Little P, my little pea.
I could stay here on the sand with you until the sun goes down.
You ran down Woods Parade arms wide open, your podgy legs speeding up until it looked like you were about to topple over, and then you stopped in your tracks, put your finger in your mouth and furrowed your brow;
"What's wrong P?" I asked.
"Yaya" you said.
"Amaya's at preschool, we'll get her soon. Let's go to the beach and play in the sand".
Holding the bucket with one hand and my hand in your other you waddled down the hill for....a few seconds before you turned to me and said;
"Cuggle?"
That means "Cuddle?"
You are Joy.
We sat down on the sand and I took off your shoes. Your toes touched the sand and you wriggled and buried them;
"Shall I take mine off too?"
I took off my trainers and socks and we dug holes in the sand and played hide and seek with our feet.
"Toooooooooes, wh'are youuuuu? Here they are toes!"
You are Present.
You picked up a shell and put it in the bucket. We usually use that bucket to wash your hair in the bath, but before it was a bath bucket it was a huge tub of peanut M&Ms bought by your Papa, not by me because I don't like peanut M&Ms unless I'm at the movies and there's no other chocolate option, and your sister doesn't like them either because she's allergic to peanuts. You'll try them one day and can make up your own mind. When Papa finished the tub of M&Ms it became the hair washing bath bucket. That's the story of the bucket which we grabbed on the way out of the house today because I thought you'd like to play with it at the beach, and we couldn't get into the garage to get the beach buckets because Papa took the garage key to work. There are no differences between the bath buckets and beach buckets, apart from one being called "bath" bucket and the other "beach" bucket. These are labels little P. People like to label things.
We hunted for more shells to put in the bucket and found a few small purple ones and a black pebble.
You are Life.
I felt stiff in my right hip so twisted my body to one side, and then the other. The sun felt warm on my back and I wanted to do more stretching. I looked out to sea as I stood beneath the blue sky with the warmth of the sun on my face and my toes in the sand accompanied by you, my ray of sunshine. Happiness is this moment. I took off my hoodie and lay it over my bag, I then took off my sunglasses and placed them on top of my hoodie which lay over my bag.
You are Happiness.
Standing up tall I bent forward, knees slightly bent, legs slightly apart and touched the sand with my fingertips.
"Can you do this P?"
You can. The golden tips of your hair touched the sand and you opened your arms out to your side, wide, hugging the world. Then we stood up straight and smiled.
You are Beauty.
"Mummy come!" You took my hand.
We walked to the water's edge and looked. You looked at the water and at your world, and I looked at you then at the water and then my world.
"Can you see the red boat P?" A man rowed a red boat towards the shore. Row Row Row.
"Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee" I twirled you around and around and around until you collapsed into the wet sand;
"More mummy" So I did more and you laughed and laughed and showed me your teeth and your snotty nose;
"More mummy!"
"No more P, let's take off your leggings. They're wet".
I picked you up and turned you upside down and you stretched your arms long so your fingers skimmed the water.
You are You.
Monday, 27 August 2012
Wednesday, 23 May 2012
I Love By The Sea
That autumnal morning the sun was low and half asleep in the sky, and I felt like I was in a hipstamatic photograph. Loners sat on the wall cradling their coffees and gazing out at the ocean, bright young things jogged by in tight pants with midriffs on display, and bronzed surfers padded past with boards tucked under their arms. Dog walkers and baby walkers paraded by with leads and three wheeler strollers, and a bearded traveller opened his eyes and the doors of his van to let in the morning sunlight. Despite this movement of life I was frozen in time, hypnotised by a landscape alive with colour.
Living beside the sea is cleansing, it opens my soul and clears my head. The pounding, repetitive beat of the waves can either inspire and energise, or send me into a reflective, meditative state. Whether it's a bad hangover, sleep deprivation, morning sickness, loving someone, losing someone, celebrating or grieving life, what's certain is that the deep blue is a healer.
My partner is a surfer and from the moment he puts his feet into the water I see how he becomes part of the ocean. He pushes off and paddles out one stroke at a time, ducking under the waves as they roll over him then breathing heavily he lies, belly on board, waiting for a set to roll in.
Waiting, just waiting.
Alone but not lonely.
Focused, mesmerised and aware.
He waits for the moment he will stand up and ride with the rhythm of the waves.
For him surfing is meditation, it is medicine.
After my mother died we crept into an ocean pool at twilight and gathered on the rocks overlooking the ocean. As waves lapped over our feet we scattered mum's ashes into the sea. What a perfect place to lay to rest.
The churning and constant movement of the sea is an allegory for life; transient, turbulent yet beautiful.
I Love By the Sea.
Living beside the sea is cleansing, it opens my soul and clears my head. The pounding, repetitive beat of the waves can either inspire and energise, or send me into a reflective, meditative state. Whether it's a bad hangover, sleep deprivation, morning sickness, loving someone, losing someone, celebrating or grieving life, what's certain is that the deep blue is a healer.
My partner is a surfer and from the moment he puts his feet into the water I see how he becomes part of the ocean. He pushes off and paddles out one stroke at a time, ducking under the waves as they roll over him then breathing heavily he lies, belly on board, waiting for a set to roll in.
Waiting, just waiting.
Alone but not lonely.
Focused, mesmerised and aware.
He waits for the moment he will stand up and ride with the rhythm of the waves.
For him surfing is meditation, it is medicine.
After my mother died we crept into an ocean pool at twilight and gathered on the rocks overlooking the ocean. As waves lapped over our feet we scattered mum's ashes into the sea. What a perfect place to lay to rest.
The churning and constant movement of the sea is an allegory for life; transient, turbulent yet beautiful.
I Love By the Sea.
Monday, 27 February 2012
Travelling Terrors
On long haul flights with children you don't need your book. Come to think of it you don't need any reading material; not the in-flight magazine, the menu card or the emergency procedure leaflet. You will never watch a movie.
We've been travelling for 24 hours; me, the partner and two nippers. We're on the third and final flight of our journey (yes, that's right people; THIRD). We're over the worst of it. We've survived the 12 hour flight from Santiago to Auckland with only a few trauma wounds, and we're now on the cruisey 4 hour direct to Sydney. Easy.
For the first 2 hours the girls pass out. They're so delirious they don't even wake for the food - which is usually the highlight of a flight -. I doze in and out of consciousness, watch a few scenes of a movie on the person's tv in front of me, and obsessively click on the "time to destination" icon on my screen.
This is serenity.
*************
The 1 year old shifts position on her father's lap.
Father opens his eyes.
I draw a breath.
Time stands still for a split second.
*************
With her left leg 1 year old kicks 3 year old in the head.
The 3 year old screams.
The 1 year old screams.
1 year old and 3 year old keep screaming.
We hush, we comfort, we scold, I cry, we bribe with cookies, lollies, promises of a lifetime of ice cream upon our arrival, we pretend they're not ours....and then, from the row in front of us comes a deafening;
"SSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHHH"
Surely not.
"SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH" again.
"Seriously, did you just hear that?"
We decide to split up. I take the big one for a walk up one side of the plane and the father takes the small one. I hang out in the toilet with the 3 year old (not hard to see eye to eye in a plane loo) and with a sweet smile and a grip on her arm - that might be ever so slightly too tight - I relay comforting words;
"I understand that you're tired after such a long journey, and you've been such a good girl but we're going to be home really soon so can you please just try to hold it together?"
We exit the matchbox to find the little one running riot up and down the aisles poking her head around seats to say "HELLOOOOO" to snoozing passengers.
Give me strength.
As we return to our seats, refreshed after our 15 mins jaunt around the plane, the aforementioned "Shhhhhers" are still shifting about in their seats and straining their necks to give us the evil eye. Incredulously the main offending "Shhhher" is a mother - her son is in his 20s. I start plotting my revenge attack but when it comes to the crunch I don't do or say anything, instead I just sit there with my hands over my kids mouths praying for a speedy landing.
I understand it’s irritating being on a flight with screaming children. You’re looking forward to watching a movie or having a nap and you’ve got a wailing baby in your ear. It grates your nerves. I get it. So, I've come up with a few handy tips on how to deal with flying with the potential of having screaming child/ren in your vicinity;
1. Don't SHHHHHHHHHHHHH. Ever. It's F**KED UP.
2. Why don't you ask if there's anything you can do to help. That would be lovely.
3. Have a little think about how the parents of the screaming children are feeling. Here's a little clue; They're in a darrrrrrrrk place.
4. Buy some headphones which block out sound - or at least muffle sound. That would help.
5. Be kind.
We've been travelling for 24 hours; me, the partner and two nippers. We're on the third and final flight of our journey (yes, that's right people; THIRD). We're over the worst of it. We've survived the 12 hour flight from Santiago to Auckland with only a few trauma wounds, and we're now on the cruisey 4 hour direct to Sydney. Easy.
For the first 2 hours the girls pass out. They're so delirious they don't even wake for the food - which is usually the highlight of a flight -. I doze in and out of consciousness, watch a few scenes of a movie on the person's tv in front of me, and obsessively click on the "time to destination" icon on my screen.
This is serenity.
*************
The 1 year old shifts position on her father's lap.
Father opens his eyes.
I draw a breath.
Time stands still for a split second.
*************
With her left leg 1 year old kicks 3 year old in the head.
The 3 year old screams.
The 1 year old screams.
1 year old and 3 year old keep screaming.
We hush, we comfort, we scold, I cry, we bribe with cookies, lollies, promises of a lifetime of ice cream upon our arrival, we pretend they're not ours....and then, from the row in front of us comes a deafening;
"SSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHHHH"
Surely not.
"SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH" again.
"Seriously, did you just hear that?"
We decide to split up. I take the big one for a walk up one side of the plane and the father takes the small one. I hang out in the toilet with the 3 year old (not hard to see eye to eye in a plane loo) and with a sweet smile and a grip on her arm - that might be ever so slightly too tight - I relay comforting words;
"I understand that you're tired after such a long journey, and you've been such a good girl but we're going to be home really soon so can you please just try to hold it together?"
We exit the matchbox to find the little one running riot up and down the aisles poking her head around seats to say "HELLOOOOO" to snoozing passengers.
As we return to our seats, refreshed after our 15 mins jaunt around the plane, the aforementioned "Shhhhhers" are still shifting about in their seats and straining their necks to give us the evil eye. Incredulously the main offending "Shhhher" is a mother - her son is in his 20s. I start plotting my revenge attack but when it comes to the crunch I don't do or say anything, instead I just sit there with my hands over my kids mouths praying for a speedy landing.
I understand it’s irritating being on a flight with screaming children. You’re looking forward to watching a movie or having a nap and you’ve got a wailing baby in your ear. It grates your nerves. I get it. So, I've come up with a few handy tips on how to deal with flying with the potential of having screaming child/ren in your vicinity;
1. Don't SHHHHHHHHHHHHH. Ever. It's F**KED UP.
2. Why don't you ask if there's anything you can do to help. That would be lovely.
3. Have a little think about how the parents of the screaming children are feeling. Here's a little clue; They're in a darrrrrrrrk place.
4. Buy some headphones which block out sound - or at least muffle sound. That would help.
5. Be kind.
Sunday, 15 January 2012
Music saves my life
Feeling like you're going slightly mad when looking after two children under the age of 3 is probably a very common state of mind for many a mother. The intensity of emotion that comes with having two small human beings swinging from my limbs is something I could never have imagined prior to landing on planet motherhood.
In the olden days, as a single gal about town, time to myself would be classified as a weekend away with girlfriends at a luxury spa. Nowadays, I get the same sense of satisfaction if I manage to go to the toilet on my own, without a child wanting to sit on my lap.
The most challenging time in my day has to be from about 5pm when little tummies are hungry, bodies are smeared with all manner of dirt and everyone is tired and tetchy. Books call this time the "witching hour".
As I'm a bit hit or miss in the cooking organisation department, I tend not to have a "here's one I made earlier" dinner dish*, so I end up scurrying around the kitchen, wailing baby on hip, trying to gather something together that resembles a reasonably healthy meal...or at least a meal that won't give the children scurvy.
Once I've successfully cooked, fed, cleaned up, ran bath, undressed children, put children in bath, got soaked, put self in bath with children, washed, taken children and self out of bath, dried, found pyjamas, mopped up wee from floor, held down struggling baby whilst putting on nappy, argued about what pyjamas 3 year old wants to wear, given in, put own pyjamas onto 3 year old finally, finally, finally I carry clean, happy and relatively peaceful children in to the sitting room.
Now It's time. It's time for a boogie. It's time to put on the stereo really loudly. It's time to listen to some "illicit language" rap music. It's time to shake. Shake it out. Shake that booty. Shake it round. Shake it fast. Shake it like there's no tomorrow. Shake it like you cannot wait for another 5pm witching hour. Shake it hard. Shake it and watch your children watching you like you are the queen of shaking it, before joining in. Suddenly you have a shaking party, you're all going wild, hair's all over the place, you're all singing, laughing, shaking it, really going for it and dancing around the entire sitting room. The heat rises, you open the balcony door and continue the shaking right beside the open window. The music stops. You look down. You're naked. You forgot to put on your pyjamas after the bath. This is a recurring theme.
Whatever. Music saves my life.
*When I do have a "here's one I made earlier" dinner dish I feel smug as f***
In the olden days, as a single gal about town, time to myself would be classified as a weekend away with girlfriends at a luxury spa. Nowadays, I get the same sense of satisfaction if I manage to go to the toilet on my own, without a child wanting to sit on my lap.
The most challenging time in my day has to be from about 5pm when little tummies are hungry, bodies are smeared with all manner of dirt and everyone is tired and tetchy. Books call this time the "witching hour".
As I'm a bit hit or miss in the cooking organisation department, I tend not to have a "here's one I made earlier" dinner dish*, so I end up scurrying around the kitchen, wailing baby on hip, trying to gather something together that resembles a reasonably healthy meal...or at least a meal that won't give the children scurvy.
Once I've successfully cooked, fed, cleaned up, ran bath, undressed children, put children in bath, got soaked, put self in bath with children, washed, taken children and self out of bath, dried, found pyjamas, mopped up wee from floor, held down struggling baby whilst putting on nappy, argued about what pyjamas 3 year old wants to wear, given in, put own pyjamas onto 3 year old finally, finally, finally I carry clean, happy and relatively peaceful children in to the sitting room.
Now It's time. It's time for a boogie. It's time to put on the stereo really loudly. It's time to listen to some "illicit language" rap music. It's time to shake. Shake it out. Shake that booty. Shake it round. Shake it fast. Shake it like there's no tomorrow. Shake it like you cannot wait for another 5pm witching hour. Shake it hard. Shake it and watch your children watching you like you are the queen of shaking it, before joining in. Suddenly you have a shaking party, you're all going wild, hair's all over the place, you're all singing, laughing, shaking it, really going for it and dancing around the entire sitting room. The heat rises, you open the balcony door and continue the shaking right beside the open window. The music stops. You look down. You're naked. You forgot to put on your pyjamas after the bath. This is a recurring theme.
Whatever. Music saves my life.
*When I do have a "here's one I made earlier" dinner dish I feel smug as f***
Friday, 6 January 2012
Bicycle
For Christmas I received a beautiful bicycle. It is a work of art in fact, and I could look at it for hours. The best thing about it is the shopping basket attached to the front, and I also like that it looks retro but not in a wanky way; it doesn't scream "I'm a cool retro bike" rather it oozes a natural confidence. It's ever so slightly glamorous.
My first and only outing went well. I cruised along figuring out local bicycle etiquette, and felt a little smug tinkling my bell to let pedestrians know they should move out of my way on the cycle path. The only problem I encounted was my outfit. As I dashed out of the house leaving tetchy, tired babies with their father I didn't have time to consider what one should wear on a casual bike ride. It was a hot day, I happened to be wearing the world's shortest mini skirt and flimsy tank top. I realised this was a mistake the minute I swung my leg of the cross bar. Not only were my knickers on display the entire time, but my flimsy summer top didn't do much to cover my bra. I managed to tie a knot in my shirt to help the situation up top, but the mini skirt was a lost cause. Luckily this is Australia, bodies are everywhere. I've seen people in their bikinis waiting in doctors surgeries.
Lesson learnt.
I do love my bike.
My first and only outing went well. I cruised along figuring out local bicycle etiquette, and felt a little smug tinkling my bell to let pedestrians know they should move out of my way on the cycle path. The only problem I encounted was my outfit. As I dashed out of the house leaving tetchy, tired babies with their father I didn't have time to consider what one should wear on a casual bike ride. It was a hot day, I happened to be wearing the world's shortest mini skirt and flimsy tank top. I realised this was a mistake the minute I swung my leg of the cross bar. Not only were my knickers on display the entire time, but my flimsy summer top didn't do much to cover my bra. I managed to tie a knot in my shirt to help the situation up top, but the mini skirt was a lost cause. Luckily this is Australia, bodies are everywhere. I've seen people in their bikinis waiting in doctors surgeries.
Lesson learnt.
I do love my bike.
Tuesday, 3 January 2012
The New Year
I'm feeling the pressure of New Years. I spiralled into a vacuum of self doubt after innocently being asked what my new years resolution was.
It's January the 4th, and for the first 3 days of this month my partner and I argued continuously. In an act of rebellion I demolished the rest of the (large) bag of crisps from the New Years Eve party. Scandalous. I whined at my children, I cleaned obsessively and then I stopped and panicked. I panicked about my future. Oh, that old chestnut! That intangible, unavoidable, unpredictable concept that has haunted me since the day I was born. Where will I live? What career will I choose? How will I have a career AND take my children to and from school/activities/friend's houses? Will I become a resentful middle aged woman who never "achieved" anything? Will I ever speak fluent Spanish? Will I ever get my pre-baby body back? I've not yet hit middle age, the breakdown isn't due yet. I need to wake up and smell the roses before this hole of self obsession sucks me deeper.
So, after a breath of fresh air and an R&B dance around the sitting room I shook off the negativity and called a friend who knows how to get stuff done. She reassuringly said it was pretty normal to feel unfocused and under confident after taking so many years out of the work force to raise children. I'm ready for my 5 year plan and I think she might be just the ticket to get me back on track.
It's January the 4th, and for the first 3 days of this month my partner and I argued continuously. In an act of rebellion I demolished the rest of the (large) bag of crisps from the New Years Eve party. Scandalous. I whined at my children, I cleaned obsessively and then I stopped and panicked. I panicked about my future. Oh, that old chestnut! That intangible, unavoidable, unpredictable concept that has haunted me since the day I was born. Where will I live? What career will I choose? How will I have a career AND take my children to and from school/activities/friend's houses? Will I become a resentful middle aged woman who never "achieved" anything? Will I ever speak fluent Spanish? Will I ever get my pre-baby body back? I've not yet hit middle age, the breakdown isn't due yet. I need to wake up and smell the roses before this hole of self obsession sucks me deeper.
So, after a breath of fresh air and an R&B dance around the sitting room I shook off the negativity and called a friend who knows how to get stuff done. She reassuringly said it was pretty normal to feel unfocused and under confident after taking so many years out of the work force to raise children. I'm ready for my 5 year plan and I think she might be just the ticket to get me back on track.
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