max loves bird

Today, Hugo won 'Star of the Day' at Short Stepperz (with a Z).  The boys demolished two giant packs of tofu, disguised as fajitas, because Max won't eat chicken any more because chicken is bird and he loves bird.  We also saw and followed very quietly a squirrel nibbling conkers out of their spiky shells.  We had baths instead of showers, and Hugo blew a soap bubble out of his mouth that floated so high he says he must be full of helium. I swapped every third or fourth word in last half of The Smartest Giant In Town with 'thank you' in a thick French accent, causing much hilarity.  We decided on fish and chips for dinner on Friday, and pizzas on Saturday, and I got hugs because I bought profiteroles for dessert. 

It's over two years since I was here, updating this blog, and no promises to myself that I will make this a habit, but I would like to, because my memory isn't what it used to be and the feelings in my heart when I read those old blog posts remind me how much I need to document this stuff, for me, not for anyone else, but just for me, so I know, and feel, and can remember the good feels and sometimes the sad ones too, so I don't forget that when I'm sad, happy times will come again.

68 days in

It's hard to believe we are now 68 days into the year, and in just three weeks, my middle will be 5.  My middle, the bright little spark of a kid who seemed so out of place during his last year of kindy, I doubted whether he would take to school the way I wished he would.  But he proved me wrong.  He's settled in just fine, he and his best friend from kindy, without whom I do wonder whether we would have had the start to school that we did.  So lucky that he has good friends, or good judgement to choose good friends (I hope that continues forever, and the frightening thoughts I have about my sons making bad judgements, wrong decisions are just thoughts and never transpire).  He reads now, just little words, but he reads to my parents on Skype and that's pretty cute.

And my oldest boy, he's someone to be proud of too, the way he picks up any book he wants, reads it, wants to read more, can barely drag himself away from Harry Potter, but that brings with it frustration when all you need him to do is just put the book down for a second, listen, engage, get his shoes on, pick up his school bag, get on his bike!  He's 6 now, with an enviable imagination for building Lego, drawing trucks, and playing with his brothers, making up the most elaborate situations, stories, characters, dialogue.  He's a tough nut to crack though too, impulsive, not always keen to listen, to respect other people's space or words but when your brain is whirring at a million miles per minute, it's easy to forget to stay quiet because someone's saying something you should be listening to.  Right now though, he's home, with me, because he's not well.  Secretly, I like it.

The little boy?  He counts.  Not the way you and I count, but you know, one, eight, seven, two, four, FIVE!  And he sings and he finally got that first haircut.  Do you know someone who more often than not and in fact nearly all the time is just happy to go with the flow?  Then you know what it's like to live with the baby of this house ('no, big boy!'), sure there's a tantrum here or there, an unreasonable demand, a particular way he has to do... nearly everything, but once you have that figured out, it's really just a breeze being with him, and giving into his demands to 'get up now mummy.... COFFEE!' and 'look mummy, LOOK AT THIS!'.  He has a best friend now too.  They walk around the playground with their arms around each other.

The puppies are puppies no more.  They are grey, old, slower.  Lady Lola doesn't even look up when you suggest a walk these days.  They plod around the house, letting the children torment them, but also letting themselves be used for the life lesson 'be gentle!' which seems to be ongoing, although it is sweet to see the boys giving their hounds gentle pats, the kind that make Deeks' back leg bang the floorboards like a jackhammer.

And that's it.  There's not much beyond the children, the puppies.  Beyond worrying about them being happy, making the right choices, enjoying school and being loved (and not picking up any of their mother's propensity for the f-word).  The decisions about where we should live, the work we should do, they're nothing really.  Sure I think about these things all the time, but more often than not, these days, it feels like it doesn't matter what the outcomes are and it's about the journey.  I wish I could bottle some days they are so good, and it's telling that we've stopped summarising the days as good or bad, rather, the days are just days.  There is a rhythm in this house now, one where we accept nothing will be perfect, and working as hard as we can at everything is all we want to do, as long as there is red wine between shifts.  We don't get everything right and there are stresses and strains but they will always be.  The weeks fly by and that can only mean they are full, in the way I always hoped my life would be full, with children and noise and jobs and music and parties and birthdays.  And every so often, I pause long enough to realise the grannies and aunties are right.  Time moves way too fast.

overheard

Ollie: Mum, I love you. I love you SO MUCH I think my brain is going to turn inside out.
(it was just after I gave him a Haigh's chocolate frog I brought back from Sydney)

Mandy Downes: why did dad put you in time out?
Max: because I punched him in the face.

After his first day of school:
Me: So, Ollie, did you miss your brothers?
Ollie: Yes… no wait... I mean no, not really.

Yesterday I overheard the boys very seriously categorising all the tracks from The Shins 'Chutes Too Narrow' into the genres 'Funky', 'Slow Motion' and 'Jackhammer'.

Hugo's favourite foods:
1.  Ketchup.

Max:  When can we get another bird?
Me: Soon, I hope.
Max: Shall we wait until the dogs have passed away?
Me: I hope to get one sooner than that
Max:  Or we could get a crow.

Ollie looked at me very intently for a couple of seconds today, before asking "mum, why is your skin slightly darker than everyone else's?"

Me:  You can't play video games all the time, you won't have any space for learning the good stuff.
Ollie:  Well, I don't want to go to school anymore.  School's cagey.
Me:  What do you mean?
Ollie:  It's a big cage, I'm trapped there, it's a big grassy field with a cage around it.  I just feel trapped there.

Ollie: Max, I'm building a digger, how does that make you feel?

Ollie:  Max, you know, being a snitch is good, its a bit like being a policeman:  you get to smack robbers with your smelting stick.

Max:  You shouldn’t share food
Me:  (a bit horrified because I’ve always said the opposite) Of course you should!
Max:  No, you shouldn’t share food (pause….) the teachers at kindy told me.
Me:  Well, they’re worried about sharing germs too, but if someone needs food, and you have it, you should share it with them
Max:  Yes, because they might not have any money and they might be charity
Me:  Yes, but mainly because if you have stuff and other people don’t, you share what you have.
Max: One time we were at the shops and you gave that charity man some money
Me:  Yes, because he needed it and I had some to share
Max: And he needed the money to buy stuff he needed, like food
Me:  Yes, that’s right, and he was spending it on things for other people too
Max:  Like toys?
Me:  Not so much toys, you don’t really need toys, you can play without toys, but he was collecting money to spend on things he needed, things other people needed
Max:  Like food.
Me:  Yes.
Max:  And coffee.  People need coffee.

a wondrous time

If you were ever cautious before becoming a parent, the risk averse type, the kind of person that could never wing it, it increases tenfold when you procreate.  The children come along and you start making more lists than you ever made before.  The organising itch becomes borderline OCD as you try to control everything, usually without success, thereby making the obsession worse, stressful even, so much so you might not really do anything interesting anymore, for fear of tantrums, or sleepless nights in places that aren't familiar to you or piles of laundry anywhere other than near your own washing machine.  But then you're reminded that you have to live, and make plans, and those plans might have lists, but they're plans nonetheless to do something, anything out of the ordinary and so instead of just a little weekend away, or a trip to the zoo, you spend what feels like YEARS planning a massive, ambitious trip to as far away as you possibly can, to a timezone that screams jet lag and no mercy, on planes that after just a few hours become impossibly uncomfortable and inexplicable to the little people travelling with you...

I imagine everyone does it the way we did.  I expect people spend years if not months planning it, REALLY planning it.  Every dollar and thought that went into that trip was scrutinised, considered carefully, discussed at length... it wasn't promising to be a romantic, seat-of-your-pants whirlwind holiday, more a closely guarded itinerary of places and people to see, with pretty much no room for what-the-heck.  Everyone does that, right? I assume so, because you can't just turn up to a place and expect to wing it and surely everyone spends hours poring over at least four or five spreadsheets (in the one workbook), trawling the internet and googling 'travelling without tears' before embarking on a nutcase holiday as far away from home as is possible, to a place that isn't exactly renowned for its reliably warm weather.

I think I'm being a little unfair on myself.  This wasn't just a holiday.  It was a pilgrimage, something that had to happen, something we had to do NOW otherwise my mental well being was going to suffer because nearly 6 years away from the place I will always call home was eating away at my memories of long summer days, the million shades of green and the smell of real fish and chips, the kind with vinegar.

And so we did it.  We travelled home, with our children, 5, 4 and not quite 2.  Aside from the nearly 6 years of thinking about it and 2 actually planning it, it took 30 hours to get there and a little less to get home.  It wasn't easy, but that's not what I think about when I look back on it.  The stuff I worried most about before the trip is the stuff I can't even remember now.

We stayed in my parents' house, experienced a week of non-stop rain, travelled in double decker buses and shopped for groceries in supermarkets that sell wine.  We saw landmarks and beaches we've only ever seen in books, and we visited places that are etched in my heart and soul, hoping the children would be happy there too (they were).  We saw the best of our friends and family as they welcomed us with open arms and kindness and love and warmth and unending generosity.  We travelled to places we hadn't been to before too, ate food that was new, and saw a side to our family that I am so proud of, the willingness of the children to fit into whatever the day had to offer and to accept the constant moving around without too much of a peep.  We saw people we haven't seen for years, soul mates from another time of my life, when parenthood, love, marriage all seemed so far away, so grown up.  We trashed a hire car (that wasn't in the plan) and experienced GPS, much to the delight of our road obsessed boys, and most of all, we had a real, true, break from the norm and came back feeling like we'd been away forever.

So, the lists, the planning, the itineraries and months and months of meticulous organisation and worrying, it was worth it, though I couldn't have done it any other way.  Every second was worth it.  We did it, our family, and we had a wondrous time.  I can't say we regret a single thing, though at times I didn't find it at all easy and shed tears at times when I'd imagined being happy, but that's life anyway, except on holiday there was always wine and food and nothing and nobody to answer to, except each other.  We spent every moment together, for 7 whole weeks, and that in itself was pretty special.  From Ollie's beautiful little journal to the gazillions of photos we're still sorting through, it was an experience that made us all better and one which made me excited that there'll be a next time. I really hope so.

four

It happened.  Another birthday.  This time it was my favourite son's birthday.  He's 4 now.  He still loves birds and I hope he always will, although his views on punishment for people who are mean to birds is a little on the excessive side ('stomp on them!').

He's a good big brother to his little baby brother (my favourite son) and he idolises his big brother (my favourite) and he's tall for his age but quite thin, which is surprising because he can pack away a meal as long as it's either cheesy toast and tomato soup or pasta.  Although he doesn't really like pasta, he just claims he does.  He loves The Octonauts, Shaun the Sheep and of course, is bird crazy, and this includes Angry Birds.  The bird sticker books we've done together are already one of the memories I cherish.  The way he can chuck a tanty over his little brother's inability to understand the concept of sharing, not so much.  He loves socks, especially his new ones with pineapples on them.

Max's birthday party, a small gathering of only 7 families in our local park, was rainbow lorikeet themed at his request.  I imagined this would be a Pinterest frenzied all out bird attack of a party with actual lorikeet waiters serving birdseed cake and favours made out of actual feathers and... but really, it was just a rainbow party.  We asked our guests to come razzed in their brightest colours and to be prepared for the usual food, cake and egg hunt which has become a traditional part of the bird boy's birthdays (he's had four now - FOUR).  The cake had a bird on it.  I tried and succeeded in a frozen butter cream transfer of a bird on a cake.  This cake and frosting, which was all butter and none of that shortening which every recipe seems to call for.  I made the transfer a fortnight in advance and plonked it on the cake the day before the party and put it in the fridge.  It worked fine.  I didn't really follow a process but I did an appropriate amount of googling prior to just winging it so if you're reading this in the hope of some tips on how to do it the right way, I'm not sure it's particularly helpful as I think I lucked out.

Happy birthday Max, you are my favourite middle.

captain barnacles

Today, I am so sad.  This morning, the life of our newest and gentlest member of the crew, Captain Barnacles came to a grim end.

I hadn't even had a chance to post about what a sweet little presence he was in this little house of ours, how much he made every one of us happy (have you ever seen a 20 month old in love with his pet bird?), how much we realised we should have brought him home sooner.  His little pitter patter feet, his electric blue cheeks, his bravery, venturing out of his cage in this new place that we were hoping would be his home for many many years... I miss him.

It's all made worse by just how tragic his end was, how careful we'd been with Lola, only for it to be Deeks that would get him, and then how hard it is to forgive Deeks, something I know we need to do.

This afternoon, Hugo ran up to his empty cage and squeaked 'hello?' before realising the cage was empty.

Heartbroken.

debrief

Actually I meant THREE months.  So ah... here I am three months later (that last post doesn't count, it's an longstanding entry I scribble the boys' musings to until it's long enough to publish).  In three months plenty has happened, thankfully, there's been reason for my absence.

So Noosa and the triathlon in November last year (which Will participated in, I'm not stupid) was a triumph.  We booked an apartment up at Sunshine Beach which was just right for us.  The kids loved it, asking why we couldn't have a place like that ALL the time (I think it's because it was so tidy).  It was the first holiday in a long long time that felt like a holiday rather than like doing what we do at home but with a different washing machine.  We ate out, giving us a massive rest from the cooking/cleaning doldrums we'd developed, we sat around on the beach, the kids were quite independent, finding things to do on the beach, in the apartment (don't get me wrong, they were massive arse pains too, just interspersed with being excited and enthused beach bums) and I don't know, we just relaxed.  Hugo kind of hated the beach but it didn't matter much, I was happy to walk him around and show him the sights while the boys made Will take them out on their new boogie board again, and again, and again... The triathlon went well, Will made me feel a bit more proud of him than I did before (which was quite a lot) and I thought I might like to do something like a triathlon some day but I didn't say it out loud incase someone was listening and might hold me accountable.

Then, before Christmas, the blue struck again.  It was a difficult time, and I'm not entirely sure what triggered it, but it wasn't my finest hour.  Since then, things have improved significantly thanks in the main to exercise and some herbal supplements that were recommended to me and which seem to have made a difference.  I feel hopeful again and thankful that my husband, who unflinchingly does the work of two parents even on a good day, took it all in his stride and was there for us all.

Christmas itself was good.  Great, even.  Beach time, new bikes, no big travelling or anything to report.  Hugo became more of a little dude than he was before (which is saying something when the little dude is now head honcho of this nuthouse we call home) and the boys reminded themselves after our trip to Noosa earlier in the year (which is when they first suspected it) that they LOVE THE BEACH.  Even Hugo seems pretty happy to dig and splash and chase birdies and squint at the sun.

Of course all this makes me rather apprehensive when I think about going back to England, to live that is, not for a holiday, it's that conversation we keep having, though admittedly it's less often these days.  I mean the kids love it here, they love the beach, the weather, the not wearing shoes, leaving with nothing but a hat and smear of sunscreen.  They love their friends, the beach, the ability to go outside and play pretty much any time they want to.  Of course they could love England and all she has to offer just as much and only being there will tell us that.  More on that financially crippling idea later.

And since Christmas we're now back at work.  I had a pretty sizeable break in the end and it felt good.  Part of the reason for doing that was because big things are happening here this month... like my first born son starting school next week.  School!  We met his teacher, laundered his uniform (inadvertently turning all the whites blue) and put his name in every new bit of school stuff (really, everything) and in just a handful of sleeps, he'll be that kid with the massive hat and oversized backpack, meeting new little dudes and deciding whether he likes this new experience that will span at least the next 12 years.  And I'll need to write about that some other day, because surely it deserves a post all of its own.

And that's it.  Not quite all of it, but the big stuff, although as I said to Will the other day, it's not the big stuff I want on here, at least not JUST the big stuff.  It's good to have that on here, but the big stuff is the stuff you remember, it's the other stuff.  The stuff that seems little but actually isn't, because it's a feeling or a happening or a sound or a taste... not a big thing, but one of the gazillion things that make up this patchwork of nuttiness.  That's the bit that's gone missing lately.  And so while I don't have any resolutions (except maybe to yell at the kids less (failed already)), I would like to get back into the reflecting business and remembering what we eat business and spending a bit of time choosing photos business.  It's all nice time, sitting here, tapping away, musing over photos with Will and then agonising over which to post.  And I reckon the fact that we are now without a telly should help make it happen more than once every three months.  Here's hoping.

overheard (with extra silliness)

('Dad on his bike at the traffic lights on a sunny day' by Ollie.  It has a Quentin Blake quality that I love.)

Will: (after Lolsie lucked out with a piece of chicken that fell off the lunch table) It's raining chicken! Lola's dream scenario. What would your dream rain be?

Me: (without hesitation) red wine!

Will: gin and tonic!

Ollie: bulldozers!

Max: remote controlled hydraulic excavators!

Max: (when he was sitting with the dogs and didn't know I was listening) Ugh Lola... YOU STINK!



Max:  (looking straight up Ollie's nose with a look of absolute disgust)  I can see BOOGERS!  Crusty boogers!  All up in your nose!



Ollie: oh pleeeaase, can someone make me the foooood?!

Ollie: oh look, hugo's walking like a human!

Ollie: oh look mum, hugo's drinking like a little boy!

Max:  (while I was cooking dinner for me and Will after the boys had gone to bed) Can we have what you're having?

Me:  Sure - tomorrow?

Max: it smells like VOMIT

Me: er

Max:  It will taste nice though.  It just smells like vomit.

Max:  (completely seriously) Mum, do the words 'burp' and 'fart' rhyme?

Me: What's your favourite flavour?  

Ollie:  All of them.  All flavours.  In fact all flavours from all countries... but not Greece... I don't like Greece... (thinks for a moment)... What's Greece?




Ollie:  "At kindy, Harry Legg* showed us this trick where you punch yourself in the penis and then say 'ooh, my nuts'." 

(followed by demonstrations and lots of giggling). 

(*apparently that IS his real name)




Ollie (upon hearing Kylie whilst listening to a compilation of music that included Pavement, Joy Division, The Carpenters, Pixies, Red Hot Chillies and Fire Island Pines):  Oh this is the BEST song for doing Lego to (he then rushed over and starting doing Lego)

Hugo:  Hello!

five

Yes, it's been two months since I updated the blog and it'll probably be another two months before the next post.  Just like my attitude to the gym (one visit a week is better than none), I'm not going to give myself a hard time for not writing more often, and I'm not going to apologise for it either (hello, is anyone even listening?) because I'm actually totally fine with how things are going, and the last thing I need is to stress about letting this part of my life go.

But, there are still times when it's important for me to reflect a little and to record an event, a feeling, a ridiculous situation so that we don't forget it in the jumble of life, and now is one of those times.  Because Ollie is FIVE TODAY!  Surely that deserves a post.

Aside from all the wise words I should insert here about five years of parenthood, what a marvellous little man Ollie's becoming, our awe at time passing etc, the main thing I wanted to write about was the celebration, which was a little different.  Each birthday so far, we've had a party, some little, most big, with lists, organising, lists, a bit of stress, a lot of fun, but mainly a lot of work.  So this time, I gave Ollie an option. You can have a party, I said, or how about you invite five families (you are going to be five after all) to join us for dinner at your favourite restaurant, we'll take cake for pudding and have a little play in a park before hand.  He jumped at the idea of the dinner party, which was perfect for me as we've had two pretty significant birthday parties already this year and with Christmas coming, I need to conserve energy.

Long story, but his beloved favourite restaurant closed down within just a couple of weeks of the big day, so we opted instead for lunch at a pizza cafe we know of, a really great place with lots of space and good pizzas and the added bonus of being at the university grounds, where there are jacarandas (still in bloom), trees to climb, and plenty of space to fly a kite, hurl a frisbee and kick a football.

We had a brilliant morning.  The kids loved it and made their own entertainment when we saw turtles, lizards and even eels!  The extent of my involvement was to take some fruit and crackers for morning tea, picnic blankets, football, kite and frisbee, cameras and some activities (consisting of pens/paper/stickers/party hats) for the kids to do while we waited for pizza.  Oh and the cake.  The very specifically requested square vanilla cake with chocolate frosting and sprinkles, which went down a treat and was particularly enjoyable later that evening with a glass of rosé (for us, not the kids).

Something cute - when we asked Ollie who he wanted to invite, he gave us four suggestions.  "That's nice dear, but you're going to be five, so you can invite a fifth family."  To which he very calmly replied, "No mum, the fifth family will be MY family.  You're all coming too."  At which point it's worth reminding myself that aside from acting like a goofball most of the time, winding me and his brothers up with his bossiness, his inability to eat breakfast and get dressed in less than an hour, he's a little legend.  Heck even with all those things he's a dude I can't help but love with every ounce of my being.

a message from the chop busters

Happy Fathers' Day, Dad.  We like to bust your chops and drive you nuts and fight over who gets to sit next to you at dinner.  Now that's love. xxx

approximately 13 months of age

At approximately 13 months of age, Hugo dared to take his first unaided steps.  I missed it.  I was at the shops, but Will and Ollie looked up to see Hugo take ten or so zombie style steps before they cheered, the commotion no doubt causing him to plop down onto his padded bottom.

Three days later, he did it for me, a personal show, his little arms outstretched, knees locked, hips swivelling as he lifted his little feet only a couple of inches to shuffle across the floor.

Then about a week after that, he decided being a baby is so passe.  His brothers can kick and scream like the best of them, so why should he miss out?  Especially when his mum is stopping him from climbing into the oven.  That's the time for a face down, fist pumping, snot streaming tantrum.

Then there's absolute blind faced cheek that comes with meal times. Don't like what you've been given to eat?  Fling it across the room and look out of the corner of your eye at your parents before chuckling to oneself that you've discovered yet another way to amuse your brothers/feed your dogs and incite a reaction from your parents, all at the same time.  Now that's multitasking.

No longer a baby is this kid.  He's the third instalment of the saga that is the made-for-tv movie of our nutcase lives.  This week's cliffhanger:  Will Ollie recover from his mega cold and perforated eardrum in time for the local school fete this weekend?

green curry

Here is a green curry of pumpkin, mushrooms, spinach, fresh corn and lentils, inspired by the amazing curries at Brisbane's Kitchen Sanitarium, which has become a regular weekday lunch venue. (Which reminds me, we must go to Taro's again soon.)

Fry a finely chopped onion in a little oil.  Add 1/2 jar of Volcom green curry paste (or a sachet of the Mae Ploy brand) and fry for a minute or two.  Add about 1/4 of a butternut squash, chopped into 1" cubes, plus a few smaller pieces (to melt into the curry sauce).  Add in 500ml of coconut milk (the Ayam brand is best) and about a cup of water or stock.  Simmer until the pumpkin is just about tender, then add a handful of chopped mushrooms, cook for a little longer before adding fresh corn kernels, 400g of cooked lentils (tinned is fine, brown/Puy/black lentils work best) and about 200g spinach (frozen would work fine) and a handful of shredded coconut.  Season with fish sauce and palm sugar to taste (I added 1-2 tablespoons of each), a healthy dose of lime juice (I squeezed the bejesus out of one quite juicy one), chopped coriander and serve with steamed rice, topped with fried shallots, coriander leaves and more shredded coconut.

Eat in big, deep bowls, in front of a tv.  Or your significant other if that floats your boat.

Really, really, really tasty.

bon anniversaire

On Bastille Day, we celebrated Hugo's first birthday.  It was a lovely little event.  Even the rain and grey skies didn't detract from how joyous it felt to sing 'Happy Birthday' for the very first time to our little dude (and then again to Lola, who was 10 years old only two days prior).

Red, blue, white balloons and streamers were everywhere.  Everyone who came made an effort to look as French as they could, the food was suitably cheesy, the cake was red, white and blue and to make sure everyone had a mouthful of something celebratory and sweet, I also made a pavlova, decorated with red and blue berries and whipped double cream. The food that wasn't obviously French was made so by sticking an Eiffel Tower pennant in it, we drank champagne and listened to French music, including La Marseillaise (of course) and music by Yann Tierson (This music, which makes me so nostalgic for the time Will and I went to the movies for the first time together in Belsize Park to watch Amelie and then walk home in the pouring rain.  It was so impossibly romantic, hearing this quite often makes me cry.)

We had family, friends from Will's uni days, old school friends, neighbours, friends from kindy, friends from the group of mums I've known since I joined their playgroup when Ollie was born and it was probably bigger than it needed to be, but it was just so brilliant to have all these lovely people gathered under our raised house, sheltered from the rain under fairy lights, helping us celebrate, taking photos, taking it in turns to entertain the kids, catching up with each other, making new friends and enjoying the croissants.

One of the sweetest things was opening the many cards we were given, all of which included a note of the charity that had been donated to on Hugo's behalf.  It felt so right to do something like this to mark a year of being so damn blessed to have Hugo in our lives, the sunshine that he is, it felt right not to collect more stuff we just didn't need but instead to ask (respectfully and not without gratitude) that everyone give a few dollars to charity instead.  And everyone did just that.

So there you have it.  A year of Hugo.  (And ten years of Lola.)  It's hard not to feel emotional when I think about the past year (or ten).  It's hard not to feel like crying when I think about the memories we are creating, the things I work so hard to do well, and the things I just know I could do much better.  It's been the most challenging year of my life, yet the most rewarding.  Watching this little monkey of a baby grow into this happy, bouncing, cheeky and independent toddler has been the most wonderful experience so far, it's made me realise the time, it's now.  The stuff I've been looking forward to, the Sunday afternoon movies with my kids, planning birthday parties, the games of make believe, the mornings in the park, getting things ready for show and tell, cooking things I know they'll love to eat, being a parent... all these things I've been looking forward to all my life, they're happening already, right now.  I need to stop and remember that every now and then.

Happy birthday Hugo.  Je t'aime.

l'invitation

Here it is, an invitation to le premier anniversaire d'Hugo!  First things first, while this did involve me bossing my husband around in the traditional manner while he sat in front of his iMac, this is pretty much a rip of something I saw on t'internet.  Do I care?  Not really.  I'm a working mum to three preschoolers (is there such a thing as a non-working mum?) with limited time and I know what I like.  So, I saw something I liked and we bastardised it enough to make it feel like ours.  Is that alright?  Probably not, but what we do have is a rather nice little two pager (and the second page was all our doing) inviting way more people than we'll be able to cope with to the auspicious occasion that will be the first birthday of our littlest hobo, born on that very French of days, Bastille Day.

Points to note:
 - No gifts:  It seems unfair for little Hugo who doesn't have much of his own, but seriously, he doesn't need or want for a thing.  He is surrounded by toys and clothes and love.  Far better that our guests each give a few bucks to charity instead.
 - It's gonna be red, white, blue, guests are expected to adorn one or all of those colours.  Berets optional.
 - There will be champagne.  Normally I don't condone drinking (ahem) at a kid's party.  Well, it's not so much that I don't condone it, but it's more that it's really not necessary (it's a kid's party!)  but no champagne at a Bastille Day party?  Don't be nuts.  And by champagne I probably mean slightly-better-than-average Australian sparkling wine.
 - The invitation features the same bunting I used on the first birthday invitations of Ollie and Max.  This makes me very happy.
 - Hugo is going to be one.  ONE.

year 8

This is me and my husband, starting our eighth year of marriage.  Undoubtedly the last five have been a test of our resilience and ability to juggle more than we thought we could handle, but it's also been a very positive journey so far, and one which I cannot complain about.  With good health (the value of which can't be underestimated), a happy home and enough challenges to provide us with balance, I feel very blessed to be writing these words today.

Happy anniversary, Will, I love you and our children beyond measure.

overheard

Ollie:  I'm lovely, mum, because I keep making you things

Ollie: I'm giving myself a headache, everything in my brain is all jumbled up, my thinking wires have snapped!

Ollie:  Mum, in my head there are LOTS of BIG love hearts, all for you.

Ollie: (after I'd been cross with him) Dad, I'm so sad, all the love hearts in my head for mum are disappearing.

Me:  How many do you need?
Ollie:  Four
Me:  How many do you have?
Ollie: Three
Me:  So, how many more do you need?
Ollie: One... I'm like a calculator!

Max:  Ollie's going to consplode our house! (he meant 'explode')

Max: (finishing off his first ever packet of Pez candies) I've eaten all my pheasants!

Max:  I'm Buzz Limeyear!

Max:  I actually like bumatoes now! (he means tomatoes) (I hope)

this phase

About a week ago, I breastfed my littlest boy for the last time.  I didn't realise it at the time, but I've known it was coming.  I went back to work, expressing lasted a little while, but mainly, the breastfeeds have been restricted to night feeds and the occasional morning feed; so, it was only a matter of time before it'd be hard to sustain the one or two feeds a day he was getting.

I have mixed feelings about it all because I know that if breastfeeding had been that important to me, I would have found a way to continue.  But without listing the reasons it came to an end, one of the feelings I want to remember is how sad I am that it's over.  I'm sad I don't get to give Hugo that connection any more, the cuddliness in the middle of the night, the ability to soothe him almost immediately.  But more than that, I'm sad that this phase of my life is over.  Save for a few months between Max and Hugo, I've been pregnant and/or breastfeeding for the last five years or so.  I'm lucky that I loved it.  I loved being pregnant, carrying my sons, feeling them grow and move and I loved breastfeeding each of my sons for nearly a whole year.  There were times I didn't feel so great about it but more often than not, I felt I was doing the best I could, and that felt amazing.  So, it's a tough thing to admit that phase of our lives is over, we have no intention of adding any more babies to our family (though there is talk of chicks and kittens).  Now, we look onwards, forwards, away from this phase of having these exquisite little babies in our lives, the ones that feel so soft and little, that know so little but learn so much and so quickly, the ones that show their emotions as clearly as can be on those faces that smile, laugh, cry, burp, these babies that you hold almost every moment they're awake, looking forward to the days they'll be more independent but knowing full well those days will make you write soppy words about how sad you are that they're growing up.

Much as I wish I had known Hugo was breastfeeding for the last time, I suppose really, it's a good thing I didn't. It's a good thing it came and went and now it's time to move on.  There are other ways we continue to try our best, and lord knows we fail a LOT, but we keep trying, keep chipping away, trying our damnedest to help shape these little boys into the best that they can be.  But for now, this phase, it's over.  Time to move on.

june already

It's become my thing to muse over the passing of time.  I think it means I'm officially grown up, because it's all grown ups ever did when I was a kid (that and spend ages standing on front doorsteps saying goodbye to their grown up friends when we were leaving their houses).  I've said it before, but the passing of time is never as apparent as when you have children in your life, and the days fly by, then the weeks, and the weekends even quicker.  So here we are.  June.  I can now say 'next month, Hugo will be ONE'. How's that!

Last month, as well as starting a new knitting project (because there's nothing like having thirty half finished craft projects on the go) we were invited for an interview at a very lovely local school for next year's prep enrolments.  Ollie will start school in January and blah blah about how quickly that's come around (actually I'm not sure it has, it seems like the time is right for him to be starting school... maybe I just can't really remember life before babies but it feels like it was a LONG time ago).  We didn't really have a hope of being offered a place.  It's a Catholic school, we aren't Catholic, we didn't even claim to be Christian on our application forms, and were quite blunt about our beliefs (or lack thereof) during our interview.  But we were honest about why we thought this particular school would be great for Ollie (because religion aside, it is a fantastic little school), and we must have put forth a pretty good case because this week we found out he's been offered a place.  Our son, who isn't baptised, or part of any parish, who's parents don't ring any bells or contribute financially or otherwise to a church or nunnery or whatever else there might be, our son got offered a place.

Hooray!  That's great!  But actually, while it's not a bad problem to have, now we don't know whether he should go there or to our local state school, another perfectly good school (sans nuns), one that we are actually very happy for our boys to attend, one we understand to have one of the best reputations in the state.  We were so sure we'd miss out on the Catholic school, we'd stopped thinking about it and we were just fine with our back up plan.  Pleased even.  But now... what to do?

There are pros and cons to each.  The small, intimate teaching environment of the Catholic school, the other children and parents we know there, the awesome teachers, the feel of the place, then there's the academically brilliant state-run school, a secular education, a much bigger school and wider range of facilities, both are local, both are great, both could be wonderful for our boys but... how to choose?  It seems like such a big decision.  The school we choose will be their place for the next 5-6 years, it feels so crucial that we get it right.  And I don't even want to think about what might happen if we get it wrong.

So, we have two weeks to accept the place we've been offered.  It's good to have a deadline, but two weeks seems like a very short amount of time (refer opening paragraph) to make a decision so important.  Especially when it feels like all our decision making energy is spent for this year.  But like I said, it's not a bad situation to be in.  It's just that you and I and anyone that knows us knows we are not the world's best decision makers.  Not that we make bad decisions, just the process involved is... well, involved, and not always painless and maybe one of these days I'll just go with the flow and everything will be just fine.  HAH!

PS I finished the scarf, a peacock blue merino seed stitch scarf.  Yes, it was easy, but even so it felt great to be knitting again after my grandmother taught me when I was about 7.  It's such a vivid memory of my childhood, although I don't think I've knitted since then.  Almost every knit and purl reminded me of her, and even casting on made me emotional, and I'm pretty pleased to say I had the whole thing wrapped up in less than a week.  Felt great actually, and made me think about how maybe I'll be a grannie one day too, and I'll teach my grandchildren cool things.  That'll be nice.

decisions pt 2

My parents, the grandparents of my children, live 10,276 miles away.  As if that didn't make it awesome enough, in that same place, there are seasons, twinkly yuletides, explosions of spring and seemingly unending grey skies, save for a few broken weeks in the summer when it's glorious, and there are two days in each one, and every fat bloke embraces the blue skies and lies bare chested during his lunch break on whatever patch of grass he can find reading tabloid newspapers and enjoying a mediocre sandwich and always with a bag of crisps.  Not chips, but crisps.  There are uncles, aunties, cousins, friends of old, many I'd consider as close if not closer than family.

Every day since I arrived in Australia, almost 10 years ago, I have thought about how I miss that place.  I miss those people, the long summer days, the unending winters, the feeling of cosy, the closeness of everything, the history of the architecture, the rolling countryside (it's unrivalled) and I could go on.  It has never occurred to me that perhaps I don't miss that place, but I am simply nostalgic, never been one to adapt to change terribly easily, and always harking back to the good times gone, choosing conveniently to forget about the stuff everyone else remembers in order to look at today and the future with such enthusiasm.  Not me, I prefer the times I know, I dealt with them all so much better than I think I'll deal with the stuff I don't know, so it's only the good stuff I remember, and therefore miss with every bit of myself.

We talk often about going back there.  We met there, we loved life there, had it not been for my then boyfriend's growing ambition to do something with his life, we probably would have stayed there.  We talked about it a lot in the early years if life in Oz and it was always going to happen, but lately, since becoming parents and learning we can't just pack up these little people and take them to where we want to be without acknowledging it mightn't be best for them, it's become a lot harder to talk about moving with any certainty.  These days we realise too, that in the 4+ years since we were last there (in the midst of winter no less), life there is probably very different to what it was then, never mind the rose tinted memories of 10 years ago.  There's a big chance we could make the move and realise it was totally the wrong thing to do.  But is that a good enough reason for not trying at all?

But much as I am now thinking more often of staying rather than going, I can't quite bring myself to stop thinking about the possibilities.  The idea that we might have ruled out moving back there is heartbreaking, even if most of our friends (here and there) don't understand it.  I can't see my life being lived out in Queensland, beautiful though it is (and lord knows I don't miss anything when I'm at Straddie) and perfect though it might be for rambunctious little boys and their love of sandy feet.  But then I can't see how we'd move back either, I'm not a risk taker, and it might make me boring, but the idea of the chaos such a move would cause in my brain...

So the point of this post?  Well, as with most, there isn't one.  It's one of those ramblers, a brain dump, a record of this feeling of fence sitting and don't-know-what-to-do-ness that I'm pretty sure will be resolved by a nutcase trip we're planning for the end of this year back to that place.  Yes, in the midst of winter (Christmas!), when the days are short and dark (fairy lights!) and the holiday season will have taken hold (family time!).  It's been brewing for a while now, and we've decided the cost will always be a barrier, the travelling is 99% going to be hellish, but it's something we just have to do, not just so we have fuel for the ongoing debate of where our lives should be but because after almost 5 years since we were last there, and 10 Christmasses away from home, it will be about freaking time we take the kids over there, see my loved ones and squeeze them tight, and decide what the dickens we should do with the rest of our lives.  And even if we don't, I'm pretty damn excited about the possibility of the kids seeing some snow.  SNOW!

decisions, decisions

It's been a month of decision making.  Big decisions and little ones, too.  Deciding to buy a new mattress (totally wish this decision had happened sooner), deciding to replace our crappy old stove (which also resulted in replacing our kitchen bench top), finally deciding on the colours for Hugo's quilt (and accepting it won't be ready for his first birthday) and deciding which school is going to be best for our little Oliver.  All this decision making, in addition to the craziness of day to day life, the nervous energy that seems to keep the balls in the air, a trip to Mount Tamborine, a sweet mothers' day and a 10 month birthday for the littlest boy in the house.  And I'm not sure I've captured even half of what's happened this month.  

When I write it down, when I think about it for a second, it's with a stillness I rarely feel these days.  My mind is awash with Things To Do, be they child related, house related, work related.  There's always something I can be doing, and I'm not one to sit still (not until after my children are sleeping, anyway) so unless I'm doing one of those Things, I can't relax.  But I've come to realise, it's the projects, the doing things, the lists, the organising that keeps me sane.  Keeps me focussed.  Sure, every now and then all this doing takes me away from a moment I should be savouring with my husband, my kids, myself even, but it's not that often I feel like I'm missing out (or that they are for that matter), I quite often feel it's my job to keep these things happening, to keep oiling the machine that is our family life.  It's a conscious decision I make.  I could pretend to be one of those people that lives in the moment, claims letting the housework slide in favour of doing nothing with the kids is the magnanimous thing to do, but I'm not.  I don't see the sense in letting my kids see a me that's not real.  I do stuff, I keep life organised, I read endless stories, let them take day time naps in my arms, take the trips to the park when I really don't feel like it and let them boss me around with a list of things I must make out of Lego.  But all that stuff's only really enjoyable because there's the mundane stuff that has to be done too, don't you think?  The hard work (it's not that hard really), without it the other stuff would just be the every day, and so I guess striking a balance is what's important.  Important because I want my sons to know the play, the quality time, the silliness is all good fun, but working at something, making a conscious decision to do something to the best of your ability, that's important too.  They need to see mum doing stuff they're going to need to learn to do themselves one day, be it working, keeping house, playing with their own children, except with any luck they'll do it a little less maniacally, and a whole lot better.  It's all I hope for, I guess, that our children will grow up to be better than us.  They already are.