everyday :: today

Last night I made a rather rash statement about posting everyday this week, so here I am, attempting it. So, what to write about. Writing for the sake of writing, for the sake of words themselves or to tell a story as a whole. Or just simply to ramble.

Could I simply write a whole list of words that I like. Words or phrases that sound good to me. That I like to repeat in my head. Could I? Would you be bored? Does it matter?

:: :: ::

This morning I drove to work in the rain. The traffic and the rain. I listened to Syd Straw 'Surprise' on the cd player. I sang. I thought about my dad, who's cd it is. Borrowed from him, along with some Joni. There was an accident round the corner from our house (not very bad one; only tow-trucks), and a very slow L driver in the fast lane. Lots of road work on the way. I was only 2 minutes late for work.

I drove home this afternoon with the traffic. And the red, pink, bruised purple clouds. The golden sun hues bursting through the clouds. The swirls of red cloud, that looked like ink mixing into water. The blue clouds that looked like mountains in the distance.

I thought about all the things I want to do, be achieving. Not in a stressed way, but an excited, anticipated way. You know when you're on the verge of new beginnings in so many things, when new paths are opening and you can see possibilities. When you are approaching the cliff, and deciding to jump - hoping you will fly, but not minding if you tumble and crash to the rocks and waves below. Knowing that someone will rescue you, because family does that sort of thing.

Do you know that feeling? It's been coursing through my veins, blood, body for weeks now. Things (life) slowing it all down. but that's okay.

I'm good at living in my dreams, imaginations, possibilities, wishes.

And when I came home, opening the gate that has a pleasing squeak, hearing the even more pleasant sound of little feet running to the door. Of little hands opening the front door, and a little voice saying 'it is Mama', and then, a little face peeking out. And a big smile beaming at me. Two smiles. And hugging arms, and tumbling words. This is the best part about going out (to work, or for coffee with friends); coming home to the little ones.

:: :: ::

Obviously I have no photos of the awe-inspiring sunset I saw today (I would have caused an accident, even if I had had my camera on me). These photos are really old ones, that I just stumbled across in my computer. Little moments from the past year or more - the yellow runnunculus flowers are form our garden last year (none this year), while the other two are from at my dad's house, and walking on his land.

a bit of midnight silliness

My eldest sister sent me this today. A little bit of fun. Someone had a *few spare hours* to put this thing together.

Apparently, I am 95078578470 milliseconds old. That sounds lots more than 30.15 - which actually sounds even older than just plain old 30. What have I done with the .15 since my birthday?

These are the little things that make up my character. Yep, some are true. They are things I have read in horoscopes - I'm a Gemini. I always love the part where it says *Beautiful physically and mentally*, as if being born at a particular time of the year makes you more or less beautiful. (Though it does always make me smile a little secretly when I read this. You know what I mean).

23 MAY 1978
* Stubborn and hard-hearted
* Strong-willed and highly motivated
* Sharp thoughts
* Easily angered
* Attracts others and loves attention
* Deep feelings
* Beautiful physically and mentally
* Firm standpoint
* Easily influenced
* Needs no motivation
* Easily consoled
* Systematic (left brain)
* Loves to dream
* Strong clairvoyance
* Understanding
* Sickness usually in the ear and neck
* Good imagination
* Good debating skills
* Good physical
* Weak breathing
* Loves literature and the arts
* Loves traveling
* Dislike being at home
* Restless
* Hardworking
* High spirited
* Spendthrift

Age in years ~ 30.15
Age in months ~ 362
Age in days ~ 11004
Age in hours ~ 264107
Age in minutes ~ 15846435
Age in seconds ~ 950786087
Age in Milli seconds ~ 95078608722
Age in weeks ~ 77031
You born on ~ Tuesday.

Please let me know if the link isn't linked.. actually, I'm not entirely sure how to do that part at all. But, I am *sharp thoughts*. (does this mean I think about scissors and thorns and blades and things.....hmmmmm). Okay, okay.. the excel document can't upload. If you are at all curious and want to put your own birthday in, please email me - so I can email to you. ellieabeck@hotmail.com

PS - this post if just so that I can post something today. Maybe I could try one post each day this week. Ooohhhh, not sure how we'll go on that one.

potato people

We have had this wonderful book for quite a while, and enjoy reading and talking about it. "The Potato People" by the fantastic New Zealand author and illustrator Pamella Allen. It's about a grandma and her grandson who spend each Friday together (his mum works, I assume she's a single mum). One rainy day they make some potato people using four potatoes and some thumb tacks and scraps of fabric and other little pieces. After a few weeks the potatoes start to grow horns, and Grandma plants them.

We've talked often about making our own little people, and finally this week I remembered to buy some extra potatoes for Ari to use. Yesterday he sat down, while I started dinner, and made some amazing and fun creatures. Each potato seemed the have many reincarnations as he pulled bits out and changed bits here and there. Some wooden bamboo skewers and coloured thumb tacks was enough to keep him happy and creatively thinking for quite a while.

He made stories up about his robot potatoes, some had head phones, some had poky ears, or buttons. They had spiky hair and cute little coloured eyes.

When he woke up this morning the first thing he asked, before even out of bed, was if the potatoes had grown horns yet. He wanted to run and check to see if they were decomposing and getting ready for the compost, or planting heap. I told him that they'll take a little while before they start to grow shoots.

In the meantime we'll watch them each day, waiting and looking. And learning more about how things work, how our food grows, how seeds are different shapes, how plants - and even animals - can grow from different beginnings.

Rare moments of sitting quietly reading, together. They are looking at - reading - Beatrix Potter, and choosing which one they like best.

And Sam and I will marvel, once again, at the ingenuity and imagination and ideas and intelligence and creativeness of our son.

This is a pull-along Humpty Dumpty that has been mine since I was about 3 years old. Been through a bit this little one, but made of tough Fisher Price quality.

Another favourite Pamela Allen story is "Mr McGee and the Biting Flee". We all (me included!) get quite laughy when we get to the part where he removes all his clothes, to find the flee, and you get to see little bits of the naked man before he jumps into the ocean. Not a whole lot of kids books show that part of the body. Please, see if your local library has any of her books, a long list, they are all quite wonderful for the pictures and well and the language and simple stories and words.

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!

red turtle

A little while ago I spoke about the guilt at still not having finished the turtle that Ari was waiting and waiting for. Since loosing his Bunny, he has had other little toy friends, but one hasn't yet stood out as his new favourite.

Red is his favourite. And turtles are his favourite. So, it's a red turtle - with golden embroidery swirls on it's shell. And green button eyes. I've had the embroidered piece sitting around for a while now.

And last night I finally put it all together. After all the thinking and procrastination of how to do it - thinking it would be really hard. Well, it took me about 45 minutes all up; in between watching Big Love on SBS. To cut and stitch and turn those little feet and head and tail. To stuff them with softness. Then to stitch it all together. Wonky legs, floppy head. Then stuff and stitch close. And choose the little buttons (Sam did that), and hand stitch them on. I did the main stitching on machine, as I'd started by hand a few days ago and it wasn't really working.

It ended up really cute. And even though both Sam and Ari (and actually other people...) commented about the very floppy head - the neck is too long - I still like it. Him. I think that Ari has named his Otter; not sure where it came from, but a sweet unusual name. Better than Turtle or Wertle, or Floppy! I do think that Ari likes him - took him to the market this morning, and now has taken him off to Grandma's house (right now; as in I have no kids in the house RIGHT NOW!).

I've now had to start turtle number 2, as Mishi is very keen on Ari's. So, hopefully this week we'll have another addition to the turtle rock. A baby turtle, I think.

If there is any chance that someone out there might want a short tutorial on how to make turtles, I'd be happy to oblige. Though, really I'm sure you all are way more talented than me, and far more skilled. I made up the pattern as I went along, in my head. As with anything, there will be little alterations for the next edition - but then, I like that as it makes each one different.

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."

just stuff....hmmm just life

Sometimes when I'm sort of at a bit of a loss for a good story for this blog, I look at photos I've taken and that sparks something for me to turn into at least a little reminder of our day. Seeing as how I've been away from here for so long, again, here are a few photos from randomness of our past few weeks.

Cushion cover I embroidered for my Grandma, for her birthday. She's somewhere close to her late 80's, don't think quite at 90 yet. But, she won't tell anyone. If I am like her at 90, I hope that I'll be proud to shout my age from her veranda across and down to the ocean.

We went to visit her, down the coast, and had planned a lovely little picnic at this same place. Except that it rained, and was cold. Not the best thing for the elderly or the really young - a wet, cold beach. Lovely to walk along, if you know that a warm shower and dry clothes await you somewhere not so far away. Instead we had lunch at her house, and while she fussed a bit, I did manage to get her to sit down for a few moments. She even let Sam clean the kitchen, and me to make tea for her!

So, the cushion. Actually, I really really like it. I have some more planned in my head. And actually started a few more embroideries on the drive home from her house; but used them on a different project for Ashey's birthday (no photos yet, have to post about that another time). I used an image of a sea bird, as my Grandma lives near the ocean, and likes shells and ocean-y things. The baby bird was an afterthought, and it would have been just as good without it (maybe better?).
And sewing up the cushion cover was quite quick and easy, I'll be doing it again this way. I used this great tutorial. it makes a very professional looking cushion, and more evidence of my zippered phobia conquered!
My sister visited my Grandma's house, and told me that the cushion was lovely; so that makes me happy.

Making more faces, playing dress ups, flying and posing. This is just another day in the life of my little ones. Mishi with her dress (handmade Christmas dress from my big sister), her hat, her shoes and handbag. Ari with his hand-down "Memo" (Nemo) t-shirt. The bright green shirt that family members keep saying I should accidentally loose in the wash, or something like that. It gives him happiness to choose it from his cupboard, and is much more fun than the other camo hand-downs we have. So it'll stay!

Feeding, dressing, stories, bedtime for little Roni doll. We bought this plastic doll for Ari, before Mishi was born. Hoping that he could bath and feed and dress it like a baby. I had really wanted to get him something special (like these, which I just saw last night, and think they are so sweet and like real babies). Mishi is a girl, that's for sure. She wheels the babies in the pram, asks me to dress and undress and then sits down and feeds (not breastmilk unfortunately - she looked at me strangely when I suggested that??!) them yoghurt and all sorts of messy food. Recently she borrowed another doll from Ashey - Anabella Jemima (I wanted to put her name in, as it's quite cute; a combination of Sylvie and my Mum naming the doll) - and has been taking her everywhere this past week.

The spectacular birthday party of an especially amazing boy. Ash turned 6 last week, and Sylve celebrated with a backyard party, which turned into a fireside Solstice and housewarming party. Kids went to bed (eventually), and we adults stayed up until almost 3am having beautiful music sung and strummed for us. With our feet stuck under the $10 cast iron fire pit, to keep the cold cold night from stinging us.

I made the birthday cake; a chocolate beetroot cake. Sort of made the recipe up - as I have been doing lately with lots of my cakes, bread, etc. I will make it again, as I see real potential in the beetroot chocolate thing. And then we iced it with green coconut 'grass' and licorice 'road' and lots of crashed cards. Ash asked for a racing car cake, this was our compromise to not making some extravagant real car with lots of colours and icings and such. As you can see, the kids loved the idea of real Matchbox cars; which they took home as their party bag thing. (No take home lolly bags for this family, with silly plastic toys - most kids were fairly happy with that).

And finally, a few photos I took this afternoon, after reading this quote. And then feeling terrible that I hadn't had the energy to take the kids to the park as promised. (Started a new job this past month which is great but tiring, and Mishi is still drinking so much milk at night-time). And that we had had a bit of yelling today. So, when I came across this post - going through my long blog list, while the kids watched Play School - it really stopped me. Here I am, trying to make a promise to remember to live more harmoniously with myself and my children. I'm just rewriting the quote, to continue to remind myself about what it means to me.

Between stimulus and response there is a space. In that space is our power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and our freedom.

Viktor E. Frankl

Edited: Sylve has told me that the doll's name isn't Anabella Jemima, that it's actually Jemima Anabella. I've put it in here, as a reference for my declining memory. I remember that I used to have an excellent memory - not so any more. Is it kids? Or just, something else?

what we wore

I just wanted to show you what I wore today. A plain grey t-shirt. With a refashioned skirt - originally a short and skimpy dress (not so good on breastfeeding Mamas!), snipped quickly this morning it fits my hips well, zip already in perfect spot, though I do plan to properly finish the snipped seam, it's quite okay for now. My old old old - so loved - mohair jumper; given to me by my Mum and Dad possibly 15 years ago, all worn out, especially on the elbows, but I love it so much - for more than it's warmth and colour and feel, for it's memories. And the necklace Sam made me for Mother's Day, using the beads I have from my Mum.

And what Mishi wore yesterday. The green shirt and red floral pants that Sam put on her, to keep warm. Topped by a blue stripey dress that I made her, which is too big, so waiting for Summer - but she insists on trying things on. Wrapped up in a piece of fabric I had in my hands when she wondered into the room, and requested (demanded!) me to put on her. I was wondering if the floral would be good for a skirt for her, possibly shirred, but I think those big flowers might be too much, too big for a little creature. What do you think?

I keep wondering where Mishi gets this thing of needing to dress up, choose her prettiest clothes, be fussy about what she's wearing. At not even 16months, she's quite particular about what we put on her. She wears hats and handbags around the house, wants to put things one. Chooses her clothes, and lays them on the couch in preparation for getting dressed for the day.

Yesterday I spied her leaning into the bottom drawer of her cupboard, seeing what she wanted to wear. Like a teenager...

I must make more exciting, special, treasures for Ari to wear. He feels left out when people are constantly saying how cute and pretty Mishi looks. Most of his clothes are passed down (from my in-laws next door neighbours), so they are good quality, but not styles or colours, and definitely not prints (logos, brands, etc), that I would choose. But, really how can we say no to four+ years of good clothes. That keep on coming, and are still good for the next hand-down. Any ideas on how I can spunk him up a bit, in his very 'boy' clothes - make him a bit more handmade, unusual, himself?

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.

when inspiration motivates me

Yesterday I was sitting at my sewing machine, stitching a little bit more on the pair of pants (for Ari) that have been taking oh way too long. Sam and Ari were sitting in the room with me, Mishi was asleep. I looked up at the sweet little wooden postcards that I bought recently from a shop in the Valley.

Right then and there I abandoned the sewing, and jumped up to save the lovely cards, that were curling up due to the rain we've been having. You see they are made from thin slithers of wood. Please check them out here, such fun designs and they use sustainably harvested wood. There are heaps more designs that I like.

I remembered that we had two second-hand wooden frames, that we bought ages ago. Using some thick blue Indian cotton (from Ikea, a while ago, via my fabric cupboard), I decided to frame the postcards. I did it very quickly, and not worrying too much about neatness - I just cut the fabric and taped it using double-sided sticky tape. And the postcards themselves are just sitting on top of the fabric.

And boy, don't they look good. Leaning against the shelf in our kitchen - where we've enjoyed looking at our birthday cards this whole week. Not perfectly straight in the frames, it doesn't matter. I did it all in less than 15minutes. No procrastinating or thinking about it, or waiting until the kids were asleep - or I had better equipment. I just jumped up and did it. While Sam vacuumed the floors and Ari sat beside me asking what I was doing.

I can see them sitting in the kitchen, when I look up the hallway from the couch in the lounge room. They look finished, and 'real', and I enjoy walking into the kitchen and seeing them. We don't have many framed photos or artwork in our house, or hooks on the wall to hang things. So, having something framed looks more finished and professional that just the bits of paper normally stuck up randomly.

Yes, more shots of the red kitchen. But, I love that red kitchen. And soon, we may not be here. So, I'm going to take as many red kitchen photos as I can. It's not the red that we originally wanted, the paint shop mixed it wrong, so the trim doesn't match - we already changed it once, and doing it again seems too daunting for Sam, who did the massive job on his own last time.

Things about my house I really hate, dislike, want to hide and change. But when I look at my home, there are so many things that I love. There really is a big difference between a house and a home. When we move I don't think I'll miss this house, but I'll miss this home.

So, you see, when the inspiration hits me sometimes it motivates me too. I wish this happened more often. Maybe then I'd be one of those people who actually got stuff achieved!

etsy beginnings

You may have noticed that new Etsy shop located on the right of my blog. Well, that's mine! It's all going slowly, uploading and photographing and writing the little bits of info, and mainly the making of the things. That's always slow. But I slip into my sewing chair any moment I can spare (time and energy), and sew a stitch here or there, cut a few pieces, pin some more together, plan the next project.

I love the little moments when I can get to indulge in my sewing. Sometimes it's for myself only, or for the kids - I really like making things for them, and happily for me, they like it too. Only this past week I made a new bag, that was planned for me, and Ari declared it his, before I even could finish it. He wears it proudly - with makes me happy. (And slightly eases the guilt at still not having completed his turtle).

And sometimes, just sometimes, I manage to sew a little bit for markets (yes, I've had two now, and am thinking about more), and then extra bits of sewing for this little store I have been planning to open up.

So, please go and have a look at the little things I have been creating. I am eager for any feedback or ideas or criticism (constructive?) you have about my designs, sewing, fabrics, ideas. And you experienced Etsy-iers, please - if you have any help to offer on how to make it easier, or better, or promote it more. I'm open to anything.

PS - with this slow internet speed I'm dealing with. (Photos loading slowly on your blogs, etc, etc). I have been visiting you, but haven't been able to leave comments when I've wanted. Be back with that next month, I hope!

Also, I want to thank all of you for the lovely comments and support about my crashing waves post. It means so much to me that I have this supportive network of (women) friends out there who are experiencing similar things, and sharing love and stories and offering help and that amazing blog support.

You may have also noticed the new links on the left. My friends who create and craft and do. Please check them out. These are some local crafters starting their businesses (or newly in business), or doing little sidelines while still working full/part-time. If you see your name there, maybe you want to add me to your links?

30

Well, it's happened. I've passed that milestone - and fairly easily too. I'm thirty now. Friday just past was my birthday. I've wanted to write here lately, but internet speed is too slow for me to bother*.

So, yes, anyway. Now I'm 30! I was wondering if it really was something so scary or wonderful or different. Does being thirty mean that I have to be a real grown-up? If so, I'm not sure that I'm quite qualified for that role. I mean, yes, I have kids, a mortgage, a two-car family, and all the rest that makes me a grown up. I know that everyone feels like a kid or adolescent still - even those beautifully wise 'older' people.

In my mind I'm still 23 or 24. That's how old I was when Mum died. So, somehow I don't think of myself as thirty, or even twenty nine. And I don't dress or act the way I perceive 'real grown-ups' behave.

I kept thinking that it wasn't going to be a really big milestone for me. I mean, I've experienced the death of my Mother - which is the most extreme thing I feel or know or experience. And the birth of my two children - which, also, is the most extreme thing I feel or know or experience. So, I guess I was thinking that I had already grown up in more ways that I wanted to.

But, on the day before my birthday I receive some really beautiful letters and a present from two of my Aunts and a close family friend - all who have been Mothering roles and figures in my life at some time or other. All who I have deep ingrained memories of, and love from and towards. It made me stop and think more about this birthday. And, of course, made me saddened that my own Mother wouldn't be ringing me or sharing the day or stories with me. Yet, made me happy to know that there were people who thought (knew) that this was a special day to be celebrated and remembered.

This glorious drawing is the card Ashey gave us for our birthday**. It's me, Ari on the swing, Mishi on the slide, and Sam with the great spiky hair. And then Sam's car - Blackie - on the end (looking a little like an elephant).

And on my birthday I received flowers; from a dear friend who lives in London; from my sister and nephew - picked from vacant streetlots. And cards and phone calls and presents and...... and I felt so loved and thought-about.

So, I guess, really it was / is a special time for me. To stop and think about the woman I am becoming. Without my Mother here, but with other mothers and friends and family, and people who know me and care about me. Thank you to all those people.

And thanks to the friends and family who helped me celebrate with a lovely fireside party at my sister's house. Watching me jump on the trampoline with my children, and singing birthday songs together, and laughing and talking and remembering and creating new memories.

*We have some friends staying and between all of us, have passed our monthly upload limits - so internet has been speed capped.

**Did I mention that Sam and I share a birthday? He's four years older than me. We actually met a week before my 20th birthday, ten years ago. Makes remembering each other's birthdays easy!

crashing waves and other dreams

Last night I dreamt that I was being washed over by a big crashing wave. We had all been sitting quietly, happily playing on the sand - looking at shells and digging and exploring in our own thoughts. And then suddenly a massive wave - over our heads. I couldn't keep afloat easily, I was holding both kids in my arms and struggling. People were around me; family members - Sam, Dad, other people; all trying to keep their heads above the water and away from the rocks. For some strange reason (okay, it as a dream - lots of strange things happen!); there were knives flashing through the water, and that was something else we had to be weary of.

When I got up this morning, with the dream still in my mind, I knew that I was about how I'm feeling with things :: life :: at the moment. The knives I'm not so sure about, little bit scared to delve into what they could mean. But the water over my head - trying to stay afloat, well that's pretty obvious.

There are lots of things I feel so waterlogged about, that I'm constantly playing chase with, trying to achieve and getting done. So many things I have promised - to myself or other people - that I'm very behind in. I think the most important person I feel I'm letting down is my little Ari.

I promised him a bunny a long time ago, and have run into a few issues with that. Then we talked about a turtle - a red one; as red is his favourite and turtles are his favourite. I keep promising that tomorrow it will be ready. Yet, somehow, I don't quit know where to start.

And the 100th Post prizes are still "in the works". Sorry everyone, but they will happen. I know it for sure, just not sure when. And I still haven't finished or posted these two swaps that are now more than a month overdue - I feel really bad about that.

And then, for myself. All those sewing things I keep planning and dreaming (and talking) about are happening much too slowly. The market I am hoping to have a stall at is next weekend and I don't have very much stock at all for it.

BUT :: in the past two weeks we have had some lovely days. And I have made a few things, for some special people. And my mind is still ticking over, and planning and dreaming................

A gift for a special friend's birthday.

Hand embroidered, zippered purse and

a hand stitched ribbon, button and yoyo bookmark. With some lovely soap.

With beads from the collection my Mum gave me years and years ago. That I have been too scared or tentative to delve into until now - slowly slowly.

Bread rolls for my family's dinner. LSA (linseed, sunflower and almond meal) makes a lovely addition to the plain organic white flour. Kneaded and rolled with love.

A new dress for my Mishi. Based on a dress that my Mum made for Sylvia when she was a little girl (25 years ago); and that I discovered when visiting my Dad a few months ago. I made another that was a little too big, but will be wonderful in Summer time! Alexander Henry Yellow Birdseed, with a green gosgrain ribbon - though it still needs a button at the back.

And beautiful sunlight and views and smiles and laughs and happiness at home and out and about with our loved ones.

And lots of treasures from Mother Earth.

solitude and company

Yesterday afternoon Sam took the kids over to his parents house, for a visit. Ari loves to see his Grandma every week, and misses her if he doesn't; so he had rung her in the morning to see if he could visit. I convinced Sam to stay for dinner :: giving me more quiet time at home!

I had enough time to do some blog-surfing, to vacuum the house, to photograph the beautiful flowers I bought from the organic market, and then to have a little time in the sewing room.

Zinnias - wild and tumbly. One of the flowers my Mum used to love. Along with dahlias. I love their rambling feeling. And all the colours. I am surprised at myself that I never get around to planting any in my garden, when I see them in other peoples' gardens. Maybe when we have a new house, and the garden of my dreams. (This garden, in my mind's-eye is quite a lot of work; I hope I have some friends and family to help me plant and tend it!).

So, anyway; my solitude. What a lovely afternoon I had. Just the clean floors under my feet (that doesn't last long here; clean floors). And the afternoon sun on the stretching shadows across the wall. And the quiet in my ears; well only the city noise outside at any rate.

And the company? Let me say that today was so beautiful. Walking and talking and collecting treasures (sticks and rocks and leaves), and enjoying the company of my children and my friends, and the weather just so perfectly perfect.* And then having a wonderful dinner out, with women friends (and little Mishi, who was sweet and funny and an easy, though messy, child). And feeling the true strengthening of a friendship that I am enjoying so much.

Things I need :: solitude and company. Don't we all!

*Queensland tourism has this saying/slogan, for their campaigns :: 'beautiful one day, perfect the next'. I think Winter really is the time to be here. Not hot, yet so not cold. The evenings are cooling, but slowly and still so mild. And the days are sunny, with clear skies, lovely wind (great for drying clothes, or possibly flying kits, or watching leaves flutter). Strange though, the Autumn leaves have not yet fallen and already I have seen wattle flower buds starting to form. (A bit like last year, maybe?). Will Winter happen, or will we pass the Autumn changes and the cold, and head straight for late Spring and the Summer heat? Oh, I hope not - for this time of year is just so glorious. (I am watching the tree down the road, waiting for this to happen - but still green glossy leaves clinging tightly to the tree).

just because

Last night, before bed, Ari spied a stray packet of sparklers. He asked if we could light some. Instead of my initial thought of 'No, it's bedtime, and not time for activities and going out into the cold, dark night', I said Yes. Sometimes I think I forget to just say yes. When I look around at parents and adults, I see them stopping fun for kids. Don't slurp your drink, don't ride your bike now, no it's too sunny to go to the park, or too cold or too early or too late. Stand up straight, don't lie down while you eat.....

So, anyway, we all went outside and lit those wonderful sparklers. And the happiness smile on his face was matched with our faces. One of our friends, who is staying with us, hadn't seen sparklers before. (Japanese fireworks, but not Australian sparklers).

And, just because, we all had a pillow fight before bed. Tucking in the sheets, and putting covers on the pillows became a game of hide-and-seek, a game of caves, a game of tickles.

And just because, I had five minutes on my own and took a few photos in the back yard. The afternoon light streaming through the mulberry tree onto the garden colours. And a few images of my newest bags (the ones not sold at the marketstall).

And just because, I sat down to write this post, while everyone played lego. And the warm day with floating clouds happened outside. And we took a few moments to sit and be, to talk and laugh. Watching Ash play soccer this morning, plans to go to the park with a friend this afternoon.

Just because.... I think I'm happy right now. Just because.

good things

It's 10:14pm. I'm tired; but I've been telling you that for the past months at least. But right now, things are good.

The house is tidy (ish), vacuumed, washing up done, massive kids clothes pile put away, food in the cupboard!

I just had a wonderful conversation to a dear friend. She lives in the UK, and we are best friends - of sorts. As in, I have known her for so much of my life and been through so much together, and now that we are on the other side of the world to each other - we are living lives more similar than ever before. It's good to talk to someone who knows you well, knows who you are now, who you were then, and is totally interested in being with who you will be some day down the track. It is sad to think that we will never live around the corner from each other. That we will never sit on the front steps and chat and watch the sun set together. Or that our children - very close in ages - will never really know each other as friends.

But, it's so wonderful to know that right now we have a friendship that doesn't need constant tending or weeding or watering. It is flourishing and flowering now. Thanks Stef for your dearness, your words, your memories, your hopes and wishes and dreams. Your sharing of family ups and downs.

Now, onto my market wrap up:

Last Friday I had a stall at the Avid Little Market. It was fun - I think I'm sort of addicted to wanting to have more stalls. (Really, I know that I am a sales person and always wanted my own shop - this is a first step). I didn't actually make many sales - but really a few is all it takes to boost my confidence, and the words and looks and soft touches of eager hands about my sewing and fabric choices. I had a lot of support from dear friends, some who came to visit me at the market, and some who bought from me. I had that feeling of not knowing if I should give them the item, or charge them, or.... I decided that they wanted to support me - I hope they did, and didn't feel as if they 'should'...???

A small night-time market. I'm not sure if I'll do exactly that one again. Coming into Winter I'm not sure if it will be 'big enough' for me to make any sort of real money that will warrant all that hard work. But I have a few other options I am looking into.

But most importantly - you know what. I am proud of what I made, of how my stall looked, of how I felt on the night, talking to people and selling my wares. I am proud of myself! Sometimes it's hard to think or especially say that.

I'm often proud of my kids, and tell them. But being proud of doing what makes me happy. Now that's pretty good hey!

Now that the stress of this market is over (and the three days of work, at my job, that followed), I have so much in my mind that is ready to happen. Writing lists in my head. Tomorrow I will step back into my sewing room, tidy it up a bit, and get back into sewing things for:

:: my next market, I'm currently planning

:: the prizes for my 100th Post winners

:: some gifts to send dear neglected friends

:: some so badly long overdue swaps (these are eating at me)

:: and the bunny that Ari asked me to sew him more than a week ago (does anyone have suggestions on how I can make him a bunny. I have minimal softie experience - and the few tries so far have been strange looking!).

Okay, so all of this won't happen tomorrow - I know. But that main thing is that I'll have started it. And somedays (like today, when I had a lovely walk with the kids and play in the sandpit, and watered my carrots and broccoli), even the thought of achieving those is good enough for me.

to market to market

Tomorrow night I will be here ::

A humble little stall, of a few things I have been sewing this past week. As usual, I have left most of the final work until the last minute - that's me. Even if the market had been on it's usual last Friday-of-the-month night, I would be scurrying to get it all done. This will be my first market stall ever; I'm a bit scared, nervous and excited. I don't know if I'll even sell anything....

So, if you are in the area - Pop in for a look and a hello. Avid Reader Bookshop is a great place for a new discovery. If you head out the back, past the cafe area, you will find the Little Market at Avid. Nibbles and wine will be there, with some music and some friendly faces showing our handicrafts.

See you there!

have I mentioned.....

....that walking is well and truly happening here, now. She was doing that tentative little scurry around the furniture and holding hands walking, for a little while. But while we were at my Dad's house two weekends ago, with all the bigger children scampering and running about, she came home walking. It's odd to see her doing the occasional crawl, now, if she wants to get somewhere really fast.

Her funny little walk - a tiny bit side-ways, with a scuffle sort of stance. She's very confident in it now. Sometimes she still overbalances and tumbles down, but generally she can stop herself from falling quite well.

And she pushes things - chairs, toy prams, wooden trolley full of library books. And can carry things quite well, also. Today when I gave her a plate of watermelon, she just picked it up and walked off down the hallway with it held firmly in her two hands.

Really, she does so much that everyone else does. Not a baby anymore. Last night, Sam asked Ari why there were some crayons that hadn't been put away in the basket with the others. Ari sat on the couch and had a tiny whinge about it. Mishi just walked over and picked them all up and went to put them away.

And potty-training is happening slowly, also. She has just done this herself. We are encouraging it, but by no means forcing it. When she has no clothes on, she just takes herself off to the potty, sometimes she sits down fully clothed -as an indication that she needs to go. And, of course, she needs toilet paper to wipe herself as well.

It's pretty amazing really, isn't it, the way they learn so much by just mimicking and copying and trying over and over until they can do it. I keep wondering if Ari was like this, at this age (Mishi is almost 14 mths now). And I can't quite remember. I guess that he wasn't really up to a lot of things she is, mainly because there wasn't the constant older sibling stimulation that Mishi gets from Ari.

I've been reading a book called Detoxing Childhood. A lot of it is really stuff I know (or should know, and be thinking about), but it's always good to have it there in front of you, again, at the moments when you need to hear it. One part talks about 'learning versus education'. This struck a note with me. So much of what children 'learn' is just our everyday life - we don't, as parents, set out to teach them to walk or talk, we encourage it when it happens, and show them by example. I think this is all falling into my constant thoughts about homeschooling or not.

I think so much of what children are taught at school is so they can an exam and get a good score, so they can go to University. And be told how to think, but also told that they have to think for themselves - but follow certain guidelines. I loved school - went to Steiner School for primary, and just the local high school. But I think, so much of what I learnt about who I am, and where I fit in, and what I do with my life now - comes from my parents, and my upbringing. Maybe more so than from school. Though maybe I'm having midnight rambles......... This was meant to be a post about Mishi walking.

And while she's growing, and shall we call her a toddler now - is she a baby anymore. And she can cope a whole day without me now, without my milk nourishment. Still, when she gets home, she's my baby. She suckles on my nipple for her milk - which is not just food, but always warmth and love. She hums her little going to sleep song, and strokes my face, and looks into my eyes. And her eyelids flicker and her eyeballs roll back into her head. And she sleeps, a baby sleep. Soft, contented, restless, dreaming, growing, learning. And, so too does my bigger baby, the three and a half year old boy baby.

immense satisfaction

Firstly:: I want to say thank you to everyone for your thoughtful and kind and heartwarming comments about my Mum. When I had planned to write that post, it was going to be different - about how I felt at five years I was missing my Mum more than previous years. But what I wrote just came out of me. And, I suppose, that letting it spill out was an indication (to me) of my continued immense grief for my Mum. Even if I don't cry about her, and achingly miss her all the time. Thank you, also, for sharing your stories with me. And thanks to the dear friend who rang me up last night, such a lovely little chat.

We have all been sick for more than a week - flu and snuffy noses and not much sleeping. We are all still working through it, but night-time sleeps are getting better (and hopefully the constant train-works noise from across the street has stopped). Mishi has been having difficulty with sleeping, so her day-time naps have been minimal, if at all this week.

Despite this, I am really proud of the crafting I have achieved this week. This cushion cover was a gift for a family member's 60th Birthday a few weeks ago. I only got one finished in time to deliver to him, the other one has now been completed and will be posted this week. I really like the design that I made up for this - I came up with it while breastfeeding Mishi. Those moments can often be so reflective and I seem to think and plan so many things. The cushion doesn't have button holes, just a really big envelope back - I don't really like sewing button holes, so try to plan around that process.

Last week I made a new cushion cover for us too. I'm going to make some more in the next few weeks, as we have spare cushions with falling apart covers! I love laying my head on this cushion, on the couch. It is soft, yet has strength. But, mostly, I made it - and feel pride looking at it and using it. Simple strip piecing, with lots of over-stitching details and then a great red Indian cotton (from Ikea), as the main body.

I also made some new pyjama pants for both the kids. I know they are so easy to make, once I get down to actually sewing them. But in my house it is generally much harder to actually get to the sitting down part! Soft flannelet with little rocking horses on it - at first Ari said that it was too babyish, and he didn't want any, but on seeing Mishi's he changed his mind. Luckily I had already made them.

And while all of this is making me feel basically contented that I'm completing little things (though not enough for the market stall in less than two weeks....), the thing that is giving me the most pleasure is the fact that I am remembering how to embroider. I grew up with a Mum sewing, stitching, knitting, crocheting, potting, making bread, pies, cakes...... So, of course, I learnt all these (and more). And, of course, over the years I have neglected so many of these everyday arts.

Well, just a few nights ago I picked up an embroidery hoop and some calico and embroidery thread and..... I am totally addicted. I am taking it slowly. Relearning stitches from a great book (Creative Needlecraft - published in 1979) that my Dad pulled out of his bookshelves (which are bursting with the world). I am planning on using some small embroidered pieces on little purses that I'll be making for the market. I feel an overwhelming sense of satisfaction looking at this humble piece of work, that I have made with my own hands.

Another great thing is that both the boys really like it too. And they don't need too much assistance with it - except that with their big stitches they use thread quickly, and it needs to be replenished often. I am trying to impress upon them that it's a quiet, sitting down, relaxing kind of activity - not standing and wiggling and jumping and.......

Mother

Five years ago today, my sister rang me. I had just got home from work, was still in my work uniform. I remember sitting on the pine bench in our grungy kitchen, chatting to her. She rang to tell me that my Mum had been taken to the hospital. At the time my Mum had been with a friend, so we all had to be phoned and then make our way to the hospital, an hour's drive away.

I had to call my cousin to drive me there. I remember it being a strange sort of journey, one of not quite knowing what would be at the end - but also not thinking of what would be at the end, and of having no experience of what could be at the end.

I'm not sure I have written about this before, possibly I have. But really, right now - I need to say it all again.

As soon as I walked into the hospital emergency room, and they called my Dad to tell him I was there, I knew what it was. The rest of my family weren't there yet, just my Dad, and then me. I will never forget the weight with which he fell onto me; the hug he gave me. How could I not know, from that feeling of utter astonishment and anguish and fear and pain and terrible terrible shock that I felt dripping off my Dad.

How could I not know, in that moment, that my Mum was dead. But, I went in, and talked to her and told her she wasn't dead. That once, when I was a baby doctors had told her I would die (of pneumonia), and that this was the same. Yet, I knew. I tried to sit and read to her - a book she had lent me and I was returning, not having had time to read it; The Power of Now by Eckhart Tolle.

In that little curtained room, where my Mother lay. With a machine breathing for her. With the quiet noise of other peoples' dramas happening behind and around.

No-one else turned up for a long time. My Dad had told my cousin to go and get my Grandma. My sisters and brother were collecting baby carseats and driving together, not knowing what lay ahead of them.

After some time, of me sitting and Dad sort of floating, the nurses took us into another little room. Some sort of quiet room, with chairs and carpet. I guess a place to take family to be alone, in these moments. We were offered cups of tea. I rang Sam, who was at home, and had no way of getting to me. I lay on the floor, not sure what to do with my thoughts or my body.

The hospital staff were preparing my Mother's body, and taking her upstairs where we could have some privacy from the emergency rooms.

In another room the family gathered. None of them knew what or why they were there. The staff hadn't told them anything, only taken them all together. Sitting, talking, waiting. Such realities never actually go into your head at the moment of unknowing.

I remember walking in, and saying she's gone. Dad said something, I'm not sure what, but I guess to tell them quietly, not so suddenly, abruptly.

Memories of parts of that night float through my head at odd times during my days. Of us being told that we would have to turn off a machine at some stage, but for now we could have some time. Of all of us taking moments on our own, to be with the woman who was everything to us, for us, of us.

Ashra was there too, only a little creature of 10mths. At the time of us finally switching that switch, he called out. A loud and certain sound, sad in it's knowledge. My Mum was like a second Mum to him, more than a Grandmother.

During the past five years, I feel like I have lived many lifetimes over and over. I have grieved my Mother throughout everything, sometimes more desperately intense, other times simply a thudding ache.

I have given birth to two children who will never meet her. I have grown in myself, and become a Mother, a person who my own Mother will never meet.

Yet, inside of me I carry the knowledge that I am of her, and she is of me. And in that way she will always know me, and my children.

And my Mother, the woman who gave me so much, gave me peace with death. I think sometimes over these past years I have thought maybe I wasn't grieving enough, intense enough, crazily enough. That I have actually coped through, and survived my Mother's death. Sometimes I feel that I have too easily gotten on with my life. Yet, when I saw my Mum, in that hospital, lying on that bed, I saw a peace. Deep, utter, free peace. No fear with death, of death.

Tomorrow we will go down to my Dad's house. We will have a lovely, simple, quiet - yet noisy - time with my family. Those people who mean life to me. My father, my two sisters, my brother, and our children. We will try to talk to them about who she was, this woman they will never know as we have known her. But, we won't be able to capture who she was.

I have stopped wanting to ring her, having that forget:remember thing that happens at the early stages of loss. Sometimes, still - though rarely - I do have a thought or do something, and I think oh, I'll just ring Mum and tell her about that. Not so often anymore. I guess the mind gets used to things quickly. Humans are adaptable, renewable. Some days I don't think about her, but that's okay. Some days I think about her too much, that's okay too.