a winter celebration for my boy

This is our sunshiney boy.

He's a boy who has a bit of Africa in his blood.

The one who dances at the slightest drum beat.

The one with the open blue eyes and big warm heart.

The one with the happy, throaty chuckle.

The one who gives soft cuddles with squishy hands.

This boy loves to be close to us, and to share everything of himself with us.

He's the one who still brings tears to my eyes when I see the scar on his forehead. Everyone says that kids bounce. This scar reminds me that they don't.

"He came to bring gladness and joy to the earth," and he does.

If you come across him, hold him with all of your heart. He's generous, and kind. He's lovely, this boy who is now 5.

Bushwalking mit Kinder

A clear and sunny winter's morning called us into the national park.

After explaining to the boys that it was a bushwalk - not a bush run - it really did develop into a beautiful nature walk. We discovered caves, "crystals", interesting barks and branches hanging in trees, and an aboriginal rock painting.

A few days later we made aboriginal damper at our local library as part of the Guringai Festival. Here are a couple of piccies from our winter days:

(this last one is a bit blurry but it's one of our Gogo's favourites, so this one's for her, with love)

Not letting the bastards grind you down

Cheer up me,
Cheer up me,
You have a lovely boat and a bloody big moat,
Cheer up me,
Cheer up me.

Ahhh... little ditties work you know. Make me feel light and happy.

The day trit-trotting brought no answers

I was recently...

Wandering :: the streets of Chatswood. So overflowing with consumerism, materialism. Chaotic yet mind-numbingly empty.

Pondering :: Why would a shop selling cheap clothing, made in China at the hands of underpaid factory workers, bother to call itself "THINK". ??

Questioning :: What is it I aim to be doing right now in relation to parenting?
Answering :: Raising my children compassionately so they may see themselves and the world around them.
Questioning :: But why?!? The world around them is crazy and full and dirty and chaotic and there are images of soldiers with automatic weapons in the shop window before them. !!!?! I live here, in this country, so that my children are not standing near a soldier holding a weapon as we go about our day. So WHO (!?) thinks that poster is appropriate for the windows of this public street, in full view of MY children!

More questioning :: To teach my children something, do I need to be doing something "Out There", doing something to make the world better, to improve the lot of someone, for myself? The time is getting closer. And how will I fit that in with caring for my family?

Feverish :: with a cold infecting my airways on the day of the pondering trot. Perhaps that is why I was questioning the meaning of my existence in winter, rather than the more usual end of summer.

Declaring :: there must be more to life than waltzing around looking fabulous. More to life than being a good person. More to life than textures and colours and tastes that please me. More to life than this!!

If I die tomorrow, where does my spirit go? And if indeed I have a spirit which can be released, currently tied up in this body... then why? Why does my spirit need a body to exist in... for what purpose? That surely brings us back to the meaning of life.

O how exhausting.

You can call me Boat Girl

Last week, Chooch had a play at a friend's house. This gave me the time to (more easily) fill the boat with petrol and go to collect our mail.

I toottled off to the Point (where the family car and our post office box live... hub for all island comings and goings) and tied the boat to the old ferry jetty. This meant that some fancy footwork was needed to get from boat to jetty. I'm always a bit nervous that:

1. I'll fall in.
2. My boat will escape me.
3. I'll tie up illegally (and get caught) and face embarrassment in front of seasoned islanders.
   

But I did it. And it was all good.

Collected most recent ebay bargain and a new craft book from the post office, and I was off again... climbing over a railing, untying, jumping into boat and tootling off. I zoomed around the eastern side of the island and came to a public wharf I've only seen from the ferry. I found our friends' mooring, attached my boat to it, pulled on the rope with all my might and pulled off another jump and a climb up over the jetty railing, to go and collect my Chooch.

...Up the bushy stairs,
along the muddy road,
up the hill to friend's house,
collect child,
find a new bushy path to scramble down together,
scramble around the boat sheds and jetties of the foreshore,
come to our boat,
jump in,
untie and zoom off for home.

O yes. You can call me Boat Girl.

adventure on a winter's eve

Quite a few people seem to think we're crazy, that lovely Zimbabwean and I, for encouraging the boykaloiks to participate in sports that involve leaving the island we live on.

The other night rugby training finished at 6pm, and the Sydney air was a rather fresh 9 degrees C. It took me 45 minutes to drive the little boys through the national park to the ferry wharf. I woke up a sleepy 4-year-old, rugged up both boys with jumpers, coats, beenies, and gloves; loaded myself up like a donkey, walked 400 metres, and on to the ferry we shuffled. Ahhhh... 5 minutes to take a breath.

Just after the ferry set sail, Noah-the-wise said: "Mama!! We're on the wrong ferry!"

Well yes my dahling... You seem to be right. Mama-the-tired didn't bother to check which ferry she was getting on, and we were on the last ferry, to the wrong wharf.

Chin up though, tribe! Mama always keeps a head-torch in her backpack (I was an excellently prepared Girl Guide. That's why I need to live on an island. My resourcefulness would be wasted on the mainland) so we disembarked, at the wrong wharf, loaded up again, had a chuckle (I was trying to keep all spirits high and dry) and I emphasised how exciting it was to be on a bushwalk at night. And we were off! Climbing stairs, trudging along dirt tracks, enjoying the moon through the treetops. We had lovely conversations and enjoyed finding all the bits on each backpack which glowed in the dark. Those little boys were adventurous and strong. Their eyes were wide as they looked out for possums, and anything else that might be the cause of that rustling. They didn't complain once. When I let out, after 40 minutes, how pleased I was to be nearly there - as my arms were about to fall off from carrying my heavy bags - Chooch turned around and asked which one he could carry. Lovely boys.

When we finally made it home, the fire was going and the Zimbo had hot chocolate simmering gently, waiting for his family to return (and vaguely wondering why we were so late).

Such an adventure is one of the benefits of not having your own driveway (or indeed, "boat only access" to your home!).

winter days with Choochie

selling a piece of lego for $1 (as you can see, there's not much of a passing crowd)

half-heartedly sharing the last of the stewed fruits (but still sharing)

It's 9.45am.

Together we've re-organised the garden shed, fed the chooks, collected eggs and are now having morning tea on the deck, with a discussion about double-decker axes. Perhaps he was a lumberjack in a past life (he talks quite often about axes).

Stewed fruit, tea and choc-chip biscuits, and a trust-worthy MSR.

Snuggles and swings on the hammock.

A walk to the water, and much climbing: over fences, up trees, along railings.

I'll miss days like this with my little one when he starts school next year.