Finding your tribe...

Years ago, we used to socialize regularly with our 'tribe'. So much fun was had, alcohol consumed and kilometres covered as we searched for our next adventure.

Then bit by bit, our group started to drift apart as we embarked upon new adventures in pairs - mortgages, renovations... and kids.

Which was why it was so special that, for my birthday this year, we reformed our happy tribe and took a trip to the beach.

We rented a nice beach house while the others stayed in apartments nearby. We took our kids, of course (there's no way that we'd be able to simultaneously arrange that many babysitters) and just had a grand time relaxing in the winter sunshine.

We took frozen gourmet food (we may be frugal with time and money these days, but we still like to eat well), many bottles of wine and high spirits to the beach. And as the sun set on my 35th year, we sat and watched the colours change in the sky while the kids buried each other in sand and took pictures of us.

Mr Z took this one - isn't it a beauty?

Feeling very blessed.

When was the last time you got your tribe together? Do you still have a tribe? Or have bottles and nappies and debt scattered it on the winds of time?

I want my children to know failure

I want my children to know failure.

Not because I want to *see* them fail (because, let's face it, for a loving parent that stuff STINGS) but because I want them to feel it. Really feel it.

There's heaps of stuff out there about how unless  you know failure, you never truly appreciate success... can't have the highs without the lows... how much more you learn from failing. But that's not it at all for me.

I want my kids to know failure so they know forgiveness. So they can be comforted. So they can learn resilience.

We have the rule in our house that it's OK to cry. I often say, "You can cry for

** minutes, but then you have to stop and do/say something good."

Now they are bigger (and their worries are bigger) sometimes I say, "You can mope and feel sad all day today,

but tomorrow you have to put it behind you. What will we do tomorrow?"

I want them to know that *I'm* ok with their failings. I don't need them to be perfect, and I don't expect their lives to be perfect either. That just because I hold myself to exceptionally high standards, it doesn't mean that I can't forgive my own, or anyone else's, shortcomings.

I want them to fail at the little things and know they can come home to Mum and let her know how they're feeling. If they can do that a few times (or over and over), perhaps when it's the big failings they will feel safe and comforted doing the same thing.

Because I want them to know that there is never a problem too big to end my love for them.

I want them to know that not all things can be mended but that time has a way of making the pain smaller.

I want them to know, in themselves, that no matter how bad things seem, there's always an opportunity to pick yourself up, dust yourself off and start all over again.

So while I'll sigh when they lose, groan when they are outmatched, wince when their feelings are hurt, I'll let them feel that pain, that loss, that sorrow. Let them grieve the lost friend, vent their frustrations over someone who was mean to them, mourn the loss of something broken that can't be fixed.

I won't go in and sort it out and make it 'all better' for them. I'll share their disappointment and sadness, then I'll teach them (if possible) how to make it better for themselves. And then how to let go and move on. Remind them to look around for the joy that is always just around the corner.

I truly believe this will make them grow stronger as people, fill them with empathy for others and resilience... so that if one day if I'm not there for them to bring their problems to, I'll be part of that little voice inside them that cheers them on.

What about you... are you a fixer? Or are you a meanie mama like me?

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If you are having difficulties dusting yourself off, Lifeline is always there to help on 13 11 44

Why I write...

I started this blog as a bit of a sanity saver.

When my 'big two' were babies, I felt so alone. J was working 16 hour days (sometimes more) and I would find myself longing for conversation. Babies are lovely and all, but I was almost climbing the walls most afternoons.

With little number 3, I decided that instead of delving into self-medicating with nutella and trashy mags, I would do something POSITIVE for myself.

 

I knew that this time, my time at home was limited and I thought having a 'bloggy thing' would give me something tangible to look back on when my year at home was through. My 'Small Boy' was a surprise a gift, and I wanted to be able to celebrate what a gift another year at home was (because I didn't want another soul crushing, nappy and boredom-filled, swirling black-hole of sleepnessness and sugar).

Even if I was just talking to myself (or future-self) I thought it would be nice to have something to say that didn't involve 'baby stuff'.

Here's me drawing at the beach while little Number 3 is asleep in his posh pram.

 

That was four years ago. I've blogged on and off since then - about being a tired mum, nana crafts  and weird projects that have given me joy (like making a mermaid tail for the pink one).

I make no apologies for my blog. It's not fancy. There are probably typos and mistakes and posts with TMI.

It's a bit like a diary. I just open a page and pour it all out. I consider editing, but then I realise there are probably disasters awaiting me in the kitchen or kids who need bathing or washing to be done. I don't really care if nobody else reads it - in fact hardly anyone I know reads it - my very besties only recently discovered it during the whole chaotic project that was Every Day in May.

So I just put it out there and let it go. Like one of those helium balloons you used to send out as a kid (before you discovered the burst rubber remains were being eaten by turtles and baby seals). A little bubble of joy and hope, let loose on the winds.

With my little blog I've rediscovered my love of writing. Once, long ago, I dreamed of being an author. When I left school, I went to uni to study writing - emerging with a degree in journalism and an enormous debt.

Writing advertorials sort of killed my love of creating on paper, so I retrained as a teacher where I could just enjoy reading and studying books.

Blogging has reignited some of my ambitions to see my name on a book spine one day. I've been hauling out old manuscripts and writing short stories just for fun.

I don't know if I'll manage to make a go of it, but I know I'll have fun trying :)

Thanks for reading!

RAOK (every day in May)

Two acts of kindness toward me as a child have stuck with me into my adult life. They've made me want to pass on the favour with my own acts of kindness.

The first one happened when I was an eight year old. It was in the midst of the recession and for a variety of reasons we were living below the poverty line. I can remember mum having to scratch for money for essentials week after week after week. At the time we were temporarily living in Far North Queensland.

For some reason, in amongst all this scrimping and making ends meet, she decided to treat us with a trip to the local show.

We went after dinner, in the warm Cairns evening. My mum pushing my little brother the entire way in his battered stripy stroller and my sister and I tagging along in our sandals.

We knew better than to expect anything other than a look at the displays and rides but mum surprised us with some toffee popcorn to share. We'd gotten our free cardboard caps courtesy of a real estate man and were feeling really pleased with ourselves, getting ready for the walk home.

Some big kids approached. I can remember being afraid of big kids. Big kids, in my experience, were unkind to girls like me. The girl gestured to we kids and spoke to my mum (who at five foot nothing and in her twenties looked much like a teenager herself). "My boyfriend won me this, do your kids want it?" It was a big, red, bean-filled bear wearing a checkered bow tie.

Well. We were absolutely made up with it and my brother clutched it in his stroller all the way home. How lucky we felt! I can remember we took turns to sleep with it for weeks. I wonder if that girl knew how happy she made us? I hope she had an inkling.

The second act of kindness was more thought out. We had elderly neighbours who lived very simply but who had 'done alright for themselves'.

They had been born in the wake of World War I and had been through the blitz in their young adulthood. He liked to tell me how when they'd met, she'd been so poor she'd lined her shoes with newspaper to keep out the cold and wet. After the Second World War, they'd moved to Australia to raise a family on a farm.

Despite the fact they were now reasonably well-off, old habits die hard. She cut dishcloths from his worn out clothes. He grew vegetables in their yard. She made almost everything from scratch and their house was warm and comfortable.

She used to watch me walk to school every day in my grey fleece jumper. I often felt a chill, we lived in the hills in South Australia where it was often cold and wet.

One day she called me over to show me what she'd made me. A duffle coat she'd cut down from a large winter coat of her husband's. She'd lined the hood with soft, yellow towelling so the wool wouldn't scratch my face. So thoughtful.

She said I looked like I needed it. I really did. It made me feel special and cared for and valued.

It also kept me warm on my walk to school every day and it still hangs in my cupboard, 20 years later. Sometimes I get it out to look at the careful stitching she did especially for me. Even though I now live in tropical Queensland, I can't bear to part with it.

It's inspired me to create with love for people around me. Sometimes it ends disastrously, but it is the thought that counts.

It's also inspired me to do simple deeds, without fuss or fanfare - hoping to repay the kindess that's been shown to me.

My favourite restaurant meal (every day in May)

A few months ago, J and I decided to dine at the fanciest place in town. It is a rare occurrence for us to dine out, without children... and together so we were in our finest and were quite excited about the prospect of eating somewhere that didn't serve nuggets. 

Because it is posh, we'd had to book the week before to make sure we got a booking and we were feeling a bit like the cool kids in town. 

But for those of you reading in more civilised parts of the world, just realise that while it *is* the fanciest place in town, we do live in regional Queensland so our ideas of fanciness may be a little skewed. 

The table was on the main street, it wobbled and a lone tealight candle stood in as the only decoration on the tiny square surface. We had a great view of the hoons passing by on their usual Saturday night exploits. But like I said, no nuggets - so pretty much as fancy as you get in the country. 

The food was amazing. I had something called "Duck, two ways", sounds regional-posh, doesn't it?! It had layers of fancy salad, mash, duck and was topped with crunchy sweet-potato strips. Delicious. 

It was also so large I couldn't possibly eat all of it (but I gave it my best effort). 

It probably rates as my favourite meal simply because it was J and I. Just us. It was locally grown food (important to me) and our babies were warm and safe nearby and waiting for us to come home and kiss them good night. Not bored, fighting, crying, needing help with their knife and fork. 

It was relaxed. It was comfortable. No worries!

Us... on a trip to Brisvegas last year

If I could give $1million to charity (every day in May)

I like to give to charity, but when I do I need to know my money is going somewhere it will be well used. I usually give to smaller organisations where I actually know people who are involved in the work.

The next charity I donate to will be COAT (Chinese Orphans Assistance Team) and in particular their 'Eagle's Wings' project.

Their 'Eaglets' are Chinese children who have been abandoned for one reason or another. The team works to get them the medical assistance they need with the hope they can be adopted by mostly American families (unfortunately the adoption laws in Australia mean that they can't be brought here). The children who age-out of the adoption system continue to be cared for into their adult years.

I know a couple of people who fly out to visit the Eaglets to take resources from Australia, in-service the staff that are working at the homes and to complete small projects onsite (or to set up larger ones). These people spend their own money getting there and back so that all the donations can go toward supporting the orphans.

The donations are spent feeding, clothing and educating the orphans. It pays for their carers in their homes (creating employment for local people) and their medical needs. Donors can choose to donate to the organisation or to support a particular child. It is a reasonably small, but well-organised operation and I feel happy knowing that the donated dollars are really working to do GOOD.

They've been featured on a few television shows this year - Sunday Night, among others.

So... if I had a million dollars to donate, I would give it to them. They are forward thinking, compassionate people who are making a real difference to so many little lives. They are amazing.

Five foods for a year long diet (every day in May)

Today's prompt: You can only eat five foods for the duration of the year. Which five?

Easy - pasta, chocolate, cheese, grapes, chicken.

Is it sad that it's so easy? Can't live without the first three - comforting, energy rich food.

I like variety in fruit but if I have to pick one to eat every day, I think grapes is all that would cut it. Full of antioxidants (to combat the chocolate baddies).

I actually enjoy beef more than chicken... but if I have to eat cheese and pasta for dinner every day, chicken would be easier to cook!

Lets hope this hypothetical year is spent outdoors working off the calories and not trapped inside a building!!!

My favourite photo (every day in May)

Even though I generally eschew sentiment as unnecessary sap, on the inside I'm a bit of a romantic.

Which is why my favourite photos are of my loves.

 

This one is the first time we were together as a whole family. I love the expressions on everyone's faces - Miss Piggy is full of suspicion, Mr Z is holding his mouth the way he does when he's concentrating on being very careful and J is just looking with love (how hot is he with that stubble?!). Despite being bruised and hopped up on hormones, it was one of the best moments of my life! Four years has flown by so fast. 

 

This photo was taken this weekend for Mothers Day. You are fortunate I turned it black and white as me first thing in the morning is not a pretty picture - all blotches and bad breath! Thanks J for shoving a camera in my face the moment I woke up!

My day in exactly 100 words

Day off.

Woken - pinch and punch! Found coffee, lunchboxes. Milo and Belvita biscuits –better than Fruit Loops? Sigh.

School drop. Treat – breakfast with dear friend. Giggles, frowns, plans.

Shop! Work dress, fun dress. Bargain – hooray!

Pick up small child. Speech therapy across town.

Home – lunch. Dog fetch, child slide - photograph play.

Big kids back from school. Homework, referee.

Remember looming presentation. Panic. Search for notes. Feels like Cluedo for the insane. Found – with cookbooks in car boot (who’d have guessed?)

Coffee, TV.

Peeling, slicing, baking – hearty dinner with the family.

Watch HIMYM finale in bed. No doubt cry. 

The very last one...

A milestone crept up on me this week.

My last playgroup. Like, ever.

After eight years of weekly meet ups (excepting that one crazy year when I worked fulltime) with other mums, I had my last one last Tuesday. Next year my Small Boy goes off to 'school'. A couple of days at Kindy and two days at the ECDP where they will get him ready (listening and talking-wise) for prep.

I thought I would be sad. I thought I might even cry. But in actual fact, as I walked through the door for the last time, I breathed a sigh of relief.

It's not that I haven't loved playgroup. I really have. I've made some (quite possibly) lifelong friends. I've had help and advice and support when I've needed it (sometimes when I haven't needed it too, if you know what I mean).

I've sort of grown up at playgroup. I've gone from a brand new mother, gingerly laying a milky newborn on a blanket (far from all the other children, brandishing cars and trucks) to the sort of mother who can watch her brood with one eye while scoffing down tea and biscuits and recounting the latest antics of her tribe.

source: unknown

 

But I feel okay that that part of my life is over. Playgroup used to be the place I went to for conversation. Now I have conversations with Mr Z and Miss Piggy. Playgroup used to be the place I went to for support.

 

Now I can giggle or cry (as the occasion demands) with girlfriends over coffee once the kids are in bed. No more nappies, no more mashed bananas, no more waiting up for 11pm feeds.

 

Feels kind of liberating.

 

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Linking up to Maxabella's Weekend Rewind



Knowing you're done

The other day a colleague brought her newborn niece into our staffroom. While I watched everyone fussing over the tiny little thing I felt pangs of actual pain in my stomach. So much so I actually got up to have a chat to someone on the other side of the room just to take my mind off it all.

It was the end of a long day and I could have just gone home, but I felt a sort of internal conflict going on in my body - some sort of strange baby-magnetism kept me there, despite my feet wanting to take me elsewhere. M, a new grandmother whispered to me as she sidled past to get a closer look at the little poppet. "It's ok - we know you're a breeder," she winked conspiratorially.

It's true. I think that had I been born a hundred years ago, I would now have ten or eleven children. All driving me insane. Perhaps I may not have wanted ten offspring, but some sort of biological urge would have kept me permanently knocked-up, I am sure of it.

I know that for my circumstances, three is my absolute limit. When Small Boy was born, I wished that we had the opportunity for one more - for a little 'mate' for him to play with. I've always loved that closeness my older two share. As time has gone by, I've realised that one more would have meant that I had no time/energy to do all the things that Small Boy needs me to do for him. But part of me still wonders what just one more would have been like.

I am so lucky - THREE little children to call my own. I know I am blessed with the most amazing gifts that life can offer. I feel greedy even thinking about wanting a fourth when I know so many people are desperate to have even one.

There will be no more babies (Hubby has seen to that). I am perfectly content with my three little people who I love wildly. At least until the next little newborn visits our staffroom ;)

This is a self-portrait I took while 32 weeks pregnant

with little number 3. He was a whopper!

       

 

Thirteen...

Thirteen years ago my life was turned upside down - an ending and a beginning and a nineteen year old girl lost in the confusion. Today marks the anniversary of the beginning of my adulthood.

This tree is on our street... it flowers for a few weeks a year and was flowering tonight.

We put the kids in the car, set up the tripod and ended up having to use the

headlights for light... We take so many photos of the kids' milestones,

I wanted something for us. To mark 13 years of ups and downs,

of sharing and loving and growing older (growing up?) together.

Thirteen years ago today, Jase and I moved furniture, unpacked boxes and set up our first home. We were so excited, two youngsters playing 'house' and rattling around our new place like tic tacs in a shoebox. What would we ever do with such a big home, we wondered. When would we ever get enough furniture to make it looked lived in?

On the other side of the country, my Dad's life was ending. It was sudden and shocking but at the same time a day I had been expecting for some time. It didn't need to happen, but it finally had.

When I look over my life, I see so many instances of death and rebirth in the same instance. This is just perhaps the most obvious, so today I pause to think about how far I've come in thirteen years.

I look around at all I have been blessed with - a full pantry, somewhere soft and warm to lay my head at night and four of the most beautiful people I could ever imagine. And stuff. Too much stuff.  So much stuff that sometimes my biggest gripe is what to do with it all. What a problem to have! Thirteen years ago, I could never have imagined I could ever face that sort of conundrum.

I search my heart and I find it full of hope and love... and faith that things always happen for a reason, that every lesson brings me closer to the sort of person I want to be. I have faith too, that those I love are never lost and that God watches over us until we meet again.

I thank God - for giving me the dark days so that I can bask in the glorious sunshine when the clouds finally part, appreciating the small things and (trying) never to take things for granted. And for giving me Jason. My friend, the father of my children, my love. The man who knows all my quirks and flaws and loves me regardless. I am blessed.

I did it!

My New Year's resolutions this year:
* Count your blessings
* Stop procrastinating about stuff you want to do and just DO IT

I didn't think I really needed a blog, but I'm coming to realise in order to get stuff done, I need to be accountable to someone, somewhere... So here we are.

I think this blog is going to be about sharing those recipes I always agree to email people (but never get around to actually doing) and about actually finishing, in a timely manner, the various arty things I start (something that will make my husband very happy). Let's see how it goes...