All of the stories

I could tell you about the days that have been, but for some things there are no words.

I mean to tell you of the extraordinary things that i have seen but time takes these moments from me, washes it down in a thousand things that need to be done. Faded colours i look back at, unsure if they were real.

I stare absently at screens and find myself restless once again.

The need to escape always finds me, tugs away at my insides like a persistent toddler, intent on getting its way.

I'm not so much tired but i am lost. I try to see what is in front of me but my mind drifts.

At night i alternate between exhaustion and panic.

I ask Zane to sit with me and he is bewildered always by the urgency of my pleas, I don't understand he says. Where does this come from, i thought we were okay.

We are okay.

And Okay is a travesty.

Over the past few weeks i have been witness to these things i cannot even begin to explain.

These moments where lives have been irrevocably changed. Where i have held my breath, held my tongue, choked at the sound of my own voice, because nothing i say makes sense here.

I drove them home from the hospital, the sun and heat was obscene, the sound of peoples voices and the looks on their faces oblivious to the fact that the world had ended for some today. The world was tainted and torn and would never be the same, I don't know how they are standing. I cannot do anything but follow, .

Over the weeks to come these moments would become part of a reality so surreal i can't process them.

So i keep busy.

We gather and plan and do and keep moving. All the millions of details, we are held together only by the need to get things done, and in the silences between we feel their sorrow and their shock and that void where all things fail. We know that these silences will break us, so we keep moving.

Panther

I knew your mama
she was a fiesty one
street smart to an art
An attitude to match the stare
as if to say
I dare you.

I dare you to tell me i don't belong here

I knew your mama
Every time our paths crossed
on the stairs i had to climb
she'd stop

Eyes raised to meet mine

Never a trace of fear
the noise, the kids and i drew near
She'd watch us encroach upon HER space
HER place

As if we were the strays
As if she'd let US stay.

I told Zane so many times
Don't feed them, you'll encourage it
I'm not cleaning up that shit!

But i may have poured her a bowl of water
on those days when it was way to hot
accidentally walked past and dropped
a bit of food just at her feet
sometimes i'd watch to make sure she'd eat

Your mama
she was fearless
she'd stand her ground at every noise
dark, gracious, unafraid and poised
those yellow eyes
just watching

When he told me he'd seen her
(i hadn't seen her for a while
hoped maybe she had found a home
a place to call her own)

She's dead he says,
kinda sad, she was such a pretty thing

But Your mama, she was fierce
and dignified
never one to be kept inside

She hid you there, and i wish we'd found you
earlier than we did
maybe then  you'd have that chance
to live the way she lived

Fire and freedom
in a street cat disguise

Letters from Neverland

Where to start, where to start?

Here? Beside the fireplace where the embers of last nights blaze send the streamers carelessly thrown in dancing amongst a sudden plume of smoke? A spark re-lit and gone as suddenly as it appeared.

Here? Beside the old suitcase with someone else's name on it, it's days of wanderlust now weighed down by a haphazard display of logs and tinder. Re purposed. Recycled. Redundant.

Here? In the crisp air of a valley town, trapped beneath the grey cloud of strange weather occurrence's, where days blanketed by inversion wrap layers of merino and melancholy around the usual smiling faces and spectacular scenery. Hidden, hibernating.

Here? Where on mornings when blue sky breaks through, the mountains rise and the horizon stretches up so close to the heavens themselves that clouds seem to drop lazily to rest on the slopes. Where looking up and around will cause the breath to catch on some sight so Surreal, serene, and sublime that existence feels liberatingly small.

Here? Where the curious feline eyes of a creature beyond ownership gazes upon these skittish fingers hesitating over the keys, undecided whether to pounce or purr. Derisive of such human indecision. 

Here? Where the determination in her eyes prevails daily over the nerves that make her steps an almost undetectable dance of confident stride and momentary pause. Ever so slightly, the small tug on a backpack a telltale sign of the internal voice that encourages her wavering body to pull it together. Independence, anxiety, awareness- a child on the precipice of change.

Here? Where the bonds of brotherhood ease a transition that may not have been so smooth without the comfort of a familiar face. Where new challenges have been met with a steadfast, one thing at a time faith, and the flimsy assurance it will all be okay- just give it a try. Where the cold days are made for escaping in blankets and books, and alternate with the warmth and open spaces that beckon holding a mischievous promise of invention and adventure.

Here, experiences have been so new, so overwhelmingly awe inspiring that the sentences used to describe them are like the lenses limited to a snapshot incapable of capturing the entirety of a moment.

Here, they have all surprised me as I watch quietly for the first time in a long time, with no place to be and nothing to do. A strange mixture of despondence and delight. A vacuum of chaotic thought and resounding silence.

Here we discover that we carry family in the warmth of open homes and open hearts, that the ties that bind us slip easily into a rhythm familiar and intuitive despite the years and distances in between.

Here is where we are.

Today we are waiting for the promise of snow, the cold nips at windowsills and slides under gaps teasing the possibility of magic. A dusting of icing sugar on a landscape already so rich in sight and sound- it lulls us to look and listen and to forget the fears that maybe  we cannot stay here as long as we'd hoped.

That practicalities and boring things like finance would soon remind us - we are just visitors to this kind of life, luxuries with an expiration date that need to be savoured and consumed before we are the ones that are tossed out with Wednesdays recycling. Just one of many thousands of stories that have all been told before. We lived there once. It's a beautiful town.

The future though, is kind of like the mountains that my fear of heights will only allow me to admire from a safe distance on the ground. So far in the distance that i'd likely never reach them.

I will never know what the view is like from up there and only see the things possible in hindsight -but I do know- right now...

We are here and the paths before us are lined with the hues of a summer we barely touched before it was gone- fallen from the branches in a last explosion of confetti colours that decorate the hillsides. Each curve and undulation a punctuation on their daily stories- breathless and brimming with urgency, humour and discovery- voices full of tales of the days adventures clamour over each other to carry us along our increasingly brisk walks 'home'.

Home has always been a fluid, where ever we sleep, wrapped in the favourite parts of the hours we've lived. This is home. 

They were growing again, despite my desperation to hold them still. So I scooped them up and ran away from home, because Peter had the right idea. Pixie dust mixed in snow, happy thoughts in memories, stir it up and kids, if these days are doomed to fly, then we may as well soar with them.

So I watch them as they run headfirst, arms outstretched off the gravel pathways, lost in half conversation- half screaming

And I am reminded of the lyrics...

'Neverland is home to lost boys like me,
And lost boys like me are Free...'

my heart holds the scene, their laughter an acapella soundtrack to the day.

Here we are. So Here, we start.

With light, with love, with letters From Neverland.

Tightly wound

I came home from school today after barely doing Breakfast Club, because i got caught up talking to Che's best friend's mum about her Kindy kid who just came out of hospital from some virus he contracted. I came home after taking her money for his uniform order despite the shop not being open with a promise to pack it and send it home with him, running keys up, looking for the teacher who was gifted a bag of freshly made noodles by a parent who came in looking for her but couldn't find her and left them with me instead....

Haha random. I came home and carried the magazines upstairs that i was too tired to retrieve from the car yesterday. I looked at the mess of my house. I put on the laundry because the Karate uniforms from yesterday need to be ready for tomorrow. I sit.

I sit and i pull jars and containers of pencils towards me, and i sharpen them because the kids are at school and i don't really want to think about all the things i haven't done but i can't do NOTHING because time is limited and the pencils are easy. They're blunt. They need sharpening, organising. I'm doing SOMETHING.

I wish that i had grabbed the books from the teachers to cover because then i'd be doing something productive while not doing anything at all.

I think about reading the beginnings of my 'Preparing for University Learning!' course while not zoning out coz you know zoning out is what happened with my last 3 degrees, hahaha...

I lose track of time, i'm late for uniform shop. I'm Late and there's no parking and the new volunteer is on her own and i didn't pack the uniform order and i hate being late.

Where are my keys?

My youngest is in year 2 and doesn't know what day comes after Friday when he is asked, like he seriously can't tell me. My eldest tells me she doesn't know how to tell time. The middle child cries when he reads "creative arts" as the last part of his homework. "I hate creative arts he says."

I message a teacher and tell her i am a failure. I mean i get that i don't know what day of the week it is most days, and Math has never been my strength so i somewhat neglected it with my kids i admit that... but geez... he hates creative arts!

WHAT THE HECK.

So i send them all to shower after i feed them. As they emerge freshly clean- I tell them to sit down.

Child with the math problems i say, if you don't tell me when you don't understand - i can't help you. Your teachers are the same. Why did you not tell me yesterday you didn't understand this. Why are you hiding it again?

She cries.

Child with the hatred of Arts, yesterday you were drawing. YOU WERE DRAWING, you ASKED me if you could draw. This is Art.

But that was Pokemon. I don't want to make a poster about PBL.

Draw me a Pokemon- tell me which part of PBL appeals to you most Safety, Respect or Responsibility?

*sigh* i don't knoowwwww.


CHOOOSE ONE and write 'Squirtle Says- 'Respect is Radical' something cheesy like that. It's not that hard. He cries. Dear god why are you crying?

I don't know which one to choose!

Oh for the love of Sharpies are you for real? Geesus stuff PBL and safety and responsibility and respect... let's go back to You Can Do It... Let's try resilience and persistence.

You can both cry, but crying will not get anything done. When you are finished crying, you still have to do these things.

Child who didn't know what day comes after Friday, but now surely does because this is the 3rd time this week we have been through the days of the week. Yes for real. It's time to read. Go read to your dad.

15 minutes later, he is also crying.

Crying because he is not reading properly and is being yelled at. And threatened.

Child who is not good at math is sitting with a book and asks me to intervene with the threats, Child who is onto his 3rd attempt at a poster is teary and listening to the yelling in the other room.

I am tired. I intervene.

I fight with the man who shares this task of growing humans with me. I know he has asked me not to question him in front of them. I can't NOT question him. I cannot stand to hear - if you don't by the count of 5 i will smack you.

I cannot handle it anymore.

She tries to rescue her brother and is sent to her room. She cries loudly from there.

They're all crying. He takes the child who does not want to read, and he sits him down and threatens him again. He says no to getting a tissue, No.

I cry.

I sit at my kitchen table next to the child who is making a collage with his drawing and lettering despite his hatred for creative arts - his eyes shining with tears and a frown quivering on his lips, next to his brother with the red leg who is asking for a tissue as he hiccups over the book he doesn't want to read

and i cry.

I listen to the NO you can get a tissue AFTER you read, and the sounds of her crying in the room and am so exhausted and angry and defeated and i cry. And between his reading he says "Dad, is mum okay?" and i can't stop crying.

He finishes reading. He stops and asks 'Is mum okay?' again.

The poster is finished.

The banished child is quiet.

I breathe i tell myself - cry, but crying will not get anything done. When you are finished crying, you still have to do these things.

They go to bed and i am tired, but i find her and she starts again with the tears. She tells me about her struggles with Math, she tells me about her struggles with friends.

He asks me this time 'Are you okay mum? i tried to ask dad when you were crying.'

I heard. No, i wasn't okay. No i'm not okay yet. And guys... there have been many many times when i haven't been okay.

It's not the first time i've sat in that kitchen and cried.

'It's the first time i've seen you cry mum.'

It most definitely isn't, when you guys were little i had days where i would yell at you, everything was hard and i was tired and i'd do just what i did just then. I would sit and cry. Then one of you would come and hug me and tell me it'd be okay.

I don't remember that!

Haha, that's just it. I struggle. Just like you. I don't know how to do things, just like you. I don't enjoy what i have to do some days. Just like you. I cry. JUST LIKE YOU.

And just like you i get up again, and i keep going. Because crying is okay, but it changes nothing. The things that are hard will still be there and they will still be hard.

But here i am.

And i don't know where to start and i don't know how to fix it all, but here i am.

You don't remember the days i cried, because in between those days i got up and i tried again, again and again and again until we had okay days and good days and awesome days. I'm glad you remember those. But bad days happen too. And we cry because we need to. We sit and we cry and we are helpless and hopeless and scared and confused and we don't WANT to.

It's okay, because it's not just you. It's me, and us and i will get frustrated, and you will get frustrated and we will have these horrible times, but at the end of the day- you will stop crying.
I will stop crying. We will yell sometimes. We will fight sometimes.

And we will cry. Then We will wait until we have finished crying. We will ask each other if we are okay. We will tell each other the truth.

We will end the day with hugs and good nights and I love yous.

We will get up again tomorrow.

We will get up again and we will keep going. The hard things will still be there. You will try to do the hard things, because you won't give up, i won't let you. I will do the hard things, because i won't give up. You won't let me.


And that is how it will be.

Because infinity tries guys, that's what we get.

We can cry, but crying will not get anything done. When we are finished crying, we still have to do these things.

Eventually we get so good at trying that no one even remembers the times we were bad at doing all the things...

Now, i Love you and  Good night.

Haha the unnecessary apostrophe like the unnecessary criticism can just remain silent. The thing is done. Tomorrow we work on doing it better.

Unicorn

It was 4 am when she appeared by my beside, swaying and crying.

I'm dizzy mummy, i don't feel good- i think i'm going to vomit.

I raise my eyebrows at her quizzically and get up to salvage a bucket that is currently being used to catch droplets of water in the water feature that is our kitchen at the moment.

I line the bucket with plastic and tissues and hand it to her as she's climbing into our bed next to Jacien who somehow has made his way there in the night.

She's still whining and sniffling.

I feel her forehead, it's warm.

Hmmmm i ponder for a moment.... i know what this is.

You're dizzy, your forehead feels warm....

You're becoming a unicorn.

She glares at me.

Or an evil witch, let me see- let me puncha your buns.

STOPPPP ITTT...

Hahaha i touch her forehead again.

Nope i'm pretty sure it's a horn coming out. It feels warm right in the middle.

Tell me if your vomit has glitter in it, that's a sure sign. It might take a few days....


STTTTTTTTTOOOOOOOOOOPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP ITTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT *whinewhine*

Zane gets up to go to the toilet. 'Leave her alone! Tivi stop being so emotional about it'

Haha you stop. She's allowed to be emotional.

You're going to be a beautiful unicorn.

Sttttttttttttttoooooooooooooooooopppppppppppppppppppppppp

Jacie piping in 'Your poop will be rainbow!'

Tehhehehehhe

Lessons with the middle child

I stood in front of my class mum and tried to do my speech, but i got scared and i tried to talk but nothing came out...

Then in defence of others being called naughty he listens quietly then intercepts with:

"She's not naughty. There's no such thing as naughty kids, just kids who made a silly choice or some silly choices. Adults also make silly choices sometimes too..."

Schooled by Che 7.0

And just when you think, sheesh kid whose child are you? He throws in 'I farted like 30 times at school today and the first few times i said 'scuse me my butt is air bending.'

Bahaha the selectively shy voice of wisdom and wind.

Home

"I waited for you to get tired of my difficult ways, to tell me finally, i'm leaving you, you're hopeless
But you didn't and now i'm faced with the biggest terror of my life, knowing i am enough even at my worst for you to love me all of your life." The Rabbit Box


Happy Anniversary i say as i hand him a grey bag from Coles.

What? What's this?

He pulls out the face wash, the deodorant, the  razor from the bag.

This is what romance has become. Random toiletries i pick up when i go to get milk and all the things we've run out of.



Haha, every year, the anniversary is a weird one.

This year, i am out of sorts and after an outburst of tears and burned lunches, he stays and works from home so he can finish the breakfasts and pack the lunches and take the kids to school- to do all the things i can't seem to cope with today.

Every year, that day seems to get harder. I don't know why. He probably doesn't either. But he makes me my coffee, pulls me off the ground and Hugs me anyway.

I feel a bit silly but mostly grateful.

I remember the strangeness of opening my eyes in his room that morning. My world was different. He wasn't even there. He had left some time between the hours that i had lay there silently and whenever it is i had fallen asleep in his bed. He had gone to work. And there i was. Somewhere new.

I call it our anniversary because that is where WE began, as a 'we', before that, it was just a hypothetical. He was the first person i called, the only person i wanted to talk to as i walked away from the hospital that night after they came out to say, she'd gone, there was nothing they could do.

He was also the reason i had been late coming home, Why i had stayed back after my shift was over, just hanging out. Mucking around. Avoiding home.

All the blurry memories of what was and what could have been... i've been through all that before... what i haven't really talked about is,

When i turned up at his house, he didn't know what to say or do.
He and Dave tried to entertain me with stories and drawings and when Dave left, He just quietly sat with me.

I don't remember what he said. I don't remember saying anything. I remember he put his arm around me, and a soft kiss just before i fell asleep.

I'd never woken up in the morning at a boys house before, i wasn't sure what to do so I sat in his computer chair for a while, in the sunshine by the window, then text him to say thank you. To tell him i should go home.

When he stole coffee from work that afternoon, because he didn't have any at home for me.

The following weeks where his place became the place i went to whenever things got too much. Sometimes he was there, sometimes he wasn't. He just left it open so i could come and go whenever i needed.

I remember these messages that said "Thinking of you.' And nothing else... i always thought was a waste of a message. What were you thinking? What about me? Haha...

But he was quiet. I was quiet.

Ten years ago and everything in between and that was the night i knew.

He was where i needed to be.

Lately i question his silences, i question lots of things. I demand and i push and i question... then i come across that quote and i think maybe it's a little bit true... maybe i am more scared that he thinks i'm worth all of it, than i am of him having had enough of my difficult ways.

He never says Happy Anniversary but he gives me coffee, wraps his arms around me, gives me a soft kiss, and when he leaves to take the kids to school... I sit in his computer chair, in the sunshine by the window. This time i don't text him.

This time.. He Is home.

Space, time and sadness

"A black hole is a place in space where gravity pulls so much that even light can not get out. The gravity is so strong because matter has been squeezed into a tiny space. This can happen when a star is dying.

Because no light can get out, people can't see black holes. They are invisible. Space telescopes with special tools can help find black holes. The special tools can see how stars that are very close to black holes act differently than other stars."


One morning i lay in bed with a curious little boy who the night before had answered my question of 'Hey what are you thinking about?' with; 'Invisible things.Things we can't see, like air and ghosts.' ...

That morning we lay together for a while, before anyone else was awake and he asked me if i could show him the videos on space and voids that i had promised.

So we watched; And at 34, i learned how a black hole is created... it's August, and the analogy is perfect.

She was a star, right... A great big mass of burning energy, held together by a force that pushes inwards. Bright, warm, beautiful until... until the core burns out, the gravity that held it together, becomes the force that destroys it.

A black hole is born when there is no more energy, when there is no balance, when one force becomes stronger as the other becomes weaker, and eventually there is an explosion... an implosion, a moment when light collapses in on itself - gives way, and the darkness is a force so strong it sucks up what remains and pulls in all matter around it.

Even 10 years on- even this far off,  i can feel that pull. I can't see it. But i can feel it.

Every year... The planets align and despite that cloudless blue sky today, i don't need a telescope to know it's there.

If you know darkness, it's easier to get... how hard it is. How the biggest, brightest, most beautiful of them, the ones we can see the clearest because they are closest to us- are also the ones that are probably most afraid of burning out. Of becoming the void that steals the light around it.

I don't know how you stop a star from dying. If i knew, maybe she'd still be here.

But hey, look out for them, the ones that are acting differently- if your mass becomes greater than theirs, maybe gravity pulls them towards you, maybe you can just hang out together, a spectacular constellation of sorts. Maybe when they collapse then, they become Neutron Stars instead of black holes. Maybe i'm just simplifying things i don't fully understand.

I don't even know man.

Isn't this supposed to get easier?

The sun is nice. It hides all the other light, makes everything seem okay. And usually i think the night sky is pretty damn beautiful- But this time of year there's always this moment, where i look up and all i see is the immensity of every possible black hole. All the dying stars, and my inability to save them.

It passes though. We move on.

"... the weeping man, like the earth, requires nothing,
the man who weeps ignores us, and cries out
of his writhen face and ordinary body

not words, but grief, not messages, but sorrow,
hard as the earth, sheer, present as the sea—
and when he stops, he simply walks between us
mopping his face with the dignity of one
man who has wept, and now has finished weeping..."

Whoops

So uhh... i missed a few days.

I will give you more ideas though

1. The community garden kitchen in the middle of the city.

Get the gardeners to garden, the school kids, the nursing home peeps, the youth groups... to help build and plant things fruit and vegetables and herbs and whatever... let people harvest what they need/want - some herbs for dinner, fruit for pies- anything. Ask that they make a little extra.

Provide a small with a fridge, heating facilities, a table. Bring in some of what you made with the free ingredients from the garden.

Let the homeless, the hungry the lonely come and eat.


2.  Me to Zane: Hey, do you think if we got the Homeless man Jacie walks past everyday, if we got him some new clothes, and you asked him if you could take his clothes home... and i wash them and you can bring them back to him when you go to work... do you think that would be okay?

Zane: I'm not taking his dirty clothes home!

Oh.

Once a week, Wash clothes for the homeless people you walk past everyday if you work in the city so they always have clean clothes at least.

3. Presents for Santa.

All those shopping centre Santa's. Bring them a present. Ask them what they want for Christmas. Tell them they do an amazing job.

30 days of ideas in my head

I should start doing this today, not on the 1st of any new month or year.

A year is just a another thing that lets me stall.

I'm restless and i'm tired. Sleepy and sick. But all i want to do is drink coffee and make something.

I got annoyed at Zane for making comments about Christmas and my need to give everyone presents when we 'don't have the money to do that.'.

Gosh money. You suck.

Turn it around.

I'm going to give something else. Ideas don't need money. Yet.

But that energy belongs out in the universe of possibilities... i usually only ever share my ideas with Zane.

And for all the criticisms he hears every day, i hope he see's the subtle and immense significance of being the keeper of my ideas. Hehe...

How much money would you need- how much is enough?

A long time ago, we had this conversation and when pressed for a number i said 80.

80 Million.

What would you do with all that money?

I'd invest it in people.

?

Well first i would take away all the financial constraints from everyone i know and care about. That's a lot of people. Family first of course.

Then i would ask them what do you WANT to do.

and i would fund their dream.

I would hire someone sensible to make real investments into things that gave returns and adult stuff i don't know about so we would always generate a liveable income..

Then i would spend my life taking my kids around the world, seeking and learning from and discovering awesome people doing awesome things and i would let the kids see what amazing lives look like and i would give these people the money and resources to grow their awesome dreams and i'd invest... in people. In people and dreams and goodness.

People would take advantage of you.

Maybe. Maybe not. I don't think the kind of people i want to invest in are the type of people who take advantage of others. But if they do then that's okay. We will be okay... the other people won't take advantage and we'll just keep helping them.

You'll run out of money.

But we won't, our sensible funds person will generate enough revenue for us to survive, and we will tell all the people we invest in to pay us back whenever and through whatever way they can and we will always be okay, we will survive on a network of awesomeness.

Why 80 million?

Because 8 is the symbol of infinity standing straight up. The Zero just makes it bigger.

Because...
That's the dream.

The big one.

Haha, i finally actually wrote it out loud.





-------------
In other news i'm panicking because my children are so big now.

They are amazing.

I am struggling with the parenting thing. The being human thing.

They are now 8,6 and 5.

Little people in this big brutiful world. One that i should get to changing, to making nicer for them. One small act of great love at a time.

:)

The Thing

I just messaged 34 strangers. Trying to organise something for another stranger.

I put myself out there to be judged and rejected.

Because of this:

It's a tiny potato!! And it believes in me. 

Thank you tiny potato.

I did the thing.

I stepped out of my head, and put one of those 'the world should be more like this...' ideas out there.

It's scary a bit, exciting too.

Thanks for believing in me.

:)

The Man I Love and the Pretty Girl

What book did you get?

In the post today?

Yeah what was it?

Thiiiisssss boook! A book of poetry. Next to this other book of poetry i got last week!

I read you all my favourite poem, one written just for you.

FAVOURITE it's called.

I let you listen to it.

That voice Tivi, you know who it is?

Who?

Shane Koyzcan.

Show me!

Google images is our friend. She stands beside me.

OOOOOOOOHHH that man, i know him, he's from that Ted talk you watch. You love him. I like his beard.

And this book, this book is hers...

OHHHHH she's the pretty girl that is in that other Ted Talk.

Yep, that's Sarah Kay. I love her too.


Oh so it's the man you love and the pretty girl.

YES! I own their words now.

She smiles and asks me to read to her...



'When i play Favourites,
YOU always win...
champion of my now
and every moment after it...'

They grin and altogether we chorus: 'YOU are my favourite!'





It takes a village to raise children.

In mine lives the Man i Love, with his likeable beard and the Pretty girl and all the words they send us in the post.

August.

..so it's true what they say... Where ever you go... there You are. Almost escaped August... not quite. I heard the news and thought of Vinnie. Thought... she should come here for the weekend.  It's beautiful here, there's air and snow and mountains bigger than all the things we carry.

In the car with Zane, and I say to him 'Back there, at the Warehouse you had that charity token, what made you choose Kids Cancer and not the Suicide Prevention program? '

I know his answer. He's told me before. 'I don't know, my mum had cancer...' I know it occurs to him, the causes of death were side by side, and slowly he adds 'i had the token? And thought of our kids and how If they had cancer...'

It's ok , I would have too. One is a choice. People don't choose cancer, specially kids... people don't  choose depression either, but people choose to survive it every day and they can. They do.  We do... right? It's hard and it sucks but it's  a choice.

He says yeah and half shruggs and we talk about August and how it haunts me. I look out the window and see the sun just coming out of a cloud- the mountains in the distance, blanketed by snow. The blue sky. The cold air hits my face. I go to take a photo. Go to post something to add to the words that are saturating my newsfeed, where people mourn someone they knew on screen, type words of encouragement and understanding. Speak of silent battles that rage every day.

I close the screen.  Say things to Zane about how facebook is a place of contradictions.

 Where people's lives are comments and war and kids and videos of silliness are all mixed together in this obscene and insane way.

Robin Williams his life his work and what it meant to people. Depresion is real guys, look after yourselves and each other.... and just last week- Justin Bieber should get hit by a bus or go and die, the world would be better off.

Wow really?

That's someone's kid. Someone's family. You don't even know him. Sigh.

I sometimes can't make sense of myself let alone others.... so I find the words are messed up. The world is messed up my insides too.

So I look outside. Breathe in.

Live gently. Love hard.  Let go where you can. Always try to. See. Keep going. Try.

The things that words don't say

So days ago, i'm not sure when... i said to Zane as my floor and hands were covered in paint, as he raised his eyebrow to the roll of paper. "You're painting again?' He'd remarked some time before.

I said to him 'The world is too much for me right now. I'm anxious and sad. I need distraction. I do things because i can't cope. Well i cope by doing these things. I keep my hands busy. I keep my mind distracted. If i don't it's all too much. I don't know what to do with all this stuff that's going on.'

He doesn't really say anything. It'll come back to bite him, that silence.

I sometimes say these things to him, blurt it out at random times, a vomit of words that don't quite say everything, but they're desperate to escape, escape the rising panic... escape the vortex of me.

I don't know how i expect him to respond, but i resent his silence like a personal assault.

Fair or not.

That's what i do.

Lately, i don't pick up my camera any more.

Lately i don't type.

I paint but it's not creation as much as it is copying.

I'm not making anything new. Making new things involves something i can't seem to get my head around.

It involves knowing how i feel.

I'm not sure i do.

But i step out of safety, and when the school teacher asks me to paint for her class, without thinking i do.

I paint lifesize characters from books, and the kids become used to stepping over the mess on the floor, they check it out in the morning, they tell their friends, my mum did that- those pictures on the window.

I walk past these superheroes, the ones i can't get quite right, and i ignore the fact that i can see every line that didn't quite look right. I step back and let go and say 'Thank you' when i'm told it's amazing. Mindful of the voice that says 'Ughh that is so crooked, look at her legs, that lettering oh man.'

I accept the flowers they give me as thanks, awkwardly respond to the comments from people i don't know. I breathe. Because i offered this. I offered myself to this kind of exposure.

I did it not to prove anything, i did it as a response to this internal chaos.

I see Gaza, i see Syria. I see the faces of kids, that could be mine, of grace on the faces of parents who have lost everything and still remember goodness.

I see the world in it's spiral of insanity. And my insides ache.

My life feels small and useless and i am just a shell of motions, hiding a million excuses, saying words that don't mean anything, doing things that don't matter.

I keep my eye out for all the small, quiet things, the people who are extraordinary, the people who are holding back the floodgates with a resolve that only comes from unquestionable faith. That there is hope. There is light.

So i remind myself, to give. Say yes. Give of your time, your skills, give people what they ask for. Do it efficiently, do it freely, do it with the intention of just giving. Nothing else.

I get teary sometimes when i talk. I'm reminded of all the times as a child i would never want to say anything. The act of speaking always was awkward.

Sometimes, feelings came out wrong. The words would choke on themselves, be held back. Swallowed, washed away with that kind of loss that i could never explain, when all i knew was what was inside, and that people could only understand from inside out.

Words will always fail me this way.

All the things that words don't say. Those are the things that stop me from writing, from speaking.

The things that i know everyone knows.

Pain, loss, love, light, faith, hope.

All the confusion of everything.

And i keep my hands busy. I keep my days moving.

Quietly, i tell myself to do things, do them with kindness. Do them with love. DO them.

And i beat myself up daily, and i hear the voice that says 'Geez, you're mean to your husband, why are you so hard on those kids- why haven't you done....'

I hear it.

I fight that craziness that tells me i'm not doing enough. That i fail too much. That i will never be everything i need to be.

I breathe, i paint, i wake up and get up and i hug and i dance and i laugh, i tell myself, i will start from here. I will do what i can.

It will be okay.

All the things that the words don't say. I know them too.

I see them in all of us.

It's okay.

We can do this.

Let's just try.

The crazy and what to do with it

In the ever escalating insanity that is the world right now, i spend my weekend painting superheroes and signs that claim 'Everything is Awesome.'  I like to think it's instilling hope, not selling lies.

...And like all the generations before us, we try and raise kids to believe they can change things, do anything, be anything-  completely aware that we're shadowed by a rising panic that nothing's safe any more.

Crazy has found a whole new playing field, and the game no longer has any rules.

The cool things

I stopped taking photos so much i'll start again soon.

My lovelies you have grown so much...

Tivi, thoughtful - absent minded. Emotional and insane.

She got an award, for being a great support to her friends.

She insists she has no friends.

She's drawing. Drawing awesomely.

Singing. Helping. Always wanting to be praised.

I remind myself to notice her little things more. Forgive the fact that she'll do that thing she was asked not to do just one more time before she stops. It's one of my traits.

So is the fidgeting.

She hugs me often, uses guilt like a pro, is all the girly girl things i never was. It suits her, the pretty things, and so does the crazy.

She's a walking contradiction, a mess of polar opposites. I laugh sympathetically at thought of the first person (other than us) to fall in love with her.

She's going to be awesome.

She says 'When i grow up i want to be just like my mum.'

I am afraid for her.


Che, he's growing into Seven, the age that makes me nervous.

Still at heart my gentle sensitive boy, there are times when i see the loss of control that is so unlike his usual pragmatic self.

Half amused and constantly surprised at that streak of cheeky, witty humour... i find myself these days unable to believe that he's really that big, that tall. That boyish.

He reads, he calculates, he makes sharp, precise observations.

Then he runs of screaming, colliding with everything and giggling crazily.

'YOU are THE BEST mum!!'

With the bold letters, and the exclamation marks, because you've learned about punctuation and the rules of speech and writing.

I do my best to believe what he says is true, because he's so sincere- i'd hate to tell him otherwise.

Jace, oh my Jace.

The last of his little kid/toddler/baby days are slipping away from us. He's taller, thinner. Sometimes quieter.

I'm fooled often into thinking he's grown up and that little kid spark has gone from him, then he says with his big boy seriousness... when i'm a chicken mum, i'm going to build minions and not have babies, because i don't want to get married.

Hehe, and while he can't take losing in a race, or a game - or not being as good as someone else in Any task- he will wear a chicken costume, put a pot on his head, talk about super powers he has... tell jokes that make no sense - without a single care as to what anyone else might think.

Can't decide if he's big or small still- he still curls into a ball. Hugs me every night - tells me he knows what i'm thinking. Oh yeah? What's that?

YOU LOVE ME.

Oh, i do!

You love me so much.

Haha, how could i not.


There are so many things between these lines, so many moments i haven't frozen with the lens of a camera.

I'll get back to writing soon. I'll get back to meaning soon.

Just need a little time to sort out the static.

Choose the good days

She's hugging her knees and squeezing those tear drops out

and she's so beautiful right then i almost grab my camera.

She says 'I shouldn't have told you.'

I tell her i'd find out anyway, her teacher would tell me eventually.

We talk about responsibility. About choices. About blame and where it stops.

It always stops with you sweetheart. Your choices are yours, and if you make good choices and you're treated unfairly- you know i'd always have your back. It's hard for me to defend you if you haven't done the right thing.

You get mad at me too!

I'm not mad at you. I'm frustrated now, because you're not talking to me. I'm just going to ask you some questions. Just yes or no. 

Did you make good choices?

No.

Do you think you could have made better choices?

Yes.

Do you think that your friends and your teacher had good reasons to be upset with you?

......... Yes.

Will you make better choices next time?

I don't know. Maybe it'll be a bad day. I thought it would be a good day but it turned into a bad day. People yelled at me and made me sad. There's always bad days.

She cries some more.

I half sigh and half laugh, and tell her of course there will be bad days, and... there will be awesome days.

Her voice is whining when it mutters something about everyday being a bad day.

I tell her, i will share a secret with you. One that i haven't told your brothers.

She avoids looking at me, but her head is up, those eyes and that hair just over them.

My camera is so close. She's a perfect picture.

You know i've had bad days right? You've seen them, you've heard me yell and rant and cry. Sometimes i have bad days all in a row. And i have no idea when the next good day will be. I make a choice though, I choose to wake up and check it out. Could be another bad day, or it could be that amazing one. I choose to find out.

She's silent and sniffling.

I knew someone, who had a whole lotta bad days all at once. She was having a bad week, a bad month even, lots of bad days. She was just having a bad time. 
She made a choice. She chose not to have any more days. 
She thought, my life is so bad and so sad and that is all it ever will be... and in that one moment she made a choice she couldn't take back. She died. And she didn't have any more bad days, but she didn't have any more good ones either.

Who was she?

She was my mum. 

How did she die?

She killed herself, she took lots of medicine. She pretty much poisoned herself. 

Her eyes are big.

She made a choice, and you know what the saddest thing about it is?

What?

She missed out. She missed out on meeting you, and Che and Jacie and Stella and Nathan and Kynan. She missed out on all you kids and man, she would have LOVED you all. She would have had the best times with you. Good days and more good days.

She hugs me.

Tiv, you'll have bad days. I do all the time... on bad days i remind myself of all the awesome things i do have, and you three, well you're always first on that list - i remind myself of what i'd miss out on if i didn't choose to try again the next day. 

When my mum died, i could have chosen to be sad then because you know when your mum dies, (and she was a really good mum)- when your she dies, it's pretty much a really really bad day, the days after that were pretty sucky too. 

But- i didn't think they'd always be like that, so i kept waking up to bad days choosing to see past them- then one day- one day it was beyond awesome. 

One day- i had you. Then i had Che, then i had Jace. But you were the first one.

She's half smiling half hugging my head, quiet and thoughtful.

Sometimes things are hard. 

It's harder to say sorry to your friends and take responsibility for your choices, than it is to move tables and blame bad days...

But sometimes, all you have to say is- i'm sorry, i was having a bad day- i didn't really mean to do that, can we start over, how can i help? 

She's smiling and squeals as i squeeze her.

I do it with you guys all the time. I know how hard it is.

I don't really care what you did or said Tiv, but i care that you feel sad. Do you think it might have been because you made a bad choice that people got mad at you? 

Yes.

Okay, so it was because of a choice YOU made, that you ended up feeling sad? Next time you consider it and then... you choose better right?

ugh.

Haha, baby girl- you know what i've learned about bad days? Bad days are sometimes just bad choices.  And YOU can choose to change them.Some times it's hard. But You Can do hard. So learn to say sorry instead of saying 'but it was because'- be responsible for Your choices, let everyone else make theirs. Choose good days.

I have to do it too. We'll do it together. OKAY?

She grunts, hugs me again and then runs off to play.

Exhale.

If they gave out medals for winging it through parenthood.

Surely i'd be getting a prize.

Do what you love.

One of the few things i took from my long stint at university was this crush on Jeanette Winterson.

Forever thankful for that evening creative writing class and the course that handed me 'The Passion.'

Her words. They unravelled me at a time when i needed to be remade.

I've been writing blog posts only in my mind.

Then i see this...

This article.

This picture.

That name.

The memory of a love affair i had purely in my head.

Jeanette Winterson.

We had those months, the blur of hours, i can't even remember what i was doing in all those days, only that for a while- all i saw was the worlds she created in the words, the words that some how knew all the things i didn't about myself. When i think about those days, i'm almost shy, as if we shared some sort of connection and my brain doesn't distinguish the reality from the make believe. She and i shared thoughts, shared days, shared a bed and all the discoveries that lovers do at the beginnings of love.

Now, all these years later- they find me again.

And again she speaks to me directly:

Vien, she says "I don't give a shit what's in your head. By which I mean if it isn't on the page it doesn't exist. The connection between your mind and the reader's mind is language. Reading is not telepathy."

I would laugh, if i weren't so intimidated.




I need to read again.

To write again.

To remember what it feels like.



Mmmm... see you tomorrow. For more gibberish.

The Ratio

I'm such a procrastinator

Really? Noo. He says.

And i smile at what a week ago would have annoyed me.

The ratio is 8:1 she told us.

So in the morning i try to think


One. When i'm sick, he tells me to go to bed.

Two. He takes them all out to the supermarket, the park, the pools and doesn't think he deserves a medal afterwards like i sometimes do.

Three. He likes all my shows.

Four. He laughs at my jokes.

Five. He always changed nappies/wiped asses, bathed them and made food for them whenever i asked him to.

Six. He says 'Go out with your friends.'

Seven. He talks to TV/Movie characters like they can hear him.

Eight. He never bags me out to other people. Even if i do it to him.





I dreamt that someone wanted to take him away from me, she said she appreciated him and it wasn't her fault that i couldn't.

Even though i knew it was true I wanted to punch her in the face. Because he was mine.



- That's love. It must be.

Senses

'Mum..'

Mmm?

'I don't know why but i can smell you.'

Oh dear, sorry bout that it's pretty hot.

'You smell... beautiful mum. Really Beautiful.'

Oh! Thank you!

'That's why i want to hug you all the time, because the smell feels nice.'




Hehehehe... ahhh, if every man could speak this way, romance wouldn't be some random day in February named after a saint that no one can remember for all the saintly things he did.

2014

 Welcome, to a new year my loves.

The Airy Fairy

I bought myself a birthday present.

An e-course by Brene Brown - it just happened to start on my actual birthdate.

I took it as a sign. (Even though technically - it started the day after because it's based in the states.)

It was exciting, then it started, and it was a bit airy. They like to refer to it as 'wooowoo' sometimes i cringe when Oprah says 'Ah-ha moments'. There are just too many catchphrasey type things.

My pseudo-intellectual ego thingy says- Dear god, seriously? I mean... what the heck did you PAY for this for?

I keep reminding myself that all this resistance is actually the reason for doing something like this, that being uncomfortable is exactly where i need to be to find WHY i do what i do.

I know... even that is airy fairy. Hahaha, but it was an Art Journalling thing. Whaaaat, that's so my kinda thing.

Haha, anyway the first week i struggled with the - Really? is this what it's about? Sheesh. But i did it.

I painted and wrote and took a selfie with the words 'I am imperfect and i am enough.' on my hand.

Haha, and it felt - really silly.

The second week involved finding photos, and since then i've just left it.

I told myself life was getting in the way.

Then i told myself to quit leaving things halfway.

So i sat back down tonight to catch up.

Part of the course asks you to share.

Sharing the self help thing makes me awkward.

Haha i don't like to think of it as self help really... more self-discovery.

But it's awkward.

Anyway, i'll share it soon, when i don't feel so behind.

I invented something really cool. I'll share that soon too.

Today, this was really cool:

and this:

taken by my little miss who joined the girls at lunch

At night i panic

I listened to Shane Koyczan for hours last night.

You all need to listen to him.

His words are like insides spilling out.

At the end of it you wonder, how you ever loved so mildly.

And- you wish- you could capture the stories of your life, so beautifully - and do them justice. Pay tribute to every moment that made you. That stays with you.

In his words, are the way i wish i lived, the way i wish i could live.

So in the darkness, i panic that the loves of my life- would never know the full extent of how i loved them. I'm caught up in these days and things that don't matter, and why am i not using my words better.

If i die tomorrow, what would i leave them.

Dear Zane,

If i die tomorrow, or suddenly from whatever. I need you to know... that the things i said to my friends and family about you - most of them... they aren't true.

Haha, i'm hard on you.

I'm hard on you because i want you to see, that you're better than the 'you' you've chosen to be.

That's just rhymes coz it gets in my head.

Haha, but really- i don't know when i became to critical. I tell you i don't want to be this way and yet i keep falling back into it. 

I remember- the night we first talked on the phone. How your voice always seemed younger than you looked. How you asked me funny questions - like where i wanted to be married, how many kids i would have.

I remember the car, windows fogged up on that cold winters night- La Perouse. The brown blanket. How many stories you seemed to have. When you accidently touched my boob.

I remember when i'd take photos of you while you were sleeping. How i'd watch you at your computer. How i'm sure i said 'I love you' first. And i laughed because your face looks different when i'm looking down at you.

I remember meeting your mum for the first time. Thinking, this is how family feels. I remember the night we lay in Stormys room, and i told you i was pregnant. 

No, i didn't really want to have a baby with you. Not really.

I just wanted to be with you for a while longer.

I didn't really know. 

I remember - you telling me, on the crowded dancefloor, drunken haze- that you would do anything for me.

How i believed you. 

I remember seeing you through this tired daze and confusion- sitting on a chair, looking terrified - holding her as people kept coming into the room. Where's all the blood coming from? 

I remember my Aunt telling me how you'd cried and cried and thought you'd killed me. 

Vinnie gave our daughter her first bottle.

You were asleep. Drained and afraid.

The times you'd talk about that day afterwards, how you had nightmares. How you looked kinda scared when the second test came back positive.

I don't know how many millions of hours have passed in between.

I tell people in the most unromantic ways, our lives. Pregnancies and weddings and things that went one to another, processes and not stories.

I love stories and yet, ours is one i never tell very well.

I tell the kids 'Graaaahhh YOUR DAD! He drives me crazy.'

And they nod in agreement and say 'Dad yells at us!'

It's true, you yell- but i forget to tell them - you changed nappies, bathed, fed, rocked, held, changed, cleaned vomit, took temperatures, walked and talked and read to them all.

You tell their stories to friends whose eyes glaze over. Take out your phone and show people photographs. 

I forget to tell them, that their dad- well he's not so bad as far as dads go.

And he's always believed in me. I should tell our daughter, that if she finds a partner like you- she'd be lucky.

Because he'll tell her- that there's nothing she couldn't do.

That everything she does is awesome.

That she just needs to see it too.

I tell you- that i know you can do better than this. Sometimes that's true.

Sometimes though, most times maybe- it's just me. I don't love as nicely as you.

And if i die tomorrow, i hope you know- that i loved you. That it's always been a 'meant to be', that you and i... we are some kind of beautiful crazy design. Just my style, messy and funny and crazy and cool.

I hope you know, they're beautiful.

The things we made together. More than my heart, than  love and romance, dreams and cliches.

I trust you with Them.

The things We made together, the things that are made of Us.

The most beautiful stories i've ever known.

We write them together.

And i should tell you, Thank you.

From the very center of me. Thank you.

Remembering Love

Read this.

Seriously.

It's got stuff like this in it!

"For me, right now, it’s a love story. Or rather, a potential love story. And I’m terrified to tell it to you, still afraid of rejection, because the one constant I’ve seen between now and then, is that the world is full of people who will try to talk you out of joy. These people are not ill intentioned.  A lot of the times, they say what they say trying to spare you from pain. Thank you. I appreciate it. But please don’t try talking my heart down from the ledge. It’s meant to jump. It wants to fall."




Hehe, geesus right?

Sometimes words... they steal away the day i'm in, remind me of the lives i could be living.

And my kids, what will i teach them if i don't even know my heart.


They are the pieces of my heart that i no longer own... what will i teach them.

For all the things wrong

It's okay.

It really is.

I will help

I will give

I will laugh

We will laugh.

We can cry, and when we stop

I will take the things you cannot carry, and we will find somewhere to put them

I will hold you

and when i fail

we will try again.

All the hard things,

they will be okay.

You and i,

We will be okay.

Radiating out.

He's got these big eyes, and his belly sticks out, nice and round in his white singlet. He's at the side of our bed, a sheepish smile. After we make our nightly trek to the toilet I ask him to guess what day it is. He's sleepy again but grins and whispers... Happy birthday mum. His arms wrapped around my neck, his face on my shoulder.

We sleep, and by morning there is another little body on the other side of me. 

I tap him and he smiles and sings softly Happy Birthday tooo you...his voice is barely a whisper, his smile as soft as his words.

She... she runs into the room later on screaming HAPPPY BIRTHDAY!!!! and flinging herself onto the bed. A tornado of hair and giggles. I squeeze her tightly, i have to use both arms now because she no longer fits in one.

The hairy mountain occupying the rest of the space is trying hard to squeeze in the last few moments of sleep.

My three little loves sing happy burpday. And we burp and laugh and i tickle them.

Life is good.

The messages i get this year are far and few between, no facebook to remind people, no facebook to make it easier to type a message.

I kinda like this.

I read the news, the news of fires and loss, of insanity and resilience, of a world in chaos and misplaced priorities. 

Breathe.

Straighten up.

Eat the breakfast he's made me.

Drink my coffee.

Remind myself that there is so much to be sad about today, but there is no more need for sorrow.

I will not help anyone by letting heaviness draw me inwards. 

I cannot help if i am afraid of the things i can't understand. Why the crazy, why are people mean and cruel and destructive. Why take away good things, why is it like this. 

Fear drives me in. Turns compassion into helplessness. Makes me hold onto the the things i should let go of.

Beneath fear, beneath helplessness. There's hope. There's love. There's light.

Today, we release that.

Radiate out.

*hugs to you all*

33

Happy my Birthday!

It's been a while.

It's 1am.

I'm a little bit weirdly excited about being 33. I'm not quite sure why.

Something in my memory tells me it's got something to do with Jesus, and according to google- it's the unofficial years (of age) he was when he died.

Haha, don't ask me why that has anything to do with my feelings about being 33. I liked the bible stories. I like Jesus. We're not homies, but he's cool by me.

I like that Jesus decided on what he was, did it - and then died, completely certain that, that was indeed the purpose of his life.

This inspires me.

He found what he was meant to do. That's pretty cool.

Haha, yes...it makes sense.

This is not a Jesus post though,

i thought i should write something and here i am. I often want these writings to be really - you know... perfect.

I never really think anything i do is perfect though... so that's hard. Then again... it's kinda perfectly imperfectly me.

Haha twisting logic since 1980.

I'm going to kick off my 33rd year with something kinda cliche and silly but this whole blog is supposed to be gratitude... and lately it's been kinda dragging on the emo side - so here... are 33 reasons why things are awesome (in order of what pops into my brain)

1. My kids. My kids who hug me everyday and tell me they love me constantly. They make me laugh at least once everyday and any day with laughter, well it's never wasted.

2. My husband. Okay so he's going to do some... sureeee.... whatever face, and the people who have heard me complain about him will just think 'oooh that's just because she has to.' Haha but in all honesty... we've come this far because of his patience with me. I'm a bit on the nutso neurotic side sometimes, and i've taken a lot out on him because i think he owes it to me as my life partner to listen to me and deal help me in whatever way i think he should be helping me at any given moment in time, which in all fairness is... umm erratic. Haha... in truth he doesn't owe me anything. He's here still because he wants to be, because i'm worth it to him. And that... well that's pretty cool.


3. My family. Both sides + extensions. Yes, this list is very cliche... haha but really... we do our crazy, but at the centre of every drama and every frustration, there's a certainty that no matter what happens. We have 'home'. We have a place to return to. It's not even a place any more- it's just people.

4. Friend family. The ones who've been there through everything, listened through everything, who always believe, who share frustrations, sorrows, joy, laughter and food. Oh all the mountains of food. Like family without the dysfunction part.

5. Awesome people i've met throughout my life. Primary school people, high school people, work people - random people. Seriously. I love you all more than you'll ever know.

6. The internet for all the connections it lets me make.

7. Every stranger who has ever been kind to me. Like the guy who stuck his head into the bin to get my keys out, and the boy who gave the kids like 10 extra chicken wings at Red Lea. There are so many of you and i would list it all but goodness... that would be another post altogether. Stranger kindness is super awesome.


8. All the mums in the world.

9. Fire fighters.

10. People who laugh a lot.

11. Books.

12. Flowers.

13. Ted talks.

14. Teachers. Special mention to Toni Powell, who gifted me an extraordinarily kind gift, i still kinda haven't opened. Just getting past fear.

15. Work. It fits with my days, allows me to get my kids, teaches me skills- forces me to go out and talk to people.

16. Opportunites

17. Being able to give.

18. People who give

19. People who are kind, people who are happy, people who are honest.

20. Beds.

21. Dad.

22. Playgrounds exist.

23. Libraries.

24. Old people.

25. Little kids.

26. Cameras

27. Abundance of food.

28. Gratitude

29. Blue skies

30. Favourite parts and rituals.

31. People who do awesome things

32. Healthy kids. Happy kids. Hilarious kids.

33. I have the privilege of living this life, the ability to change the things i don't like, the luxury of not having to accept my circumstances, and the wanting to be better at living.


Haha, it's a pretty strange list, and an oddly broken post... there are many more reasons why things are awesome, and better ways of describing them... but you know how it goes...


33 is the year folks...

We'll live dangerously, give freely, be wild and wonderful and the world... well, we'll pull out the the awesome, and use it to fix all the broken... just a little at a time. Do what we can, and we always can do... something.

Hehe *licks and confusion* to all

We ask ourselves first

Ask the universe for parking guys!

No, don't.

Why not Che?

We look for parking first.

We'll ask ourselves, first. Then the universe.

The quiet voice of wisdom, and his simple truths. Che 5.0.

Goodnight Annoying mother.

Asleep on my bed

On my side of the bed.

Chest height to me when standing now - no longer the baby i clutched uncertainly all those late nights and early hours.

You are full of recaps. Your stories of your days. That giggle.

When the sunlight hits your hair and your skin at the right time of day you're the kind of beauty of sonnets and songs.

You blush today when i walk into your classroom after school- you hastily remove the name you'd put above yours while choosing your class jobs.

Line leaders, with Andrew huh?

You insist you didn't place it like that.

Your confused friend says Yes you did.

I laugh and you hit me insisting you didn't do it.

Only 7.

At 7 i'm pretty sure the only boys i took any notice of were characters in books i was reading.

You and i are different like that.

Your hands are fidgety like mine.

I tell you to stop touching but i know you won't.

You are a much better actress than i.

Those tears turn on at the click of fingers, the slightest slip of my tongue.

You tell me no one cares about you any more, and i laugh.

I sing the song What about meeeee... and you tell me to stop.

I keep singing. It's a very catchy song. I'll be singing it for days.

You leave the table.

You do your work.

When it's time to say goodnight - i ask you for a favourite part.

You say 'Goodnight annoying mother.'

By annoying i am sure you mean Awesome.

Re-wiring

the word Mum
is called out to me
probably 50 times a day

in various lengths and volumes

I reply with Yes?

Even when i am outside of the house and the child isn't mine- it's become my name and without fail i respond at some level of consciousness.

The sun is back and i remember, a high school day when i sat in the greyness of showers and shelter and someone looked at my sad face and said 'You really are solar powered.'

It made me smile.

I am also people powered.

The sun, it makes me optimistic.

Sometimes I dream big dreams, and sit on clouds of could be's

they hold the strings to all my balloons, pulling me back and letting me go, yanking and letting drift.

Mum?

Yes?

And sometimes i don't even hear them.

I am filled with guilt for all the things i have yet to do all the promises i might have broken, all the important parts of them that they offer me that i'm too tired, or preoccupied to take.

And the sun... it reminds me... to let go.

Let go and try again.

So i look at their faces.

I get on my knees.

They hug me always when i come to their level.

Sometimes i will lift them to mine.

They tell me of all the things that they have done and seen - reality and imagination intertwined in one.


And all the things i've learned about the world, quietly reminding me. To see. To love. To listen. Reminding me to pay attention.

One of my 'clients'- a mother and grandmother, an extraordinary woman, full of fire and warmth- she welcomes me to her home and we spend most of our appointments talking. I love her energy. I wish i could wrap up the break that she needs in pretty papers and ribbons and give to her what she truely deserves.

Her husband who is there occasionally adds his opinion.

When i get up to leave, we have a moment where he questions the work i have come to do. I tell him honestly what i believe. That she does not really need what i am here to show her, but she asked and so i come.

He tells me he can see through me.

I laugh nervous and curious.

He can tell what people are like when he looks at them.

I ask him to tell me what i am like.

He hesitates a moment. Tells me if he says the truth, perhaps i will not come back.

Oh? Is it that bad?

He laughs and tells me that i am full of sadness.

It is the week of mums death anniversary. I have been full of sadness.

I nod and say you're right.

And he continues with 'But you're full of sadness because you see sadness in the world.'

I smile a little, and avert my eyes. Maybe?

'You love your job don't you.'

I'm not sure, to be honest- i like the job because i like people.

'You don't like people- you love them. You love them so much, their sadness becomes your sadness.'

I laugh a little, and i say 'Maybe you're right. I wish i could help people, but i never know what to do.'

He laughs at me, and we manage to change the subject to animals as we walk out the door.

When he goes to show me some photos of his cat and chicken- he passes over some of a cactus flower - the moon flowers i had just described to my kids a few nights before. Mums flowers.

I tell him my mum had those flowers.

He shows me more photos.

His wife who has been watching with quiet amusement says 'Me, i like my orchids,' and indicates to a table, covered in orchid plants and flowers.

My mum... she loved orchids too.

We look up at the trees talking about birds- and i say 'Oh wow! Is that a mulberry tree?'

Yes, it is.

Oh man, my childhood has the memory of a mulberry tree planted in it...

When i leave them finally, i smile to myself.

All the heaviness of days that i carry sometimes, when i take notice of the world again- i find it's gentle reminders. That life, is connected in these incredible strands - of strength and fragility spun into threads that i cannot begin to unravel.

All people for a reason.

All things for a reason.

Let go of what's happened.

And learn from what is.

I'm not really sure what this whole blog was about.

Just where i am right now, another experiment in the science of being.

Thank you, for reading...