduced me to the notion of Zone One friends. A clever concept, which I’ve told her she must copyright! Basically, your friends in this zone are the ones who are good for your soul, understand your flaws and when you spend time with them, they leave you feeling energised. They are your people! You can put other friends into Zone Two, Zone Three etc in descending order of importance. Sure, these people are still your friends, colleagues or pals, but you work out where they fit into your life and only give them the appropriate time and energy that the relationship deserves.
Some of these ‘outer zone’ friendships may be based
more on sharing the same experiences at the same pivotal points in your life. These might be friends you went to university with, or met on a dance floor in a foreign city, were single, had kids of the same age, or are school mums. Occasionally, people who really are Zone Five friends may behave like they deserve to be in your Zone One. I’m gradually getting better at realising where people fit into my life and I’m learning not to exhaust myself to keep everyone else happy at my own expense.
My friend the psychic medium and teacher John Edward has a wonderful term for people who zap your energy and leave you feeling inadequate. He calls them ‘negative ninjas’; people who suck your life force and make you question everything from your choice of lipstick to how you discipline your kids, and your choice of life partner. Our time is far too precious to waste on souls who don’t have our best interests at heart.
# CRAPHOUSEWIFE
Recently, I listened to a marvellous interview with Australian artist Davida Allen. She spoke about the ‘magic fairies’ who bring people into your life when you need them. I’ve never stopped believing in fairies and this notion of sparkly souls bringing good people into your orbit resonates with the part of me that is always looking for the magic in life. Never, ever lose sight of the joie de vivre that friends can bring to your world. I’m trying more and more to treat these treasured relationships with love and care.
I’m convinced the ‘magic fairies’ brought Denise Drysdale into my life. Even though I’m not sure what Neesy would make of this theory of mine. The pair of us met through work when Neesy joined the panel on Studio 10. We’ve only known each other for a couple of years but it’s such an unexpected delight when you meet someone who truly gets you and makes you laugh. Neesy brings out my even sillier side, which I’m embracing more and more the older I get. Unlike me, she has no problems with difficult conversations and has no problems letting people know exactly where they stand. Neesy has tried to encourage me to be a little more like that but I’m not there yet as confrontation has never been my style.
‘You could always poison them,’ says Neesy. ‘And if that fails, there’s always electrocution!’
Not only does she make me laugh as she tries to help me with life’s bigger issues, as I’ve mentioned earlier, she introduced me to a life-changing ingredient—the panko crumb—for my cooking! She also comes over to clean out my fridge, sort out my pantry and tries to organise my life! It’s really an uphill, lifelong battle as no one has yet been able to make me neat and tidy.
There’s an extra lightness to Peter’s voice when he knows that Neesy is around since she’ll cook enough food to last our family for weeks. She makes the best roast chicken in the history of the world (she learnt the fine art of basting in her family’s chicken shop), serving it up alongside crunchy roast spuds, cauliflower in white sauce and gravy. Apart from her caring and culinary skills, Neesy is often the voice of reason when it comes to my daughters.
‘You let those girls walk all over you!’ says Neesy.
She’s the only person who I would let say this to me.
‘You need to say “no” more often to them. But I know you won’t!’ she laughs, while I nod my head, laughing along with her.
# CRAPHOUSEWIFE
The pair of us have been doing a regular podcast together, called One Fat Lady & One Thin Lady. The title is a variation of the Two Fat Ladies cooking show. Surprisingly, our podcast name caused concern with some of our listeners, who told me that I’m not all that skinny and Neesy isn’t fat! Yes, that’s a valid argument but it’s meant to be a joke and we love poking fun at ourselves. For me, laughter is a very important ingredient in any good friendship.
We haven’t got any budget for marketing our podcast, so Neesy came up with the idea to dress up as a ‘podcast’, take to the streets, and film people trying to guess what we were! My job was to dress as the ‘pod’, so I leapt at the chance to wear a bright-green pea-in-a-pod suit. You know how much I adore any type of costume. It was remarkably easy to order a convincing pod costume online but it was harder to find any ‘cast’ costumes for Neesy. Plenty of hospital-grade bandage supplies came up in my google search but nothing looked right (and it was all too expensive, especially since Neesy loves a bargain). Eventually, I bought a pile of discount bandages from Chemist Warehouse, which I wrapped around Neesy’s head and arms before we leapt onto unsuspecting shoppers in the city.
‘What am I?’ I asked a charming older gentleman, who instead of stating the obvious—that we were lunatics—said, ‘You look lovely!’
‘Oh, thank you,’ I said.
‘What is this, though? What do you think?’ said Neesy, adjusting my pea suit to get rid of the wrinkles.
‘P, ppppoood,’ Neesy and I said in unison.
‘I’m a pod.’
‘What am I?’ asked Neesy.
‘You’ve been in an accident!’ said the gentleman, sounding concerned.
‘Noooo, we’re a pod-cast!’ we both laughed.
‘I’ve never heard a woman snort before!’ he said. ‘It’s very nice!’
Later that night, I decided to surprise Peter by wearing my pea-in-a-pod suit to bed. Neesy had encouraged me to do it too and we both thought it would be hilarious. While I was waiting for Peter, I took some selfies and sent them to Neesy to keep my spirits up while I got hotter and hotter, hiding under the doona.
At last I heard him walking up the stairs.
‘Pussycat, what is this clutter everywhere?’ he asked. ‘I bet other people don’t have stuff in their house like this.’ Even though Christina, our cleaner, still came once a week, it was a challenge to keep the house spotless between her visits. There were piles of paper, coloured pencils, books, lip glosses, cushions, empty bowls and pineapple plastic cups scattered around upstairs.
It took every ounce of my self-control to remain quiet under the doona. He then came into our bedroom and flicked on the light as I leapt out from under the covers. ‘Surprise!’ I shouted.
There was dead silence as Peter looked at me for a moment.
‘Are you alright?’ he asked.
This was not the reaction I was hoping for.
‘Don’t you think it’s funny?’ I said, storming out of the bedroom in my costume, furious that he didn’t find it even slightly amusing to find a life-sized pea in a pod in bed. I was so cross, I wouldn’t talk to him for the rest of the evening.
# CRAPHOUSEWIFE
Although I had always fantasised about having a coterie of girlfriends Sex in the City style, I realised that was not real life. The idea of lingering over drinks and talking about heartbreak, heartache and preferred sexual positions with my nearest and dearest has always remained pure fantasy. Why? At heart, I’m an introvert and much better at friendships one at a time and one on one. This means I have a select group of friends who bring a lot of happiness, wisdom and fun into my life.
The other precious souls in my Zone One include my darling ‘Donatella’, who is styling himself, his life and an extraordinary career in Los Angeles. We don’t see each other enough but when we do, it’s like we’ve never been apart. Woffy, who is my movie buddy, ‘acting coach’ and one of the most loyal and beautiful people that I’m lucky enough to know, is also a friend for life. My yogi guru and wardrobe mistress, Annebelle, who cast a spell with two pink candles while I went through IVF, is always twinkling in my orbit. And I’m blessed enough to also have had this type of relationship with my tight group of girlfriends from high school. We’re all scattered across the globe but when we catch up, it doesn’t matter how long it has been as we all click straight back into that special shorthand way of relating to those who know you best of all.
I’m not a perfect friend. I’m slack at returning phone calls and emails, and have a track record of cancelling at the last minute. My excuse of being ‘busy’ is not good enough—who isn’t busy? Busy with our kids, careers, ageing parents and that never-ending to-do list. But now that I’ve left my television job I’m choosing to make more
time for those Zone One friends. And that makes me happy as I can’t let this handful of special women and one man slip through my fingers. But I’m not quite there yet, so please remember that just because you don’t hear from me in a while, it doesn’t mean I don’t love you. I am trying to be more reliable.
Even my husband has been known to call my number eight, nine, ten times a day to get me to ring him back. When I worked at Channel Ten, if he couldn’t track me down on my phone he used to call one of the producers I worked with so he could talk to me! I’m one of those people who often has her phone on silent and then I forget to switch it back on. Now that I’ve left work, he’ll call our local coffee shop to find me as that’s where I’ll often do my writing and ‘work’.
# CRAPHOUSEWIFE
Friendships do change as we grow and I’ve learnt that that’s okay. The key is to know which ones to let go of but, more importantly, to take the time to nurture those special stars in your constellation, even if you’re at different stages in your life journeys. To those glorious people who have been by my side when I’ve needed you most, please don’t give up on me. Even though I’ve gone missing in action at times, remember that I will always love you.
TUNA NIÇOISE SALAD
This is a recipe from the wonderful Justine Schofield. It’s a super easy but tasty salad with enough ingredients to fill up a hungry husband! It’s from her book Dinner with Justine. Although Nigella Lawson’s first impression of my rendition of this dish was a slightly surprised one due to the addition of rice into a salad Niçoise, it’s an absolute winner for our family. It’s a great summertime lunch or dinner. It’s also a good one to impress your guests with. And I love it because there is minimal room for disaster as there is no cooking required for this dish (other than putting the rice in the microwave).
