A journey (every day in May)

When I was eight months pregnant we took a trip. It was a sort of last hurrah as a family of four. We booked a cheapie Tiger flight at five to midnight, drove the long hours to the city and hopped on a plane.

We enjoyed the sights that Melbourne had to offer by day and retired to cosy family homes by night (have I mentioned before how convenient it is to have relatives in interesting places?) I remember getting stuck in a turnstile at a tram stop at the Docklands. I remember huffing and puffing up the stairs at Fed square. I remember old ladies smiling sweetly at my enormous bump, then looking at my other two grubby toddlers and giving me looks that expressed condolences.

We ate, we drank, we were merry. Well, we did all those things before 7pm bedtime but we still had some fun. Looking back, I may have been a stickler for that 7pm bedtime because I was the tiredest... did I mention I was EIGHT months pregnant? Or that 'little' number three was 9 pound 3 and I am not quite 5'2"?!

On our way home, we hung around the airport and I decided to do some waddling rather than sitting (those of you who've birthed a giant baby know what I mean).

It was then I saw a beautiful sight - one that will stay with me forever*. A greying man in maybe his fifties, holding the hand of his son. His son was jumping up and down with sheer excitement. I could overhear some of their conversation and it was clear that they were queuing for hot chocolate with marshmallows. The older man looked into his son's face, smiling with the enthusiasm and joy reflected back at him. The boy was polite, and just so grateful to be out with his Dad doing something so grown up. And with PLANES nearby, no less.

But... this was no ordinary sight. The son was not a child. He was maybe twenty years old. He had Downs Syndrome. I looked at the father and I looked down at my own four year old son. One day my son would grow to resist holding my hand. One day my son would buy his own hot drink without a thought. One day my son would be bored waiting in an airport full of planes. But not that man's son. That man would get to enjoy the purity of childhood for as long as they were both able to stand side-by-side.

What a beautiful thought - having a child that needed you indefinitely. Being someone's 'Mummy' or 'Daddy' forever.

I'm not in any way trying to diminish the hardships that come with having a child with a disability. I know that life is harder for some than others depending on the needs of their child and of the resources at hand, but I just looked at that grey-haired man and KNEW he felt blessed by what some might see as a burden.

I feel I was meant to see that little vignette at the airport. God was preparing me for a world of patience and trust and love for the unique little person I was about to meet.

My own little number three. He has taken his time growing up. When I realised that something was different about him, I found it hard to put my finger on what it was. So did everyone else around me. As a baby, he was so happy, so sunny, so calm, so quiet - he barely even cried.

This is the Small Boy at around 3 hours old. He just lay there looking at

me while I lay looking back at him. It was such a lovely experience

He is so funny and determined. He is such a blessing to our family. It took time and patience and determination to trust my mothers' instinct and to keep pushing until we worked out exactly what it was that was wrong. I have been so lucky to have been able to access the help he needs to propel him on his way.

These days, he stands out less. The other kids at kindy complain, "He won't talk to us," but little by little he is reaching out and trying to fit in with them. When at a distance, you look at him as part of a group, he no longer stands out.

He's growing up! He's finding his way! His test results have moved from 'profound' communication disorder to 'moderate' and every day he unlocks new words and ideas. It's all just a grand, happy adventure to my gorgeous Small Boy.

He has taught me patience and faith in a way that nobody else could have. I've found it easier to count my blessings and forgive my own short-comings as the mother of this perfectly beautiful little boy.

Because he IS perfect. In spite of his dodgy ears (which are now repaired) and the crazy little wild thing he became while we were working him out, he is just amazing and gorgeous and beautiful. And I wouldn't trade any of it. In fact I relish the fact that I get to stretch out these toddler years a little further than most.

Here he is at 14 months. We were just starting to investigate his issues - not

responding to his name, poor gross motor etc.

And while I really believe that in ten years, he'll be as able as my other kids, I'll be OK if he needs me just that little bit more than Mr Z or Miss Piggy.

It's been a journey of growth for me. I hope it's been a journey of growth for him, too. That his struggles will make him a patient man who takes challenges in his stride. Who embraces unique people and situations with warmth and kindness.

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* Incidentally, the last time I'd seen a breath taking sight was ten years previous in Brisvegas, in front of City Hall. There was clearly some sort of ball about to start. In the square were people in their finest, standing in small groups but not a word was spoken. All you could hear was the flapping of hands as people signed to one another. I desperately wanted to take out my camera and record this amazing scene but instead I chose to just take it in. One night in Brisbane out of maybe two for the year. But I was there THAT night. Things ALWAYS happen for a reason.

The story of my first car... (every day in May)

In high school, I drove 'Big Red', an aging magenta Falcon. It was the family car, but as I'd loaned my Dad the money to fix it so often, he promised it was my car too.

Driving Big Red was a learning experience, to say the least. It was petrol and LPG. LPG was at that point under 30c/L which meant that unlike my friends, I didn't really have to worry too much about the fuel bill. I mean, petrol was something horrific like 77c/L back then!!!

I also didn't have to worry about reversing. Big Red didn't do reverse... unless you had your right leg dangling from the driver's side, Flintstone style, or you had a friend to push.

Big Red also didn't have a door handle on the driver's side. Every time I got into the passenger side to slide over the seat to the driver's side, I felt like I was being watched - and that every person watching thought I was stealing the car.

I remember the day that door handle fell off. I'd dropped my Mum at her ultra-early morning bakery job and was making the long drive home to our house (25 min) to get an hour of shut-eye before I drove back for my own corner-store job. I needed some gas, so I was stopped at the service station with a hideous black and fluoro hoodie on over my jammies (it was Winter and the nineties). I was safety conscious and all the doors were locked except the driver's door. After paying, I went to get back into the car and to my surprise, the handle just came off in my hand. How embarrassing - here I was, on the main street in my jammies, with the world just starting to wake up. Any minute someone would pull up behind me and I'd have to explain my ridiculous situation!

Lucky a nice, hairy man on a bike had seen the whole thing and knew a way to break into the passenger side! He did it with such speed and ease, I hoped that he noticed how crappy the car was on the inside! I sent him message via ESP, "This is not the car you are looking for, nothing here to see".

My mum junked poor Big Red some time while I was away at uni.

The first car I actually bought was a Honda Civic. I remember going to the bank to extract all my savings with J (my now husband). I was surprised at how small a bundle of notes making $1000 really looked. I considered asking for it all in tens!

We looked around some car yards, with him offering to loan me some money once we saw what was on offer. He had a compact little car and had never had to drive a 'bomb'. I, of course, was too proud. I told him, "I'll know it when I see it."

I'd already picked a name - Cecilia. Like the Paul Simon song. Of course, after Big Red, I totally expected any car I'd be driving to be, "breaking my heart... shaking my confidence daily". But when I saw the tiny white car parked in the corner with just the right price tag ($999, of course), I knew this was a great car and there was no way I could give it that name.

So Geraldine (Geri - like the Spice Girl) came into my possession. While Big Red had been an auto, Geri, being a '74 model, quite obviously was not. I had an SA licence (which didn't stipulate manual/auto) and I'd only really driven auto since my three driving school lessons several years earlier. Uh oh. And did I mention that we were buying this car to take home to our very own garage in the house we'd just moved into... FOUR HOURS AWAY?

Let's just say, I learned to drive 'four on the floor' by the time we'd hit the eighth or ninth set of lights and I've never been so happy that the Bruce Highway is reasonably straight and long!!! J drove ahead the whole way and I just focused on his tail lights and alternated between prayer and swear words the whole way home.

This was after my brother had added a few nice touches

like fuzzy dice and car seat covers. Must be naughties 

because my hair isn't permed! 

Geri lived in our garage for several years. I often drove around town looking for missing hubcaps (poor J's attempt to pimp it out), occasionally for missing parts of my muffler and exhaust. She had a screwdriver to hold up a window after the winding mechanism broke.

She often squeezed six passengers inside if I drove friends home after a shift at the nightclub where I worked. Thank goodness her windows fogged quickly, I never got pulled over for an over-filled car like some of my friends! She was used to ferry passengers from the reception after our wedding.

When it rained, she surprised me with crops of mushrooms growing out of the ancient carpet in the boot. When I saw those mushrooms waving, I would slam the boot so fast!!! 

My baby brother drove her for a few years after that, and then just as she was about to hit vintage status, we realised we could not keep her going any longer. My brother and I cried when we took her to the wreckers. They gave us a hundred bucks, mostly because I think they felt a bit sorry for us, all red eyed and heartbroken. I still have the Honda and Civic badges, they used to be stuck to the top of my monitors until I got a touch screen.

No other car has held quite the same attachment for me. She was the very start of my new, grown up life. She gave me my independence and I loved her!

Lil Birdie Designs

I got a parcel this week! We get a lot of parcels round here due to our penchant for homemade-or-unusual-curiosities (me) latest-state-of-the-art-technological-things (him). This time I had ordered a waistcoat and capri shorts for my Small Boy.

It was a very late night purchase on a FB sale - not something I usually do - but I just couldn't resist that quirky little set! It's so hard to find 'nice' traditional-type clothing for small boys and I wanted to have something special for my littlest man to wear at Christmas (the kids always dress up for church).

Ruth from Lil Birdie Clothing kindly sent me some fabric scraps (to match the set I bought from her) and I made him a little flatcap to match. Jase said I am cruel and unusual for dressing him in 'golf clothes' but agreed he looked cute!

The workmanship on this little set is awesome - such neat stitching and hard-wearing fabrics. I recommend you check out Lil Birdie on facebook if you're looking for high-quality, one-of-a-kind clothing for your little one.

The hat is another story... I'd give it an A for effort, and... well, let's just say I'd rather you not look too closely! It's a proto-type and I have just enough fabric to make a second edition! Who knew it was so impossible to find a flatcap pattern on the internet! I had to make my own... After looking closely at an old hat we had here, I just kind of winged it. It's OK, but I think I'd like a second shot at getting it right!

I might add the pattern here when I get it just right... anyone interested?

Being different... (and how to make easy and unique bag tags)

I enjoy being different. A long time ago I realised I was never going to be exactly like everyone else and decided I could *sometimes* wear uniqueness as a badge of honour. Life gives you lemons and all that. Lots of times I wished I could be like everyone else but mostly I was happy not to have the pressure of looking/being/thinking like everyone else.

So.... when I went to Kmart to get school bags for my little munchkins and discovered all the bags were all very alike, I decided that would never do :) Mr Z had wanted a 'cool' bag that was uniquely his, so there was nothing for it but to bedazzle it a bit! Unfortunately buying the smallest (easiest to carry) backpack meant I was also buying the shoddiest cheapest one there... so I knew I couldn't get away with sewing something directly onto the bag. That's when I decided to make these tags:

First we found and printed some pictures. Then we carefully cut them out and covered them (front and back) in clear contact. I trimmed the contact to leave a 0.5cm allowance around the edge. Next we laid the covered pictures onto felt pieces and then stitched around their outsides using the sewing machine. After trimming the felt down, we added a felt loop to the top and then tied them onto the bag. We used the rope handle from some old crushed giftbags to tie them. It took around 20 minutes to do each one and cost less than a dollar all up. Now Mr Z has no trouble identifying his generic bag amongst the other bags - he just looks for his special swing tags :)

I think that when he is a big bigger (and can carry a bigger, heavier bag) we might redo these, but instead of stitching to felt, we might stitch them directly onto a better quality bag.