I Made it Through NaBloPoMo (More or Less)

So, much to my surprise, I made it through NaBloPoMo. I did sign up at the very last minute, however, so I might try to keep going for a few more days (having missed the first few days). Then again, I might just go off and clean my house. (Maybe I'll blog about it! Yay!) Then I think there'll probably be a new goal.


I have to admit that I might just about be ready for a break. Last night was my closest call for the month. I think I posted to the blog at about 11.58pm, before realising that I'd spelled a word wrong in the title! Obliging myself to post daily, however, has helped me to improve in some of the areas that present as obstacles preventing me from writing more. Here are a few of them:


Busy-ness - Given that I am so busy just doing what needs to be done on any given day and given that I never, ever fit everything that needs to be done into any given day, it's difficult to justify spending time on anything that doesn't directly benefit my family.


Obviously, this is complete rubbish. I do my family no favours if I fail to care for my mind and spirit, any more than if I were to fail to care for my body. Not to mention the messages I send to my family about my value or the model of womanhood and motherhood I present to my children.


Distractions - There are always a lot of them. My family have been very supportive of my blogging for the last month. I have felt comfortable sharing many of the posts I've written with Ni and she has taken to asking me each night if the day's post is suitable for her to read. Doot has also been following happily along. Having said that, sometimes their desires stand in the way of my ability to blog. I have learned this month that this is not a reflection of their opinion of me, or the time I spend writing, it just tells me that right at that moment, they're not thinking about what I'm doing at all. I have taken to gently saying something like, "Can you get that yourself, please? I just need to focus on this blog post, because it's important to me." Sometimes I need to repeat it. That's okay too.

A not so rare sighting of the 

Common Green-Snouted Distraction.

Procrastination - The best cure for procrastination is just sitting the hell down and getting it done. A daily deadline helps make this happen. If, like me, you're someone who waits until the last minute to complete a task, daily blogging is a great remedy. Every minute is the last minute, more or less.


Preciousness - Sometimes I don't want to supercede a piece of writing that I'm particularly proud of. I finally installed one of those nifty widgets down below that throw up old posts. It helps me feel a little better about having my best posts spiral off into oblivion. I ignore the fact that it also rescues my worst posts from oblivion.


Loneliness - Sometimes blogging can feel like singing out into the inhospitable dark, not knowing if anyone is there to hear. Sometimes it can feel like the exact opposite of that. 


Perfectionism - I find it very healthy to constantly challenge my tendency to sink into the mire of perfectionism. If you post daily, you can't afford to lament that you don't have a great photo to illustrate a post (or a camera to take one with). You can't afford to get too OCD about proof-reading. It's a personal blog. No one worth bothering with cares if there's the odd error (hopefully it's not in the title, however).


Self-consciousness - As a rule, I worry too much about other people's opinions. This month more than ever, I just wrote what I wanted to, because I really didn't have time to wonder if anyone would actually want to read it or not. Michael said it best in a recent post, "What I have to say is important. It is. I don't expect it to be important to everyone, but it is something that matters to me now." That simple statement resonated with me. I really love it when people read what I write. It motivates me to write more, but in the end, I need to write to please myself, because trying to please others is a fool's game.


In the future, I'd like to work more on planning and working ahead. When I began the challenge, I thought the only way I could make it through was if I could manage to write enough early on, so that I would have a post or two in reserve if inspiration failed me. That's not how things transpired, however. In fact, there wasn't a single day during the month where I actually had a post completed ahead of time. Often I didn't know what I was going to write when I sat down in the evening. Sometimes that was quite evident. 


It'd also be great to put aside some time earlier in the day to do some writing before I get too tired and fuzzy-headed. 


With that, I'll leave you as fuzzy-headedness undeniably descends.


Thank you for reading. I am very grateful.

PROMPTuesday - Letters

Do you ever wonder what saved you? What it was that kept you going through the darkest nights of adolescence and beyond to allow you to end up where you are today; a seeker, but a seeker with a strong heart and a snippet or two of wisdom tucked into your jeans pocket. I think it may be the curse of the survivor to ponder such things.

The answer? A handful of people; some luck; a tendency to submit and seek approval and music, music and more music. One of those people and the purveyor of some of that music was one of the pen friends I exchanged letters, tapes and phone calls with when I was around fifteen or sixteen.

Her name was Maura; she lived in Hicksville, NY and she was one of only three people I've ever known who really understood and shared my passion for music.

By way of her Tuesday prompt, San Diego Momma asks if you've ever "found old letters". As it happens, before we moved, I found a folder full of Maura's letters spanning a three or four year period of our adolescence that had somehow survived numerous moves, purges and de-clutters. This evening, with SDM's prompt in mind, I pulled them out and began to read, wondering what it was about Maura and those letters that had been so very important to me. Mostly they're just long, really lovely rambles about music, boys, friends and more music. I think as much as anything, it was enough to know that whatever happened, I always had one friend half a world away who would be happy to hear from me.

At around the time my life began to slowly collapse in on itself and our correspondence petered out, she wrote, "Well anyway, what are your dreams? Tell me. I really would love to hear them." It touched me to read that, looking backwards through time. I can't imagine that anyone else in my life would ever have thought to ask such a thing.

Maura didn't die from lack of sleep as she once predicted. She left Hicksville (you'd have to really, wouldn't you?) and now, feeling strangely awkward about it, I follow her on Twitter (@maura) and don't understand a fraction of what she says since she is all New York and pop culture and awesomeness and I am all homeschooling and attachment parenting and home made deodorant (and also awesomeness). But I will always be grateful to her for caring what my dreams were when even I was having trouble keeping hold of them.

I also wish that I'd remembered her sage advice. It would have saved me a lot of trouble.

The Best Tantrum Ever

Wawa has been playing with this cute wooden train set. She is drawn to it, as she is to wheeled objects of all kinds. Nevertheless, it frustrates her every time she plays with it. The simple magnetic couplings annoys her 50% of the time when she happens to put like poles together. She seems to understand that when this happens she needs to turn the carriage around, but usually her frustration boils over before she makes it that far. There are also frequent misalignments of track and catastrophic derailments to push her from contented choo-choos to wailing laments or unbridled screeches.

I like the toy. It's a good one; not one of those toys that is all colour and flash, but never works the way it should. It's just a toy that needs to be put away for a few months and brought out again when magnetic couplings and tracks that need to be arranged with care to prevent catastrophic derailments will hold greater charms for her. Right now, however, she feels compelled to play with the train set and she misses it when it's not sitting in its basket in her little corner. As a rule, I'm inclined to follow her lead in most things and so the set stays for now.

When she is frustrated or upset (or enraged, for that matter), she often throws objects. This is not entirely impulsive, as she will often systematically throw pieces of track, engines and carriages one by one in different directions and once her anger is spent, she will ask for help to collect and reconstruct the track. If I happen to be close to hand when her tantrum begins, I know that firm, soothing skin to skin touch and quick redirection can help, but her anger will be simmering.

Like most two year olds, she expresses her emotions vocally, if not verbally, and when she is very, very upset; so upset, she cannot contain her feelings, she will sometimes shove alarmingly large (or small) objects into her mouth or hold them against her chest with her chin.

Ironically, it's when she is tired and least able to absorb life's challenges that she is most drawn to the train set. As one tantrum runs into another, I attempt to divert her with another toy. She invariably responds with, "More trains! More trains!" before returning to the sobbing and yelling and throwing.

It is then, when she is trapped between her compulsion to play with those trains and her inability to cope with their limitations, that I impose myself upon her more forcefully. I pick her up; quickly and quietly pack the trains into their basket and carry her off to the bedroom where milk and sleep can soothe her.

This morning, a now familiar scene was playing itself out on the rug. Wawa was becoming increasingly frustrated. Those trains simply wouldn't behave for her. Finally, she'd had enough. She wailed angrily, picked up a segment of track and held it above her head for a moment then unexpectedly brought it down into the basket. She then proceeded to grab up every train, carriage and track segment one by one and angrily push them into the basket. When she'd done, all that frustration had flowed away into the basket with the trains. She paused for a second then looked at me impassively and asked, "More trains?". So we set them up again, although I did suggest that she might like to throw another tantrum with some of the mess on the other side of the room first.

There is some hope, it seems, that she'll one day develop impulse control. In the meantime, we'll just continue to duck.

Manic Scurrying May Not Be the Answer

I may have left my run too late tonight. I am capital tee, eye, are, ee, dee. We had a good day though. One of those days where all those things we talk about really do begin to seem possible.


I'm finding a new kind of pace. I'm losing that desperate sense that there's just not enough time to get everything done; that my only hope is to scurry about madly during every unencumbered minute. There really isn't enough time to get everything done, of course, but I'm embracing the radical notion that manic scurrying may not be the answer. 


Ni helped make Thai Green Chicken Curry for dinner last night and today we made our family staple, Fried Rice, together. Cooking with my daughter has become one of my favourite things to do. Now we just need to get Wawa involved.

Suddenly, Ni is very easy to teach in the kitchen where not so very long ago, the two of us were all resistance versus push. Letting go and trusting her; showing her my way of doing things, then encouraging her to find her own way has helped. Learning that I don't have to grasp everything with white knuckles to keep us safe and well any more is allowing me to become a better guide. Slowly. Letting her take her time to find and follow her passions within healthy boundaries and mindfully avoiding sensory overload, rather than rushing her from place to place is allowing her to feel her own formidable presence. Now we just need to translate all of that to maths and there'll be no stopping us.

Wet, Wet, Wet

Today was wet; from beginning to end; from tip to toe; inside and out.


Rain fell all day with soft pitters and plashes against the windows or miniature raging rivers running from the eaves onto the concrete with clattering splashes. We hunkered down; cooked and cleaned and read and made music and the day flowed away from us.


From the outset, Ni and I felt dampened in body, if not spirit and Wawa seemed a little the same. "Coming down with something?" we'd have asked once. Now it's always, "What did we eat?"


Content enough to stay indoors all day, Wawa nevertheless found herself drawn to water. She joined me in the shower first thing. I put the plug in so she could play at my feet and she set to work immediately. When I got out, I ran some more water to make the bath a little warmer and deeper, then imposed upon Ni to sit with her, so that I could make pancakes for breakfast.


After some noisy sister time, Doot relieved Ni as sentry and ate his pancakes by the bath, feeding our steadily wrinkling little one from his plate as she played. Then I took over once more as he headed off to bed, having finished an overnight shift a couple of hours before.


Once out, towel-wrapped and sleek, Wawa followed drier pursuits for a while, but before long she was to be found pouring water back and forth in her little wooden play kitchen. (Or rather her sister's very much-loved kitchen, becoming Wawa's ever-so-slowly by grace of the irresistible force of passing time and childhood's eventual inevitable wane.)

Then there was drawing and playing and reading to be done, but when her sister stepped into the shower this afternoon, there she was, eager not to miss a single drop. During her second lengthy bath of the day, Doot awoke to find her seemingly still bathing. "Tell me she hasn't been in there all day!" he demanded jokingly, with just a hint of genuine doubt in his voice.


Later there was more messy drawing on a white board with paint markers, then naturally she decided it was time to wash away the inky fruits of her labours. An extended splashy, soapy session ensued in the basin, ending with wall to wall water and an unusually clean, floral-scented toddler.

I recognise the primal force in all of us to return, at times, to the water from whence we came. This is especially true for the littlest of us who haven't yet learned to suppress their nature. I have felt it calm my senses and still my tumultuous mind and whenever practical, I try not to deny its kindnesses to my children, even if that ancient craving for ebb and flow finds its fulfillment in a bath tub full of river stones and plastic ducks rather than in an ocean at the edge of the world.

{this moment} - Silly Boodle

{this moment} - A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want pause, savor and remember. - Soulemama

Things I Know - 25 November 2011

 Today I know...

If I don't write something early in the day, I'll find myself only capable of writing a post about how blindingly exhausted I am.

I'll be happy to have our activities over for the year.

Forty-five minutes is a long drive for a piano lesson.

It really only takes a single day for a kitchen to go from pristine to squalid.

My sweet baby woke up singing this morning. I know I'd like to wake up with a song on my lips, even if it is the theme from Bob the Builder.

While I believe them to be the devil's invention and clearly I should have hidden them somewhere more appropriate, I know that textas/markers can keep a toddler occupied long enough to write a short blog post, which is quite a long time, relatively speaking.

I know that a broody hen paints a formidable portrait of devoted motherhood.

I know that it's not necessarily a bad thing that today did not go to plan. While searching for an urgently needed computer disk in the yet to be unpacked boxes in the storeroom (a half day undertaking), I found the charger for my old Olympus point and shoot camera, so now I have something other than an iPod with which to take photos. Yay! (And yes, I know how long ago we moved in - I'm working slow and steady.)

Apparently, beloved dead guinea pigs make awesome fertiliser.

Gratitude

As a rule, we don't celebrate Thanksgiving in Australia. Of course, we don't have the rich historical context to add a layer of resonance to the occasion, but gratitude is good, so Thanksgiving is one holiday I can fairly happily misappropriate. Here are a few things I'm feeling thankful for tonight:

My wonderful children who keep me striving to be better.

My partner; the magical way we balance one another and the willingness we both have to change.

His job that he loves; that feeds his spirit and pays our bills.

Our spoodle, who has been such a challenge over the past eight months, but who is fiercely loyal, tolerant and protective of our children and has forged a unique relationship with each member of the family.

Kitty, good, patient Kitty, the ultimate low maintenance pet, who has never raised a claw to our children, in spite of frequent over-enthusiastic demonstrations of affection.

Our chickens, who turn our scraps and weeds into eggs and give us their poo to help us grow food. I never want to be without chickens again.

This home; full of love and light and beauty and colour and best of all, us.

Its beautiful garden and its previous occupants who planted it - the flowers that keep popping up unexpectedly, the bounty of fruit and vegetables that nourish us and the grass where our children run and play.

Our lovely, lovely dishwasher.

Our friends and family who do their best to be good to us.

The peace that I am beginning to find after far too long searching.

This blog and all who sail in her.

Happy Thanksgiving to our American friends.

A Mother-Daughter Tale

Almost every night since she was tiny, I have read aloud to Ni before she goes to sleep. If we have time, it will be a graduating series of books (from picture books to non-fiction to novel) designed to help her with the ever-challenging task of winding down each evening. There have been periods where, by necessity, this has been a lengthy process. Lately we have been staying up later than we should, enjoying our respective passions in the quiet of the post-toddler evening. As Ni is better equipped to calm herself now that she is older, we often truncate our reading to just the essential, shared novel. 

For a few years now, we've enjoyed reading a series of books or an author's catalogue. There's been Harry Potter (of course), Carole Wilkinson's Dragonkeeper series, The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings, the long and much adored Neil Gaiman's children's books and Laura Ingalls Wilder's wonderful Little House books. While I was pregnant with Wawa, we read Phillip Pullman's His Dark Materials trilogy. The protagonist of those books is a rather beautifully rendered, spirited, courageous, loyal and strong young girl. She might even be able to give you a hint as to Wawa's real name if you ever find yourself curious.


For some time now, we've been reading L.M. Montgomery's books, starting with the lovely Anne of Green Gables. She has taken us on a journey through Anne's enchanted girlhood right through to her life as a wife and middle-aged mother. These have been wonderful books for a mother and daughter to share. It's as if Anne begins as Ni's protagonist and becomes mine. Then we come full circle as the books begin to focus on the adventures of her children.

We have one more to read in the Anne series, Rilla of Ingleside, which apparently focuses on Anne's youngest child. I joke that if we continue, we'll find ourselves reading Anne of the Retirement Village. While waiting for the last book to arrive, we moved on to Montgomery's Pat of Silver Bush. What a lovely surprise it proved to be. Pat is as loveable as our dear Anne and is, without doubt, "a kindred spirit". Every time Wawa demands milk, Ni joyfully joins us on the couch to sneak in a little extra reading time. Much to my annoyance, I have also caught her trying to convince Wawa to ask for milk while I am busy doing other things. It has been a while since we felt so engaged with a book. I have particularly happy memories of half days spent in bed reading Harry Potter and an urgent dash to the shops for the next book in the series.


I am noticing only now how many of those books we have read most recently feature ordinarily extraordinary girls coming of age. It's as if we are being drawn to the tales we will soon need to gently set us down ready for the next slightly thrilling chapter in our mother-daughter tale. 

I Am Your Hummingbird

In some ways, she's still so much the little girl, lost in her own world, except now she has ear buds carefully in place to facilitate the ride. This is her meditation. It always has been.

There has always been swing swing swinging or bounce bounce bouncing or, ugh, spin, spin, spinning. She's a proprioceptive seeker. Her brain finds peace in movement. I can relate.

Don't tell me I must rest; my body at rest is my brain in turmoil, unless it's on my terms.

Every now and again Doot looks wistful, becomes misty-eyed and says, "I'd just love to sit on the couch together; snuggle up and watch a movie." I shake my head, sigh, look away. "That'd be great..." I say, "...if you WANT me to get all depressed and DIE! Geez!" Instead he and his brother meet at their mother's house for movie nights every week or so. I suspect that there's less snuggling than Doot would like, but I'm accepting that I can't be all things to all people and apparently, so is Doot, however reluctantly.

This is me during the worst year of my life; 1998 - the year THP died. The photo was taken by Doot. It was also the year he and I met. Can anyone say, "awesome timing"? I spent a fair bit of time in the psych hospital that year. It was also the only year of my life I had cable TV (thanks to Doot). This is no coincidence. I would lie on the couch for semi-catatonic hour after semi-catatonic hour and watch Rugrats and CatDog on Nickelodeon. There was always something vaguely watchable to help keep the enormity of tragedy on the periphery of my battered mind.

Now I am the hummingbird to Doot's sloth. My hummingbird is calm amidst a blur of movement. Ni is more of a Pacman, joyfully frenetic, with hand-eye coordination to match.

I'm not sure where Wawa fits yet, she seems to have a balance the rest of us lack, but at 6pm on a rainy night when my two year old tells me she needs to be outside jumping on her trampoline, I break out the coats. I learned the hard way.

Tired

I'm tired tonight. Surprise! I just wish I could shake this feeling of being worn out. Honestly? This is about more than tiredness or a challenging month or even a challenging year (let alone a challenging lifetime). I really need to find a doctor who'll work with me on getting my health to where I want it to be. I'm still struggling to get our diet right for us. It's really not normal to sit down to a bowl of home made soup for lunch and immediately feel like I need a nap afterwards.

But!...We did stuff today. Look! Here's some bad iPod pictures of nice organised homeschooly type stuff being done, in case you think I just lounge about pondering the important questions and then blog about them. (Sometimes I muse as well and yesterday, I'm pretty sure I mulled over a couple of things.)

I don't believe for a second that anybody really wants to read my ramblings every damn day, but I can definitely see the benefit (to me) in establishing a daily writing habit. It certainly gets easier and I think I would get better at it eventually. Surely? Although, I might possibly be best served writing blog posts of substance before I try for something more substantial than a blog post. (Insert cheesy grin.)

My Baby's Back, Hey La, Hey La, My Baby's Back

On Thursday, Wawa awoke from more than just sweet toddler dreams about trucks and puppies. During the night, she had finally escaped the after effects of her vaccination nearly a month ago. Most notably, screaming at the slightest provocation was replaced by normal toddler expressions of frustration. She also woke up hungry for food and not just for breast milk. 


Quite literally, her vocabulary seemed to have undergone a couple of months' worth of development in a single night. I asked her a question and was surprised and delighted as she strung together a sweet rudimentary baby sentence, earnestly delivered with a nod of affirmation at the end for emphasis. She is explaining all manner of fabulous thing to us and expressing her wishes most eloquently and sweetly.


She had a grumpy, teary, needy day on Friday after an early morning phone call woke her before she was ready. Over the weekend, however, she has continued to delight us all. She is singing and dancing and prancing and laughing about the place. Suddenly and much to my surprise she seems to know every word to songs she's been hearing for weeks and months.

She sat on the rug today and put together a wooden train track and played quietly with the trains off and on all afternoon, complete with chugging and tooting sound effects. Last night she did not wake, hungry, at 4am, but slept from around 1am to 7.30am and I can't tell you what a difference that makes.


Did I mention last night that the last few months have been hard? Because seriously, they've been HARD, but tonight my house is halfway to being clean and we have all eaten good nutritious food and suddenly all things are beginning to feel possible again.

My Brain is a Fractal

My brain is a fractal today. It's one of those days of the month; in the cycle of me, where I aim to keep my peace, but seldom succeed. I've done okay today, but there's still time (and a blog post to be written).

I've been cleaning; making progress; cooking; pretending I'm organised, although the mess that is my home belies the truth. I've hurt a bit and worried about my health. Some time in the last few months, I went from feeling like a stupid kid, struggling to keep up; desperate just to be taken seriously, to feeling middle aged and left behind. I'm sure I've missed a step somewhere.

This has been the year of moving house and having a toddler (reinventing herself daily when she wasn't just being unwell); a ten year old growing to fit the world; and a new/old partner. I've remoulded our lives to allow him a space; let down metre thick concrete walls to love and be loved and in the process, made myself a better, more patient person. All of it it has demanded focus close to home. In spite of all my musings and conclusions on friendship and isolation, I just couldn't have been a good friend these last few months. I couldn't have made new friends; I know I'd only have drawn more bullshit to me and I've allowed more than enough of that into my life in the name of friendship. Lately people just make me tired.

Sometimes you need the opportunity to look inward, rather than seeing yourself always reflected through others' eyes, especially eyes tainted by their own journey never taken. Sometimes you need to be still and quiet so you can feel your own heart beating in your chest. So this is me creating irony out of thin air by blogging my quietude. This is me learning how to be. Sometimes I am a contradiction.

{this moment} - Water

{this moment} - A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want pause, savor and remember. - Soulemama

Things I Know - 18 November 2011

• I feel like I've been treading water my whole life. Now I know it's time to swim or fly or soar like an eagle or some other equally high-five-inspiring simile.

• Money might not buy happiness, but having enough of it sure makes happiness feel more attainable. For instance, I'm feeling pretty happy knowing that all our bills will be paid next week. Yay!

• Big mall shopping is not fun, but it's bearable if everyone keeps smiling.

• Growing food for my family is one of the most useful and satisfying things I've ever done.

• I have the friendships I deserve. If I want better friendships; I need to be a better friend.

• I know I need to sleep more. 

The Clutter Chronicles - Respect Your Anxiety

I liken this journey of simplifying our home and our lives to peeling the layers from an onion one by one. Each time I go back over old ground, I peel back another layer to reveal something slightly sweeter and more essential.

It has been a slow process. With each layer there are new lessons to be learned, assimilated, lived and sometimes learned again. I wonder what I will ultimately find when all the layers have been peeled away. Perhaps the process continues in one form or another all our lives as we learn to let go of geriatric hurts and corrosive habits.

For some, de-cluttering or simplifying will be nothing more than a response to an over-accumulation of possessions. For others, however, it will be a journey of the spirit and will, perhaps result in permanent, far-reaching change. Either way, let the journey be what it will be. Give it time to unfold. Focus on making steady progress, rather than meeting specific time-based goals.

Which brings us to anxiety, an unwieldy topic if ever there was one, but one we ignore at our peril, because for many of us, anxiety of some form lies near the heart of our clutter problem. We use those onion layers as insulation against fear. Most notably, the fear of not having enough. No amount of "de-cluttering' or "getting organised" is going to facilitate long-lasting change if we are not prepared to look deeper than our overflowing cupboards.

A few years ago, at her request, I spent many hours over several months helping my mother sort, store and discard hoards of possessions, like old calenders that she thought "might be worth something", plastic shopping bags full of soap and drawers of unused stationery.

It was an awful, dusty, overwhelming job and just a few months later her house was more cluttered than it had been when we began. Pushing herself to "get rid of stuff", as she put it, triggered a period of even greater accumulation and general chaos in her environment.

She recently repeated the process, enlisting the help of one of her sisters. This time the job needed to be completed more quickly as my mother was moving. At the end of it all, she seems upset that she was pushed to give away things she wanted to keep and worries that so many of her things now seem to be missing.

My advice is to respect your anxiety. Don't let it be in charge. Challenge yourself, but understand that it is a powerful force and needs to be handled with some care.

You can read more on clutter here.

PROMPTuesday - How to Be a Good Friend and Have Good Friends

As tempting as it was to write another post about shopping (animal supplies and the supermarket today - Yay!) I've been wanting to join in with San Diego Momma's PROMPTuesday for a while now. I used to participate back in the day and have wanted to re-join the fray for some months, but I was waiting for the perfect prompt. Every week it's been: too hard; too time-consuming; too sad; too silly; too boring; OMG! You can't be serious! and so on. Then today, she said the magic words, "laundry list". I'm definitely at the list stage of NaBloPoMo. (It comes right after denial and anger and just before bargaining.)

The prompt is to "...laundry list something that sounds complicated..." (but maybe shouldn't be.) Remember when you were five and you were at the park? You'd just run up to another kid who was about the same size as you and say, "Wanna play?" and they'd say, "Ok" and then you were friends. It's more complicated when you're a grown up, but it really shouldn't be as complicated as it is.

So here it is: How to Be a Good Friend and Have Good Friends with the disclaimer that I am in no way an authority on this subject. In fact the opposite is probably true, so this is partly advice to myself and partly reminders of what I should expect and tolerate from others.

• Make time. If your friendships matter to you, make time for them. Even if you're busy or tired or stressed, if you value your friends, you'll put aside an hour for a coffee and a chat.

• Conversely, as Mark Twain said, "Never allow someone to be your priority while allowing yourself to be their option."

• There are friends and there are friends. Don't confuse the two.

• Support your friends' endeavours, even if they're not your thing.

• Recognise that our efforts are relative. If you live on ten acres and have an orchard, you should still be able to muster enthusiasm for a friend's backyard herb garden.

• There's no quota on success. Be happy for your friends' achievements. They take nothing from you.

• Common ground is important.

• Helping goes both ways. If you have a friend who is always happy to offer help, they're probably a very nice person, but if they won't accept help in return, they're a charity, not a friend. (And vice versa.)

• Make sure you have something to offer.

• Sri Sathya Sai Baba said, "Before you speak, think - Is it necessary? Is it true? Is it kind? Will it hurt anyone? Will it improve on the silence?" If you often find yourself saying things about a person that you wouldn't say to their face, they are probably not your friend. Further, if you have a friend who spends much of their time gossiping about others, you're probably not the exception to their rule. Don't travel the low road with them.

• Even if you really like someone, don't ignore the signs. Follow your instincts.

• Find the balance between honesty and confrontation.

• Make your expectations clear. Be assertive.

• Have your priorities clear. Maintain healthy boundaries.

• Remember who you are. Don't give friends the power to define you.

• Be both reliable and understanding.

• LISTEN!

• Expect the same in return.

I'm not sure that this list simplifies anything at all, really. I'd love to hear what you would add. I need all the help I can get.

Big Fat Raspberries

Most days I don't even notice how tired I am until I leave the house and try to converse with the humans out there. Then I feel it bouncing off them in waves and I just want to sit down where I am and breathe deep.

These are the days when it's more difficult to have something to say here. There are words of substance ordering themselves slowly, painstakingly, but most days I don't have the processing power to line them up in those neat little rows, bookended by capital letters and full stops, so we're left with, well...me, I guess.

Ni, Wawa and I stubbornly avoided going out today, in spite of shopping and errands that needed doing. Ni was lethargic and emotional after yesterday's adventure and I felt the tiredness oozing out of me just thinking about herding the children into the car.

Ni finds shopping exhausting.

Wawa feels it has redeeming features.

Right now while my little one is feeling like a raw nerve and needing more of all I have to give, it feels right to be a little quieter; to not push so hard; to choose my battles. These times are as essential to life as those days of great rollicking joys. And oh, there are so many sweet moments even amidst the endless challenges.

There's sunlight and the sweetest little girl 'reading' Hop on Pop to us and knowing the crux of every page by heart, though half the words are not yet part of her vocabulary and a wonderful, adoring big sister, reveling in that sweet little girl and so much cuteness it could bury you alive.

Literal and metaphorical growing pains for that big girl present new challenges every day, but they come with this astounding process of blossoming that makes me smile and terrifies me all at the same time. She is embarking on her own journey now.

And, People, there are raspberries growing in our backyard. Raspberries! Ah, be still my beating heart. Bestow thy voluptuous, ruby red kiss upon my waiting lips.

But no one I meet in coming or going has time for such bloggish ramblings. It's all, "Right! There's no such thing as just tired. Tiredness reflects an underlying problem. Hush now while I explain how to chip, chip, chip away at those children until you have them more conveniently shaped."

Sometimes it's just a bit of tiredness that can be dealt with best by being quiet and gentle and kind while eating just-picked, sun-warmed raspberries.

Thank you for reading.

I Didn't Change the World Today

Our tax return arrived. I discovered it within minutes of it landing in our account. I've been checking for it. Now we can let that stale suspenseful breath out for a little while at least. It's not over yet though. We know it's only a matter of time, but we can't help feeling the injustice of it all. I'm trying to let it inspire, but sometimes it feels like a noose. We're always one minor disaster away from falling. We had every reason to believe that our hard work was about to pay off and now it seems that we have a few more months of tight-rope walking ahead of us yet.


I'm just a bit tired, really. At least the end is in sight and these lean times are a good training ground for us to make our dreams real over the next few years.


Poor baby, Wawa, is still grumpy and off colour after her last vaccination a few weeks ago. I realised today what a challenging few months this has been for all of us. Wawa hasn't felt good for more than a week between vaccinations and cold after cold after cold. Our house moving spanned that whole period. There are still boxes in the store room to waiting to be unpacked. I just hope she feels well soon and resumes her happy toddlerhood. Seeing her unhappy and clingy for so long hurts my heart and wears me down.


The arrival of our tax return meant that I could make a couple of purchases that we've been putting off. One was Wawa's first pair of summer sandals. I opted for independence over natural materials, so Ni, Wawa and I headed off to the Croc shop at the behemoth mall half an hour away.


What an experience! Going there reminded me how small we have made our world and why. I think we all felt overwhelmed. I shelter myself amongst somewhat like-minded people and pretend that we are a cross-section, but we're not.


Wawa seemed a little disconcerted by the whole shoe buying process, but she wore her Crocs home and spent a good half hour putting them on and taking them off, so I think she likes them well enough. 

Ni bought a couple of Jibbitz, little plastic decorations that fit in the holes on top of the Crocs. They were loose in sectioned bins with only a tiny bar code attached.

 While I was distracted, the woman in the shop put the Jibbitz onto this card...

...and then into this plastic bag. 

I was too worn out to tell her she could keep her gratuitous packaging. Some days I just can't seem to muster the energy to change the world.

Arny Ann

Some time during the last year, I finally found myself able to forgive my mother for all the things she did and didn't do think or feel while I was growing up. I forgave her for laughing at me and competing with me; for being disloyal; for not loving me enough and for a million other slights perceived and real. And after all that worn out hurt and anger washed away, there was only compassion left.

My mother hasn't had the best time of things, but she doesn't ask much of life, so she does okay. It took her a very long time to get over my dad leaving her, even though he was never very kind. Now she's living an hour and a half away and she's not been well. I worry that she's lonely, but I know that she's living in the place where her soul rests and that she waited a long time for the chance.

Today she called to tell me that her nephew, my cousin, had died suddenly of what looks like a heart attack. He was 47, ten years older than me, so I had little to do with him growing up and I haven't seen him for years. I remember him as a mysterious, fascinating and slightly frightening teenage boy. He had a confusing poster on his bedroom wall of a barely dressed woman draped over a sleek car.

As an adult, he still called my mum 'Arny Ann' and would wrap his arm around her shoulder, grin cheekily and give her a squeeze, then make a joke and laugh too loudly and she would look embarrassed and pleased. When most other members of her large family were brushing her aside, he invited only her to his wedding, because she was the only one who seemed to care. She was chuffed to the core at that. I'd say it was one of her brightest moments.

Today there was no hint of the melodrama that usually accompanies her announcements of a death, even when they're tempered with grief. She just sounded defeated and worn out and sad and I wish she was closer so I could put my arm around her shoulders and give her a squeeze tonight.

Penguins and Fish Custard

I've been awake since 4am with Wawa. With one thing and another, I got to sleep after 12.30am. That's...um...minus the three; carry the one...Ah! Got it!...Not enough sleep! That's the price I pay for her early night.

She's 'reading' The Cat in the Hat at the moment. I was reading it to her, but she was dissatisfied with my rendering. She may have disliked my additions to the story where the cat was arrested for trespass; the fish took out an Apprehended Violence Order against the cat and the Department of Human Services had a thing or two to say to the children's mother about the children being left alone 'All that cold, cold, wet day.'

In addition, while breastfeeding Wawa for what felt like several days, I left rambling, semi-lucid comments all over the Internet. Apparently exhaustion induced delirium tiredness makes me insane chatty. Lucky Internet!

I gave Wawa some brown rice puffs and a banana and then made chocolate custard for myself, while she watched Playschool on iView. Frequent blogging is helping me recognise a pattern of poor nutrition this week. Sigh. Yay frequent blogging! Since, in my mind, the word, 'breakfast' implies having woken after several hours sleep, let's just call what I had 'a nap', so we can call the custard, 'dessert', which I had after dinner. There, now i feel much better.

Here's the recipe in case you, too, feel the need for dessert today. I can't pretend that this custard is in any way healthy or nutritious, but it is gluten, dairy and refined sugar free (if you want it to be). Note that measurements are metric.

You need:-

• 3 cups (750ml) of rice milk - Any milk will work. I've also used cow, almond and coconut.

• 120g of honey - 120g of cane sugar works equally well, it just tends to disagree with me. (It says that custard is not an appropriate breakfast food. I say, "Shut up! I'm making dessert.")

• 40g of cocoa - Raw cocoa or cocao is full of lovely anti-oxidants and whatnot, but our budget won't stretch that far at present.

• 40g of cornflour - If you're gluten free, watch that your cornflour is actually made from corn. A lot of cornflour is actually made from wheat. In Australia, it will be labeled, 'wheaten cornflour' or similar. To my mind, this seems a little like buying potato chips, only to find they've been made from carrots, but what do I know?

Gently heat 2 cups (500ml) of the milk in a medium saucepan. Add the honey and stir. Don't let it boil.

Meanwhile, sift the cocoa and cornflour into a smallish bowl. Stop yourself from accidentally pouring the remaining 1 cup (250ml) of milk into the sifter as the result of exhaustion and instead add it to the cocoa and cornflour, whisking until smooth.

When the milk and honey is hot, add the cocoa mixture quickly and continue to whisk until the custard thickens.

If you want to serve the custard in smaller bowls or containers, it's usually best to do it now as it will form a skin on standing. My serving suggestion is to slop it into a bowl, garnish with extra love and eat with a runcible spoon (or a tea spoon if you don't happen to have the runcible sort handy). Conversely, if you're a Doctor Who fan like my daughter, feel free to serve with fish.

I usually like to make a double (or possibly an octuple batch) so there'll be more for later.

Here's a few beautifully styled, artfully grainy iPod photos to give you a feel for the dish. I call the first one, 'The Custard Was Delicious'.

Here's a close up.

And here's an arty one where I moved the spoon and positioned the iPod so there'd be some classy looking books in the background.

I'll leave you now. Wawa and I are going to watch a documentary on yurt construction and sustainable living on iView. In the end, Wendy helps Bob the Builder erect the yurt and Travis the tractor saves the day.

Hopefully I'll write something of substance when my brain begins to function (more) normally again. Penguin.

{this moment} - A Warm Body

{this moment} - A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember. 

Inspired by SouleMama. 

Things I Know - 11 November 2011

 More on clutter soon, but today I'm joining Shae at Yay for Home! for Things I Know.

• Salad spinners make fabulous play things for two year olds.

• You will tire of turning the handle on the salad spinner long before the two year old tires of counting and cheering.

• Centrifugal forces are fascinating, whether you're two, ten or thirty-seven and whether it is demonstrated using sophisticated machines and blood products or plastic vegetables in a salad spinner.

• Children will wake if you whisper too loudly in the kitchen, but will sleep through an electrician using power tools a few metres away.

• Life is always better when you're sleeping in a clean, freshly made bed.

• Dishwashers are awesome, but you still have to load them and turn them on for them to really be effective.

•  Writing a blog post every day for a week is really not as difficult as you might have built it up to be, provided you're prepared to let go of you're perfectionism. Just nineteen more to go.

Having Too Much

Like most people I know, I've struggled with the issue of having too much. As far as problems go, it's one we often don't approach with the gravity it may warrant. After all, it is undoubtedly the by-product of living in abundance, at least for those of us in Westernised cultures.

It's only in the last couple of years that I have asked myself if that abundance, subsidised by developing nations and coming at a terrible cost to the earth, is really the blessing we assume it to be.

Further, for many in our own communities, that abundance doesn't manifest itself in better job security, higher pay, more education or improved nutrition. It is evidenced by the ability to purchase unhealthy convenience foods and poorly made electronics at seemingly inexpensive prices. It is a false affluence that leaves our children overwhelmed by a preponderance of toys and gadgets that neither meet nor respect their developmental needs.

A few years ago, I felt overwhelmed by our possessions, so I began the process of de-cluttering that continues for me today. What began as a desire for less has become a process of fundamentally changing the way we choose to live.

De-cluttering our lives has led to more benefits than I can count, many of them unexpected. We have begun to make space in our home for us to live well. As I feel inspired, I'd like to share some of the things I've learned and am learning along the way.

Thank you for reading.