new beginnings

It's the last night of the summer school holidays. I'm so relieved.

They've been lovely. It's been a summer of fun, friends and frivolity.

Now I'm ready to get stuck in... to Noah's Class 3, to Choochie's Kindergarten (yay! the beginning of school for my littlest one), to a new venture for the Zimbo, and... most excitingly for me... to my slow emergence from the womb of motherhood. As those spunky little boys grow and grow and take leaps of their own, it's time for mama to get "out there". O yeah. Late thirties may be a tad old for starting a new university course for some, but I say It's the university of life, Baby! I love learning. I'm sooooo looking forward to being a uni student again. And I hold it as a great GREAT privilege. (So thank you, Australian government, for loaning me the uni fees.)

New Year's Day 2012

Lenka, getting friendly with quite a well built goanna...

Blessings on the ...

There really are so many people who contribute in thankless, priceless, meaningful ways to the world in which I live.

Today, though, I'm wanting to thank, with all of my heart, the staff of the Sydney Children's Hospital. All of them. Nurses, doctors, ambo's, café workers, cleaners, administrators... anyone of them who goes to their work each day and does their best so that children like my little Chooch receive the highest level of care.

Today Chooch and I made the trek, about an hour and a half (including boat trip) to Randwick for his final (YIPPEEE!) appointment with the Brain Injury Outpatients clinic after his fall a year ago.

Let me just add a little perspective here. When our little 4 year old pole-jumper fell 3-4 metres onto jetty steps below, he did receive a very nasty gash on the forehead, and a small bruise on the brain. A very small 1cm bruise. He has shown no signs or symptoms since then, whatsoever, so he hasn't needed any form of rehabilitation. But, just to be thorough, we needed to go for follow-up appointments, to keep all abreast of whether or not anything has developed.

I'm so grateful to say that he is a strong, fit, thriving boy. He jumps again (and again and again) from just about anything he can find. He rides bikes and scooters with great gusto. He swims and dives and wrestles. He moves so much that he often falls from his seat (just because he can't sit still). He sings at the top of his lungs when we pootle around on our boat together. He tells the most ridiculous stories. When I went to bed last night, he was leisurely reclining back on MY pillows, hands behind his head. He smiled at me and asked "Which side shall I lie on?". And next week our little Schamoocha starts school. And for that we are also very grateful (because he often drives us crazy at home).

Charlie grows where he can be wild and free. It was tricky to explain to the team of people interviewing us today (neurologist, psychologist, intern neuro, intern psycho) just what kind of beautiful childhood he lives amongst right now... where he is encouraged and celebrated just as he is, within both his school community and his island one.

May all the children we shared space with today, grow strongly, beautifully, and recover fully.

May all the staff of the Sydney Children's Hospital know what good and noble work they have signed up for, and that the likes of us, sincerely thank them... from the depths of our family heart.

January 2011
(whilst in hospital, this child drove me to serious nervous breakdown territory by pretending to bump his head against the wall while chuckling, "Whoops! Gave myself a brain injury!")

New Year's Day, January 2012
The only time he stops is to bask in the sun after a swim.
Bless you Chooch.

dappled sunlight

one summer's morning, at home... with mess, and pyjamas, and a thousand cobwebs around windows, and children playing with neighbouring children. One long, slow, summer's morning...

Post script... the fourth light of Advent

I do like to be thorough. Although the festive season is over, I couldn't leave the fourth light of Advent hanging in mid-air, with no closure. So here's how it went...

On the fourth Advent Sunday, Mary and Joseph joined our nativity scene and, over the coming days, made their symbolic journey towards our symbolic stable. I love the reverence that Noah brings to the nativity scene. He calmly, beautifully, lovingly moves these two needle-felted figures (made by Mama) a little bit closer each day. Baby Jesus (needle-felted by Noah in Kindergarten) is added to the scene on Christmas eve.


The inner quiet of our nativity scene was contrasted with the raucous, "outward" singing of carols in the park, where one of Santa's helpers (my boys know that the real St Nicholas would not be frolicking around in shopping centres or with Rural Bush Fire Brigades the week before Christmas) arrived in a fire truck, accompanied by fire sirens and barking dogs.

In the final days before Christmas, our decorations continued to appear in Advent stockings each morning, until the boys all chose "our" tree (the Christmas Tree Farm's lack of Christmas spirit is another story) and we decorated it together on the 23rd. Final decorations were added around our home, and on Christmas eve the Advents calendar was removed to allow space for the Christmas tree to sparkle with all her might. She was lovely.

"may your days be merry and bright"

On Boxing day, the Three Kings began their 12 day journey, following the star, until they finally arrived at the stable on 6th January.


Christmas and New Year were sunny, fun-filled affairs at our house this year, with many friends around, much loud laughter and much silliness. Our decorative rituals brought us a sense of balance, and they brought calm. They reminded us to take a moment to reflect on this sacred time and ponder why it may be sacred to us. Amidst all thriving summer activity - slapping on suncream, rambling for cozzies, running down the jetty (because, you know, going swimming causes a frenzy... even when you get to do it everyday, often several times a day!), our rituals anchor us, and bring me "home". And they bring little shimmering stars to the big, blue eyes of my little ones. I hope they also warm their hearts, and give them magic memories to keep long after their childhoods are gone.

on simplicity

Simple is best. That's what my heart tells me. That may be hard to believe, coming from me. You may have noticed, I can be a bit "wordy".

The difficulty I have with simple is how to find simplicity in managing the life and times of 3-4 people, all at once. (There is an obvious 3: me and two children; but I've referred to "3-4 people" because whilst one could be mistaken for thinking that the husband manages his own life, the wife begs to differ.)

I feel as if I am constantly nagging. Well, I AM actually constantly nagging:

"... please unpack the dishwasher
... has anyone fed the pets
... check for eggs
... are you wearing suncream?
... where's your rashie!?
... why is the toilet seat up!?
... your room needs tidying
... stop fighting!
... no balls inside
... have you practiced the violin today?
... why isn't the dishwasher unpacked yet!?
... by the way, check out the angel dust!"

The most complicated thing around here seems to be my mind! I think of "simple" as clean and uncluttered, and my busy mind certainly doesn't feel uncluttered.

So this morning I stopped. I took a breath. I walked out the front door, dog lead in hand, without any long explanation as to where we were going, and what we would do when we got there. I walked, around our whole island, with kids on bikes, and only spoke to them when they spoke to me first.

Walking our funny little dog around the island in the morning - Simple.
Stripping down to my cozzies (or undies) and jumping off a jetty - that is Simple.
Enjoying a mango - simple.
Sipping tea - simple.

Taking a breath, when I remember... really, it could be simple.

In the light of the moon

One summer's eve in January 2012, I slept under the stars.
My little Choochie Luchie slept beside me. He nodded in his sleep as I whispered, "Your mama loves you".
Prayer flags fluttered above us.
We basked all night in the glow of the moon.
Boats nudged each other with the coming of waves and the ebb and flow of the tide.
I didn't sleep heavily (there were stars to be seen) but felt that I'd been bathed in magic.