Category Archives: The World According To Kat

FRANK – my TV show now available to watch any time ..

Frank is about the guests, and about their stories. It’s called Frank because I ask two guests per episode to tell true stories from their lives frankly, and ask them to trust me and their fellow guest that their vulnerability will not be their undoing. I’m very proud of their courage, and the fact that each and every one of them stepped up to the plate and made each episode hilarious and unique. They went to air 9pm Wednesdays in late 2014.

Every episode has a different theme and new guests – Here’s the link to 31 Digital’s youtube page to see every episode at your leisure.

The Wrong Show –   Stav & Labby in one of their final TV appearances together after their successful national Couch Time show and their B105 breakfast radio partnership came to an end at the end of 2014. 

Zoo Tales –  Scott Black and Cameron Duggan – the 31 Digital boss and up and coming comedic talent sink their teeth into some meaty tales

On The Road –  Jenny Wynter & Rebecca Levingstone – brilliant last comic Jenny and 612 ABC Brisbane illuminati Rebecca are beautiful to watch together as their natural storytelling abilities shine. 

Spooky – Richard  Fidler & Kelly Higgins-Devine – broadcasting powerhouses Richard “Conversations” Fidler and Kelly “Afternoon Delight” Higgins-Devine get scary.

The Love Show – Kiesten Macauley & Joe Shaffer – blogger, improviser and baking goddess Kiesten and Southern gent and brilliant comic Joe bare their romantic souls.

Accidentals Happen –   Chris Wayne and Nick Bartlett – a Naked Magician and a fearless actor. What could possibly go wrong? 

 

When good mummas go bad and have car chases.

I nearly lost Rors yesterday. And I didn’t handle it well. She’s completely fine, before you spend any time worrying for her. She’s asleep in her big girl bed. Its her second sleep in it and I’m very proud of her. But that’s beside the point.

It had not been a good morning. Rori is snuffly, cranky and generally testing the boundaries as only a nearly-two-year-old can do. By the time we left for our mums and bubs exercise class at PCYC at 9, I had called some adults just to hear the voices of people who were not torturing me.

It was on the way back from PCYC, as we drove in light rain down Baroona Rd, that a huge white Audi SUV came out of a side street at speed. She neither slowed down, nor indicated as she barrelled straight out. If I had not swerved violently, she would have hit us exactly on Rori’s door. I was paying attention, and I knew that there was no car coming toward us in the other direction for me to hit as I accelerated and pulled the wheel down hard to the right. But I’m not always paying that kind of attention, if I’m honest. Sometimes, I’m giving Rori back the dummy she just dropped, or searching in her backpack for ‘more snack’, or ‘some food, mumma’. I would have been half a second late taking evasive action. But I did evade, and all Rori got was a fright.

Here comes the bit I’m not proud of. I’m a little scared of what I’m capable of.

In fear, in shock and in truly spectacular bad judgement, I followed that white Audi. I had to change direction to do it, I took multiple turns as she tried to shake me. We weren’t speeding, but I was clearly in pursuit. I was saying to Rori “we’re ok. You ok, bubba? We’re ok” more times than was necessary as she reacted to the jolt from the swerve and keyed into my stress levels. I didn’t have a plan. I didn’t even know who I was following. I guessed from the car and the lack of speed when she tried to evade me that it was a woman. But I could have been wrong, and put Rori in more danger than she was when we were nearly hit. She pulled over after a few minutes and I opened my door and stood with one foot on the road. I had no intention of attacking her, but she didn’t know that. I didn’t yell. I asked her if she was texting. I asked if she was paying attention. I told her there was a two year old in the car, and I was frightened that she had nearly killed her.

She said sorry. She was clearly frightened. I would have been too. We’ve all made mistakes. And we don’t expect these mistakes to follow us in a black car with heavy tinting, possibly driven by someone who means violence. Maybe she didn’t know that I was a frightened mum. Maybe she thought she was about to be hit. I’m ashamed that I made another person feel like that.  Maybe she’s telling her story to her friends, and maybe she’ll hear about this blog one day. I hope so. If she does, tell her I’m sorry.

For my part, it really does put a rough morning with a trying toddler in perspective.  I can’t say I won’t get stressed when she tests me again. And of course she will. Its how they grow. But I’m thankful she’s here to test me.

Father’s Day Ninjas

It’s Father’s Day today. I never thought I’d see my husband in the role of father, and it is awesome. He is awesome. In the twelve years we were together before Rori came along, I knew that he was patient, kind, loyal and loving. But life before a child is very different. We had so much time. And so much energy. How can you know if those beautiful personality traits will translate into the kind of father that raises the kind of daughter you hope you’ll have?

We never spent much time around kids BR (before Rors), so she is a fascinating little alien who marches to the beat of her own drum, and uses her not inconsiderable brainpower to build opportunities to mess with the heads of her elders. Stav reacts like a parenting ninja most of the time and is there a moment before she needs him almost every time. He can even catch poop in his hands before it hits the floor*. One of the true miracles of him though is that, when he does make a mistake, he doesn’t spend the next 24 hours hamstrung with guilt and second guessings. How is that even humanly possible? I imagine how much I’d get done if I didn’t have to figure in so much wailing and teeth gnashing. I’d probably clean stuff more often. Or knit.

The other piece of amazingness is that he didn’t have anyone in his life to show him how to be a father. He just figured it out and rocks at it. I hope y’all reading this still have your dad around. And I hope he’s a bit of a ninja himself. Mine is. And I hope he knows that I know that.

So to the dads, past and present, who got it right, thank you.

 

*Ask me how I know..

Love. Davidson Style.

It’s my wedding anniversary today. Nine years married, fourteen together with the handsome and gracious Stewart “Stav” Davidson. That’s how we say it when asked -“fourteen together, nine married” – we think the first five years count as much as the ones we spent wearing each other’s rings.

He’s awesome. Actually properly awe inspiring. Funny, sweet, charming, crazy smart and loving. He loves Rori and I with a purity and a selflessness that only the best humans are capable of, and grants Rori the best possible gift a father can give his daughter  -an example of the type of man worthy of her love if she chooses men when she’s much much older and ready to make that call. Much older.

When we met, he was 22 and I was 23. I had just come back from Canada with a broken heart, some nasty emotional scars and a firm intention to stay the hell away from men for the foreseeable future.  He had just sworn a vow of chastity. But he walked into a party at 123 Jubilee and I was lost. He was, I think, mildly alarmed by the six foot tall, long black coat clad goth who turned her kohl lined eyes to him. Alarmed. But blessedly intrigued.

Neither of us were keen on marriage. And yet we knew, after three or so years together, that we wanted to be married. Our then six year old cat Melora was proudly represented on the wedding cake sitting sagely at our feet, and still resides in all of the warm places we’d like to sit in our house. We didn’t want kids either, but Rori called to us from the ethereal baby waiting room with all her might, and we were helpless to resist. Turns out she’s that sure about everything she wants. And as unafraid to make her wishes known.

My brother Chris read a poem at our wedding that said you choose your partner, and keep choosing them every day. Something about remembering that you love them even when you’re angry and that you’re in this together. I can’t remember anything else about the poem, but I do remember Stav’s vows that day mentioned alien invasion and said I was the Scully to his Mulder, the Marge to his Homer. I said he was my safe place. Now he’s Rori’s too. Us Davidson girls have done well there.

 

 

You can’t always get what you want..

If you work really bloody hard, and ask the Universe for what you truly desire, and be a good person, and have talent, you’ll get what you want. I wish that were true. Also, I would very much like to pat a unicorn. I think their hair would be crazy soft.

If you work hard, be good and not suck at what you do, you give yourself the best fighting chance at getting what you want. And you get to not feel guilt when you fail. But sometimes the fickle finger of fate will fuck you. Its what you do next that separates the men from the boys. Or the women from the girls, but that just doesn’t have the same ring to it.

I worked very hard for a long time to get the broadcasting job I’ve dreamed of forever. I just found out I won’t get it. I’d love to tell you I took it well. I did not. I cried. At work. When I was told and again that day whenever anyone showed me kindness. And I am not a pretty cryer. Within about ten minutes, my eyes swell up so I can barely see, my face gets red and blotchy, a river of snot starts from my nose and I get a thumping headache which prevents me from coherent thought. It’s ugly. And I have very little control over it.

I felt like I’d been broken up with by someone who you instantly know, in the moment that they break it off, that you were never quite cool enough to be there anyway. And the gentleness with which it was done almost made it worse. I can’t hate them for the decision, I entirely get that it wasn’t personal, and there is nothing more or different I can do to change it. It’s like being a mobile phone accidentally put in the wash. No one meant to hurt you. But you’re fucked nonetheless.

Maybe I’m not reading the right blogs or talking to the right people, but I don’t hear much about what folk do in the time between getting knocked over, and getting back up again. It’s unpretty. And most of us hunker down while the storm passes. I get that. I usually do the same thing. Maybe I’ll regret my candour here. Time will tell. Is it a better measure of strength that you don’t ever let yourself get knocked over, that you get back up quickly, or that you’re strong when you get to your feet? I genuinely don’t know the answer.

I have many skills.  I’m funny. I can teach. I understand the media, I can consult into large and small corporations, I can facilitate workshops and motivate people. I’m figuring out how to wrap neat bows around all of that, and what pieces of paper I might need. I’m also picking myself back up off the ground. It’s harder than I thought it would be. But it is happening.