words from the wise*

we went, again, to Mt Cootha yesterday. met some friends there. splashed in the trickling water in the Japanese Gardens. that's what city kids have - me, i grew up in the forest, where we had proper creeks to splash in.

we were pushing the pram across the grass. i said it sounded like the ocean. Ari said it sounded like walking on clouds. i liked his thoughts, and realised the grass sounded exactly like what i could imagine cloud-walking to sound like.

when the kids took their shoes off, and wanted to walk all around on the slippery rocks in the water fall, i was the ever-cautious mother. 'be careful, don't fall, don't get our pants wet.' Ari, with his pants hoiked up, yet still soaking wet, looked at me and in all seriousness said 'mum, you have to take more risks'. i laughed, and said yes, get wet Ari, it's only water. and if he falls down, he'll learn, won't he.

so - risk taking. yes. more of that necessary.

i feel like Selvedge House is that, could be that. a risk. risks are calculated events, not silly jumps.

There's colours and shapes and lines and images to be inspired by, all through the Mt Cootha Botanical Gardens. A beautiful time to visit. If you live in or near Brisbane, do head out there. My kids have been loving the kids trail treasure hunt - we're tying to remind them that the treasure is not a box of gold at the end, but the exploring and discovering and finding and looking and seeing new things - life, hey.....

*in this situation, the wise are the children. we all know sometimes their perspective on life gives them immense amounts of wisdom that we need to listen to, and take notice of. sometimes they make no sense at all, and talk a load of babble.

just to prove she loves me

Mishi had to go to the doctor this morning. Sam took her, plus Ari. I went to Contours - I'm just joining up (not much of a gym girl, but have to do something to counteract all the chocolate + sitting around crocheting).

Mishi asked, in her sweet little sing-song voice "the girl doctor?". She's at an age where girl / boy things are quite distinct; ie - this is a girl song, that's a boy show, girl book, not for boys, etc. Honestly I don't know where she gets it from, but she's a pink and fairy princess sort of girl. She very much likes that she has a girl doctor.
While I was washing up this morning, she came in and quietly mumbled that the girl doctor was prettier than me. It took me a moment to work out what she'd actually said. And when I asked her to repeat it, she didn't want to. Saying "nothing, nothing", in a mysterious little voice. But I finally got it out of her. And simply had to laugh, and run and tell Sam.
The girl doctor is prettier than me. She's very funky in her clothing choices, and tall and blonde, well built. She's a grown-up, mature woman, she has 4 almost grown-up kids. Very striking woman.
I did think it very funny that Mishi said that. Little bit worried what it may turn into in a handful of years of peer influence.

Just to prove that she really does love me, she brought this bright yellow flower home from her walk to the doctor. I do know that even if other people do surpass me in her eyes of impressiveness, that she will always still love me.

today ::

today ari asked me, as we were driving past the cemetery, what it was.
i explained to him, though i knew he already knew, that it was where some people bury the people they love, when they die.
he then asked me, when all the family people have buried all the people who have died, who buries the last family person, when they die.

i had to stop and think, for a moment, and totally appreciate his thinking. his logical way of working it all out. and i smiled.
i took it literally to mean - the very last person on earth. who will bury that person. or who will mourn that person.
of course. we know
no-one will need to mourn the last person.

children remind you to think about things, don't they.
they take nothing for granted.
accept nothing as it is presented.
ask many questions until they are content that they know for themselves, what it means.
not knowing the rote of learning, the knowledge of learning.

suburban afternoon

This afternoon, while I was sitting at my sewing table. In the quiet of a kid-free house. Sewing some little pencil cases for some long overdue parcels that needed to be posted off.

Listening to the sounds of the street around me. The soft dull murmur of a city street, a suburban city street.
Our next door neighbours' visitor. A regular visitor who has the most everyday stories, told at loudest volume, with emphatic punchlines. Stories I think I should tape, so that if I ever wrote one of those everyday life novels, I would have some 'real life' fodder. After he leaves, the next door house is quiet. It seems still, as if our neighbours have to regain their energy from such an over-the-top exuberant guest.
At building site down the street, I hear a man call out "want to bring another wheel barrow". Such a mundane aspect of the work they are doing near the train tracks.
Only a moment after that a mother "right now", in the total irritated tone of talking to a disobedient child, yet in the hushed tones of being out in the street. And having the feeling that everyone is watching you reprimand your child. (Come on, you all know that feeling!).
I continue on, unpicking and then resewing. Changing thread colour, and zipper foot back to regular machine foot. Purse after purse after purse. With the still silence - a dull hum of distant traffic and life - of the street and the city.
And then everyone home again, and the noise back in my house. Shattering through the thickness of the silence I've been settled into. Back to regular life.

Plus more images of my inspiration board above my sewing table. This desk is in the front (entrance) room of our house, and I'm really enjoying having these snippets for myself, yet still having to be conscience that it's what people see when they walk in (hmmm... possibly a bit nicer than the regular mess we have from front to back of the whole house!).