term two blues.

first day!

Sending Bubble and Squeak back to school after their first term holiday was pure evil. Two weeks of having them all to myself, to sleep in, to plan each day in the morning and not be preparing for tomorrow last thing at night was positively luxurious. They, on the other hand, couldn't wait to go back.

Don't get me wrong, School is great! School is good! Getting two children to school when you have the organizational skills of a gnat is not.

bubble has a tiny little cut underneath that band aid but the blood was copious.

Never in my wildest dreams did I think it would take 4 months to master the 'early morning-outta the house by 8.40am' thing. By master, I mean leave the house in the morning with out one of us having a complete emotional breakdown. By one of us, I mean me.

Call me naive but I truly thought it would be a massive turning point when the boys went to school, In a word, I thought I'd find 'freedom'. Big call, hey?

squeak insists on goggles in the bath.

What happened to all the time I was meant to have for creative pursuits and to get all this 'stuff' done? I certainly didn't think about lunchboxes, lunch, schoolbags, uniforms, readers, lost-property, working bees, birthday parties, library bags, library books, water bottles, sunhats, beanies, sickbays, excursions, notices or play-dates...

To be honest I haven't done any of the house-painting I promised to do and the pile next to my sewing machine has it's own postcode but things are definitely way more organised and calm.

So hopefully I'll manage to post more than once every three months from now on. Thanks Leigh. I have been reading the blogs in my list but I stopped commenting because I hadn't written a thing for so long.

It's winter! Can ya believe it? I didn't even get around to writing one single entry in this blog about how much I adore Autumn for the whole of Autumn! Oh well, next year!

addictions

way waaay waaaaaaaay back I got myself tagged by homegirl. The gist of it was to talk about five of my addictions. I just knew I would get to it eventually...

Addiction one.


The only thing I am truly addicted to is coffee.

I drink Lattes, usually two a day. I rarely go a day without coffee, every now and then I have a decaf if I've reached my quota.

Coffee is wonderful, it's comforting, it's ritualistic, it's social, it's chock-full of anti-oxidants! more than red wine and tea! the grounds make a wonderful body-scrub and garden fertilizer! I worship thee Coffee Gods!

Addiction two.

the next item on my list is jeans. Lee jeans to be precise. I'm a pear-shaped girl, a girl with boot-ay and these jeans just fit my behind. At the moment I have a pair of indigo denim boot-cuts, a pair of black skinnies and a pair of faded 70's style skinnies that fit like a glove! I do wear other jeans but they just don't cut it in the way that my Lees do.

Addiction three.

British vogue. I've read it religiously since 1993. I now get it via airmail and when each new one comes I take time to savour it then cut it to bits and file items of interest away to scrapbook or inspire me later. I have a Diploma in Clothing Construction and kick ass making patterns but really can not stand sewing! (I'm too much of a perfectionist for my wobbly seams.) I love to look at amazing garments and deconstruct them into their parts. It's like a gigantic 3D puzzle for me!

Addiction four.

I am addicted to the Idea of 'Simplification'. Putting it in to practice is another thing all together. My love of second-hand crap creates a war-like situation of dire proportions. Clutter is the only winner here!

Addiction five.

Going on-line. Blogging. email. Facebook. Google. I am ashamed of myself... enough said.

primary colours

Friday was the last day of the boys third week in Primary School. gosh. There have been so many little shifts and changes in our lives this year. It feels like three weeks ago they were my Little Babies and now they are definitely Big School Boys. They come home with funny stories, singing new songs and amazing art-work. Each day they go off more confidently than the last.

The first day of school was really exciting. We have friends at the school already and many of our customers take their children to 'Our' School. The boys walked in like it was the most natural thing and started playing happily with the other students. We said quick good-byes and left.

After, popping out for brunch, (North Island, Nth Fitzroy) I felt the emotions well up as a mum went by with a newborn in a baby carrier. What followed was a good 20 minutes of blubbing into my Bombay toast. It really surprised me. My children have been going to child-care since they were three and a half, I never once felt nervous or even remotely sad. I can't really put my finger on what made me cry. Sadness. Loss. Anxiety. Fear. Perhaps a mix of all of these. I know there was pride and happiness. Heck, I think I've done a bloody good job.

All we can do now is enjoy this new chapter. I know the book hasn't closed on the old one, they will be my Little Babies forever. When they hurt themselves they still need my cuddles, I just hold on a little tighter...

me-me-me time

kids make a town from Lego and found bits.

we ate way too much brie...

bubble as wrestle-dude.

my blog has been a bit light on the word/pictures/posting of late.

It's hot. I'm tired. Melbourne is in the middle of a heat wave.

I've been spending time with the kids. they start school in five days. i have no idea what to even put in their lunchboxes...

I've been trying to work out if i have time to blog anymore.

My 'thinking' has taken a toll on my body/mind. insomnia, vitiligo, grumpy-moo disease... I've been trying to put into some kind of semblance the attitudes/patterns i have and to get rid of those that do not serve me. quite exhausting.

I've been pumping the herbs in to me. getting counseling. having acupuncture.

Look out world!

... sorry to lower the tone...
if i read one more article where child-less people are banging on about how selfish children and their parents are i am going to shit in a bag and send it to the editor.

ms february.

yesterday the only useful things I could do were to wash dishes, make tea and tidy.

my friend had returned from a painful journey to Africa to find her freezer door ajar, a putrid stench in the air, spoiled food and a maggot ridden mouse in the middle of the kitchen floor.

thanks universe for that nice little toxic red cherry on the cake...

three of us sat in the lounge room after everyone had left and the kids were tucked up in bed.
my friend unpacked three suitcases of her mother's personal effects. photos, legal documents, clothing, perfume, jewelry... the most excruciating, her eye glasses, folded neatly in a hard case never to be worn again. ugh! my heart!

there was just this feeling of weight.
heaviness.
stillness.

her mother had the front page of a newspaper from 1963 tucked into her diary. it had a picture of a young woman holding a bouquet with the caption "BEAUTIFUL! MY GOD!" in Swahili written above it. this woman was my friends mother. 'Miss February', her whole life ahead of her.

sister's, arse-holes and other joys of christmas

One month of NO blogging. more focus on winding down. closing the cafe. time with the lovely husband and time with bubble and squeak. heck. they go to school this year!

hanging down at the Northcote pools. storming the parks with little buddies. sewing my quilt. re-potting plants. odd-jobs. reading. a husband and husband flying in from London for a little good food, wine and company and a night away. no kids! with a top-chick we know to stay at her parents *vogue living* holiday house on Philip Island.

My Dad arrived with his family on the 21st and we all stayed in Carlton, then we had Christmas at my Mum's place in Rosebud and took the car-ferry to Queenscliff to stay with my dad and the crew in Geelong. oooh and fireworks yay!

but hey it hasn't all been sunshine and light, being bitten by jumping jack ants 5 times on the arse was a lot of fun, as was rolling up my jeans at the beach and getting a tan that goes only half way up my legs. WOO. my sister was behaving like a total needy twat the whole time and barely talked to my dad's wife. fuck-what-a-bitch.

My friends mother was murdered in Kenya in a botched robbery on new years eve. she had been planning a visit but decided to go in Feb when the flights would be cheaper. add to that a case of vitiligo in my arse crack and it sure has been a bittersweet hols....

luckily as far as in concerned each new year really begins on my birthday so I'm about to start my own process of death and renewal over the next month. dead wood I'm chucking on the fire??

my sister.
old beliefs.
putting everyone else first.
people who have forgotten children get grumpy when they are tired.
vitiligo.
auto-immune diseases.
the drought.
dickheads in commodores.
made in china.

ladies! all the ladies!

words i wish now-me was able to tell myself at the time.

to the little lady in grade 2.
hey sweet-heart, it's totally normal to pee the bed still. heaps of kids do. it's totally NOT okay for your mum to yell at you for making all this extra work for her when you have poor bladder control.

to the little lady in grade 3.
hey little tom-boy. so. your parents are getting a divorce. well, you are in for a tough ride but you will think and feel your way through it and develop a great sense of empathy. you know that person at school who is teasing you? their parents are going to get divorced in a few years and you guys will actually become good friends.

to the little lady in grade 4.
hey little girl, i know your totally freaked out. your mum's boyfriend is a violent prick and keeps bashing her. would it make it any easier if i told you your going to get a beautiful baby brother out of this whole shit situation who will grow up to be absolutely nothing like his psycho father?

to the 17 year old lady.
hello there miss, grown-ups are supposed to protect children but your mum is honestly so fucked up she won't actually believe a word you've told her for ten years. sometimes something is so horrible we don't want to believe it's true and it's easier to label a child a liar than accept the truth.

to the 18 year old lady.
goddammit! you have a great arse. by the way you don't really like dance music. it's the drugs.

to the 23 yr old lady.
your best friend has just hung himself. do you think you should be all happy and gay? tell your boyfriend to stick his snare drum up his arse. his band is shit and they are going to break up. staying with a dude because he has a great family is pretty dumb. in 3 years you'll meet the man of your dreams.

to the 27 year old lady.
okay. your in a hospital room with two other mums and their crying babies while yours are down in the special care nursery. grow some balls and ask to be moved back to your old room where you'll be able to sleep. the room without junkie/methadone mum ringing the nurse every hour to ask for her drugs. when your mum tells you she doesn't like the name you picked for one of the twins tell her to fuck off! it will save you months of heart-ache.

feels like these ladies have been my companions over the years, bobbing along like helium balloons above my head. one hand is full of the strings that keep them with me, leaving only one hand to truly grasp life with. so the time comes to cut the strings and away they float into the sunset. i wave goodbye madly with both hands. see ya girls, it's been real.

bloody self-indulgent using the blog as a personal-growth sounding board, but I'd like to get my angst out now. I'd quite like to have a normal Christmas this year. one where i actually appreciate my parents.