Cohen at 3

Cohen turned three last week. A fact that I still can’t quite fathom. He seems to have been here for so much longer. I can’t remember a time without him.
He is my sensitive soul. Feeling everything just a little bit more than others. Timid of people and situations he doesn’t know. He always says I love you first.
He is very quick tempered.
He loves make believe, especially being a cat. He will happily play in the sandpit or any pile of dirt all day. He is just as happy with his brothers or alone.
He always has food on his face.
He can count to 18. He loves watching Play School, dinosaurs, monster trucks and giraffes.
His favourite breakfast is honey on toast, he does not like waffles.
He is quietly spoken, but will make the loudest noises out of all of the boys.
Happy Birthday my dearest Cohen. xxx

Days of joy and mud.

They roam, untamed and free, those wild boys of mine. They run, roll, scream and yahoo. Grass stained knees and trouser bottoms caked with dirt. Gumboots are the footwear of choice, easy to slip on as they run out the door. Often bare foot will do, despite the cold dampness of the grass and the pleas from their mother. Mud smears across their face and pressed under nails. Cool air leaves noses glistening and cheeks pink.

Hours are spent outdoors, pushing trucks through sand moving piles from one spot to another and helping Dad dig, prune and cart. Sometimes I see them just sitting and watching, I wonder what they are contemplating. The colour of the sky or the shape of a cloud, probably nothing at all, when you are a child and outside what need is there to worry about anything else.

Play is punctuated with calls for drinks and food. They perch themselves along the edge of the veranda, like little birds sunning themselves. Bananas and shortbread are devoured and water gulped, trickling down their chins to make muddy stains on their t-shirts.

In the evening warm baths reveal fresh smelling human boys. Yet the creases in the soles of their feet are reluctant to give up all the evidence of the day’s escapades. As they are tucked into bed, I hear little mutters about the best day ever. I think I may have heard that yesterday as well. My heart feels content knowing that they will remember these days as happy and joyful. Although, as a family we are dealing with stress and concern, our boys are free to to be wild, free to get dirty and free to just be.

Autumn was

Beach holidays, apple cake, amazing pink sunsets, foggy morning starts, Easter daisies, enjoying warm afternoons, delicious pears, brilliant blues, celebrating anniversaries, wandering around Nan & Pop's, pure white roses.

Tackling the new day. How to start the mornings right?

I don’t do mornings well. Not that I’m not a morning person, I am. I love the glimpse of the new day streaming through windows, the cooler air, and the quiet street. I love seeing my sleepy little faces as they emerge from the bedroom, “Morning Mum”. Then squeezy cuddles like they haven’t seen me for days. The endless possibilities of the day ahead stretch out in wonder. But then it changes.
They want weextbix, no toast with jam, honey, actually vegemite. One wants a hot Milo and one wants warm milk. When warm milk is presented they then start crying because there is no honey in it. The there is the arguments over TV watching, toys and games. It’s only 7am and I still need to get them dressed.
This morning started in spectacular fashion. When at 6:30am I realised, as I heard the garbage truck coming down our street that the bin hadn’t gone out the night before. I danced around curious children to pull on my jeans and jumper as I ran out the backdoor, discovered that my thongs where in the middle of the lawn, soaking wet from the storm last night. I then run down the driveway, slipping and sliding, dragging the bin behind me with one hand and trying to wave down the truck driver whilst holding on to my braless chest with the other. The truck was just coming up the other side so I pulled the bin across the street, gave the driver my very best thank you wave and smile then pull the darn thing back home. A sheepish good morning to a noisy neighbour along the way. Once inside the usual demands of breakfast had started, before I had even caught my breath.
Mornings are generally handled solo by me. My husband is usually still in bed, the mix of chronic pain and pain medication means that he has often had a late and restless night or he needs a while to stretch and make his body want to move again after hours of laying still. I sometimes ashamedly feel a pang of jealousy as I wish it was me still lying in bed. I start to get tense; I can feel my shoulders draw up toward the base of my skull. I get shouty and bossy. I hate the mornings is repeated I my head. I then start to worry about the future. When I add the feeding and sleeping demands of a newborn in the mix, then next year Isaac will need to get off to school as well.
Starting the day this way is not healthy or helpful. Some days I will carry the morning’s tension along with me for part of and sometimes the rest of the day. When you start off a cranky, shouty mess it is hard to shake off. I feel I need a strategy. A plan to help me tackle the morning crazy. Here is what I have so far.
I will start the day with stretch and a little positive mantra. Today is a new day; today I will breathe and go slowly.
I will try to get up 1 hour for the boys. I will use this time for some stretching, writing and a cup of tea.
I will prepare the breakfast table the night before. Bowls, spoons and cereal at the ready.
I will encourage Isaac to help get his own breakfast and to help Cohen get his.
There will be no TV at breakfast time. New rule. No arguing.
On Tuesday evenings make sure the bin is out.
So that is what I have so far. I’m starting tomorrow.
What is the morning like at your house? Is it crazy too? What do you do to start your day in a positive light?

Thank you

To everyone who left a beautiful comment on my last post. Your support and beautiful words mean the world to me. To Pip and the lovely ladies in the Blog with Pip course, your words and talents inspire me no end. To my family, I know it would have been difficult for you to read. Thank you for your love and support.
xx

The hardest story to start

Have you ever had a story that you didn’t know how to start? A story that you have never really shared out aloud.  There is no easy way to start this story. A story that you know you must tell in order to be able to tell anymore and to be able to move forward and create more stories.  I have a story just like this. I have tried to begin this story many times. I think sometimes it is just best to start and not worry if it is the right way.
So to start, I lost my first two sons during pregnancy. My first baby boy was lost at just 14weeks. Quickly and painfully. Just like that I became and excited expectant mother to an empty, grieving woman sent back home and that was that. He wasn‘t officially given a name and his birth wasn’t recorded. But he existed and he was my first baby boy. I fell pregnant again quickly, just 1 month later. The first trimester spent in fear until I reached that safe point and 15 weeks. Baby's progress was monitored regularly and we both were doing well. He was growing bigger and stronger, we reached the third trimester. Excitement built, names picked, room readied. But then he was gone. At 32weeks 6days know heartbeat could be found. I spent the next two days with him still in my womb, until we could be fitted in to schedule of the labour ward. If giving birth is painful, then it is even more so knowing that the baby that will be born to you will never take his first gasp of air, never cry, never sleep on your chest and grasp his little hand around your fingers and never grow before your eyes.The anaesthetist was slow in arriving to my room; just in time to tell me that it was too late and thing had progress too far. So I felt every contraction, every pain. Trying hard to focus on anything except what was happening in that room. Tiny little Lincoln was stillborn at lunch time on the 22nd October 2008. We spent the rest of the day with him. We held him and caressed is precious little face, counted his ten fingers and toes. I was so scared that I would break him so a beautiful midwife named Eve dressed him. In a white cardigan knitted and donated by a lovely lady who I would never meet and thank. Later that evening we walked out of the hospital without our baby boy. No one can ever be prepared for becoming a mother of a dead child. It is a world of endless grief. Still after almost six years I feel the exact pain I felt that day. I can recall exact sensation of my heart breaking. But your heart has the amazing ability to keep on working, even when you think it couldn't possibly. Despite the all the fear and grief in September 2009 we welcomed our Isaac into our lives, after a scary and intense 9 months of pregnancy and about 9 hours of an awful labour. Three years after Isaac was born we had had two more sons Cohen in 2011 and Sam in 2012. As I type this I can feel our new little person doing back flips in my belly. The next 22 weeks of pregnancy and then the birth will not be any easier or less frighting then any of the others. I will doubt my body's capabilities; doubt my mind's strength, second guessing every twinge. So six years on and three health babies, why share this story now? Their story is important. Their little precious short lives played a part I who I have become today and how I will and want to continue to develop as a mother, wife and as my own person. It is important for me to be able to celebrate them aloud so that I can move forward and celebrate, create and share more stories with my little boys who lived.

Winter's around the corner, maybe.

It's almost winter. We are almost at the end of Autumn and yet it feels like we are enjoying all the benefits of Spring. The leaves have changed, but it is the only clue to the change of seasons. Here lately the sun is shining and warm.The boys are playing in the yard barefoot and in short. The roses are still blooming and the garden is bursting with new growth. We are waiting for the first frost to come and burn of our pumpkin vine. Until last weekend the tomatoes were fruiting. We picked all the fruit, red and green and then I made Green Tomato Chutney. Soup has made a few appreances, so has slow cooker baked beans. But we still enjoying lighter meals and even cooking and eating outside. Although I am enjoying this beautiful weather I can't help but wonder what are we in for this summer.

By the seaside

I prefer being beside the ocean than in it, I think. With exception of waves lapping around my ankles. I love sitting on the sand, wiggling my toes until they are buried. Feeling the sun on my cheeks and not caring about windswept, frizzy hair. Watching the boys dig, run and yell at the waves. All the while wishing that our few hours on the coast were not preempted by a 5 hour road trip. That one day i will be able to bring the boys here on a whim. Perhaps, maybe, I wish.
We were able to spend a few days in Newcastle over the weekend. Dragging our caravan over the Great Dividing Range and setting up a temporary home at Stockton Beach. Our first real adventure in our 1985 Pop-top caravan. A few lessons in caravan living were learnt, like we need a frypan and chopping board and three unoccupied boys in close quarters can soon turn everyone to tears.
The caravanning bug has bitten though and we are already planning another weekend away, a little closer to home.

Traces

Traces. Little signs that they where here. These little boys who make me all kinds of crazy at once. Crazy in love, driven crazy. Linking up with the beautifully talented Milina and Tahnee, for their A Year of Motherhood.

Right Now I'm Here

It is Wednesday 19th February 10:35 am Right now I am nestled in the corner of the cane lounge, my legs out stretched. Notebook on my lap, pen in hand and coffee sitting on the table to my left. Cohen and Isaac are playing with some plastic cows in the pot of basil and parsley, releasing the smell of aniseed as they disturb the leaves. Sam is running around on the grass, in circles, trying to catch the butterfly bush that has overgrown and dangling above his head and tickle his forehead. The wind chimes are making a soft tinkling sound, getting louder as the wind picks up. The clouds in the north look heavy; hopefully the forecast rain will eventuate. A thunderstorm would be great, a little free entertainment. My attention is drawn to the truck rattling past; there can be no way he was doing the 50km speed limit. The next door neighbour is conducting an unnecessarily loud mobile phone call just over the fence and there seems to be an almost constant comings and goings from the house across the road. I can start to feel the frustrations build. Why do we live on the heavy vehicle detour route? I’m so tired of having to listen to the neighbours who insist on airing all their personal grievances for the world to hear. I wish we didn’t live in this part of town. Out of town would be quieter, on the coast would be better. Anywhere else! “It’s raining Mummy!” I look out to see the boys running around the poor struggling jacaranda sapling. Their arms are out stretched, trying to catch the drops. As it gets heavier they come under the cover of the veranda. We all sit together on the grey temporarily covered in a floral sheet, second hand cane lounge. Amazingly all three of them are still for a few moments as the watch the rainfall; the street is quiet as everyone has gone inside to escape the downfall. I take a deep breath and remember to be grateful, for where we live, a roof over our heads and a safe place for our children. Remember to be grateful for the rain, the sound of wind chimes and the smell of basil.

My Secret Minimalist Heart

Secretly, deep down in my heart I yearn to be a minimalist. Not your Grand Designs minimalist, living in a concrete and plywood box with sleek furniture and uncomfortable chairs. I want to be a Kinfolk minimalist, where colours are muted and every piece in my house be it a greying farmhouse table or the hand carved wooden spoon, is beautiful and functional.However, my love of bright pastels and rooms full of brown furniture betrays my minimalist heart, so does every horizontal surface in my house. I think every parent of small children will at some point desire uncluttered bench tops and a meal free of brightly colour plastic plates. A home free from randomly scattered toys, books strewn from one end of the hall to the other. Piles of paper, unopened mail, children's artworks, unidentified pieces of food and shoes that are never ever where they are meant to be. I don’t want to just get rid of stuff for the sake of a minimalist lifestyle. I like, even love a majority of the things in my home. I just want our lives to function better, I want to be a more considered consumer, I don’t want to feel overwhelmed, I want to feel organized and in control but still be able to be spontaneous and creative. So imagine my joy when I read this article on 7 Tiny Steps for the Beginner Minimalist on Be More with Less. I think seven tiny steps is a very good place to start. Much less scary than 101 Steps to a Simpler Life, which sounds a little excessive, don’t you think? So my aim for the next few weeks is to start these steps. And see how we go, who knows I may want to tackle those 101 steps next. How about you, do you want to live a simpler life? Maybe you already do. What are your tips for a beginner minimalist?

Five Frames {Weekend}

Five pictures to illustrate our weekend. 1 - 6am start, 10 kms up a mountain and back. 2 - crown making with his Royal Highness. 3 - as the drizzle set in we made popcorn and watched movies. 4 - admiring hot pink portulacas. The only thing bloomimg well in our garden 5 - Sam watching the soft rain. Rain at last.

A home for my ramblings.

 

Over the past two weeks I have been taking part in a blogging course called Blog with Pip, run by the super lovely and ultra talented Pip Licolne from Meet Me at Mike’s fame.
In the past week I have learnt so much techy stuff like CSS and HTLM and domain names and web hosting. At times I thought my head might just pop off my shoulders and float away.
But look what all that information and I created a functioning little slice of the WWW. Somewhere to put all my ramblings.Oh boy do I have some ramblings in store. Because another of the very important points Ms Pip teaches is how to write a blog. And her advice is simple. Just write. So I have and it seems I can’t stop. The more I write the more I want to write. It’s fantastic. The more you work at something the more inspiration comes.I really do have some wonderful plans for this spot and I am so glad to be able to share it with you.
The graphic above I created myself for you. Be totally old school and right click on the graphic, save and print as you like. Or be a thoroughly modern Miss/Mr and just pin onto Pinterst. Enjoy!

Taking Stock

Making : banana choc milk in the morning for the boys. Milk, banana, cocoa. Whiz.
Cooking : lentil, spinach and feta salad. YUM!!
Drinking : water and milky coffee.
Reading: Frankie and Yen
Wanting: this beautiful print by Lauren Merrick
Looking: for good quality basic t-shirts.
Playing: Snap!
Deciding: on paint colours. I always seem to be doing that.
Wishing: for rain
Enjoying: mornings at the pool.
Waiting: for winter.
Liking: the new Spicks and Specks, but missing Adam, Alan and Myf
Wondering: If I should grow my hair.
Loving: my new iPad.
Pondering: bloggy ambitions.
Considering: cutting out the sugar again.
Watching: Pip’s blogging tutorials.
Hoping: that the physio starts to make a differnce
Marvelling: at my own blog that I created.
Needing: more hours in the day.
Smelling: Smoke. I can’t believe how far it has blown from.
Wearing: cotton.
Following: This blog.
Noticing: there are grey clouds in the sky!
Knowing: that summer will soon end.
Thinking: about Isaac starting school next year. Already makes me cry.
Feeling: proud.
Admiring: The lovely Scatter Love postcard set from Chantelle at  Fat Mum Slim & Emma Kate

Sorting: out vintage beads. Fun.

Buying: three skirts for a $1 each. Score!

Getting: excited about the Colour Run.

Bookmarking: This book.
Disliking: complete strangers and their theories on my parental skills. Keep it to yourself random man at dairy fridge.

Opening: another packet of crackers.

Giggling: at this Sesame Street parody. So so funny!
Feeling: like I could take on anything.

Snacking: on cucumber and cheese on crackers with lots of pepper.

Coveting: These boots on Etsy. I am a child of the 90s.
Wishing: For rain.
Helping: Isaac learn his number 5.
He always leaves it out.Hearing: A-Ha playing through my head. Not necessarily a bad thing.

Pitiless blue sky

Oh this summer has been dry. Crazy dry and hot. In the past I would deal with the heat during the day because I knew that a storm would roll in the evening and give us some precious relief. Allowing us to open up the house let the breeze blow through the net curtains. While the boys sleep in the nappies and chesty bonds we would sit out on the veranda together and watch the light show and feel the the rain misting our faces. Instead we stay inside, watching saddened by the stories of fire and drought, loss and heartbreak. The drone of our hopeless air conditioned continues well in to the night. Some reprieve so our babes can sleep. At the moment we are living like cave dwellers. Our little house is dark, blinds and doors closed. We venture out for short periods, usually in the morning before the cicadas start singing. They’re ear piercing chirp is like an alarm, warning that the temperature has reached point where you must retreat in doors. We have been trying to keep our call as much as possible. Trips to the pool, lots of watermelon eating. Road trips down the highway in the air conditioned car, cooking on the bbq, cold sausages for lunch. I will also be making a batch of these cucumber and mint popsicles soon. I'm  wearing my Bohemian Traders Poppy Pants alot to. How are you keeping cool?