Mrs. Smith.

Hiding out

2012-02-05T09:34:00.004+08:00

I am hiding.
It's true.

I said to my daughter and husband 20 minutes ago
'You go, I'll be down in a minute!'
I lied.
Bather-clad, they took their towels and trotted down to my brother's pool to swim with the cousins.

So here I am, a grown woman, hiding from my children in my nephew's bedroom, listening to the splashes and calls of children at play in a pool without me.

I tried to legitimize my hidings by googling, healthy lunch box ideas - see its really for them that I have retreated?
But screw that, I need alone time and quiet.

For me.

Have been reading about mother's guilt and it grates on my nerves.
Never was there a bigger waste of emotion than mother's guilt.
We do want we want, need, have to do. And if you don't like the way its going then change what you can. .
Our kids are ok.
Childhood/motherhood was never perfect.
How could we have idealized it so inappropriately to all of our detriment?

I'm taking five more minutes, before jumping in the pool.
In my experience, it pays to give yourself time out, before jumping in to the thick of it.

Mood

2012-01-22T16:07:00.003+08:00

This summer has been incredible. Consistent days of heat and sunshine. This summer, the island has been paradise.

One down side of the heat has been the increase in the fly population. Our living room seems to host at least 6 or 7 of the dirty buggers at any one time. They are grossing me out.

We aren't big fans of fly spray so the Luthier went off and bought one of those electric fly busters. They had sold out of the prefered model which boasts a '2000 watt killing grid', as described on the interwebs, so he came home with the model that uses a light to attract the flying blighters to some green sticky stuff and emits an ultra-sonic repellent noise for insects of the crawling variety. We charged it up with high hopes of sticky, ultra sonic devastation and there was much Smith excitement when the blue light went on. We cruelly sat back to watch the massacre.

For quite a while the flies ignored the WMD, much to our disappointment. So a change of strategy was agreed and we moved it off the kitchen bench, to where the flies were congregating in the kiddy goop on the coffee table. Once again we sat back, watching expectantly.

Nothing.

Well, one fly did crawl on the thing momentarily, but happily buzzed on.

We were about to decide that the device was a complete waste of time and then something did happen, something revolting and unexpected. We gaped, gobsmacked, as the party of flies, all basking in the 'zapper's' blue glow, began to engage enthusiastically in some filthy fly shag fest right there on the coffee table.

So, instead of a highly effective fly demolisher, what we actually purchased, was the insect equivalent of mood lighting and wakka-wakka music for the randy fly swingers party going on in our living room.

So happy we could oblige. Do you think we could get them some little mojitos, a cabana covered grapefruit and a limbo stick to go with that?

Tomorrow we bring out the heavy artillery.

Escarpay

2012-01-16T19:36:00.009+08:00

I went to Melbourne last week for not one, but, count 'em, two nights sans Smiths. Wooh!

My traveling companion was not a small child or a bearded luthier, not that there is anything wrong with that, but a true friend of the utmost aceness. I knew she was the perfect travel companion when she suggested 'a cheeky G & T' on the plane trip off the island. Being a very unseasoned drinker, I didn't finish mine off so kept finding a small, half empty bottle of gin in my handbag all weekend.

This mummy's escape was enabled by my appointment on Friday morning to become British. Tip top! Or top hole, if you will. (Another step in in keeping the dream of running away to France alive) I know, it was a bit odd but surprisingly informal and a bit of a laugh. I had to stand and say the oath before the Vice Consul and barely controlled my urge to recite it in my best Queen Elizabeth 'my husband and I' style, despite encouraging giggles from my travel companion. It was quite fitting, I thought to become British with a wee bottle of Gordon's gin in my handbag.

The escape was superb. I spent time with women of beauty, gusto, all with a gift for the crude. My favourite kind of lady!

The rest of the time was spent something like this
Churros and coffee at South Melbourne Market
French Champagne
Prawn and Sage Gnocchi, made for us by our generous hostess
Brunettis for vanilla Panzerotti
Ti Amo for the most delicious tortellini in brodo
Nougat icecream with a layer of Nutella (oh - my - lord!) finished with a palette cleansing scoop of lemon for my friend,
Delicious fizzy Italian red on mint and ice at The Transport Bar
Szechuan Chicken, crispy chilli and honey prawns, chilli squid, Chinese broccoli and shiitake mushrooms and more at The Supper Inn
Wagyu burger at Cafe Vue at Heide.

It looks wrong when I list it out like that, but it was good.
Sigh! Food, walking, art, laughs, a bed all to myself. It was all so good.

Home to airport tantrum, house a disgrace and lots of love.

Have to think of a new, unusual excuse for a mummy's escape. There must be something I need to do in Sydney?

Beach

2012-01-11T07:23:00.001+08:00

Happy Holidays!

Protecting your young

2012-01-05T12:53:00.006+08:00

Mother Duck protesting at unauthorized photos being taken of her gorgeous, fluffy, yellow babies.

I know how she feels.

Not about photos or fluffy babies, obviously, but of that innate protection response, of rising up in defence of your young. Mothering, protection and defence can be so primal and instinctive. While other aspects of parenting are like preparing for battle, requiring a plan, a strategy, complex psychology and forethought.

And where is the line between protection and suffocation, discipline and oppression, support and interference, or between freedom and neglect? I am not always sure and have so wavered and stumbled and crossed one or another. As they get older the lines are always changing.

In the end, I guess you just have to decide on a plan of attack and a line of defence. Better to raise your wings in protection than to throw up your hands in defeat.

Summer

2012-01-04T06:51:00.005+08:00

Languid pyjama mornings with feet up,
Dallying and dreaming over the Vogue Living
and everlasting cups of tea,

Days of sunshine and steamy heat,
slapped out of the malaise
by thunderstorm and deluge,
over in a flash,

Major Mitchell's parrots
cloud the greengage tree in pink and grey,
squawking and crying and tossing the pits,

Children industrious, exploring toy boxes,
unearthing forgotten fluffy friends and games,
playing and bickering,

The luthier leaves for the workshop just a little later in the morning
and maybe an 'early minute' each afternoon.

Cousins, aunts, uncles coming and going,
shouting and joking, instigating adventures.

Art sparks and easels at the gallery
reminded Grandpa that despite shaky hands,
drawing is possible

Water fights, swimming pools, parties at the beach to look forward to,

Evening marked with Magner's pear cider on ice.

Today, a cool breeze, blue sky, cotton ball clouds and no plans.

Happiness ...

2012-01-03T14:42:00.000+08:00

2012

2012-01-01T07:16:00.006+08:00

In my 20's, I finished my degree studies in Classics at UWA and each day I walked past these words carved six feet high in the stone wall of the Arts building, Apollo's command -

'KNOW THYSELF'.

2011 was the year of Me.

In 2011 I obeyed Apollo's command.

In 2011, I dedicated time and energy to myself and the outcome was better than I hoped for, I grew to know and like myself. I can look myself in the eye and stand my own skin. Stand on my own feet in my own shoes and consider that the possibilities of where these feet take me are limited mostly by my fears.

And I began to pick the locks and wrench open the bars on the cage of my jaded heart, and grew to know and trust and love others more willingly.

2012 is the year of work.

Of working to make real our dreams. To work on acquiring a practice of personal discipline. And to learn to assert myself. I have spent too much of my life exuding a strange apology for my own existence, trying to not take up too much room, trying not to fill other's space with, what I always considered, my second rate self. Time to occupy my space with more certainty. Shyness and insecurity are wasted energy only generating imagined obstacles to our dreams. To work hard but always with joy, fun, empathy, creativity and passion. To require more of myself than the basics, than 'the just making it though' that seems to have dominated much of my life, particularly life parenting small children.

The more my heart shakes off its shackles of self-loathing and insecurity, the bigger and more inspiring the world becomes.

I turn 40 this year. Isn't that when life begins?

Here's cheers to 2012 and it's infinite possibilities.

Thanks

2011-12-17T19:31:00.005+08:00

For Family,

Fate,

Friends,

And Fortunes.

For all the love that I daily receive,

I am truly thankful.

Present and Proud

2011-12-11T05:22:00.004+08:00

Great things have happened over the last two weeks. We adventured to Killiecrankie Farm at Glengarry and selected a beautiful tree from the beautiful Lee. Christmas alternately shines and looms on the near horizon.

The luthier and his Camerata Obscura performed a breathtaking concert of Mendelssohn and Dvorak on Wednesday night. Piano and violin solos of the complex and ambitious Mendelssohn piece stole the show. The second concert of this sweet small orchestra was a smash. I think the luthier was a little chuffed, as well he should be. The giveaway was the next day he began referring to himself, in jest as an 'impresario'. I like it.

The luthier spent years watching his father play and teach violin and musical direct show after show, and a quartet in the kitchen was not a rare occurrence. Taken far too early by dreaded cancer, his father would be amazed at the luthier now. He didn't see his son become a man, a father, a luthier, a bow maker or an impresario. But at the concert on Wednesday night, I am certain he was present and proud.

S.U.X.

2011-11-25T14:04:00.000+08:00

Working sux.

J.O.B.

2011-11-22T17:15:00.003+08:00

I got a job.

For all the right reasons.

I start Thursday.

35 hours a week. But most weeks of the school holidays off.

I am pleased and horrified together.

I have never been more grateful for the time I have had at home.

And I am tearfully heartbroken that it has come to an end.

I am focused.

And determined to make every cent earnt count.

The commitment is high. The return must be significant.

Here's to change. May it be fruitful for all of us.

The Luthier's Cello No. 10

2011-10-30T12:21:00.002+08:00

This is the luthier's 1oth cello being played so beautifully by a mystery cellist. This wee film shows just a little bit of the magic that the luthier creates with his own hands.

And he brought me breakfast in bed yesterday after I have spent the last few days being a surly cow. He is the best.

Spring-y

2011-10-26T06:53:00.001+08:00

For winter's rains and ruins are over,

And all the season of snows and sins;

The days dividing lover and lover,

The light that loses, the night that wins;

And time remembered is grief forgotten,

And frosts are slain and flowers begotten,

And in green underwood and cover

Blossom by blossom the spring begins.

- Algernon Swinburne.

The Brothers

2011-10-24T06:54:00.001+08:00

Photos by Danielle Thompson

Les Contes des Fées

2011-10-20T08:56:00.000+08:00

The smallest girl turned four and is not small anymore. She is rapidly shooting up and gaining on her brother and is also taking birthday princess-dom to new heights. Don't be fooled by the pink fairy gear, she is a ruthless dictator who bears no fools and leaves no room

for the slightest interpretation of her will.

J and I were stupidly proud of ourselves for constructing the petit chateau pour la petite princess. Donna Hay might not think much of our rustic, slightly leaning manifestation of her design, but screw her and her insane obsession with pale blue and utter pristine-ness. We stuck sparklers in the top and were rapt with the effect on the little pink party-goers and that it didn't topple over.

Meet Smiley, as she has been ironically named. This beautiful Waldorf doll from Poppy Bean and Bloss, is the prized birthday gift. She fits into the family perfectly as she already has a dirty face and has become Sophie's constant companion. The theory for these Waldorf dolls, I think. is that they don't show emotion so that the child can project their own emotions on to it, or something like that? Experts please correct me if I am wrong. Sophie did ask "Why isn't she smiling, Mum?" and so to compensate for her lack of expression, first entitled her "Saddie", thought better of it and now she is 'Smiley'.

As for me, I have again wandered away from my own space and spent some time dwelling in the world of what I wish I had rather than investing that energy in loving what I've got. It's cyclical, I guess. Happy to say that a conversation and coffee with the luthier has returned me to the planet and to the plan. Its so good to feel that, even though you occasionally become unearthed and carried away, the plan made ages ago is the one that you always come back to, and that progress has been made, even if sometimes it feels like the steps have been infinitesimal.

The sun is out on the island today.

Temperatures are in the mid-20's! Holey moley, its a heatwave!

Handsome children are bursting from the bushes.

Pretty maids and bees are buzzing around the ruffled lavender.

Pretty sweet this spring life, huh?

Take My Breath Away

2011-10-13T08:21:00.000+08:00

TAKE MY BREATH AWAY
(Lyrics by Claire Hamill)
Tuck & Patti

Sometimes it amazes me,
how strong the power of love can be,
and sometimes you just take my breath away.
You've watched my love grow like a child,
sometimes gentle and sometimes wild,
and sometimes you just take my breath away.

* It's too good to slip by,
it's too good to lose,
too good to be there just to use.
Gonna stand on a mountain top and tell the news,
that you take my breath away.

Your beauty is there in all I see,
and when I feel your eyes on me,
ooh don't you know you just take my breath away.
My life is yours,
my heart will be,
singing for you eternally,
oh don't you know you just take my breath away.

Sometimes it amazes me,
how strong the power of love can be,
and sometimes you just take my breath away.
My life is yours,
my heart will be,
singing for you eternally,
oh don't you know you just take my breath away.

Oliver's Legacy or Why I Often Feel Like Fagin.

2011-10-12T06:35:00.000+08:00

The Smith breakfast table.

The princess unstoppable chattering away.

The luthier politely, "Stop talking and eat your breakfast."

Sacha, looking up from his corn flakes, adds

"Yeah, shut up and drink your gin."

Ma Maison

2011-10-05T06:42:00.001+08:00

Sweetness

2011-10-03T06:40:00.003+08:00

The sun is out on the island and days are officially longer.
Energy is higher and anticipation of sunny times abound.

Yoga in the mornings, salad on the menus.
Life after school.

Work in the garden.
Black-eyed Susans, lavender ruffles and fairy magnolias.

Clean sheets, bags to the Salvos.
Flowers in the vase.

Chaos under some control.

Totem tennis, footy at the park.
Picnics, and bike rides.

Garden parties. Pimms.
Dresses and laughs.

Difficult Dirt

2011-10-03T06:26:00.000+08:00

Once there was a friendship.
Exotic and dark, it sprouted in difficult dirt. Tended with anticipation,
its potential was thrilling. It flourished, intertwining us two.

Ensnaring us in its tendrils, it encircled us through life and death,
the occasional blooms spectacular.

But time rot perished it,
Apathy pruned abusively and those rare blossoms failed.

Obligatory revivals were attempted, forced and bitter,
Like CPR on a dead man.
Leaving us at a distance to stare at its remains.

Left to a dusty corner pot it hangs, dry and brittle,

Like a macrame-clad maiden hair. Present, but a memory.

Once I had a friendship.
It sprouted in difficult dirt

But it flourished and intertwined us two.

My son was an orphan

2011-09-27T09:23:00.007+08:00

Last week my eldest made his stage debut in the Launceston Musical Society production of "Oliver". It was an amazing show, with a huge cast, and over the last 3 months it has been rehearsed and organised with military like precision. The experience, for J and for all of us, has been inspirational.

It has been quite a journey. I booked J into the initial audition without asking him. Knowing the production was coming up, I made a mother-style executive decision. And I informed him that he was attending only 2 hours before the audition started. You might think this a little unfair but it was a precautionary measure, as I sensed that the anxiety of aniticipation might overwhelm him otherwise. Like many of us, young and old, he fears change. and the unkown. We arrived at the audition with me still telling him "Oh no its not an audition, its just a workshop. It'll be fun." He complained and protested,

"I don't wanna be in a show. I'm not getting up on stage. I don't want a special part, Muu-uu-um! I can't believe you are making me do this " et cetera et cetera. But, under protest, in he went, signed up and then disappeared into the audition room full of fear and excitement.

Three hours later, I returned to pick him up and I was a little bit nervous. I was having doubts that I had pushed it too far this time. "Maybe he does know his own mind best. Maybe I'm just living out my own missed opportunities" and so on my worries worried. However, I was confident that we had not plucked this idea out of thin air. The lad has been singing for as long as he could speak. His rendition of "Arabian Nights" from Aladdin when he was less than two was breathtaking. And when I hear him sing the Glee versions of 'One Love' or 'The Only Exception' in the car, I tear up, every time.

When he finally emerged from the fate that I had condemned him too, he was beaming.

"How was it J?" I tentatively ventured.

He looked into my eyes, I held my breath and he whispered, "Heaven!"

"Mum, I really hope I get a part."

The process, for him, has been like training for a 10 km run (I was going to say marathon, but I have no idea what that would be like). It has been three or more months of dedicated all day Sunday rehearsals and a few long evenings and for the last few weeks its been 7 hour days and late nights. Not to mention the repetition, the doubts, nerves, boredom, frustration and thrill. It's been quite a wild ride.

We had to workshop him through the bit in the middle, when he stared to protest and wanted to drop out. I again questioned my judgement at this point. Along the lines of "Is it too much for him? Is he too young? Are they not taking care of him? Has he not made any friends?" Against my desire to contain my helicopter mother tendencies, and in order to find out what the problem was, I asked the director if I could sit through a rehearsal with him. Parents were usually strictly forbidden. The Director was extremely supportive and so along I went. I am so glad I did. Happily, I discovered that he did not, in fact, hate every minute of it and was not dying of boredom. He was sitting with his eyes glued to the performance for hours and burning with frustration that he hadn't got the part of the Artful Dodger or one of his gang, as they had so much more time on stage. A true thespian. Appropriately, for 'Oliver' it was not less he wanted, but more.

Despite the ups and downs, protests and frustrations he did it. He committed to a long and challenging project. He performed as an orphan in an outstanding show and discovered the love, the applause, the camaraderie and adrenaline of the theatre.

Now, I would never say to him " I told you so."

And I am overflowing with pride.

Happiness is a new zine

2011-09-21T09:40:00.001+08:00

"Happiness. This is an uncomfortable word, too full of associations of cheerfulness and mindlessness. I prefer fulfilment. The goal is to have a fulfilled life, which means enduring periods of great difficulty, but in the name of something worthwhile. Also, it feels vital to conceive of happiness as something one might, at best sample in 10-minute bursts. To imagine a decade of happiness seems insane- happiness is a rich food that we can'[t stomach for very long. We're creatures built on anxiety and apprehension. That's how we survived." - Alain de Botton

I found this kernel of wisdom in a new mag I stumbled across. It's called "The Smith Journal" and markets itself as

With a name like that how could the luthier not love it? He did like it, but he is suspicious that it contains mostly writing by women about men rather than real men talking real men's business. However, it has great pictures of cars and shoes and sheds made from upturned boats. The photos are beautiful in that Frankie-style sepia way, and there are some great short stories. The piece by Monsieur de Botton, my favourite modern philosopher, is entitled "Ten things I Believe" and worth a read if your are feeling a little philosophical.

High Tea

2011-09-20T11:36:00.000+08:00

On my Saturday afternoon off last weekend, I was picked up by my buddy who appeared, looking hot, in couture of her own making. Speeding down the street in the Volvo, we flipped the luthier not only the single, but the double bird, as we bolted past him. He was wearing a surly look on his face or as my mother would have it "he was wearing a turd for a brooch" as he loaded the kids into the family wagon. Giggles and swearing and chatter burst out of us escapees like the corks had popped on our bottles. We cruised off eagerly to our idea of a hot Saturday outing. - The Launceston Horticultural Society Flower Show.

I know, we are WILD!

The show was held in the same hall that hosted my Grade 12 ball. That night, 20 years ago, when I cut a fine figure in my black, raw silk strapless frock with electric blue tulle underneath and sporting a black velvet bolero jacket. My hair, thankfully, had calmed down from its unfeasible heights of the late 80's by then. The immense spiral perm had mostly dropped out. So that night I was crowned with a shoulder length bob, tame compared to previous hairdo eccentricities. I was El Presidente of the Ball Committee that year (the only school office I ever held) and while the hall has changed it remains full of memories. I remember the preparations for that night of nights, including filling and tying ribbon on 100s of helium balloons in black, silver and grey, that floated across that ceiling then painted with stars. And I recall the shyness, the touch and the laughter that accompanied the compulsory progressive ballroom dancing under those stars. I cringingly remember being pulled up on stage with the band to sing along tunelessly to one of the hot hits of the time - I don't recall the song now, it wasn't Black Velvet by Alannah Myles but that's the only song from that era I can remember.

On this Saturday, the hall was in bloom, hosting a Nanna event extraordinaire, Full of the fresh, oxygen-sweet air of a room bursting with flowers and plants. The atmosphere was sublime. All around blossomed varieties and blooms I had never seen before with exotic Latin names that I will never remember. We wandered around and chatted to bloggy friends, garnering knowledge and advice from our friend from Killiecrankie and imagining midnight guerilla gardening escapades with Suburban Jubilee. We cruised the blooms and chatted to the sweet aged people around us. We took high tea which was quite a spread for the princely sum of $4 - tea and a plate. Over tea were shared stories of misspent youth. Hugging ours sides, we laughed uproariously over the distasteful escapades of university days and share house shenanigans. (I hope no offence was caused to the dear Nanna's around us, that they did not catch foul snippets with their tea and biscuits. Although I am sure they would all have tales of their own.)

Times have changed considerably. The wine carrier is now recyclable and full of seedlings. The cup is full of tea. Not a dirty dart or a Zippo in sight. The plants we purchased were to be planted freely in our gardens not surreptitiously in our cupboards under foil and harsh lights. This picture would have horrified 18 year old me. It was all booze and fags and bands and the boys in the bands and dreaming of life's potential, back in those days of my youth. Those days now glow golden with hindsight but I paid little mind to their glory then.

These new, slow days have simplicity and its greatness in them. I love that they are here.

Art

2011-09-17T10:34:00.003+08:00

I love painting and drawing with the kids. Even though sometimes the effort and mess daunts me a little. Once we get cracking its such good fun. (Its annoying the number of times I have let that inertia stop me from doing things that I know, once I start I will love. Here's to efforts to get over that ol' chestnut.)

So this morning, while the luthier took his wise ass off to Symmons Plains to ride his saucy Italian mistress around the track, me and the kids manifested our inner artiste, and here is our exhibition or exervishun (as Sophie calls it).

Below is my study of a thick-lashed plonker and the subject.

And now, like Mary Poppins, I get Saturday afternoons off, so I am heading out the door, yes out the door sans enfants, off like Mum's undies on Father's Day, to seek out adult company and look at plants and probably eat cake.

The Wisdom of The Luthier

2011-09-16T08:33:00.003+08:00

Last night the luthier reminded me that sometimes I don't have to search very far to tap into the wisdom of the ages. He asked me about the book I was reading - "The Happiness Project" and I explained it was a a book describing a woman's research and actions undertaken over a year to change her behaviour in small ways in order to become more happy and generate more happiness in those around her.

"It's a self-help book, isn't it?" was the reply.

" Well, yes and no, ... well yes, I guess it is."

" It's easy to be happy" he went on in his matter-of-fact way
"Really? How's that?" I said intrigued.

He replied "Just pull your head out of your arse."

I think he might be onto something.

Sure Enough

2011-09-15T15:11:00.006+08:00

As expected, the smalls hit the town in entirely inappropriate garb yesterday.

Today the largest was inexplicably unwell, had a sleep and recovered.

I spent 2 hours cleaning up my bedroom. Then made my bed with my favourite linen sheet bought en France and got into it and read 'The Happiness Project' by Gretchen Rubin. I am really digging it. What makes her happy is not what makes me happy but I really agree that happiness is heightened when a little effort is made towards it. I like her ideas and the quotes and research she is basing her ideas upon.

“We must, therefore, pursue the things that make for happiness, seeing that when happiness is present, we have everything; but when it is absent, we do everything to possess it.” -- Epicurus

This idea of investing in happiness when things are going well in order to make you more robust when times are tough really interests me. I wonder if it works?

Colour and Happiness

2011-09-14T10:34:00.012+08:00

I had a black and brightly coloured crocheted 'ruggy' when I was a small. It was my security blanket and I loved it. It inspired the colour scheme for this craft project and I am truly loving it. Completing one of the three-coloured circles in red, orange and yellow, or purple, red and pink. It makes me very happy. The pattern is great because you weave in the ends and attach the hexagons as you go. None of that awful sewing in of the ends which can sometimes be a job too big and too tedious to tackle.

The intention is for this hexagonal patchwork bliss to grow to single bed size when it can become a throw for the bed of my number one son. He is an amazing kid but plagued by anxiety (I have no idea where he might get that from, ahem...). I hope it works for him as a security blanket. A confidence blanket. He just scooted off to town on his own for the first time - to visit the luthier's shop. Maybe it is working already?

Number two son has declared it a pyjama day and was last seen eating Nutri-Grain out of the box. He turned 6 last week and celebrated with a lego party. He had fun AND he even invited girls! We made a Lego cake ( inspired by the Donna Hay version without any of her stylist, perfectionist finesse) and he received so many of the precious little blocks on the day, we thought he might like to build an extension to the back of our house with it. If James May can do it, I am sure Sacha could give it a crack.

Speaking of crack, turning 6 was a big day in the Smith household for Number two son as he has been promising for a long time that on the day he turned six he would take over the enviable job of wiping his own ass. I know, you can imagine how sorry I was to see that job deleted from my task list. How I loved to hear the inevitable call each day "Muuuuu-uuum, its Bum Wiping time!" Everyone's favourite time of the day! The lad has been true to his word and so far, so good on the solo bum-wiping performance.

How my boys are growing up!

Child number 3 is taking the art of arguing and negotiation to new heights. Bleurgh! She is too young for the Argument sketch, but she never wants the 5 minute argument, its always definitely the 10 minute argument for her. Important subjects to debate include, putting your jacket on, shutting the car door, eating your dinner, and of course, everybody's favourite, getting into bed. Granny kindly took her out and bought a delightful pair of pink, plastic high heels with matching accessories at the two dollar shop. I am guessing that the next topic for argument will be "Why you can't wear tractionless plastic high heels (and no cardigan)into town" and will end with me irrationally yelling, "Alright well, break your bloody neck then!" or similar effective parenting statements.

A few more days left of the holidays and then a whole new world opens up before me. Next week is my first official week as a stage mother! J makes his debut as ' an orphan' in the Launceston Musical Society production of 'Oliver'! " Teeth and eyes, kid, teeth and eyes!"

Chookas!

Hols

2011-09-12T15:23:00.004+08:00

Gardening and bubbling with garden dreams.

A few games of cards.

Visiting friends, a market, two new skirts.

Hexagonal crochet.

A tantrum that lasted three city blocks and the whole drive home.

Oliver rehearsals for J.

The smalls playing kings and queens going to France.

The luthier carving up a cello back.

And the ever-present question - what's for dinner?

Le petit orchestre

2011-08-31T07:32:00.007+08:00

On Wednesdays, a little orchestra comes to our house to rehearse in our living room. This is one of the many benefits of being married to the luthier. It is a chamber group formed by the luthier, from a group of the finest strings players in our town who also happen to be the most charming people. They call themselves ' Camerata Obscura".

Last week, they gave two serenades to me and the children and we happily drifted off to sleep all cosied up together.

It is a luxury and privilege to have our own private orchestra each Wednesday but this week the children and I have been generous enough to share. The Camerata will be playing their first gig at Fresh on Charles at 7pm this evening. The program of music is dreamy and superb. They will play Tchaikovsky's Serenade Opus 48 and Elgar's Serenade in E minor. it would be lovely to see you there.

Getting on

2011-08-29T14:42:00.004+08:00

I am getting on.

There are signs.

Wrinkles. That errant and recurring single black hair on my chin which can reach surprising lengths before being discovered. Singing incorrect lyrics to young people's popular tunes. Becoming less self-conscious about dancing in supermarkets or sitting in the front row. Inappropriately dressing for comfort over style. Calling people 'darls' as I have potentially forgotten their actual name.

But I suspect that one of the best things happening to me as I get older is that I am just beginning to get the teeniest hint of insight into the difference between giving up and letting go.

Still here

2011-08-28T14:20:00.003+08:00

So, we made it to the princess party. It had a jumping castle and was extremely excellent.

As for every single other item on my simple weekend plan, well I'd rather not talk about it. Let's just say we are still here and its raining.

Hope your weekend has been as excellent as a dress-up party with a jumping castle.

Simple Weekend Plan

2011-08-27T07:00:00.008+08:00

Right, then. So, I've made a plan.

What I am going to do today is get up, go out, attend compulsory Disney princess-themed kid's party (shudder), buy lotto ticket, come home, clean up while kids wallow in screen world for far longer than is good for them. This evening we will head to the Junc room to listen to 'da hip hop' and shake our communal Smith groove thang and after that I will return chez nous to discover we have indeed won an obnoxious amount of filthy lucre in the lotto.

Tomorrow we will pack up and by the afternoon we will be in a warm tropical place, in a resort replete with kid's club, morning yoga and every nutritious and delicious meal and whim catered for, planning our move to France.

Ok? Great.

P.S I told you I wasn't very good at this contentment business.

Brace

2011-08-27T06:58:00.003+08:00

This week I entered into a Sanctum. Annie offers pampering and relaxation, but I received from her something altogether more significant. ( No happy endings jokes thanks, cheeky rascals!)

As I lay in that peace-filled room, prone, vulnerable and exposed, Annie massaged away my knots and troubles while I closed my eyes and soaked up the oils, the attention and that sweet, soothing music. As she moved around that room, changed from side to side, reached for more oil or a warm towel, Annie always maintained connection with a lightly resting hand. This slight, sure touch braced me against sudden moves, I knew exactly where she was and this touch gave me certainty. In that room I lay pummelled and exposed but so sure, so certain. Those deft hands intuited my strengths and sensitivities and yet instilled me with confidence. Those hands knew when to go softly, softly or just how much pressure I could take. And so I was massaged, worked, coaxed and relaxed into body and being, always certain of the hands.

Annie gave me a massage but more than that she illustrated a way of being and gave me insight into a way of parenting I aspire to and which I rarely achieve.

Thank you Annie. For the massage and for the model for my aspiration - to massage and brace three children into adulthood, giving them the gift of surety, of certainty, of their mother's presence.

Yes

2011-08-19T07:06:00.007+08:00

I saw a preview for a movie with a radical plot last week. It was a fictional movie, about a Dad who says' Yes' to his children and the movie demonstrates all the joys and adventures that saying 'yes 'to kiddies and their whims and fancies can bring. So, even though this idea goes against every fibre of being that is my parenting instinct, I was inspired. I thought, "Hey, I'll give it a go".

So I said 'yes' to another biscuit, 'yes' to climbing into the car through the boot, 'yes' to everyone's song selections in the car and so on. The result was, for a little while everyone felt like they were getting what they wanted. It was a good idea, right up until the questions got to 'Can I stay home from school?' and 'Can we buy a guinea pig?".

On Mondays, I take Sophie to her ballet class. It would be better described as her bliss class. The little princess get's herself ' all pinked' and frocked and skips happily with pig tails flying into the hall to adore her ballet teacher and frolic in her bliss. This Monday, Sophie asked a very simple question, "Mummy, I want you to watch me. For the WHOLE class." So I said "Yes". And for one whole half hour I gave my daughter my full attention through a little window into the ballet hall. I didn't play Words with Friends, or check the nothing that people have to say on Facebook, or text the luthier or anything. One whole half hour of undivided watching.

About 5 minutes into the class I caught myself with the widest, most unselfconscious grin I have had in years. There they were, a group of little girls all dressed up in tutus and fairy costumes, and full ballet rig (though they are only three) soaking up the presence of their teacher, the dream ballerina, chins held aloft skipping, pointing and flexing and being a mermaid. The happiness and spirit was palpable and it had infected my face. I couldn't stop smiling.

After about 10 minutes I became aware of 3 mothers behind me. They were watching too, as their daughters took their turns at sideways skipping with scarves held before them in front of a mirror. And their commentary began,

' Oh, look at Lila, she doesn't concentrate.'

'Well look at Ruby, she is totally uncoordinated."

'What about Lucy, she isn't even going in the right direction."

The criticism was delivered with giggles and in the spirit of humurous self- deprecation, I guess.

And then they moved on to a systematic dissection of themselves. In the few minutes they stood there, while there daughters danced joyfully, they compared each other's faults. They weren't losing weight fast enough, they drank too much, they were overwhelmed with busy-ness and, of course, they were shit parents. All in a casual, couple-of-minute conversation.

And before us, in that room through the window frolicked the girls, blissfully dancing, blissfully in love, blissfully unaware of the social conventions ahead of them.

I turned the grown up voices off after that, tuned into the girls and said "Yes".

The grin returned in an instant.

Sitting Still, where you are

2011-08-09T09:24:00.009+08:00

Man! I struggle with this. The sitting still, just where I am.

I just filled out the census and realised we have 'usually lived' at the same address for well over five years, almost 9 years, in fact. And almost every Thursday, for at least the last five or six years, I have scoured the real estate guide for a bigger and better option.

Before family life and home mortgage ownership I had moved every 12 months, at least, since I was 18. When I was a kid my mum liked to change houses about every 5 years - a new interior design project, or drops in the numbers of children living at home from 7 to 3 to 1, etc.

The luthier and me, we watch 'Escape to the Country' and 'Grand Designs' religiously. We even go to open houses and view properties in town and in the country regularly.

Something in me craves change constantly. It manifests itself in craving change in real estate. And also in the endless cycling through the questions " Should I get a job?", "Should I go back to uni?", " Volunteer?", " Take more on?" and on and on it goes.

Now, there are two things I suspect about this restlessness:

1. The longer I sit in this house, life and mother/wife space that I have and concentrate on it and on the people inside it, the better off we all are. And so the less energy I focus on this elusive, fantastical and probably non-existent 'better offer' of a life, house, job, plan the better our real lives get.

2. This craving of change is just a manifestation of my own sense of inadequacy. The niggling background noise of 'I am not enough'. My life is not enough. Or in the words that the luthier and I often (probably) misquote, as said via the magic that is beat poetry in Dead Poets Society "you gotta do more, you gotta be more!"

The truth is that I am now old and ugly enough to consider that number two is a lie. Me and my life could be enough. I am a mother and wife. It is my passion.

The truth is that I know what I want. I basically want what I have. To allow a sense of inadequacy to undermine my appreciation of it, is to degrade all of us connected with it. Why do I criticise it and so sell short myself and my family? I should be boasting about how bloody great it is and how great they are. I fear I have succumbed to the fashion for self-deprecation, for "I am not good enough", which seems quite the mode de jour for mothers this season.

So perhaps I could aspire to relinquish the restlessness.

To aspire to control my distractable nature and direct my attention to the mostly smiling and sometimes whining faces and hearts of the loves of my life, unmarred by the discomfort of feeling inadequate.

To aspire to sing out loud the love for the life that I have right now.

To sit still in it. Where I am.

It is enough.

In fact, its a beauty.

Swinging

2011-07-30T08:17:00.005+08:00

My Husband

2011-07-20T19:38:00.000+08:00

My husband made this bow

I am very proud of him and I love him more than pie.

That is all.

Chasing Dragons

2011-07-19T09:57:00.003+08:00

Just when you think your life is a bit out of control, things are a bit messy or unsatisfactory, not quite how you would like them to be, then read this blog post.

http://poppysdragon.blogspot.com/

Holy Shit! This blows me away.

Fuffenscheit

2011-07-13T09:01:00.006+08:00

At Brown Owls last night, someone asked me what my blog name was and I felt that I should explain to them why I call it fuffenscheit. Then I realised I don't think I have ever explained on the blog what the fuffenscheit is all about. So what the hell:

When my J was about one and a half, he was an avid ABC Kids watcher. One day he started asking over and over again for a particular show, saying "Wanna watch fuffenscheit, wanna watch fuffenscheit" Except he pronounced it fuffen- shoyt with a strong Aussie drawl. Me and the luthier could not figure it out, what was this show he was so damn keen on?

This went on for some weeks before it all became clear. One Sunday arvo, the Luthier sat on the couch, frustratedly flicking through the channels, muttering "I'm not watching this, what is this fuckin' shite..."

Dunno what it was but it obviously sounded pretty good to J.

So fuffenscheit went into common Smith household usage and came to mean just 'stuff and whatever". That's my blog, just Smith stuff and whatever.

Grace and Me

2011-07-07T09:19:00.008+08:00

Grace and Me

We head out into the world, Grace and me.

Treading surely on the Earth, our fingers tightly entwined,

we hit the road together.

We tear down the path,

shedding our layers as we run sunward,

beaming and grinning, light and free.

Raucous cubs, we race through fields,

wrestling and roaring, in the grasses

till our innards ache and that rascal laughter thieves our breath.

Wandering in our forest hides, we share our secrets, Grace and me.

With O’s for eyes, we cautiously unwrap and reveal our dreams.

Eye-to-eye the solemn oath is made to cherish and keep them always.

We tackle the rocks and toil the hard roads together, always together.

And when the bear clouds menace, growling and rumbling,

we stand strong.

On gloomy paths, a cheerless mist snakes itself around us.

Grace opens wide her arms and enfolds me like a blanket,

Her down-soft cheek barely rests on mine,

Grace is with me, with me, until that chill creeps on.

Now we are lost.

We stop. Silent. Still. We breathe together.

Leaning in close with a murmur for my ear,

Grace tells the way.

Up we go, hand in hand, to reach the sunny summit,

Our legs swinging as we overlook the Earth,

‘Ooh-ing’ and ‘aah-ing’ at the fireworks and fireflies,

revelling in the show.

And when day sets and night ascends,

when we are weary and warm-wanting

we hit the road together. Grace and Me,

our fingers tightly entwined, we lead each other home.

Il pleut

2011-07-04T09:32:00.006+08:00

Raining, raining, raining.

Three kids at home sick.

Cough, sniffle, splutter.

The dryer is broken.

But the tea is hot, and Cold Comfort Farm is quite comforting, doonas are on the couch and Harry Potter is on high dvd rotation.

This time of year always makes me restless, craving change, a new house, a big-assed plan, a new degree, any new idea that provides a distraction from the cold and the everyday, other than a block of chocolate a night.

Sensible people on the Island go north for the winter.

p.s. Our bullying issues were stopped by the school the day after I spoke to the teacher about my son's concerns, and she looked me in the eye and said "No child should ever feel like that at school." There has been no problem since. My son said "I don't know what they did to him Mum, but they took him away in the morning and ever since he came back he's been really nice." My wild imagination is picturing a white room and a bright light, like some CIA-style debrief or maybe a tazer or something, but whatever it was, it worked.

Bullying

2011-06-22T06:53:00.007+08:00

I just read Pottymouthmama's last post and the comments and I am riled and would like to add my voice.

Deep breath, commence diatribe - I was sitting around crafting with three other women on the weekend and we all described the bullying we experienced in high school, the heartbreak, the withdrawal, and tragically the acceptance. Worse still, I know that after experiencing bullying, and operating in a culture of bullying, as a young person, I was guilty of bullying behaviours myself. How shameful that is for me now.

My son is being bullied at school.

There are bullies in the workplace.

Bullies in families.

Bullies in cars.

Bullies in government.

What happened to Oz that easy going, laid back country? We are a nation that not only tolerates bullies but has the expectation of bullying. How many times have you heard people respond to bullying stories with - "Well, there is nothing you can do, there are always those kids/bosses/workmates out there like that. You just have to learn to get over it - Suck it up!"

Bullshit!

Bullying is intolerable. Bullying will break your spirit and your heart whether you are the perpetrator or the victim. Bullying decimates your sense of self worth. Its time we all stood up and said "Enough!"

For all those with kid's being bullied, please complain until you feel that your child is safe at school. Stand fiercely by your child's side and say "This is not good enough!' Take your kid out of school until they can guaruntee that they are safe and supported. Small children do not have to suck it up. No one does.

That crap about it being character building is nonsense.

That line is how the bullies get away with it.

That line is the expression of our cultural tolerance of bullying.

ENOUGH!

Astonishing Good Fortune

2011-06-21T09:47:00.015+08:00

On The day you were born
by
Georgia Sutton, 2001

On the day you were born I was ready.

You took an age to emerge but when you were ready

You entered our world with a bump.

Astonished, I lifted you and held you. We cried.

Your father cradled you as the midwife gave you oxygen.

We drank you in, your mullet of long, black hair

and eyes, bottomless saucers of dark, navy blue.

You were so much bigger than that tiny yellow suit

We dressed you, fed you, bathed you, rocked you and didn’t want to put you down.

You and your daddy fell asleep, but I was too excited.
I sat and watched and I couldn’t believe my luck.

I was just trawling through some old stuff and found this that I wrote after my eldest son was born.* He is now 10 and a quarter, funny, empathetic, brave and kind. Astonishing still.
I still can't believe my luck.

* Tania's comment has just highlighted to me that this is a wee bit misleading. This poem was, in fact, written several months after J's birth through the rosy glow of hormones and hindsight, when I had a bouncing baby boy on my knee, and the trauma of birth and sick newborns was well behind me. I would hate to give anyone the impression that I sat serenely in my hospital room after his birth, in a silk negligée perfectly coiffured, upstairs and downstairs, with my moleskine at the ready for the muse to pour forth, as this poor bit or writing above would suggest. In my hospital room I was gobsmacked, pale and rooted from 2 days of labour, stitched from a- hole to breakfast, happy and hormonal and wondering why the hell all these people kept putting their hands on my boobs ** - like a normal person.

**Okay, okay, apologies again. I was shooting for 'I didn't have a perfect birth" and accidentally hit the "graphic visuals" mark. My tone-o-meter is way off today.

Holidays and Secrets drenched in Awesomeness

2011-06-09T16:57:00.007+08:00

Holidays at home when its freezing cold and raining cats and dogs have their up sides. Like the fact that it's very cosy indoors.

And it's excellent crocheting weather.

Perfect conditions for playing pirates and princesses.

And when the sun comes out we can walk into town for the best babycino in town.

The weather is excellent for reading. Our bookgroup book this month is 'The Bookseller of Kabul' by a beautiful Scandinavian woman who can speak five languages whose name momentarily escapes me. And I'm reading 'The Book Thief' by Marcus Zusak to the luthier at bedtime. Both are proving to be bloody good reads.

Oh and as for secrets. shhhhh, but I have a secret which is so awesome I can hardly believe it.

The irrespressibly excellent Pottymouthmama had a giveaway and we won! Its for a Nintendo DS and Ninjago game. Sacha is going to pop his cowl when he sees that arrive. I am not going to tell him until it gets here because I want to relish the moment of pure thrill when he opens it. That boy is not going to believe his luck.

He has a bit of a tragic DS story. Santa bought him a DS the year before last and he was in love with it, right up until the moment he lost it about 3 weeks after Christmas. Since then, he only gets DS access when his brother is feeling particularly magnanimous and he is willing to beg shamelessly, or by stealth. To win this uber cool DS and game is going to totally pop his cork!

And I won it with a fart gag.

Thanks PMM.

Holidays: Day 1

2011-06-04T09:14:00.003+08:00

It's School Holidays, Day 1: 11.14 am and there have already been two tantrums.

One of them was mine.

The other one is still going on in the privacy of the bedroom.

It's been far more loud, lengthy and spectacular than mine.

I really need to lift my game.

Women

2011-05-26T08:02:00.004+08:00

Conversation with No. 2 Son

No.2 - Mum, some boys at school are rude to girls ... I'm not

Mum - No, you know how to treat a lady, don't you, kiddo.

No.2 - Yes Mum,... you get one woman and you treat her a little bit good.

Wise words to live by.

2011-05-17T11:29:00.006+08:00

Morning Song

by Sylvia Plath

Love set you going like a fat gold watch.

The midwife slapped your footsoles, and your bald cry

Took its place among the elements.

 Our voices echo, magnifying your arrival.  New statue.

In a drafty museum, your nakedness

Shadows our safety.  We stand round blankly as walls.

I'm no more your mother

Than the cloud that distills a mirror to reflect its own slow

Effacement at the wind's hand.

All night your moth-breath

Flickers among the flat pink roses.  I wake to listen:

A far sea moves in my ear.

One cry, and I stumble from bed, cow-heavy and floral

In my Victorian nightgown.

Your mouth opens clean as a cat's.  The window square

Whitens and swallows its dull stars.  And now you try

Your handful of notes;

The clear vowels rise like balloons.

I love this poem. Especially the onomatopaeic first line.

The description of that first night with your first babe.

And the third stanza describes something about motherhood that I

sometimes sense ,but have never been able to put into my own words.

Aah, Sylvia, love set us all going like a fat gold watch, even you.

How sad that you stopped your own watch.

This poem, Sylvia and the ticking love remind me to get out of my own

 head and back into life, into my kids and others I love. It reminds me

that worries don't lead me to the good stuff. Not like my daughter's

ability to burp on request, Sacha's inflammatory declarations that our

Prime Minister is sexy ( eyew!) and DJ J's endless crooning of

popular tunes will.

Love set them going like fat gold watches. May they tick on and on.

Put A Bird On It

2011-05-04T11:37:00.001+08:00

Seinfeld - Serenity Now Montage

2011-05-02T12:39:00.001+08:00

Is it just my kids who go out of their way to give their mother the metaphorical, and sometimes, the actual finger?

I have a feeling I am not alone.

After having been flown the metaphorical bird by my three year old today, I hold grave fears that I may not make it to their teen age years because I might actually blow a head gasket through pure frustration.

Serenity Now!

Random Moments

2011-03-31T09:24:00.005+08:00

Self Portrait of the Luthier in Wood.

I think he's captured the essence.

Wheeling my Dad into the nursing home for respite care,

Ten Year Old: "What do people do in respite care, Mum?"

Moi: "Well, they have a rest."

Ten Year Old: "Yeah, like rest in peace .... oh no, that's not right, is it?"

My daughter has christened her new doll "Rosie Clackers". Pretty!

I guess it could have been worse.

Specialization

2011-03-16T10:22:00.008+08:00

“A human being should be able to change a diaper, plan an invasion, butcher a hog, conn a ship, design a building, write a sonnet, balance accounts, build a wall, set a bone, comfort the dying, take orders, give orders, cooperate, act alone, solve equations, analyze a new problem, pitch manure, program a computer, cook a tasty meal, fight efficiently, die gallantly. Specialization is for insects.”— Robert A. Heinlein ( Quote from Quote Vadis my new favourite web site quotevadis.com)

I can't set a bone, but I would have a crack (get it!?) if required and I am not sure what 'conning' a ship is but the year of me is turning out to be the busiest year I have had for years and has almost nothing to do with me. All good there and as it should be.

J turns 10 on Saturday and is off to a new schoolwhere he has to wear a tie. Sacha is full time at school and has taken up the cello with his usual, slightly mad, obsessive zeal and his word of the week is poohole. Sophie is at kinder 3 days and is in utterly in love with her ballet teacher. The Luthier has work out the ying-yang, insomnia and has just started his own chamber music group.

Moi, j'apprends le francais.

As for the little sprite in the pic, who knows what busy-ness she might get up to next?

Nannas

2011-02-22T07:37:00.002+08:00

New cafe in town, ladies.

Isis said it better than I can.

See you there for coffee and cake and vintage shopping.

Ummm

2011-02-08T12:12:00.005+08:00

I had to repost.

I couldn't bare looking at the Hewitts a minute longer. They were really giving me the Hewitts. The only problem is I don't have much to say .. oh, hang on, yes I do.

This Saturday 12 February from 11- 3pm the Launceston Brown Owls are having a fund raising stall for the Queensland Premier's Disaster Relief Appeal. The Owls have crafted up some magic so if you are into some keenly priced, and very beautiful handmade objects, then come on down. The stall is part of the Maker's Market in the courtyard at the Design Centre and there are lots of beautiful handmakers selling there wares there 'n' all, like Isis, Hideyo, Annie.

Oh and Festivale is on in the City Park as well. Anyone who lived in Launnie in the late 90's sing it with me

"It's a carnival, it's a festival, its a Ta-assie festival, Festivale!"

For the rest of you just imagine a bad-but-strangely-compelling, carnival-style, regional tv produced jingle and have a crack at it yourselves.

Come on down and check it out.

Come on

2011-01-24T06:55:00.010+08:00

The other day Princess 3 declared

"Mu-u-um, Sacha is giving me the Hewitts!"

I corrected her saying, " I think you mean 'the irrits', darling?"

But I could've been wrong ...

http://www.zimbio.com/Lleyton+Hewitt/articles/48/Miss+Universe+Australia+fan+Bec+not+Lleyton

Who's with me?

2011-01-21T20:51:00.003+08:00

image courtesy of http://www.womens5k.com/

Wanna join me in attempting the Launceston Women's 5km walk/run on March 6 at 1 pm? While this is chiefly a fund and awareness raising event for Breast Cancer, training for this run may also assist in improvement of general self-esteem and one's sense of achievement, along with the reduction of waistline and firming of thighs, one hopes. Not to mention that it provides a completely legitimate excuse to regularly leave the house on your own, sans enfants.

Come on, ladies, who's with me? If Rebecca can do it so can we.

Time

2011-01-17T13:17:00.004+08:00

So, in 2011 - the year of me, my first order of business has been to book in regular massages here with Annie and her magic hands.

And, of course, it wouldn't be a new year without, once again, joining a gym.

I'll still be volunteering with Stompin.

And being the Luthier's admin bitch and admin owl for Brown Owls,

These are things that I love.

There'll be P & F duties (don't ask how I accidentally got voted onto the committee at the one meeting I've ever attended), parent help, school assemblies and sports days.

But any time left over is just for me.

2011

2011-01-17T12:48:00.005+08:00

In 2011, I will have been a parent for ten years and a stay at home mother (almost exclusively) for 5 years. In 2011, my youngest will be in pre-school for 3 days per week and my two lads in full time school.

2011 is my year.

For three whole school days each week I intend to do, pretty much, whatever I wish. I am not getting a job. I am not taking on extra things that are mostly done for others and don't really work for me. This year I have three whole school days to invest in just one person. Moi!

This is a luxury I don't intend to squander. I have plans, dreams, fantasies and ideals about how that time will be used. But when that inevitable question is posed, at least for the next 12 months, "So with the kids at school, you'll be getting a job now, right?"

I will gleefully answer "Wrong!"

Everyone keeps saying " You won't know yourself!" But I am hoping it will have the opposite result. This precious time is to regard and further reacquaint me with myself.

Four more weeks of school holiday and then halleluia! let the 'me time' festivus commence.

Brown Owls Launceston - Queensland Flood Relief

2011-01-13T10:06:00.007+08:00

Hi All Owls and Happy New Year!

Hope your silly season was great fun in the sun, while the sun lasted.

Looking forward to Brown Owls meeting 1, 2011 which will be held on Tuesday February 1st at 7pm at the Design Centre in Tamar Street.

The theme for the night will be making things to sell to raise money for the Premier's Flood Relief (http://www.qld.gov.au/floods/). As we are all aware, it is not such a cracking start to 2011 for our friends in Queensland.

Brown Owls Launceston has been offered a stall at a market at Festivale on Saturday February 12, so we considered this a great opportunity to make and show off some cool handmade stuff and raise some funds for those Queenslanders in dire need. It would be wonderful if you could all be involved.

If you can't make the meeting but would like to donate to the stall please let me know. Also please forward this to anyone you know who may be keen to join Brown Owls or to make something to donate. All new crafty or not-so crafty types always welcome.

Please RSVP with a comment on the blog if you would like to come along to the meeting (http://brownowls-members.blogspot.com)

See you on the 1st!

Tread Softly, Love

2010-12-30T11:21:00.008+08:00

Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,

Enwrought with golden and silver light.

The blue and the dim and the dark cloths

Of night and light and the half light,

I would spread the cloths under your feet;

But I being poor, have only my dreams;

I have spread my dreams under your feet;

Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

W.B. Yeats

This is just how I see love. Loving someone is the ultimate act of vulnerability, is it not? To lay your very hopes and dreams under the feet of another in order that they may tread on the softest cloth, to save their feet. This is the love of a child to its mother and of a mother to a child, and every other true love.

Tread softly then children, even though a mother's love-and-dreamcloth can withstand some childish trampling. Tread softly mother, ever softly, as I fear the childrens' dreams cannot.

Merry Christmas!

2010-12-23T13:36:00.001+08:00

Conversations with children

2010-12-08T07:32:00.003+08:00

No 2 Son: Mum, is there a boob shed?

Mrs S. : A boob shed? No, I don't think so.

No 2 Son: Mum, when I grow up I'm going to have a boob shed. No, actually a bra shed.

A career as a bargain basement plastic surgeon may be on the cards? Each new set gets a free set of lingerie included? He could be on to something there ...

Boeuf or fun with French

2010-12-01T09:45:00.005+08:00

Me and the rest of the Smith family can create tear-jerking hilarity amongst ourselves for quite a significantly long time trying to pronounce the French word for 'beef'.

This is how you really do it. We think it requires more and varied vowel sounds.

Simple pleasures, huh ...

Markets, eh?

2010-11-24T08:06:00.007+08:00

Well, that certainly was a bit of fun, the ol' Niche market.

Apologies for the pics, they are a bit messy as they were taken during set up and the crowds surged in before I had a chance to take some of the final display.

Organisers think they had 6000 people through and it certainly felt like it. It was packed! How great was it too see so many people out and about on a sunny weekend in Launceston, supporting St Giles and handmade?

Thanks Liz for doing such a great job in organising such a big event for such a great organisation. Thanks to my suppliers (Auntie Cookie, The Rabbit and The Duck, Allypops, Write to Me and Ric Rac) for being part of an island market. Thanks too to my family for taking it in turns to herd the mini-beasts all weekend.

And it was my birthday. What a grouse way to turn 38!

Movember

2010-11-17T10:16:00.005+08:00

Write to me hand printed stationery. It's nice. Really nice.

This little stack of it will be on my market stall this weekend.

Now I am off to get my eyebrows and lip waxed so nobody at the market thinks I am a freak show exhibit. Left to their own devices my eyebrows would rapidly take over my entire face. This morning I observed to the luthier that my nose hairs were oddly growing underneath my nose. He replied " That's your mo'. " Which is nice.

It might be Movember but this mo' is about to go.

Baddies with Goodies

2010-11-10T09:51:00.004+08:00

Market goodies are arriving and taking over the Luthier's workshop.

I'm not sure what this baddie and his buddies where up to in the bow box.

Niche Teaser

2010-11-05T07:10:00.004+08:00

A little taste of the lovely things that will be on the stall with Mrs Smith at Niche:

Auntie Cookie

Ric Rac

The Rabbit and the Duck

Allypops

Write to Me

I am excited!

Parcels of Loveliness

2010-10-20T08:59:00.005+08:00

Remember I won a giveaway from The Warp And The Weft? Well, you can only imagine my delight when the parcel of divine, Frenchy loveliness arrived in the post. My little tin of notions is full of tiny treasures. Merci!

Speaking of parcels of loveliness, I am expecting quite a few more to arrive in the next couple of weeks. I am embarking on a wee venture, setting up a stall at the Niche Market in November, here in ol' Launny town. " A market stall!" I hear you cry in disbelief, " Mrs Smith doesn't actually make enough stuff to stock a whole stall!" and you would be quite right. I don't. I like a little crafting and have knocked up a couple of blankies and dolls quilts, but for the stall stocking, Mrs Smith is receiving a little help from her friends.

I am very lucky to be stocking some of the delicious products from several extremely talented handmakers and designers from the island as well as the mainland ( pronounced 'moyneland' in Tasmanian). I'll feature them all over the next few weeks to give you preview of what Mrs Smith will have to offer on the day, but to give you a taste, there'll be cushions, pattern kits, prints, mirrors, purses, cards, journals, and much more.

Hope you can come along!

Aaaah ...

2010-10-13T07:52:00.003+08:00

After a hard day in the playroom, Veronique recovers from the unpleasant incident with her Mama and the scissors by cosying under her Mrs Smith handquilted coverlet and resting her new 'hairdo' on the matching pillowslip. Aaah, if only she had a gin and tonic, her sanity would be completely restored.

Better than Prozac

2010-09-21T08:22:00.009+08:00

Photo from australiantraveller.com

Two weeks of school holidays made me very depressed. Really sad, to the bone.

School holidays always sneak up on me, and catch me with no plans or means for lovely family trips to the beach and the like. The Luthier's one-man, small business means not much in the way of Smith family holidays.On our big adventure, he had about 10 days off work in seven weeks, leaving the kid-wrangling to moi. Anyhoo, one mustn't whine about an overseas adventure because it was unreal, child-challenges and all.

The fact is I don't cope well with prolonged periods with no time to myself. No time to do any old thing that takes my fancy does not work for me.

So on Saturday, the Luthier took the kids and I took a long walk in the sunshine. Just me and my iPod going GaGa. Destination fancy caf by the river, a glass of Jansz, some truly sublime lime cheesecake with a blood orange gel on the top and a good old chatfest with a lovely friend. No kids talk, no housework talk, we did not even slag off our husbands. We talked big, fanciful, outlandish ideas and she made me laugh so hard that I spat. On her cake. Terrible form.

Two hours did the trick.

I gotta remember that the it is, sometimes, that easy. Sunshine. A little time. A little walk. A little laugh. A little being nice to myself and now I feel more like being nice to everyone else.

Cyndi Lauper - True Colors

2010-09-11T18:31:00.001+08:00

Our latest bedtime song. It gets me every time.

True Colours - Cindy Lauper

You with the sad eyes
Don't be discouraged
Oh I realize
It's hard to take courage
In a world full of people
You can lose sight of it all
And the darkness inside you
Can make you feel so small

But I see your true colors
Shining through
I see your true colors
And that's why I love you
So don't be afraid to let them show
Your true colors
True colors are beautiful,
Like a rainbow

Show me a smile then,
Don't be unhappy, can't remember
When I last saw you laughing
If this world makes you crazy
And you've taken all you can bear
You call me up
Because you know I'll be there

And I'll see your true colors
Shining through
I see your true colors
And that's why I love you
So don't be afraid to let them show
Your true colors
True colors are beautiful,
Like a rainbow

Mon petit coeur

2010-09-03T09:05:00.005+08:00

Photograph from http://frenchgeneral.blogspot.com/

The bug that has plagued my J all week has jumped host and is having a party in both my system and the luthiers. Oh, snotty misery! Scanning my blog list for a little flu-forgetting inspiration, I saw this title 'Mrs Smith's Velvet Heart'. I thought to myself, "I would love for my heart to be velvet. Hang on a minute, I am Mrs Smith". My whiney flu-infested self has won a giveaway from The Warp and The Weft, a truly beautiful blog by the ladies of French General in the USA. Its a kit for a beautiful antique velvet heart used to keep treasures and trinkets. How lush!

Thank you so much. Merci Beaucoup. My day has been made.

More Inspiration

2010-09-01T12:15:00.007+08:00

The latest Country Style magazine has a truly beautiful piece by Hilary Burden from Hilbarn about her journey from London to Karoola. Receiving, hand delivered, my Hilbarn box each week, containing wonders like this mignonette lettuce, is inspiring enough, but now to have the story behind the box ... inspiration in spades.

The latest Adult Ed guide details a course being given by Hilary on writing about place. More food for thought.

Inspiration and Education

2010-09-01T08:19:00.007+08:00

Someone recently suggested that blogs should be about inspiration. It inspired me. In that spirit, this is what else has inspired me this week.

I don't know about you, but as a mother of school-age children, I am anxious about my children's education. I fear for my lads in the overcrowded, behaviourally-challenged state system and private school is not possible. Do I regret not having my children baptized, as now I can't get them into a Catholic school? No, I don't think so. Being an atheist converted from catholicism, my hypocrisy will only go so far. Mind you, I have been wrong about most other things that I have ever formed a strong opinion about. Like craft, for example. I used to be very anti-craft. I thought it was Fine Art's bogan cousin on a scholarship from a rural and regional area. I thought it was all Fimo earrings and appliqued wattles on windcheaters. And how wrong was I? So part of me is prepared to meet Jesus on the other side, shaking his head with a hint of a smirk that says 'I told you so' as he points me in the direction of the Inferno.

My concern had reached a peak last weekend after a very ordinary school report and being told by his teacher that my son "struggled with reading, but it was nothing to worry about" had inflamed a feeling of helplessness for my two boys. My boys are not your ordinary boy-sy lads, and I fear they could skate through a system in which, if you are not a high achiever or a naughty boy, you could potentially coast through, relatively education free.

Then a friend said "There is this video on the Internet, a speech by Ken Robinson, you HAVE to watch it." And I did. The speech is entitled " Why education kills creativity." Rather than furthering my despair, this speech gave me hope and clarity. A simple message 'play to their strengths'. Don't focus on their flaws, focus on their strengths. I dig it.

This philosophy is quite at odds with my childhood memories of education and family support. Being one of 7 children meant a rigid, nun-based education and in my belle famille mistakes were rarely left to pass unnoticed and the opportunity to take the piss was never left wanting. My mother recently joked about how I never wanted to go to ballet classes because I wouldn't get out of bed on Saturday morning. The way I remember it was being a 4 year old, all dressed up in my ballet pinks, loving myself sick, only to have the piss taken out of me so ruthlessly that I didn't ever want to don them again. My brother once kindly said that " a bikini on me would look like two rubber bands on an egg". But I'm not bitter ... much.

Any road, what I have taken from the witty Ken Robinson is this - observe your kids, see what makes them truly happy and facilitate their opportunity to revel in it as much as possible. All talents are equally important. Obvious stuff, I know, but my anxiety needed to be kicked to the curb.

I have also been reading Andrew Fuller's "Tricky Kids" which could alternatively be entitled "Out-of-Control Parents" but probably wouldn't sell as well. It is really a guide for changing parent's behaviour for better outcomes for your kids. I am inspired. Fuller promotes a simple mantra - 'Be positive and optimistic and be a fierce friend to your kids".

Note to self - Be positive and optimistic and play to your strengths. Life is more than your capacity to be 'successful' as defined by any one standardised test, institution, system or social expectation.

What's inspired you this week?

P.S. This post was not intended as a criticism of the education system or of teachers. The education this week has been all mine. What I have learned is that anxiety, my parental anxiety has clouded my judgement and has negatively effected the way I parent my children. Anxiety encourages me to focus on flaws. The problems I imagine and project onto the education system stem mostly from my fearsthat my children will not measure up within the system. The inspiration from Ken Robinson has begun to help dispense with this anxiety. The thing I hope for most for my children's education is that they find an adult or adults other than me and the luthier, a teacher or mentor who invests in them and their talents. Good teachers are the bees knees!

There is life in the ol'town yet

2010-08-19T10:26:00.012+08:00

Who says there is nothing to do in this one-horse town? Next week she is going to heat up to steaming point and her whistle is going to blow! This ol' town is the site for the Junction 2010 Regional Arts conference and the city is coming alive with the arts.

Niche All Wrapped up market will be superb over, not one, but two locations this time. Loz and Dinny (Mrs Burns you are a new-mother-of-three marvel!) and the wondrous Black Eyed Susie will be peddling their wares, amongst many other unreal hand makers about town.

I am lucky enough to have been providing the Stompin' cats with a little admin help in preparation for their wicked "WeTube Live" extravaganza show. Don't miss it! Next Thursday and Friday at 1 and 6pm at the Albert Hall.

There is graffiti knitting, shop window performances, public gatherings and the Junc Room in Civic Square is bringing us the gift of Barry Morgan and his world of organs.

Get down here mainlanders! For the next week we are artsy and HOT! (After that I can't guarantee much more than some fine food and a lovely walk, if its not raining!)

Islanders, no more complaints that there is nothing to do. We have one week of entertainment overload. Soak it up!

** All photos have been unceremoniously ripped off the Junction 2010 site but I hope they don't mind as I am advertising their stuff shamelessly. If they do, someone let me know and I shall remove them forthwith.

By hook

2010-08-16T09:50:00.010+08:00

Mrs Smith has experienced a long post-adventure malaise. There has been a very long crafting hiatus but I am clawing my way back with a little help from my crochet hook.

There has been much going on chez Smith. The mission list went up on the fridge and so it is written, so it shall be done. The luthier found the DIY god within and rooms have been painted, furniture has been moved, boxes have been ticked. Our Antique White USA has been replaced with Orange Flame in one room and Lead in the other. Rooms have changed jobs and now the J is installed in his own 'pad' and we have more living space. Its a revolution! We have entertained on no less than 3 separate occasions since the rearrangement, with enough room for grown ups and children and all. Making space for great people makes me very happy.

And I made this Orange and Rhubarb Upside down cake and I recommend it for your repertoire. It is bloody delicious!

The luthier turned 40 and great friends joined us for dinner at Black Cow. Grown up and Lush! Cape Grim beef and Holm Oak pinot followed by the ubiquitous and delicious chocolate fondant. The evening proffered great company and conversation. In fact, I learnt that ombudsman and smorgasbord are the only two Swedish words in common English usage! Fun and educational! Life on the Island is good.

So what now?

As my previous post may have foreshadowed, on return from our travels, I determined that my days as a full-time stay-at-home mum were numbered. 7 weeks of 24-7 with the little whatsits had done me in. The little lady was off to childcare. and I couldn't wait. Except for one small problem ... the good child care centres have no places and the others aren't good. We went to check one out, but the sea of snot-covered faces pressed up to glass doors and the frightening proximity of the tiny toilets to their dining tables, left me a little nonplussed.

So here we are. The Smith ladies together. All day. Every day.

I have resigned myself to it, almost. She can go when she is three and the early learning choices are a little more palatable. I can't say I am not disappointed. For a few minutes I had the whiff of freedom ( you know, that free-for-two-days-a-week-between-the-hours-of-9-and-2.30 kind of freedom) in my nostrils, and I liked what I sniffed.

For now though, I'll jump into these last months as a full-time homemaker with both feet, but I am keeping my eyes on the future.

Mrs Smith has plans.

Les Enfants Terribles

2010-07-28T07:27:00.006+08:00

I'm not sure at which point I knew that the lack of discipline and overindulgence on our travels had gone too far.

Perhaps we should have known from the start, when Sophie screamed blue murder as the plane landed in France, not because of "a pain in her ears, le pauvre petite" as the lovely French steward suggested, but because she simply refused to put her seat belt on. Screaming in confined spaces became quite a talent of hers. Her best work reserved for taxis, trains and, of course supermarkets.

Perhaps it was when we walked into the Benetton shop in Bayonne, with another lovely French man coming to help us and Sophie responded by hitting the floor and screaming " I want a pink t-shirt- WITH SPARKLES ON IT!" - and walked out wearing one.

I definitely knew we were losing the battle when the kids were no longer allowed to accompany me into the St Julien supermarket, as my humiliation at reaching the counter with two small children screaming for toys had peaked.

In desperation, one afternoon, I locked the kids in the car in the supermarket car park to run in for our baguette and jambon Bayonne. The lovely ladies at the counter looked as relieved as I was not to be having the Smith tantrum spectacular again showing at a venue near them. I gave my "Merci's" breathed a sigh of relief and walked out to see my youngest son executing a very fine 'pressed ham'* up against the car window.

Mon Dieu!

*For those of you unfamiliar with this technical terminology the 'pressed ham' is the pressing of one's bare buttocks up against a glass pane for the shock/amusements of others. A very popular activity amongst drunk, exhibitionist undergraduates in the early '90s and possibly popular still today.

Random Snaps

2010-06-21T14:54:00.003+08:00

Cap L'Homy Plage

San Sebastian

Mimizan

Ready for Dinner

Nice legs ...

Mimizan - More baguette anyone?

Saint Andre Cathedral, Bordeaux

and again

Miroir d'eau, Bordeaux

Mezos

2010-06-02T11:34:00.004+08:00

Mezos was a very sweet little village with a honkin' boulangerie and a tip-top second-hand shop, conveniently located on the drive from our little villa Landaise to Onesse, where the luthier was learning how to be an archetier. Every time I saw the hotel with the car parked out the front I beamed. A constant little snapshot of France in the 50's. Perfect!

Contis Plage

2010-05-28T17:59:00.006+08:00

St Julien en Born

2010-05-28T17:54:00.005+08:00

Falling in Blog again. Never wanted to. What am I to do? Can't help it...

2010-05-24T19:32:00.011+08:00

Bonsoir mes amis,

So here I am, back again. How could I stay away?

Fresh off the plane from la belle France. What a trip! What a country! Vive la France!

What can I say about France and travel that hasn't been said a million times. France gave me everything I hoped it would and more. Beautiful scenery, flea markets, nutella crepes, generous and friendly people, language. Yep we dug it, train strikes, volcanic clouds, sunshine, rain, butterflies, squirrels, toll roads, shopping, Paris and traffic and all.

This trip gave me a rare and treasured opportunity for a girl who has never travelled as an adult, let alone as a mother and wife. The opportunity to stand alone with my family in my very own shoes. To face myself, my strengths, my demons and doubts and to stare them hard in the face. No one else to praise. No one else to affirm. No one else to blame. No one else to lean on. Just us. It was hard, in parts. It was joyful, in moments. It was self determination at its best. I liked it. We messed it up. We managed it. We made it.

The luthie r made a very fine bow. In true French style he fell in love with the profession and its incredible, warm and passionate protagonists in France. He experienced the generosity of a wide open door, the firm shake of a hand or two kisses on the cheek and a "Yes, come in, take all the time, and help that you need, and lets have Jambon Bayonne and a nice Bordeaux for lunch."

Here are the first pics.

Singapore

Here we were hosted with generosity and patience in our anxious new-traveller, jet-lagged state by my brother and sister-in-law in Singapore ex-pat style. I wish I had taken a photo of us luxuriating in their lavish pool.

Cousin Samuel

Aunty Sunny's plaits

J and Soph eating the most outrageously expensive ice cream in the world in Viva shopping centre in Singers. Hope you liked it kids 'cos that's the last Haagen Daas you'll be having in a loooong time.

Paris Day 1 and 2

Tour Eiffel
Eyeful

Notre Dame - from the side. We actually saw it mostly from the playground with the deadly beelzebub spinning toy at the rear, whilst indulging in our first of many nutella crepes.

View Pompidou and Hip Hop-idou?

Sophie's first Parisian baguette shopping trip. Views taken from our apartment window in the Marais.

More to come.

Thanks for stopping by after my hiatus.

Au revoir, A bientot.

Just one more thing ...

2010-01-07T08:23:00.001+08:00

"How can it be a large career
to tell other people's children about arithmetic

and a small career to tell one's own children about the universe?

How can it be broad to be the same thing to everyone
and narrow to be everything to someone?

No, a woman's function is laborious
because it is gigantic,

not because it is minute."

G. K. Chesterton

(Thanks Lulu, a perfect note to end upon...)

Something New

2010-01-02T14:21:00.006+08:00

My intriguing and addictive trip into the blogging world has run its course.

Time for something different.

Time to sort out the actual me rather than invest in Mrs Smith.

It's been interesting and thanks for being a part of it.

I have learnt a lot from bloggers out there and it has been fun.

Hope to see you in the flesh.

Happy 2010! It's going to be a beauty.

A Deliberate Life

2009-12-22T10:34:00.002+08:00

Further to previous posts on motherhood and life, check out this link.

A deliberate life is what I aspire to, although I have no intentions of disappearing into the woods just yet. Read the linked and you'll understand what I mean.

I won! I won!

2009-12-21T07:25:00.005+08:00

The Myrtle and Eunice big tea towel giveaway! I won!

This talented and prolific lady has produced these wondrous, witty articles and I can't believe I am soon to have one in my possession.

Thanks Myrtle and Eunice, you are, as always. the best!

Be Brave

2009-12-17T06:17:00.010+08:00

The responses to my last post have got me thinking. I love them all but this one in particular I want to share. Thanks Lulu.

"Docile?! She's got to be kidding! It was once the norm to look after your own kids. Nowadays, it's only for the brave. Women's Lib was all about giving women equal status, but in real terms all they did was give them more work to do. Jobs AND parenting. And social security for women post childraising disappeared, which means when the kids are grown and the husband dies or leaves, the women are forced to scrounge a living somehow. I admire women who raise their own children. To do it properly takes a lot of time and effort. And hats off to the men who make it possible for them."

The real subject of my last post has been on my mind a lot since becoming a mother:

the struggle of women in motherhood - the struggle to find your spot as a mother and sit comfortably in it.

The comments in my last post, I believe, emanate from a pervading and intense dissatisfaction with motherhood that worries and saddens me often.

In response, I considered writing an ' In Defence of Motherhood' essay stating the pros and cons of stay-at-home motherhood and the pros and cons of being a working mother, in order to encourage women to make a choice and be happy in it. But a more superfluous document I could not conceive of, in the end.

But this is what I want to say.

After hundreds, maybe thousands of conversations with and observations of mothers in all situations, this is what I have found. This is the truth as I see it:

If mama ain't happy, nobody's happy.

I think that finding your own comfortable spot as a mother, what ever that may be, is not only your right but is actually your obligation. If you are wallowing in dissatisfaction, if you are not actively working towards your own satisfaction, it impacts enormously on those you love the most.

Perhaps your responsibility is to find a choice and make it. The right choice for you, for now. Because if what you need is to stay-at-home with your kids then do it, accepting that you will struggle with all the difficulties and demands that go along with it and you will celebrate the joys. Or if you need to work to receive affirmation, adult company, achievement, career, contribute to the working world, then do it, do it, do it. Or if you want to do a bit of both - sista, go straight ahead. I am not saying that the odd whinge isn't well warranted either way, but, couldn't you celebrate the privilege of your choice and position rather than disparage and despise it.

Feminism has given us choice. Wealth has given us choice. Let' s not fool ourselves, this is a wealthy and middle class dilemma. Most women are without choice.

And then there are the mums who don't stop to consider their choices. I see them roll along the path of 'how they think it has to be' when, in reality, choices and opportunities abound and I watch the dissatisfaction creeping in.

Follow your instincts. You do know what the right choice is for you.

Time passes. Your choices will change. Your circumstances will change. The children will grow and you will wonder why you spent their early years locked in battle with guilt, boredom or absence. Your children may not remember that you went to work every day or that you spent every day 'being there' with them, engaging them in educational and developmental activities and feeding them wholesome organic food, but they will remember how you were.

Motherhood requires 'presence' and dissatisfaction robs you of presence. Physical presence is not the issue here. Its about sitting present and comfortable in the moments you are with your children and partner, not wishing you were somewhere and someone else.

Motherhood is a struggle. Couldn't we consider loving the struggle? Celebrating it in all its forms and styles? Supporting our own choice and encouraging our partners and families to support it too, purely on the basis that it is the right choice for us and us alone. Couldn't we acknowledge what a great job it is? What a hard-ass, 24/7, domestic-tasks-nightmare, glorious, nurturing, family and community building, challenging, endless, awesome job it is and how bloody good we all are at it most of the time, working mothers or stayers-at-home!

And Lulu is so right, hats off to those partners who give support to a mother's choices. Their support is essential.

So Mama get happy. Get intellectual, get docile, get working, get out, what ever, but get happy. Because you can. Your choice is the right one for you and for your family. Enjoy the struggle while it lasts. One day it will be only a faded memory.

Stay-at-home Mum

2009-12-16T15:12:00.004+08:00

A friend , a mother herself, declared to me the other day that it was obviously only 'docile' women who were not 'intellectual' who could handle being stay-at-home mums.

No bloody respect, people.

Awake!

2009-12-02T07:20:00.001+08:00

"When the women awaken ... mountains move"

- Chinese proverb

Niche is Hot

2009-11-27T10:52:00.006+08:00

Niche. Hot or not?

Hot. Definitely Hot.

Niche is a handmade market going on at the Academy Gallery at Inveresk in ol' Launny town this weekend and it is certainly worth a look.

I would like to have taken a stylish pic of all the goodies I bought this morning to embellish this post but then everyone will know what I bought them for Christmas.

Let me just say, "Get down there, Ladies."

Not only is there a whole lot of beeeee-yew-tifull handmade stuff but the peeps behind the stalls are stellar. (Do you like the way I said " peeps' then, just like I am down with the young people?)

My faves, of course:

Gemstar, or Loz and Dinny - Gem your eye for style is bang on, baby.
Isis - beautiful, thoughtful, hand bound books. Isis uses Coptic binding, vintage book covers and handamde paper.
Annie at Red Bamboo - soaps and candles to die for. Annie has mastered the delicious art of combining scents.
Black Eyed Susie - stunning handmade kidswear. Suse has the knack of choosing the perfect fabric and turning into a cracking little number every time. Her little boys stripey trousers are killing me.
Franrosie and The Ruby Pear - is the essence of organic style as always,
Little Jenny Wren - What can I say about Jenny's amazing work? Only that I can't wait for Sophie to be old enough tto have one.
Hungry Kitty - I had one of her carrot cakes for breakfast and I am wishing I had bought some more for right now. I think Gemstar was right on when she said "You can't leave without at least one box of her rocky road. It's got Maltesers in it." The Maltesers are a stroke of genius!

And many more that I am going back to investigate closer sans small ones attached to my legs.

I had a really ace morning. Thanks Ladies!

Response

2009-11-25T19:26:00.006+08:00

Don't you think that to wrap someone up in a blanket is such a considerate and generous act of kindness?

D, in answer to this question that I posed in my last post, commented "Yes, why do you mention that?"

And I want to post my response:

I mention it, my friend, because I am surrounded by these wrapped moments -

at the end of every yoga class that you lead me through you wrap me in a blanket,

I often see my mother wrap my two year old daughter in her 'blanky' like an oversized newborn and hold her tight, just as once she held me, and as I held and hold all my children,

as I lay moaning and whining with cramping innards a few weeks ago my own 8 year old son saw me and of his own accord wrapped me with all the consideration and empathy of any sweet mother,

every night I wrap my children in their beds, sing to them and send them off to sleep and dreams,

and when our recent lost came in from the cold, it was the only act that made any sense to me, wrap him.

I mention it because it embodies a state that I seek - presence.

Because it says " I see you. I know you. I will comfort you. I am here for you."

I mention it because, in my mind, presence is the essence of mothering and wrapping a true selfless act of love.

I mention it because I see friends, women, wives so lost and bamboozled by the 'performance' of motherhood, sisterhood, wife, worker, consumer, maker, and on and on, that they have stopped seeing these simple but overwhelming gifts that they both give and receive, so intent on the grandiose gesture, the smallest most poignant gifts go unnoticed.

That now I can sit still enough to notice how full my life is of these wrapped moments is an unfathomable blessing.

Thank you for wrapping me D, every time it fills me up.

Rapt

2009-11-25T01:15:00.001+08:00

Don't you think that to wrap someone up in a blanket is such a considerate and generous act of kindness?

1972

2009-11-20T10:29:00.007+08:00

I just googled my birthday and discovered that on the 20th November 1972 the Time Magazine cover showed Richard Nixon holding up the victory sign with the headline "Landslide, Prospects for the second term".

A movie released that day was a British version of" Alice's Adventures in Wonderland" starring Michael Crawford, Peter Sellers and Dudley Moore.

I think I was actually born into that story As the youngest of seven children, I definitely remember growing up with at least one white rabbit, definitely more than one Mad Hatter, endless packs of cards and being scolded by the Queen of Hearts and I am quite certain that my elder brothers often smoked stuff they shouldn't have in the 1970s.

However I was not Alice. My elder sister was known to have so vividly dream the 'Alice' scene where she grows and shrinks that she loudly and vocally re-enacted the whole thing in her sleep for our entertainment. She must have been Alice.

The sleepy mouse might have been me. I wonder if Dudley Moore was the sleepy mouse? I would've wanted to be Peter Sellers but am definitely more Dudley Moore.

I like that Richard Nixon and Alice in Wonderland were significant on my birthday. It reminds me that you can never be sure of what will happen next.

Assistance, s'il vous plait?

2009-11-17T13:15:00.002+08:00

So we are going on a Smith family adventure to la belle France, as I might have boasted previously, and I need to plan the trip. We are pretty much overseas travel virgins and so require un peu d'assistance. Does anyone have any tips about finding self-contained/self-catering accommodation in France -Paris, Biarrtiz, Provence? Cheap places to stay in Paris? Good places to take kids in France?

Anything?

All suggestions would be most gratefully received.

I am still pinching myself a wee bit that I am even required to ask these questions. Woohoo!

Confused ...

2009-11-12T05:21:00.001+08:00

Today my daughter declared " My nuts are hurting!"

Between that and her belief that she can pee standing up from her belly-button, I fear she may be a little confused.

Heart and Home

2009-10-15T11:11:00.005+08:00

My daughter turns two today.

Happy birthday to you, Soph!

You have made my good life even better.

And for your birthday, my gift to you, is a happy home.

Lost

2009-10-08T15:44:00.009+08:00

For a little while I thought I'd lost something this week.

I was heartbroken.

It is something pretty precious and rare. Not the sort of thing you want to go missing. It's one of those things that you don't see every day, in fact, it's not even close by all the time, but it's vitally important to me and to most people I know that it is not..., well,... lost.

And just when I started to think that it might gone forever, it came back.

Oh, my heart ...

We found it. It's a little beaten and broken up, but its found and that's all that matters.

Hold that which you love dear and close.
Don't wait till something is lost to realise how much you loved it.
And to all those that I know and love, please never doubt that your very existence blesses me and everyone around you.

For if you were to be lost, we would all be heartbroken.

Fringe, sounds almost exactly like ...

2009-09-27T14:48:00.009+08:00

The Craft Star's mustard fringe challenge and I managed a lampshade. The glue is still all over my fingers, but at least the shade itself didn't end up adhered to my personage. It's finished and this baby is going 'straight to the pool room'.

I often read blogs that are quite profound and insightful, or are simply beautiful, or describe a life or display a talent that us mortals could only dream of, and all I can think to say about this is that 'fringe' rhymes with one of my favourite rude words.

Mrs Smith you are neither funny nor sophisticated.

Whose da man!

2009-09-22T15:23:00.002+08:00

Yesterday, my J told me:

" Mum, Dad may be A man, but you are THE man."

What can I say? The kid is insightful beyond his years.

NOT a cushion

2009-09-17T17:11:00.003+08:00

Mrs Smith branches out ... the Brisvegas tote bag. Denim and natty op shop bought blue stripey innards. What fun!