Lost... in space

Well that essay took much longer to write than expected. Not longer than it should have, just longer than I had allowed.

It is safe to say that the Spring school holidays have been semi-disastrous... for me. I say "semi" to acknowledge that I am faced with the insanity of first world problems. The term "disaster" is relative. My mental state has been messy. I've had uni work looming over me, with the uni semester recess only slightly overlapping with school holidays. So most of the time, as I've been trying to read academic journals on human geography and natural (real) disasters, I've had kids fighting/playing at my feet, making mess, requiring food, requiring taxi services etc etc etc. There's one buzzing right behind me right now. We've had friends come to stay, rugby presentations to attend, sailing days, and on and on and on and ridiculously on and on. All very full lovely living. All of which keeps me from focusing on academic work, which is becoming increasingly important to ME! For ME! 

Oh I know. Don't worry, I've been told. A family member, who shall remain nameless, pointed out to me that my sole purpose in life is to mother. Let's just call him "He of the older generation".

"Bad luck girl, you had 'em, you look after 'em." 

But I still do, I said. 

"It's not enough", he said. 

But I focused solely on them - in the home - for nearly 9 years, I said. 

"Well it wasn't long enough!" he exclaimed. And on, and on, and on.

Well, sisters and brothers. Fuck it. If this is selfish, then selfish I am. I want it! I need it! I'm going to have it! And my children will learn from it. Who knows what they will learn? That's for them to figure out as they process the world for the rest of their eternity. What do you think they will learn from me staying solely focused on them for the next ten years? Well... we're not going to find out.

Finally, after many days of headache and vomity sensations and incredible tetchiness and tension, my essay was submitted, 3 days late. It felt quite liberating really.... letting go like that and accepting my circumstances. During this school holiday period my mind has run like a mouse on a wheel. I'm not willing to let go of any of it... of my studies or of my family. In one week I'll be adding a day of work, with a 3-4 hour commute, into the mix as well. And that too shall be ok. Because it's only one day. And it will be a day of something different, something with new people, new purpose with old knowledge and re-fired up passion. A day of something different.

So, with the illumination of all that rambling... here are two stories of happy family moments. Perhaps the only happy family moments to have occurred in the last two weeks but still... they happened.

The first was my Noah-Noo's 9th birthday party. Nine! I'll save my nostalgic Oh my God, nine? Where did all those years go moment for another day. This year we opted for a party with all the boys and 3 girls from Noah's class, and all of their families, at our favourite family picnic place... a clearing surrounded by water and bush, about 10 minutes upstream from us. It feels wild and free and special. The perfect place for a celebration of 9 years of life.

I love Whole Family birthday parties. They highlight the rich community that we have around us as all of our children grow together - indeed, as we all grow (if we're lucky). Rather than being a chore, just another event to ferry our children to, the Whole Family birthday party can be a beautiful day for everyone.

Soon to come... a visit from a fairy.

please hold...

Soon to come: images from the latest birthday party.

In the meantime,  I'll leave you with this, while an essay will be written.

Spring has sprung

Spring commences for us, every year, with our school Spring Festival. Each class proudly displays their year's work for all to enjoy, before we gather on the meadow, with the sound of kookaburras, cockatoos and crows above us, for singing, dancing and music performances. Colourful, celebratory, open and warm... I love these Spring days. Even more than the picnic and festival, those classrooms really make my heart sing. 

Kindergarten

Class 1

Class 5

Class 6 

You big meanie

Sun number one, with the glued-up head, took step 2 in his life as a sailor last weekend. Step 1 was taken last summer, when he had a couple of sailing lessons in an opti (a little boat that a child can quite easily sail by themselves). He appeared to be loving it, and quite a natural at ticking and tacking (you'll notice holes in my sailing lingo. Just warning you). So the Zimbo and I were very pleased when we were asked if Noah would like to crew for a nearby 12 yo friend in his Manly Junior this season. 

Now we know our sun (and yes I do know that I'm spelling that incorrectly... is it annoying?) so we chose not to tell him, until the final second, that he would be sailing on this occasion. There was uncharacteristic clinging. There were gradual steps moving backwards, away from the boat. There was spluttering, and tears, and much grumpiness and anxiety. But we forced him into it and were then consoled by friends that we really were doing Noah a favour. My favourite convincing moment was likening sailing lessons to Sunday school. "We could be sending you to Sunday school, but we're not. We're forcing you to go to sunday sailing school." [with friends, in the most beautiful location, followed by treats and family time and a little kayak around our island!!!] Our Japanese friends send their children to Japanese school on Saturday mornings. We will be sending our island children to sailing school.

And so, the Zimbo and I are resolute. The child will learn to sail, just as he had to learn to swim. When he had sometimes cried and performed at swimming lessons many years ago, we didn't let him off the hook. We were clear that swimming lessons were mandatory, not voluntary. Now, living where we do, we really believe that if we allowed him to proceed to adulthood without sailing as a lifeskill, we would be negligent parents.

So, hopefully, if you don't live near water, you will believe me that life is not all plain sailing, so to speak, just because one lives on a lovely island, surrounded by beautiful national park and shimmering waters. Children are still children, with whatever lessons they bring with them. 

We're quietly confident that Noah will be loving sailing - and all that goes with it! ... hanging out with older boys, the sun on his face and wind in his sails, access to the sailing club canteen, going away with friends etc etc. - by the end of this, his first, season. Surely he'll thank us for it, in twenty years time (along with my singing on Mama road trips).

"something glorious is about to happen"

Supervise 3rd class house building project
make dinner
revise anthropology lecture notes
anthropology mid semester quiz
job applications
do school run - multiple times
set up kindergarten spring festival
prepare picnic
attend said festival
attend 3rd class festival, class display and picnic
meet friend for dinner
write 2000 word essay on Hurricane Katrina and Cyclone Yasi
attend rugby presentation
prepare birthday celebrations
bake brownies
Celebrate the geburtstags kind!

Does that look like your 'to do' list for the next 3 days? If you are a parent, it probably does. In fact, yours might be worse. Please ignore that list if it will stress you out. I wish I could.

I'm feeling overwhelmed. I'm starting to twitch. I need a drink but I only drink tea, water and chlorophyll... but they're not cutting it. What else is there to do but... find Bloc Party on the iPod, turn it up and DANCE, dance for your life girlfriend! The kids have found the disco ball, turned the lights low, the music up even louder, and put on their "cool boy" party clothes.

"This modern love... breaks me!"

But I'm not broken. I'm dancing. Dancing and flying. Flying by the seat of my pants!

Now, where did I leave my cape?

In the name of the father

Last weekend we woke to sunshine over Pittwater, a gentle breeze and the excitement that comes with any family celebration. It was Father's Day... the day Dada gets to sleep in (a little bit) before we wake him up with jumps, wrestles in bed and a cup of tea. The day we have banana pancakes for breakfast before doing something luxurious. This year, our something luxurious was taking a picnic, flask of tea and a rugby ball to The Basin for a relaxing day in the sun.

(I don't know how to turn this one around)

  There is a reason Choochie had the water to himself. It is only the start of Spring... the water is still freezing!

  Choochie trying to contract into himself to warm up!

wallaby with joey

We had such a lovely day. The Zimbo was suitably celebrated with family boating, bbqing and touch footy. I had quite a lovely day myself with a cup of tea and some crocheting in gentle Spring sunshine. 

May all fathers be loved and supported in striving to be their best, for the benefit of our children and world at large. Happy Father's day!

what on earth are you on about?

You know what I should be doing, don't you... I should be submitting this week's blog post for Anthropology, on magic, witchcraft and ritual. But instead, I'm perusing ebay for boats - just for fun, looking for my ultimate "ladies boat" (for the day when I become a "lady"). Then I went browsing around for a campervan... vehicle of my dreams. Quite out of reach for now so I lowered my sights to a new tent. Ahhhh yes. I could do with a new tent. One big enough for all 4 of us. When we've camped since having little nippers, we've taken 2 small (3 wo-man) tents. I feel the need for a family tent. Of course all of this is just rambling procrastination because what I should be doing is submitting that anthropology blog post.

You know what I discovered this week? (By the way, who are you!? WHO am I talking to? No wonder the Zimbabwean thinks I'm going mad.) Well, I discovered the voice memo capability on my phone. I love it! Not only does it look like a microphone, I can talk into it, leaving myself all kinds of useful memos whilst looking like I'm having a legitimate telephone conversation with someone, thereby appearing sane! I'm sure this will come in handy for all manner of messages (to myself). Sun number one had already discovered this feature, on the 19th April 2012. Tonight I got to hear a delightful memo recording all sorts of interesting warbles of his voice. And farting noises. Ha ha.

So, I was at uni yesterday - oh my, what an inspiring place to be - walking across the spacious campus in Springtime sunshine, when I thought of Nancy, the list writer. Nancy, if you are listening, I hope you are sitting front and centre, feeling engaged and passionate and thoroughly participating, like a good mature-age student should! Second semester is progressing beautifully in my world. I'm appreciating my lecturers and my subject choices and I've lost the first semester nerves/urge to vomit. I'm mature age and I'm OK! 

Lately I've been forming clear enough questions regarding my current study path to actually request an academic advisor for, well, advice. So off I trit-trotted to the Arts faculty to seek out the sucker who would bear the brunt of this week's barrage of questions. The only 'advisor' who appeared to be in his office and available was none other than the head of anthropology at my chosen university. In I went. I refrained from (very obviously) looking at the books on the shelves. The desk was a mess, in an academic kind of way. The office was large, large enough for a desk placed 1/3 of the way across the room, between two windows, as well as a round table big enough for a family of 6. That's where we sat, at the round table. I tried not to make myself appear too comfortable. You could say that's a fault of mine... the ability to make myself too comfortable in someone else's office/house/kitchen/space.

The walls were pale blue, the furnishings were daggy. Oh it was quite a lovely office (in need of a feminine touch). I asked my questions. I didn't really receive answers, but I found my answers, if you know what I mean. It was like having a conversation with myself really. Or with Mr Bean. Although this man was much more attractive than Mr Bean. 

I descended the seven flights of stairs with (just a touch more) clarity and a bounce in my boot, feeling pleased with myself for being brave enough to speak with such a high-ranking intellectual. Although, you know, on deeper reflection, for a more grounded reality perhaps the head of anthropology should find a ground floor office. I think it's hard to feel grounded when you are indeed, so far from the ground.

Afore-mentioned sun number one is away on his first school camp. Yesterday, apparently, on day one of camp, his head somehow collided with some kind of metal post, resulting in much blood and a trip to a medical centre to have his head clued back together. Really... are all boys as reckless as mine?