party dresses for my mama

today is my mother's birthday. she's not here to celebrate - but she's here, in my heart, mind, soul. so she's somewhere.

so we will make a cake for her - i know my mum would love that we make cakes for her birthday. and light a candle and sing and celebrate with happiness. and think about her. she would really like the cake - that's for sure. probably some champagne and orange juice as well - but we won't do that; we'll just think about it and know she liked that.
so - i'm not feeling too philosophical to talk about my mum. just a bit perhaps. last night, while driving home on my own in the dark, i was listening to joni and thinking of my mum. a few tears, some extra loud singing, and some smiling as well.

 {images from my 'clippings folder' that i haven't yet uploaded to pinterest. this is what i did before pinterest came along..... top left: from Toast, top right: from Selvedge Magazine, bottom left: Zooey on the English Muse, bottom right: Catherine Maladrino

anyway - i thought that instead of sadness, i would think about what dress i would be wearing to my mama's party today if she was here to have a party with us. and what cake would we make her? something fun and indulgent and extravagant perhaps - the dress and the cake!!

dress making will happen once the kids go back to school. for now just planning and thinking about what the dress may be.
one of Leah's aims for this year is to make herself a dress - i aim to be making mine over the coming weeks. will you join me maybe - in making a party dress to wear to my mama's party. what would you make / wear? please share with me.


places that i am looking for inspiration ::
+ my pinterest clothing board
+ these lovely free downloadable patterns from Nani Iro - which would totally mean some new fabric, wouldn't it!!
+ Veronika Maine - endlessly classic and inspiring to me. loving her blue / green combinations.
+ Toast - always. i love receiving the catalogues. sumptious silk velvets in jewel colours. i used to have a most beautiful, simple and perfectly fitted deep green silk velvet dress that floated and swung about. oh - i loved it.
+ other endless clippings on my computer, that I keep aiming to upload to Pinterest.
...... for a start anyway......... perhaps i'll aim to sew myself a new dress once a month. wouldn't that be lovely. oh yes. my mama would love that for sure!


happy birthday mummy plummy. cakes and candles and dressing up for you today.

more words?

I don't have more words today. 

There are more words from other days, other years, other memories, other..... lives. Some years I've written lots of words. That was good. At that moment. {this, this, this or this one if you feel like having a little sob about your own losses}.

But right now. On this overcast, rainy day (the sun is trying trying trying to peek out), with the birds around me as company. Not so many words. 

eight years. a long time. a blink of an eye.

I do think that being here, on this land. Her land. Is good. For me, right now. It's good. Of course, there's moments when really it's not good either. When the what ifs, the not fairs, the what abouts come bursting forth in my mind. Trying to make a different reality. Can't be done. This is the reality. 

Living here. On this land. Without her. With thoughts, and memories, and dreams, and wishes. But without her.

there is much loss in the world, today, as every day. there is grief, and heartwrenching pain, there is throbbing endurance, there is understanding and knowledge, there is mis-understanding. there are wishes, dreams, what ifs, perhapses. and there is knowing that this is just the way. on this day. this day of my days. 

i send my love to my dear ones, my family. my long big wide laughing crying crazy beautiful family. all of those of you who are my family. my close, my far, my near, my distant family. those i've had connections with.

i am thinking also of others who are feeling loss today. shared loss. personal loss. 

there are many of us who have a moment in our lives.life where something happens and we are forced onto that other existence. to become our parallel being. to not be ourselves anymore. to be the other person that we are. i am myself, but not myself.

in my mind and heart right now. dear friends who are facing.have faced moments of becoming a different person.woman.daughter.mother.father.son.lover.man my love to you today, for today, but also for the future, for the strength, the courage. i am naming you in my heart, my mind, my soul, my love.

"How can we compare sufferings?

Each person's suffering is the most important.

But what enables us to go on?

Only sound, which comes and goes

like water amongst the stones."

Goran Tunstrom 

(found in the book "The Mark of the Angel" by Nancy Huston)

Saturday Moments

A few of my favourite moments from the past few days.

Mt Cootha Botanic Gardens :: drawing from nature; splashing in the water at the Japanese Garden; flowering cactus; soaking up the sunshine

My Dad's home :: stone temple building at the creek; low-light afternoon memories; kids + Granddad playing music together; shapes, lines, textures

At the beach with our dear friends :: building sandcastles; jumping and running in the sand; silly photos; honesty and laughter with long-known friends; beautiful weather, water and day

And home again :: a postage box waiting for us, filled with Lotta fabrics (bought on sale - looks like limited stocks left); some to be added to the growing pile of bluey-greens or greeny-blues for Ari's quilt.

7 years

this weekend marks the 7th year since my mother's death.
i have written about her in past years {here, here and here if you want to read}.

this weekend i am planning on spending precious time with my children.
we've been talking about grandma Michele. who she was, mentioning little things about her. of course both my children can never know what she was like - i feel that i can never represent her to the best of who she was. but i continue to try. and will always continue to try.

i love that my children mention little things about her. things i've told them. and so by me talking and telling them, they then remind me at a later stage.

perhaps we'll make bread - kneading the dough with strength, passion, love and honesty the way my mother did on our wooden bench. her strong arms moving the dough back and forth. i remember her talking to me about the ram's head shape it makes under your hands. {hmmmm. Sam wears a ram's head pendant around his neck}.

perhaps we'll sit and stitch, or try to crochet for a moment. remembering how my mum was always doing something with her hands. how she was a potter, a drawer, a gardener, a knitter / crocheter, a teacher, a listener.

perhaps we'll tickle and giggle and cuddle and laugh. the way my mum used to. generous laughter - sparkling pale blue eyes. her mouth open.

perhaps we'll walk around the house totally n.a.k.e.d.* the way my mum always used to. {Mishi particularly likes that one - being so very very similar!}. or wear a sarong - a pink faded batik piece of cloth that she wore for so many years. wrapped, with expert fingers, around her narrow body.

i will think about jumping in freezing cold water, screaming with the sheer happiness of the fright of the cold. something my mother did regularly enough - the Winter cold creek water, or ocean not yet warmed by the Summer.

we will light a candle. in the candle holder that my mother made with her hands. the exact same brand of candles that my mother always burned.

i will spend my days thinking and remembering the wonderful things my mother gave me, did for me, offered me, showed me, told me.

i will listen for snippets of information about her. about who she was, things from people who knew her better, more, differently than me.

i will laugh and love and cry and smile and pass on all that i know i am because of her. i will hold my head high.

i will have soft, silent peace in my heart.

i will miss my mother every single day for the rest of my life. and i will cherish that i was her child.

*i myself have not one single issue with saying, writing, thinking, mentioning this word. i do, though, have issues with this word potentially bringing unwanted search engine visitors.....

the remains of the day

today is ari's birthday.
5.
big boy. my baby boy.
we were talking about the day he was born. how we almost didn't make it to the hospital (which was only 3 minutes down the road from our house), because i didn't recognise the 'pushing' sensation. we did get there, with 45minutes to spare, though fully dilated. just enough time for sam to park the car and get back to the birthing room!
for parents, you know that feeling as if you've known your children for your whole life, they are so ingrained your every day and essence. you can barely remember time before them. yet you can also not quite believe that they are now old enough to..... make jokes, back chat, get themselves dressed, feed themselves... any number of every day activities.
we had a party yesterday.
so lovely. family and friends in the backyard. a Japanese theme dress-up party - so fun to see everyone pull out their kimonos. and the 'party activity' was sushi rolling - seemed most kids quite enjoyed it, and also meant i wasn't in the kitchen for hours on end rolling sushi (was in the kitchen for hours on end doing other stuff!).
and today, a quiet day. with brother + nephew and my sister + nephew.
and this afternoon. the end of a long weekend. two sleeping kids (sam at work). a quiet house. with the breeze outside bringing snippets of kids playing and birds calling and cars driving.
and me tired too. but many things heavy in my mind, things needing to be done. work to be ready for next weekend.
yet one small quiet moment to stop and observe and remember.

new corners

been moving things about a bit here.
fluff stirred up in corners, and resettled down somewhere else.
cupboards moved to that room
boxes pushed under there
things piled up here
and then

a
new
tower
for me to
look
and remember
and smile
about.

recently my aunt passed this piece along to me
made by the hands of my mother
made by
the hands
of my
mother

those perfectly formed
flowers
and
shapes
embroidered
then the sun
crocheted out and out and out
those rings of bright
colour
and love.

a corner,
for me
to smile.

**all photographed at night, under very low light conditions.

i'm going to have to start sharing

My big boy decided that he can sew by himself. On my machine. He had this long stretch of white felt that we got from (possibly) Reverse Garbage. He drew great lines on it, just strips of colour. And a few cross lines as well. Simple. And perfect. In a very graphic art way. I really like his simplicity, his restraint with the shapes and lines. Just keeping it still and uncomplicated.
(Someone outside, in another house, is playing a beautiful lyrical piece on a flute, or something. Another one of those moments you have of living in the city. In a street where you can hear your neighbours breath and talk and yell, and play music, and laugh).So, after much talking, and me having to finish sewing my skirt (photos tomorrow, or some other time, I promise), I let him at the machine. First he sat on my lap, moving the fabric about with his hands, and pressing the button to reverse the stitches, lifting the foot up and clunking it down. All to my instruction. With me pressing the foot presser, to make it all go.
Then, while I was doing something else in the same room (my machine is now in our kitchen), he hopped onto the chair, and stretching his legs to reach the foot presser, he started doing it all on his own.So, my big (little) boy can sew. Have a look at that concentration.We got a box to make the foot presser higher, so that he can reach properly. And with standing over shoulder instructions from both mum and dad about being careful to not get fingers sewn on.
He did it.
He decided exactly where to start and when to stop the stitches. And then, half way through a line, half way across the 'page' he stopped, lifted up the foot presser, cut the thread. And declared it finished.
So, I suppose I'm going to have to share my sewing machine with him now, hey. Or buy him his own.

yesterday was....

the memory day for my family.
I've talked about this before
(here and here),
and now don't have many words that I want to say or express.
A softness and quietness;
not peace,
but
not anger.
An accepting, understanding.

Some tiny inner stillness
that I know she still exists in. But I feel
that I know she isn't in my daily life
the way she used to be.

I do see her in my daughter,
and in my siblings.
And stop and smile
when I look at photos
- above my sewing table, or in my bedroom.

And only a few weeks ago my aunt told me
that I looked so so much
like my mother.
A wonderful thing to hear,
to be told. A wonderful thing
to look in the mirror
and
look for her in my features.

So, on this anniversary
I cannot talk
about my feelings or thoughts
about
my
mother.
I cannot say words of deepness
to my family,
or express that
deepness
they may be needing to hear from me.

But when I sit,
I look up and see the smiling face
of my mother, and the way
she looks
at my father
in the photo
I love so much.
I delve
deeper
into my mind,
my head,
my soul.

And there, somewhere, is a sort of peace.

we saw the din-on-saurs

On Tuesday, the kids and I went to the museum and both the galleries (GOMA and QAG). We had a wonderful time looking at the water fountains, some that haven't been full and splashing for many years now (due to water restrictions). And seeing matchboxes turned into art, and talking about how art doesn't always have to be "art". How sometimes pieces of old tin, and typewriters and rolls of paper can be art as well as drawings and paintings.

We searched the room of artifacts, and found bird eggs and nests, and turtle shells and stuff animals. Ari said the room was scary, which I suppose it could be, if you think about all the snakes and spiders and furry animals - and sad too, to think that all these animals are dead. But also very amazing to have the opportunity to see them all, and touch some (and really, they'd probably be dead anyway, rotted into the bush somewhere!).

We looked at the dinosaur garden. I remember it from my youth - still the same, the "dinosaur fossil trees" a little bigger, but the massive dinosaur statues the same. For me, now, I do not see the magic of the the Do Not Climb signs, but the kids still see the magic and the fantasy. I and try and remember our visits to the museum and looking and searching and exploring and learning and loving.And then, instead of heading home, we moved on to the GOMA where we walked through furry trees. It was like a Winter wonderland. I took (sneaky) photos with my phone, Ari kept telling Mishi not to touch, and Mishi looked (and touched) in awe and amazement and the maze of fluffy trees. We explored Alien world, and - to tell you the truth - were a little disappointed (Ari and me) by the promise of special rooms to unlock with our Alien cards. Rooms which ended up being boxes with a silly tv screen and an even sillier message. It's good though, for a four-year old to learn about the disappointment of advertising. And good for me to see my son have expectations and not be happy with bland and boring.But the best part of the day, for me, was when Mishi finally fell asleep in her pram. Ari and I sat down at the riverside cafe, where we drank juice (and yes, some hot chips), and drew and chatted.

Finally I breathed easily in my whole body. I let the strain and tension slip away. We sat under the trees, listening to the birds and the water. And I chatted with my son. My son who is intelligent, and loving and kind and so so funny, and very talented at his drawing, and his writing. And understands so much. And each day amazes me all over again.
And watched my daughter sleep. My daughter who is silly, and growing, and funny, and dances so beautifully and loves her brother intensely, and talks more each day, and sings songs and counts, and talks about herself. And understands so much! And each day amazes me all over again.
And I sat and drew, unashamedly, not caring what my pictures looked like. And I tried to be amazed at myself all over again.
*** Excuse the quality of these photos, they are taken with my phone camera. Sometimes the feel and memory-inducing aspect of a photo is more important than the quality. ***

memory silk

Varanassi Silk :: memories of my childhood :: of my parents' house :: of good things and pretty things, and displays and styling, and collections.
I brought these pieces of silk home with me, from my last visit to my Dad's house. They are old, and showing their age in many places. The fabric is tearing and slipping into threads; it pulls in my hands and becomes strips of colour and metal.My Dad bought them on a trip to India many many years ago. I cannot even remember which visit, which year. All I know if that these cloths have been a part of the everyday views of the house I grew up in. Being used as a table throw to cover hand made speaker boxes, or to cover the lovely wooden chests used to store linens and towels and medicines. A cloth itself topped with beads and boxes for trinkets and treasures, wooden or ceramic bowls filled with pieces of ...... life / clutter / things. (I'm sure somewhere I have many photos of these little still lives).
My Dad us clearing out his house, clearing up... (I cannot quite believe or even admit that five and a half years after my Mother's death, we still have not sorted through her clothing or pieces of jewelery or.... I know the many reasons why it has never happened. Regardless, my Dad is quite ready to have the wasp eaten, mouse nested fabric gone).

Anyway, I have spent the evening sewing this silk into some of my fabric stitched greeting cards. In preparation for our Christmas market at GOMA. What a glorious way to re-use this magical memory-laden fabric. Each one has metal woven through it, gold or silver threads. The greens and pinks and blues aren't nearly as vivid as they were, but they have a richness and depth and tonal qualities as a result of the years of speckled sunlight, or full strength in some spots. Each cut strip I pick up to sew is different; the green is more faded here, or brighter on this piece, the front is more interesting, or the back shows more detail.
Sitting there, at my sewing machine, with the pieces cut ready for sewing on my cards, I feel like I'm selecting a jewel or treasure, turning it over in the light to see which side fits best on the card with the other pieces. Some, still, are tearing under my needle - giving way.
I will take photos of the finished cards tomorrow - much too dark tonight to capture them truly. Here, though, are the pieces sitting in a basket waiting to be chosen and stitched into place. To be remembered by someone else, in a new way. Starting new memories from old thread. I like that.

******************************************************

In other 'news', I have chosen Melissa as my de-lurking post winner. Melissa please email me your address :: ellieabeck (AT) hotmail (DOT) com
I will have a gift in the post for you later this week.
(I'm feeling a little 'friend quiet' lately, as someone who I thought was a good and strong friend has inexplicably withdrawn from our friendship).

****************

Good night friends. xx

parenting as I was parented

I want to thank my father for the wonderful words he always offers me; the advice and care, and thoughtfulness of my situation. He reminds me that I don't need to be doing 'projects' with the kids all the time, that the general everyday living is life in itself. I think back to my childhood, and we didn't have planned craft activities; we adventured and explored and watched and learnt and were involved in the life around us. My parents didn't read how-to parenting books, or activity books; they just did what they did and we were there doing it too. I suppose they also watched what we, as children, naturally wanted to do, to learn or explore and supported that :: the building of roads in the mud for our Matchbox cars, or houses and clothes for our Barbie dolls, or making fairy houses in the garden, or going for walks in the forest and telling stories, and finding treasures, or looking through endless books that fueled all of our imaginations. Too many books, and stories and memories to even begin naming; collected over many lifetimes that both my parents seemed to live. And also, very importantly, my parents left us alone and didn't constantly prompt us in what we should be doing or thinking or feeling or wanting. They let us go off up the hill, down the creek, across the ridge, around the corner; and out into the world on our own.

originally written 10th July

berry-ness

Mulberries :: enjoyed and quickly photographed before they were all gone.

Little treasures of deliciousness, from our backyard. Only a tiny tree, but we are getting about 10 or so berries each day. Sharing and enjoying them just as they are - full of warmth from the sun. Despite her funny facial expressions, she really does love them. Her stained mouth says it all.

Memories of my childhood, of days spent in the branches of ancient trees with school mates. Filling our bellies, and returning to the classroom with red lips, tongues and stained clothes.

the milk thing + other thoughts

For ages now I have been talking (complaining) about the constant tiredness and me being generally totally run-down. Well, this continues; in a way I am getting used to feeling like this. And keep thinking, and telling myself, that I will continue to be like this for many more months (at least) to come.

I think, really, one of the biggest reasons is the breastfeeding of Mischa - which seems to be stretching out longer and longer. Not saying that I am at all ready for weaning; just ready for a little easing of the neediness of the milking.

This week, hopefully I have seen a small glimpse that the easing is slowly happening. The past few nights, she has settled to sleep very easily with a feed on the couch, and then happily moving into bed and having me sing her to sleep and stroke her face. Up until now she has needed milk to get herself back to sleep; all through the night. As in, if she wakes at 9pm she needs a drink, then perhaps again at 10.30, 12pm, and a few more times until morning (I stopped clock checking a long time ago!).

This is a big reason why she still sleeps in bed with us. I see no reason to get out of bed, in the cold, and get her out of bed (or a cot), and us both have to wake up fully just to settle back to sleep. So instead, she simply finds me in the night, and has a drink while still half asleep; I always wake up - but at least I don't have to get out of bed!

So, I suppose as well as the draining feeling of having someone want (need?) my milk - strength - I have the interupted sleep of being squashed in a bed. Oftentimes Ari is in there with us all too. Four in the bed is quite crowded, let me tell you that!

Sam and I are used to it, and both know that it won't continue on for a long time more. This part of childhood passes so quickly; in the end I know that I will want them snuggled in my bed for longer than they will want to be. Though, saying that, I still would love the opportunity to snuggle in bed with my parents.

And in the meantime I will battle through this tiredness, and continue to find ways to keep my mind running - even if only at half capacity. Or, my body stumbling through the days at limited speed. The kids do the running and jumping and squealing enough for all of us, and we are all used to living in the mess (when the two adults have to delegate what they can manage with their time and energy).

I know that so many parents out there cope and manage with so much more; they achieve miracles during their spare time, keep a tidy house, spend quality and loving time with their children (all five or so of them!), and still have time to wash their hair. I also know that there are people out there with one child who cannot cope at all, who can't get out of bed, are overwhelmed by the immense workload of a child (or children), who live in a pigsty, and can't remember the last time they flossed their teeth.

What I am trying to say is; I have to stop feeling as if I am failing because I am not "achieving", I have to learn to remember and understand that we are all different and all having different experiences from this "parenting thing", and that even if I don't do craft projects with my children every day, or have a documented journal of their every moment, or have a tidy house, or.... any number of other things I think I should be doing. That I am still a wonderful mother - I am the best mother I can be RIGHT NOW; and I think my children know and understand and appreicate that.

The first photo is the view from my bed, where I look out, while Mishi drinks, and I can see the almost bare branches of the Chinese elm* which so perfectly shows the changing Seasons here in Brisbane. The leaves are yellowing and tumbling off, the new growth is already sitting there waiting, almost popping open (Winter really isn't that long here), the not quite bare branches are embeded in my memory - inspiration for works and projects I one day may attempt or even complete. But for now, I am happy to let me daughter suckle, my son sleep, and my husband slumber, while I daydream, and my mind meanders.

*If you ever think about planting one of these glorious trees, stop for a moment and look around - because they can be a weed in some locations; like here in Brisbane where they seem to thrive and spread and grow and grow. Beautifully shaped trees that they are, just take care!

words :: script

"Watch out for the bell machine. No, not you. The people inside the picture. They live in there. It can drive by where they live, ok mama, ok?!"

"I'm drawing fire machines today."

lots of snuffling and concentration while he draws.

"Mummy I'm hungry." takes a sip of warm milky. stretches orange shirt over his head, and across his arms. "I'm hungry, Mummy. For something sweet. No, milk isn't sweet. Some bread and Vegemite. Grandma might be here. Rabba rabb rabba to the big blue house" - singing voice.

"Mammy I accidentally got one hand out of my shirt"..."no, I want to do it myself. Look what I have done" -showing me one whole arm out of his shirt. "don't laugh at me".

"can I climb on your lap. can I have some of your drink. but does it have coffee in it? this is yum. can I have the rest of it? want the rest of my drink? it's de-lish-is. you can have it. here Mamma, I promise you can have it. well, i don't want it either."

"it's all finished. that picture is all finished".

clutching at a little metal tin with a handle. "I'm going on the train Mama. can we drink on the train Mama. just in a plastic bottle. imagine if it had nothing in it."

having another sip of my drink "Mummy, is this cracked" - the cup - "i want to drink on the crack bit".

"how come you're doing some writing? how can that write it all"

"Yah, this is yum" - another sip.

"can I watch some tv? why, mummy? rubba rubba to the big blue house" playing with the tin again, flicking the clicking lock "look it can't click mummy. did you hear it go blop. how did it get cracked" - the cup - " did grandma Michele make it or buy it. with her pottery. what is a pottery. does it spin around. by itself? yeah, it does. I could get carved into a bottle if you want me to to. want me to?" stands on tin, and spins around and around - I think like the wheel he has played with at my dad's house.

"can I have dinner with grandma? I won't have a sleep over, just have dinner there."

"Yup, I'm all carved into a bottle, want to drink some water" coming up to me, with his hands in a cone shape on his head. "it has honey in it. yummy hey? can i put it in your pocket? its ceramic. i made two for you"
finding an old bank card "can i use this for a minute?".

"rabba rabba rabba to the big blue house" singing off down the hallway - slurping the last sips of my hot chocolate - his milk abandoned to me.

off, in another room, still singing. drawing pad and pencils left on loungeroom floor - a new game happening in another room.

"mummy, i think that is grandma. it might be though, you never know."

pieces of my mother

Last week Sylve went home to Dad's house for the weekend, and came back with some birthday presents for me. Some lovely ceramic rice bowls, and a glass butter dish - all second hand, and really beautiful, already being used lots in our house. And all wrapped so specially - everyone in my family is great at wrapping presents, but the way my Dad wrapped these surprised and pleased me. Some lovely lace ribbon that he found in my Mum's things - he still keeps pulling things out slowly, bit by bit and sharing her things around with us all.

After I opened these, Sylve presented me with a bundle of maroony-red fabric. Slowly unfolding it - some pieces of my Mother. A quilt that she was making, working on over years - I imagine. Hand-stitching little scraps of colour together. Using fabric that had had another life somewhere else in her life. Pieces of my Dad's lungi; scraps from my Mum's worn and used sarongs; left over fabric from the tails coat my Mum and I made for my brother's year twelve formal (that's a whole story on it's own!); here and there, pieces that I remember from coats and dresses and bedspreads and lengths of material my Mum owned, pieces that permeated my childhood - vague memories mostly.

(I love this one best, I think. That peachy silk next to the green turquiouse one).

Put together in a haphazard manner - which is who my Mum was, how she was. Colour on colour on pattern on texture - mixing and matching and merging. Hit and miss - yet always my Mum, unforgettably my Mum.

My Mum was vivid, vibrant, colour, warmth, texture, strength, depth, light. Love. Life. In her house, her clothes, her food, her words, her voice, her art (potting, drawing, knitting, crochet, sewing, embroidery, weaving........), her gardening, her yoga, her stories, her dreams, her wisdom. And, so thankfully, her children.

Hmmm, this post was meant to be about the quilt. And about my anticipation to have the time to sit down and take all those patches and put them together. To piece a quilt that my Mother made. My Dad has given me this honour, this gift, this treasure. I feel so blessed and lucky to have this opportunity to finish what my Mum started. To show her life, to have it in my house, to wrap around myself and my babes. I may need some help and advice (from all you experts) when I finally get to it - and I'll give details when.

(Just look at this cluster and combination of patterns and colours!).

A quilt, we know, is so much more than just about the material, the weave, the fabric, the colour, the stitches. Think of those words, of the numerous meanings for the word fabric of life; weave of existence; material; piecing, patching, stitching things together. We feel that a quilt has a life of it's own, due to the love and energy and attention and care that it's maker imparts on it - deliberately or not. Traditional quilts have names, for a reason; they we made for or by someone, created and developed, and stitched into life and being by a person (a woman).

When I finally lay this out, to look at, and photograph, I said to Sam - this is my Mum, isn't it. And, he agreed. I touched the pieces of scraps of life and memories. And smiled. With tears sitting in the back of my eyes. The way she used some fabrics backwards, liking the reverse print or texture more or differently than the 'correct' side. The way she put reds and maroons and pinks next to each other. And patterns with patterns with patterns. That was the way my Mum dressed.

Thinking about this. I am so like my Mum. My fabric juxtapositions come from her, my want to have an almost clash in the patterns, to try and find that harmony in the mess or loudness or lines and shapes.

I really wish I had some photos to show you, of my Mum. Maybe I will someday. Please read this, written by a dear friend (in our shared blog - that I'm sharing with you for the first time). It reminded me of different things about my Mum, from someone I grew up with, and saw my Mum differently than I did (do).

Okay. Now I will load the photos, and leave it at that. (Excuse the quality, late at night photos).

Thank you Dad, for giving me this most preciousness. Rather than letting is sit and be eaten by mice or insects or mould.

taking memory notes

I have started writing things in a notebook - often I totally forget things when I come here to write. Over my years, I have been a very sparodic journaller, though I have wanted to be more dedicated to personal writing. Little things, and moments, and tiny memories. I tell myself that I will remember the simple daily parts, the child-like way of saying a word, or the things we talk about. I know that so much I will never remember - so much I have forgotten already! So, here are a few snippets of thoughts - you must be getting used to that from me by now.

~~~

Copying (from an email to Anouk)

Ari has been doing sumersaults on cushions on floor, and then Mishi totally following what he is doing straight after. She goes onto the cushions and stands with her head down and bottom up, ready to roll. So quick, that copy and learn thing. Still totally overwhelms and amazes me - though, I think the tiredness pulls back a bit of the real 'wow' about a lot of things with this second child. Does that make sense?

~~~

Remembering Memories (Monday 9:08am)

The way, when she's looking at a book or something, she uses her thumb to point. Stretched out firm, with the other fingers flapped about. Poking and pointing at what she wants to show me.

The way he asks how was my sleeping. And what did I dream about. He dreamt about fireworks.

The way she is gaining confidence in her standing. Longer and longer moments of not holding onto anything. Often she doesn't realise she isn't holding on. Soon, soon she'll be walking.

The way she lunges for a hug. Putting her arms all around his body. Both of them with little smiles of pride (reflected from their parents' eyes?), and tenderness. And sometimes eyes closed, just enjoying.

The way his tongue wiggles about, slightly poked out, when he's concentrating. Writing letters and words. Peoples names in their birthday month, in his diary.

~~~

Water Babies (Thursday 10:55am)

Both my kids are water babies. They could play in, with, at water for hours on end. Water restictions, in Brisbane, mean that they'll never know the joy of running under a sprinkler on a hot day. So - we try other things. A plastic baby bath in the backyard, even a bucket to splash in or climb into. A few times lately, I have set up a plastic sheet on the floor with containers of water, sponges, cups, etc.

And the shower or bath, of course, keeps them happily entertained for lengths of time. If we mention that we're about to have a shower, Mishi heads off to the bathroom. And we find her, still fully dressed, one leg in the bath. It's almost like having to spell out the word w.a.l.k. to an excitable dog.

~~~

Added:: This week she has started taking steps. Small and tentative, and not at all if she doesn't want. But it is happening. She is standing longer and longer, and sitting down with deliberateness, rather than just falling on her bottom. Four steps last week, to her Daddy - while I was in another room (washing nappies). And yesterday, walking to Ari - who held his hands out for her, with glee that she was choosing him to walk to. And moment by moment I see that she is actually walking - will be walking within possibly no more than two weeks, probably less. And with that confidence, she is climbing stairs - up and down - with ease. Clambering up anything she can :: from the stool onto the kitchen bench :: up the big step bits at the park, and then down the slide (with scared Mama assistance). She has been climbing onto and off our couch and our bed for ages now. Everything she does now gets quicker and with more dedication and intensity and wanting.

She is also communicating is a very direct manner. Today when we walked back to where I had parked our pram she pointed at it, and indicated that it was hers and she wanted to be in it. Last night while I carried her in the sling, and then when I took it off, she pulled at it, grunting, and told me she wanted to lie with it tucked around her.

breakfast conversation :: fruit mythology

In our house, we have quite a few breakfasts (and morning tea, a couple of lunches, and at least three afternoon snacks, before pre-dinner nibbles, and then finally dinner). Yesterday, Ari and I had breakfast number 2, after Sam had gone to work, and Mishi was having her morning (half an hour!) nap.

It's so lovely to sit down with a (not quite) three and a half year old. He is a wonderful conversationalist, funny, generous. We love those simple moments of doing everyday things, and putting a little specialness or ceremony into it. I had a cup of tea, Ari had warm honey milk. He chose the cups for us to use, setting them out on his little table.

When I frothed his milk (with a great little whizzer we got for $3.49 from the supermarket), he told me I was like a cap-a-machino person. ie: a waitress. He likes playing that game - I set the table with a pretty cloth, and serve them like in a cafe.

I also had to show you these beautiful images of a pomegrante we had this week. Ari doesn't like them (but, truthfully, there is a lot that he doesn't like), but Mishi really loved it. Picking up the teeny little juicy jewels with such delicate fingers. I love pomegrantes for so much more than their flavour. They are like treasure, mystical, luscious.

Remember the story of Persephone who only ate three seeds, while in the Underworld, with Hades, and was therefore made to stay for three months of every year down in the depths of the Earth. While her mother, Demeter, mourned her loss creating Winter. Then rejoiced and danced throughout Spring and Summer, when she returned.

I had to leave you with this tender, precious, heart-melting photo of my two special little creatures. Mishi leant into this hug so enthusiastically, and they both stayed there for more than a few moments. True love between brother and sister. Also, she has started saying a word that sounds a little like brother ("bo bu" or something like that). Or, are we just romantacising it?!

my year of exhaustion

Having two children is so exhilarating :: exhausting, entertaining :: exhausting, enlivening :: exhausting, everlasting :: exhausting, educational :: exhausting, explorative :: exhausting, emotional :: exhausting. I have laughed more, cried more (with happiness), giggled more, told more stories, sung more songs, read more stories, made more meals, washed more clothes, cleaned up more (or cleaned up less - depending on what day you visit our house!). I have heard the best singing, the best concerts, watched the best dancing and twirling and hopping and yoga poses, seen the best paintings and drawings, tasted the best cooking, kissed the sweetest lips, hugged the softest bodies, heard the best secrets, had the best conversations*. Had the most intense ups and downs. And, the least sleep.

Mishi will be one in a week.

not a lot of time for these loves over this past year or so!

This has been my year of exhaustion. But, it has also been my year of learning and opening and growing and letting go and enjoying so much more - enjoying myself more, as well as those around me. Some days I drag myself around, but I know that all Mums and Dads just learn to live through the tiredness, and get used to it, to opperate on untapped reserves, each time thinking we have reached the bottom of these reserves yet finding more. I know that the having of the children themselves fill up these reserves, overflow every emotion, so exhaustion no longer feels so tired, it feels uplifting and generous and true true depth of love.

Regardless of all the wonderful topping-ups I receive from my babies, I am hoping that this has been my hardest year, my most exhausting year. I am saying goodbye to exhaustion. I am hoping that it does get :: will get easier and easier. (If any of you have contrary evidence, please don't pop my bubble just yet - though some advice on how to continue surviving on minimal sleep would be welcomed).

I would like to say a big thank you to all the beautiful comments I received for my last post. Your words were uplifting and heart-felt. The past few weeks for me have been a bit emotional and intense in a lot of ways - and I think I was feeling a bit lost and lonely. I do know that I have true friends :: lots of people I have known for so long and feel so close to, as well as lots of people who are new friends, who I am getting to know more. And, yes - that includes you Beautiful Blog Women. So, thank you for being my world-wide friends - to learn, share, laugh, help, love.

After I wrote that entry, about being 'friendless', I had a wonderful conversation with Ari. Make believe play that we both had children (me two boys, him two girls) and that we were visiting each other's houses, and picking our kids up from school, and making afternoon tea for each. Sometimes, so silly, I forget that I have the best of friends right here with me every day. And this week, I have visited two friends (play for the kids, talk for me), and I have another two such visits planned for the week. Hmmmm - I think in my life I get to a point of crying out about something, and then somehow it completes or materialises something.**

And - I smile with happiness when I announce that I have just been awarded with my first blog award. Thank you, Amy. I thought that I had finished all the 'E' (to go with exhausting), but I have been given the Excellence Award. I'm not sure how to put the little logo thing here, so look here to see it. To pass this on :: I know so many excellent blogs. Excellent for their writing, their photographs, their crafts, their dreams and aspirations, their openness and honesty, their recipes, stories...... Let me stick with these few. Momo (kurashi), Sarah (still life in yarn), Sarah (cloth.paper.string), Beth (write, mama. write).

*Some wonderful conversations with some wonderful mums. As well as some astounding words and conversations and stories with Ari and Ash, and soon enough Mishi.

**The days before I met Sam (my partner of almost ten years), I had been crying to my Mum of how I never seem to meet anyone, or be able to form any sort of relationship. She told me the words of wisdom she was good at telling :: that I would meet someone when it was right, to stop 'looking' and it would happen. And, of course she was right. I met Sam, who had lived next door to me for more than six months! And we both fell for each other straight away, and I have loved him since.

welcoming Spring with cousins

The heady, intoxicating perfume of jasmine flowers always reminds me of our wedding. Not just the day itself, but the preparation. And, of course, of Spring.

We picked these blooms while out playing with our lovely cousins (my sisters + their little ones). After a lovely treat at the bakery, we ran around the corner to a little swing set we know of, and spotted a whole fence billowing over with jasmine.

For the last few mornings when I walk into our (new, but not quite finished) kitchen, I've been met with the punjunt aroma of those little pink + white blooms. They don't last for a long time, and most of the buds don't open - once picked - but while they do last, they are enjoyed and loved.

We had jasmine for our wedding - in our hair, and wrapped around the handles of the basket our flower girl carried. We had picked the blossoms the day before, from a garden up the road from our house. Whenever we walk past the garden, and I see the tight pink buds forming and then bursting - I remember those days more than three years ago (28th August, 2004). Our main flowers we oriental lillies, with rose petals for sprinkling / throwing. But I loved having the jasmine in our flowing hair.

It's actually lovely for me to have these little personal memories of that day. It was such a magical, special, beautiful day.

This post was finally published 7th January, 2008. Maybe one day I will write more about our wedding day - for my children to have a momento (especially considering we still still haven't made our photo album!).