a day of equanimity

Last weekend, on a sunny Springy Sydney Sunday morning, we headed just a little way north, to our (not quite yet) new home. As I sat on the ferry, alone, crossing the sparkling water, I could hardly wait. The Zimbo and the boykaloikes were already there and I was trying so hard to surrender to the moment. Surrender to the fact that I ended up being an hour late (for a very important date). I tried hard to be in the moment of drinking in the lovely first ferry ride back to the island, since we'd signed a contract on our house. Back to the island. On a very deep level, which I can only hear when I'm very still, I already feel like I'm coming home.

So, anyway, we spent two happy hours there, in the company of the "old owners". They were warm and lovely and I'm so glad to have met them - especially to let them know that they can move on in peace, their home will be received with excitement and gratitude and will be full of loud family moments. Hopefully for years to come.

They showed us how to read the level on the water tanks, how to clean the balcony without dirtying our rain water run-off, what to do with the septic tanks, etc etc. They were open and inviting and generous with their time and space.

Another delicious moment was meeting the next door neighbour. Within 5 minutes, he and I were standing in the back of our two back-yards discussing a communal chook pen and discovering that we'd like the same breed of family dog. There you go. Sign number 101 that we are meant to be there.

The day continued with (kind of) unexpected surprises and those of you who know me well will be thinking that I must have been wetting my pants with excitement... but no. Here's where the equanimity comes in. I have long looked at that word and thought what a good idea but o how tricky! But, I really am feeling it! So much chaos, so much happening, so many failed birthday cakes in a row, but I can still feel my feet (they are a leettle bit light today) and am remaining (relatively, for me) calm. And in the coming week this will be what I aim for. I've got a long way to go, but there's progress.

"Equanimity: the ability to perceive all aspects of our lives with acceptance and patience rather than our usual extreme reactions... the ability to keep calm whatever is happening."

Sarah Napthali, 'Buddhism for Mothers'

a coming of age, of sorts

Well, there's been a shift around here. Based on our experience with our No-no, we did expect it sometime after the fourth birthday, but of course you never really know when it will happen.

Our Choochie has been snuzzling next to or very close to us, every night, for 4 years and 1 month. There have been the odd nights when he wouldn't come into our room, but they were very odd. And in our house, whatever will result in all of the family having the most satisfactory sleep possible, is what we allow to happen. All of the family. That means if one small family member will only sleep if he's close to us, then close to us he's allowed to be. It is much more comfortable if he uses the cot mattress that we keep next to our bed, but we will go as far as one of the adults sleeping in Chooch or Noah's beds if that bed is empty and ours is a tad too full.

Of course, we dream of the day (night) when we are undisturbed, unsquished, un-tapped on the head or elbowed in the cheek or kicked in the nose. O yes, we hanker after it. And then one day, we notice that the blankets on the little bed beside ours are still straight when the sun rises. And again, and again, until it's been a week or two since Chooch has come through, woken us, or secretly slept as close as he could.

And that's when I suddenly realise that he's not quite as close as before. I have enough breathing space to notice, and then to think that four years really wasn't all that long afterall, was it? I have to chase him, remember to ask for more cuddles, remember to hold him close and smell him and remind him that his mama loves him.

Rest asssured, he's not that far away really. He does still ask for many "cuddles on the couch", or nudges during dinner, or forcefully sitting on our laps each day. This kid is warm and loving and demands it of his loved ones. But still... there's been a shift. It's not quite the same as him being close all the time.

Bless his days and nights. May he always sleep well and peacefully, warmly and safely, knowing that he is loved, near and far.

those two funny little boys

Time for a little update re: the antics of Noah and Chooch. They've had a busy winter.

They've been to swimming lessons (O how they both LOVE swimming),


and created Captain Underpants costumes,
and began exploring an island. Soon it's going to be "their" island. Well, a piece of it will be. So there's also been much dreaming this winter. Dreaming of where to place a slippery dip (inside on the stairs or outside from back verandah to yard?), of boys in boats, of Mama learning to drive a boat, of Dad relaxing with an outdoor bbq with his own view of the water, dreams of friends and playing and jumping off jetties to swim and, and, and... so much more dreaming than that.

"Let's be realists. Let's dream the impossible" (Che Guevara)

reminders that I'm real, I'm here now, it's all happening...

I just discovered this draft of a blog post, from this time last year! It is a list that could go on forever, with new reminders everyday so... I'm going to post it now and add to it every time I receive another sweet reminder that indeed: I AM real, I AM here now and it is ALL happening.

• the petrol light coming on to remind me that I need petrol. Now.
  
• music from acoustic guitars
• the tears of another loved one
  
• a bit of Radiohead
• ambulance sirens
  
• Mumford and sons gigs at the Enmore theatre
• REM singing You are the everything; or Nightswimming (which stops me in my tracks as much now as it did in 1993)

another day of Trit-trotting around the big smoke

I passed a million anonymous faces as I walked down the wrong side of George St. Well, maybe a thousand. How many people pass in crowded streets in a 30 minute period? And it must have been the "wrong side". Everyone else was walking in the opposite direction to me.

Straight faces, black cladding. Blessings on their blackness. May they be wearing brightly coloured undies. So many of them, I'd like to cup their faces in my hands and blow warm air on to them. But do they really need warming? Probably not. They are probably simply reflecting the hard pavement so they can blend in rather than stand out: a comfort thing.

I do enjoy a long day in the city. I like seeing the mix of funky-dressed-down 20 year olds and grey-haired men in business suits with shiny shoes who have been doing this for 40 years. You know, they're "out there"... talking, walking the streets, having a laugh, making a living. I wonder if they laugh this much with their daughters. Or sons.

Tobacco smoke and city fumes collecting in my nostrils. I've never liked tobacco smoke in my nostrils.
Large glass panels.
Tall flower arrangements.
So much electricity.
Drum & bass café beats.
Hot earl grey tea to sip.

My much-loved old friend Lib wrote on the invitation to her 18th birthday party:

"When in doubt, underdress - and don't bring any goats."

There were no goats in the city that I saw today.

another Mama roadtrip

The winter school holidays are the perfect time for a Mama road trip. A trip to enjoy blue, sunny skies (hopefully), and the chance to expand ourselves into some outdoor space that is in stark contrast to our warm, cosy, very small space at home. This time we headed north to the Bellinger river with our much loved cousins: Freya and Jo-Jo, and Mama Marissa (she chose well when she married my cousin).

We borrowed a 7-seater 4WD for the journey, packed some snacks and cd-stories and hit the road, Jack. Only to come back, a few days later with a sicky-sick dribbly bum bug which Pat-from-Sussex Inlet kindly shared with us at the communal house of the Bellingen YHA. Thanks Pat, good sharing. Perhaps next time though, it would be considered socially appropriate to keep your bugs safely to yourself and your own child and let it end there. Just a suggestion.

Anyway, despite that undesired ending, we still enjoyed full Mama-belly laughs, many cups o' tea in winter sunshine, swinging in the untouchable hammocks, learning how to sink a snooker ball - well I need some pointers on that actually. I'm not really qualified to teach Freya and my No-No such tricks when I don't even know whether it's a pool table or a snooker table. I remember enjoying the antics of playing the same sinking game at my grandparents' house (the much-loved Ina and Chick) when I was small. Still haven't learned the rules.

I've now recovered enough to be looking forward to the next Mama road trip which will be in a couple of short months. I strongly recommend finding yourself a strong, beautiful, good-value companion Mama, a few extra kiddles and packing your favourite hat to head in which-ever direction you please. We don't really know what it does for the children (let's hope it gives them happy memories to laugh about with their friends and cousins in years to come), but it does wonders for the rejuvenation of the Mama's soul.

a celebration of Winter

"In the dark night of winter, the candle is the symbol of the light of soul and spirit shining out into the world. It is a celebration of light overcoming the darkness." (Connie Grawert, pre-school teacher)

With light and happy hearts, we recently (at the winter solstice) shared Choochie's first Winter Festival with him. The first Winter celebration is a special event indeed. The wintery, wet, windy day outside seems the perfect time to share this story here.

The Winter Festival is, I think, my favourite annual community event. We celebrate in two quite different ways, appropriate to the different ages of Chooch and Noah. One celebration is very much about sharing the light and warmth during the darkest time, the other is about finding it within, and honouring it.

I don't expect the images above to convey much of the beauty of it, but I will try to.

Firstly, there is the preparation for Choochie's festival: the water-colour painting of paper to become lanterns; little hands holding needles, poking holes in their paper lanterns; stories of winter and darkness; learning songs of light shining through the darkness; the baking of winter biscuits to share; and finally, watching Mama preparing the soup (lentil, bacon and garlic) while Dada finds the camp stove, mugs, extra lanterns, beanies, jackets, rugs, etc.

Candles on the banksia tree, growing there so cheerfully
Can you keep the dark away?
Lovely winter flowers.

Wattles with your tiny suns, underneath the spotted gums
Warm our hearts 'til spring time comes,
Lovely winter flowers.

Then, the winter's afternoon is finally here. We find our special festival site, build a fire in the afternoon light, warm up 40 different home-made soups on our camp-stoves, sing our songs around the fire, and - finally (!) - light our lanterns and head off... under the light of the full moon, carefully walking through bush and dodging puddles of mud, with our friends and family. As we begin heading back in the direction of the fire, there is a new sound coming through the darkness. It's rhythmical, and grounded, and you feel it coming through your feet and beating with your heart. It's the sound of drumming coming from the circle of drummers around our fire! And the evening continues, with drumming and dancing and eating biscuits and we wish that it would go on, and on, and on.

Such a beautiful way to introduce the celebration of winter to the little ones... but not so little: big enough to walk with hand-made, candle-lit lanterns through the bush at dusk and to stay up late enough for dancing and drumming under the full moon.

*

Noah, being 3 years older than Chooch, took part in an equally beautiful but much more sombre winter celebration: the walking of the winter labyrinth. The labyrinth is created using ivy vines and flowers, with a candle in the centre. The children, one by one, are given their candle - unlit - and they head off, slowly walking towards the light shining in the centre of the spiral. Their candle is lit and as they walk back out of the labyrinth, they leave their shining candle on a gold star to light the path for their friends.

"All is still.
We gather 'round this tiny light,
On the shortest days and longest night.
And as we watch,
Our spiral grows,
Our hearts and eyes begin to glow."

Such gifts these children bring.