A realisation on Conference Eve: She's for keeps!

I'm up before the sparrows and it would feel like groundhog day, except.... there are boxes in my house and Steve's not going to work today and he'll be driving the LGBB to school and I have a bag packed and ready at the front door.

Today is no ordinary day at all! Today is Conference Eve! In my home city! And I am mightily excited about it. There are so many great posts out there in our Digital Parents community about it, I would really just be copying theirs if I did one. So, instead...

I am off for a long, vigorous run with Jazz in a moment. Just waiting for it to get a tad lighter - neither of us are really that keen on being in the dark, literally and figuratively speaking - and I will have a head full of To-Do's that I must remember to execute over the next 48 hours as part of my role in the planning team.

I woke at 5:20am today. My first thought was Lolly. I won't see her until Saturday night. For some reason, I miss her keenly already.

Yesterday morning, she stopped me from walking her to her classroom when we got to school. I was both impressed and taken aback. She's so quietly self-assured, this untainted girl. I am so pleased about that. Of course, it makes me feel somewhat redundant but... so what? This is what is supposed to happen. I guess it's just the first time that smarts the most, that's all.

To think that five years ago I was not buying baby clothes much beyond her current size. It was a crazy mindset I got myself into, not wanting to be left with an over-abundance of gorgeous clothing meant for her if I lost this baby too. After all, that had been my experience the time before her. It was a somewhat mechanical, certainly self-protective, thought process that I didn't really articulate at the time but acknowledged it as the reason behind my not going crazy at the till. Lucky Steve. At least I saved us lots of money.

So when my automatic first thoughts as I woke to this new day were "the end of first term and she's already ditched me, I'm so impressed! I guess this won't stop, this maturing will just keep going and going," it didn't surprise me much that I was somehow shocked by the realisation.

She's for keeps, this one. The fact still sneaks up and surprises me every so often.

The beauty of death: Putting things in perspective

There has been trouble a-brewin' around here lately. But I am relieved to say, I think I've nipped it in the bud. This time, at least. I thought I'd share what happened, on the off-chance that it may be just what you need to read. Camaraderie and all that! So here's what happened, in brief:


I got caught up hook, line and sinker recently in an ongoing battle of wills that has begun between the LGBB and a friend. This friend and Lolly have history. They have shared the early learning classroom for the past two years. As last year's unsavoury history repeated itself between these two girls, this year the LGBB found herself with no other familiars with whom she could stand up to the friend. It took all my willpower not to barge in and speak directly to the other child myself. Quite a simple "Stop doing that and listen to my child" would have sufficed........

Of course it wouldn't have!  I know this is for Lolly to work out.


With the beginning of school, we were thrust into no less than seventeen new "tribes", if you will, each with their own intricate cultures and patterns - some of them affected (and effected) by countless ancestral lines. Each child in the class room with the LGBB is coming from a different (home/family) tribe. The teacher represents yet another one - the school tribe. This is an unavoidable and necessary part of belonging to civilization. I know this. I just wasn't prepared for the quick and obvious impact it would have on not just my child but those around her, familiar and unfamiliar.

I got caught up in my child's grief and confusion over her friend's actions towards her this past fortnight. Her panic. Her sense of indignation and justified pride and hurt at being belittled and told what to do (and what not to do) by a kid who was obviously flexing her muscles in this new and exciting thing called "School". After all, these children are now beginning off-shoots of their own tribes. It starts now.

By Wednesday this week, I had heard these goings on for nigh on two weeks. That's a long time in the life of a five year-old. It certainly felt like the now brief moments I see my daughter were being saturated with the latest her friend had done to her. So much so that I began to question out loud if that was really a "friend" at all? "Perhaps, just for the time being, you might say she is not being a good friend, Lolly," I reasoned with her. There have been some pretty disappointing actions from this friend - ones that you'd be forgiven for assuming were designed to push my kid to the brink of her loyalty.... just to see if she'd keep running after the "friend". She did keep running after her. Without the confidence to go it alone and find her own friends, she has so far stuck with her one familiar who has called the shots and even, on one unforgettable (unforgivable, for me, for the time being) day recently, wouldn't go with Lolly to the toilet - Lol mistakenly thought her "toilet buddy" was required for play times too (where you don't go alone to the toilet and must always go with your buddy). She frantically searched for her buddy and when not found, she asked this friend to go with her instead, but apparently the girl was too busy and told her "No" - so Lol wet herself. She was in fits telling me. And I was gutted thinking of my child disgracing herself with nobody to confide in. Perhaps irrationally, I directed my anger towards her little friend.

As an adult, I can see plainly this girl is no friend. She has found in my LGBB a most loyal and firm friend - she is lucky. But my child will not be her pawn, I vowed to myself after hearing this story that I'd make it my mission to show Lolly the light!

I always try to separate behaviour from the person. I begin by reiterating so-and-so has a good heart, but sometimes they might do silly things or say things that hurt others. I believe it's important. It then leaves room for Lolly to decide whether the displayed behaviour is something she wants to tolerate or not.... but hopefully the fact remains that regardless what she decides, she has a sense that every person has a good heart. No matter what they do.

Call me naive. I just don't see it any other way. Someone can do their worst towards me - oh, and they sure have! - but I can see that goodness flickering away in them, regardless. I think it has kept me quite sane and bitter-free all these years. Thank heavens. Because I'd make a shockingly bitter enemy.

But I digress.

I stepped out of the physicality of it all on Wednesday. Realising I had become far too enmeshed in my child's story, I energetically handed her back the reins. There is a meditation in one of my work books that flashed into my mind - The Ladder Of Letting Go - and I went to it and read the text. And plainly, I could see that I had let my boundaries blur. From here, I let go my tightening grip on behalf of my child's experiences. The containment of my energy and the ensuing detachment that brings will enable me to involve myself only insofar as gentle guidance and a safe place for her to bounce thoughts off. I had to also acknowledge the residual feelings of being that six year-old feeling lost and alone - both at school and at home - and not reflect any of those onto my diplomatic, self-assured, compassionate youngster.

This is it. This is the moment where, wide awake, she can be greatly influenced by my actions - and insecurities. As much as I can, I need to remain detached (not aloof, there is a difference) from the LGBB's experiences. My constance here will see her in good stead. I know this. Practicing it is sometimes harder! But it's my aim, nonetheless.

Adding to my resolve is the perspective I was reminded of when four days ago, a lone gunman fired on innocent school children and a teacher. It made me stop still. Take a really decent, long look at what I was doing with this situation with Lolly and her friend. Those parents sent their children to school, never to return home. I wondered what classroom antics the children might have been involved in, what tiffs with their siblings had been unresolved that morning as they went off. A situation that has seemed insurmountable, certainly for my child, for the past two weeks suddenly evaporated for me (not for her, of course).

I was able to let go my grip quite instantly. From there, while simultaneously sending compassionate thoughts out to the French community of Toulouse as they struggle to resolve their losses and shattered existence, my thoughts turned once more - as with so many things - to our Ellanor. Tune in to the memory of what it was like to be released from all my conditioning, social, family/"tribal" and otherwise stifling and rigid. A terrifying yet ultimately freeing feeling. One where I realised that I had only my own Self to truly rely on and keep me free from these external tricky factors.

It might not be Lolly's lot to learn these things. And it might be. It's not for me to know. That is her business. This is her life. But one thing's for sure, I give the deepest thanks for the privilege of watching her unfold it.

Hey (hey) You (you) I could be your girlfriend

I lay in bed, my heart feeling like it wanted to burst out of my chest. I was so happy. But this was beyond happy. This was something I'd never felt before and I wasn't in any frame of mind to articulate the feeling.

The book closed and was placed on my bedside table. I got a kiss on the forehead and was tucked in a bit tighter. I squirmed. "Mum..." I wanted to tell her. I told her I had something to tell her. Oh, I couldn't possibly tell her! So she said goodnight and left my room.

A short while later, I called out to her again. She came in. Sat on my bed. Waited while I agonised and thrashed about a bit. Oh why couldn't she just guess?! That would be so much easier than having to say it out loud! She left again, a bit more annoyed this time.

Moments passed. I plucked up the nerve and called out to Dad. He came in. Sat on my bed. "I.... I.... I have to tell you something," I stammered. So he sat. He waited. He sat. He waited some more. He told me he was going now. What? Nooooo! He left.

This dance went on with both of my parents until Dad gruffly told me it was the last time he was going to come in, "yes, Mum too", and I had to stop this silly nonsense and get to sleep. Great. This just made what I had to divulge even harder! So I gulped down my nerves and blurted it out.

"I'VE GOT A BOYFRIEND AND HIS NAME IS LUCAS."

Phew. There. I had said it. That's all I had wanted to tell them. Now to break it to Lucas.....

Lucas was my first real-life, there-he-is-over-there-not-imaginary-not-on-a-poster, boyfriend. He was in Grade 1. I was in Prep. My recollection of him is that he had the lanky-limbness of Mr Bean crossed with the face of Harry Potter (before he grew older and hotter). Awkwarrrd!

Yes... this is pretty much how I remember Lucas,
without the tie.
(Image sources: here and here)

I would follow poor lanky Lucas around the playground every play lunch, every lunch time... every time I could find him. And I have this memory of him looking behind him, annoyed and alarmed as he went in ever-complicated routes around play equipment, school buildings, outdoor log seating configurations in a vain attempt to lose me. It never worked.

In hindsight, perhaps I should have voiced my intentions (to make him my boyfriend... I wasn't sure what came after that, only that that was the label I had to place on the person who was making my heart very light and fluffy), because I think Lucas thought I was quite certifiable.

I was working at the computer at about 9pm last night when Lolly came up (for the umpteenth time, which is rather unlike her). I had advised her in a previous excuse to be up that she really needed to let her brain "go to sleep and rest for the night now", something she is well used to me saying - sometimes, I swear I can see the cogs working overtime in that big solid head of hers - so I was a bit surprised to see her again.

A fleeting thought crossed my mind as I caught her sneaking up the hall out the corner of my eye. "I wonder if she wants to tell me she has a boyfriend." The little 6 year-old part of myself reminded me how nervous I had been to tell my mum and dad. It's all I had time to ponder as the LGBB was by my side now.

She squirmed and then bowed her head into me and said softly, "Umm... I have a boyfriend. But I don't think he knows." I gave her a gentle hug, in commiseration (after all, I had to tell her father that I was his girlfriend - he was so blind - and, thankfully, the feelings were reciprocated because here we are, 19 or so years later) and in encouragement. I had only reminded her that afternoon on the way home that even if she is told to keep a secret and not tell anyone something, she can always come to Mum or Dad - especially if it is something she feels an adult needs to know.

Her confidence building, Lolly announced, "I might actually play with him tomorrow."

And with that, she was back off to bed.

Awwwwwwww. My blossoming little girl. Poor confused Jacob doesn't know what awaits.... Poor bugger.

Only problem I see so far is, I now have a child who is stropping about the house because she doesn't have the "right" components of her uniform ready to wear to school this morning. Man oh man. It's going to be a looooooong thirteen years, isn't it?

Source

Do you remember your first "boyfriend"/"girlfriend"/puppy-love crush?

Disclaimer: Ok, so the kid's name is not Jacob, in an attempt to protect the innocent and clueless I've changed it.


Post title from the song "Girlfriend" by Avril Lavigne

The honest Mother of a post

"Mum, I was looking at photos in my book last night and I decided.... I like you now."

The first words out of the LGBB's mouth on Friday morning as I stood in our ensuite, straightener in hand, attempting to hide my gaping mouthed surprise. I heard Steve stifle I gasp in the next room.

"Why, thank you, Miss Lolly," I said as warmly as I could. "I think."

"That's okay," she said charitably, turned on her heel and walked off to start her day.

I can only deduce that she saw the smiling photos of me looking back at her that I had subliminally placed into her album about 4 years ago. They are photos of her as a less-than-2-year-old and various members of her family, including the dogs she already loved so much.

And before I analysed too much and asked, "Where did I go wrong?! Does that mean she has not liked me for the past 5 and a half years?", I took stock of all the things I have done with and for her. Within my means and with, at times, my limited patience and energy to give her as much as I wanted (which was always more than what she needed but felt so minimal compared to what I felt she deserved).

To be completely honest here, I only felt the veil of my depression lift last year. About 5 months after the LGBB was born, it descended on me like a stifling blanket and it didn't budge. For over four years. It was a long hard trawl. And I was often almost consumed by the weight of the guilt of not "feeling satisfied" or "happy" now that we had a child.

Add to that her kinder year (last year) was only 11 hours a week with no other child care arrangement, save for sporadic day-long visits to her grandparents, and it made for very limited opportunities for me to get work done when she was not here. So I had to break my own rule sometimes and work while she was home.

Herein lies the issue that has just come to my awareness: Despite doing EVERYTHING for her still, her perception is that I worked all the time "but you don't now so I like you" (as she said in her own words, elaborating after I casually asked why she liked me "now"). It didn't matter that the previous years were all about creating nurturing and learning activities for her to ensure the best start to her life and finding out about the world around her. All she remembers is that she had a mother who worked.

Now, while I know that what has been ingrained in her has been well worth all the effort and has helped to shape who she is, she doesn't know that. I have to fight hard here to keep my own feelings of insecurity at bay and not offload them on a five year-old. I want to rave at her "After all I've done for y...." But I won't. I can't! It's what was done to me. And it conditioned me to stop expressing myself.

Heck, haven't you ever wondered why I am SO wordy now? So expressive? You can thank my mother :)

The fact is, we live in a society where you are guaranteed to not be doing the right thing at any given time. Who can keep up with all those things we are judged on? Ludicrous! Exhausting. Nobody can keep up with every single piece of advice and instruction, and nobody is that "perfect". I decided a long time ago that I was not going to bow to the pressure of what "they" say is best for her. I was going to list here in this post the sorts of things we do and also point out all the other things we don't do, but you know what? It's not necessary. This is our life. This is our groove. I busted my gut trying to do things I thought would enrich her life, not what I thought would win me any accolades.

So why am I slightly gutted (can one even be "slightly" gutted?) that this is her perception of me? That in her mind I have only ever worked and, therefore, not been someone she could like until she has started school? She thinks I don't work now. But the reality is, I just have more time to get the work done during the day so I don't have to do it when she's home from school. I can see how she has worked it out in her head. I'm so relieved that she is satisfied, for now I can be more deeply satisfied too in my work and my hours alone. I love that she is at school. For this reason alone, I have not shed one tear that my daughter is no longer home with me.

The bigger, gnawing pain for me centres around the fact that her Dad - who goes outside the home to work and has always done, it's just a given to her because it's how she has always known him - gets off pretty lightly. He is "so funny. I like Dad. And it's okay, Mum, because I like you now too. Because you don't work." I'm still the one who gets interrupted to attend to every request, demand, plea for help. I'm the Go-To parent. Not a problem, I have no issue with this.....

Until the day I discover I'm the least "liked" parent too.

Anyone got any worms I can eat?

The Irony

“Oh, Pep,” I said with a sigh, placing a hand on her head. Pepper looked up at me dolefully. She was getting old, this girl of mine. I could see the greying around her eyes and down her long snout. I hadn’t looked at her closely for some months, distracted as I was. Yet here she had still been, ready and attentive and by my side at a moment’s notice. All I had to do was look at her and she knew, like an old friend, when I needed her. Pepper, our quietly unassuming one-time stray who had firmly and appreciatively asserted a place for herself in our little family, had brought me through so many times when I felt like I had no one to lean on. The love and devotion of this dog had been unwavering throughout my trials, all without uttering a word to me. If only more humans could be like dogs, I mused. All she had ever given me was loving, silent support.

I deduced that a great many overwhelming and emotional episodes of life—where people didn’t need more words or opinions or advice or any sort of support other than a simple, unassuming presence, an ear to lend and some gentle displays of affection—would be much better dealt with if our supporters embodied the devoted loyalty of dogs in those moments.

How could it be that my furry friend had given me far more than most people during these past years, while never having spoken a word? This was something that I did not allow to go unnoticed. Pepper had taught me much about being loyal to myself as well. And now, I was about to inflict a huge change on my “doggy child”, introduce someone else for her to accommodate as she naturally slipped down a rung in the hierarchy of our pack.

- An unedited extract from "Into The Bliss: Having & Holding Ellanor", by K.A. Whatman

If only more humans could be like dogs, I mused. 

All she had ever given me was loving, silent support.

This moment of the book was from 2006. It was the day I went in to hospital to have the LGBB. In fact, it was only about an hour before we left.

I realise, retrospectively, that Pepper was attached to the Me who was pre-LGBB. She was never meant to last this long. I looked out the window at her over a year ago and heard, in a flash, "She forgot to die." I hung onto the statement for it was like a bolt out of the clear blue. And it was true. I honestly believed from that day forward that this dog had sort of .... well, just simply forgotten to slip away. Her To Do list was quite short in the end. I think much of it was forgotten. But one thing she never ever forgot was, "Look for my Master."

That'd be me.

It seems to me that everything that came to pass during 2004-2006 went exactly as it should. She supported me through my greatest trial. She saw me through the next full (and to date, second only successful) pregnancy. She carried my lonely heart through three more pregnancies in between the two girls. She was by my side for every one of those pregnancies and their varying outcomes.

Sometime not too long ago, I put to rest my desire for three children. We had borne two. We now had just one with us. My desire for more had waned and given over to the acceptance that I have all I need (and am meant to have) now.

That was supposed to be it.

She wasn't supposed to stick around for anything much of the LGBB's life. I'm sure of it. She stayed for me. And she forgot to go. I had to tell her to go. I will write a post one day about that, for it is - quite simply - profound what happened last Thursday and she deserves the honour of her passing to be a separate entry.

By the time she went, she was Lolly's "favourite". She had also enabled our daughter to witness what it is to care for an ailing, aged animal. Sure, I lost my temper sometimes over it - it was very stressful managing her in the final year, especially - but ultimately, what Lolly has been gifted with is the opportunity to understand the profound importance of ALL life. Even that which is often deemed at a brief glance to be unworthy/wasted time, resources and reserves.

The irony is, Pepper was always terrible with people. Children and men, specifically. Women she was fine with. So I had to watch her like a hawk for her entire life with us. That's a long seventeen years of scrupulous herding, shielding, fencing-off, instruction, training. And tolerance.

There was no WAY, in her younger years, we could ever keep her and have a child. I've never said that in writing before. I guess I've never had to. Because it simply didn't happen. The two realities never overlapped. By the time Lolly was born, Pepper was already losing her grip. She wasn't as fast or responsive. She was dropping catches. She was easier to manage, we could slip more things past her unnoticed. And I also knew her inside and out by then.

So there it is. The dog who could've possibly been cast as the sinister villain (okay, granted, she'd never have been in one scene) in an even more awkward telemovie remake of Evil Angels was actually my saviour during the period where I was trying to bring a child into existence. And even after Lolly was born, for the first two years at least, as Steve and I see snippets of home movies this week while we catalogue them to preserve her memory and her prominent place in our lives, she remained duty-bound to me. In one scene, Steve is playing with a 12-month-old Lolly on the patio outside. I am behind the video, walking through the house to the door. And there is Pepper. Sitting guard at the door, waiting for me, minding the entrance to the house, casting an eye over the scene before her but still on duty. For me.

I knew she was loyal when she was on her game. I just forgot for such a long time because these last few years she'd been so slow. Perhaps I took her for granted.

Ah, death. The great equalizer, huh?

Shake it off with shuffling

Hey folks.

In my vain attempts to distract myself today, I took to the home video collection and found this pearler taken earlier this month of the LGBB in her new ballet get-up. Bless her cotton socks nylon ballet tights. She shows off a groovy bit of dancing complete with snarly looks - the snarly pout indicates the older/adolescent female version of herself, which she tries on whenever she wants to feel grown up (oh dear) - and is blissfully unaware I have propped up the iPhone camera whilst under the guise of cooking dinner.

Never let it be said I always have a clean house, but just a disclaimer: that dining room table always seems to have things draped on it/over it/under it whenever anything filmable happens in the kitchen! I see a discarded ball (thanks Jazz), a pet bed or two (thanks Pepper), a teddy/friend blanket made by yours truly strewn across the bench seat (thanks Lolly... or is that, thanks me?) and just no end of junk to be put away, really.

So enjoy my mess and my daughter's dancing.

Oh, p.s. Astute watchers will note the bit-part cameos from Pepper, interjecting at two intervals with her latter-years signature bark (in time with the music, I might add). The staccato "Whaddabout me?!" bark for my attention that slowly drove me insane but that I'd give anything to hear today. Well.... maybe not. On second thoughts, it did most royally shit me and wasn't ever her most endearing feature.

Anyway! To the video!

School's in: If there ever comes a day....

From "The House At Pooh Corner" by A.A.Milne (1928)

The kookaburras are laughing as I sit here at 9pm on the first night of our LGBB going to school. It's rare to hear them, certainly this late at night, round these parts. They're having a raucous good laugh.... at my expense, my paranoid ego wants to tell me.

See, here's the thing:  I thought I would have a cry in my heart after today. THE day. The big one that has been looming in my awareness for well over a year now. I put it off and put it off, imagining today. Kind of like anticipating something you want so much to come but you know it'll come with a cost. Come with some pain.

That is how I just naturally expected today to go. Scene:  me back in car, letting myself go into the cocoon of the vehicle cabin, possibly searching for something soppy to play on the radio as a fitting backdrop to my tears.

But no! Not a tear fell. Not even a "Oh my giddy Aunt, but they are SO gorgeous with their enormous shorts down to their shins and dresses down to their ankles, bless them all" blub of happiness (which I am oh so good at.... just ask the LGBB's kindy teacher from last year who pegged me as hopeless right from the first time - of many - that I stood and watched someone else's kid have show and tell and proceeded to cry uncontrollably just watching how proud they were with showing their favourite whatever to the captive audience).

Checking they got her name right

You see on the surface, today was surprise-free. I knew Lolly would breeze through that door, I had a feeling I'd get the briefest of hugs and then she would be on her way, back turned to me and her Dad. I expected I would feel a sense of loss (as with the closing of any long, important chapter) but I haven't. The day went off without a hitch. Lolly did give us a goodbye hug but it was a squeeze so warm and loving and bone-crushing that I knew she was ready to flap her wings and practice flying now.

Retrospectively looking back on it, and tucking the girl in to her bed tonight after a celebratory pizza feast, a foot massage with lavender oil and a tummy-winding exercise (that is... winding as in winding down, not anything to do with a breeze!) - which may not be to everyone's understanding or pleasure, but is our tried and true method of corterizing any remaining threads of connection to energies of the day that are not hers to to be troubled by or to own - I allowed myself to realise the profoundity of the day.

"Mum," she drearily said to me as she struggled to keep her eyes open while I rubbed her feet. "I think you should be a teacher."
"Oh?"
"Actually, you even look like my teacher!" A compliment I will gladly take, given that her teacher is about fifteen years my junior and gorgeous to boot. I can't see it, personally, but who am I to disagree?

The Bag with its own postcode

We then had a chat about how what she really wanted was for me to work at the school so she could see me during the day sometimes.  "Well.... not all teachers work in schools, you know," I informed her. "Perhaps I could be a teacher anyway and just not work at a school." I like to get her thinking.

The conversation resolved itself when the LGBB decided she really did want to go to school but wished, at the same time, she could remain a little kid. "Forever." I told her tenderly that I remember having those exact wishes when I was not much older than her. The weight of responsibility and experience already upon my eleven year-old head felt too hard and I didn't want to grow up. It was impossible not to.

So today, I see now, while it was the beginning of the feeling of guilt-free days for the first time in five years (until school becomes a burdensome chore she drags her feet to get to each day and I somehow find a way to feel horrible and guilty about her having to be penned in by the institution while I am not), that this was a day of initiation for both of us.

As mother and daughter, our roles and expectations of each other are about to step up a notch. I hope she continues to be as patient and engaging with me as she has for her first years. Today I had to farewell the little girl, who was really not that little girl any more either but someone waiting in the wings. Waiting for the very moment Miss C opened the classroom door so that the children with the too-big uniforms could spill in to their new exciting space.

Just as the celebrant spoke of at Ellanor's memorial, this is a changing season - where we say goodbye, but also in many respects, it is a hello. A "welcome to your new world" for my Lolly. And I couldn't be more proud of how she began that new life today.

I know she won't always appreciate or even want to hear my imparting of wisdom.
I know one day she will not want me to come near her, let alone massage her, with lavender oil before bed time.
I know one day (sob) that Scrapsy will not get a guernsey as her best, best, bestest friend any more.
I know, once again, I have a daughter who is a child of the universe now. As she always was. And I am so deeply honoured. You know?



But I will always be boundary-keeping my daughter, for as long as there is a breath in me.

It's so brief. Really. She's grown me up a little more today. My little inner child is moping slightly but it won't for long. How can it (and what right does it have) when it sees this buoyant soul beaming back?

“If ever there is tomorrow when we're not together...
There is something you must always remember.
You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think.
But the most important thing is, even if we're apart...
I'll always be with you.”

A.A.Milne

Look who's going to school

Just three short years ago, our little Lollipop was pooping in her nappy at the airport as she farewelled her cousins ("Mia 'n Emmaaaaaa! Where they be?") and using Scrapsy to "make my better". You'll be relieved that smell-o-vision is not an invention - I still remember the sting of my nostrils as we walked back to the car to change her. Wafting a scent worthy of Pepe le Pew behind us.

Un smelle vous finay!

Now the LGBB is a confident, excited, enthusiastic and friendly five and a half year-old ready to blow their socks off this year in Prep.  She'll be there tomorrow, white socks neatly pulled up, plonking along in school shoes a tad too large and trying to avoid head lice (yeah, right.... wish us luck with that!). And I daresay I'll do similar to what Marg Simpson does with all the other parents as they forlornly wave off their children to camp until the kids are out of sight - then I'll do a big air-jump "WOOP!" and high-five some other parent next to me. Because let's face it: all things must end. And we have spent her entire life so far with each other. It's time to branch out, for both our sakes.

But back then, the LGBB was still crafting the natural comedic timing that has become one of her signature traits. Oh how she makes my heart soar.  Even if she still does stop me from singing in EXACTLY the same manner as she tries on in this video. This is one of my favourites. It is SO her at that age.

I am so excited for her. For me. Yet slightly worried, ready for whatever comes next.

Ahhh, boy, they were not wrong when they warned it would go faster than I could believe possible.

Enjoy your young'uns! Despite it all - everything that is hard and feels ennnnnndless... - I hope you do indeed stop. Sit back. And enjoy it. x

"Good night, Australia!" #YTT is back!

I had no idea Young Talent Time was coming back until, oh, about 4.30 last Friday afternoon. WHY DIDN'T I KNOW THIS???

When I was growing up, Sydney had all the other Aussie-made shows but in Melbourne, we had three of my childhood staples:

Hey! Hey! It's Saturday. Neighbours. But most beloved of all,

Young Talent Time.

I ADORED this show. I loved Johnny Young. I felt like I had a personal connection to each of the kids. When one would leave (Karen Knowles, you BROKE MY HEART........ it's ok, I forgive you already) and another would join, I'd warm to them eventually. I had my eighth birthday there and thought I was the luckiest girl on the planet when Tara Falconer invited me to her birthday party and I got to go again (it seemed the "done" thing to go to tapings of the show for birthday parties). It was the place to be. If you were a little kid with stars in her/his eyes. And you lived in Melbourne.

It finished in 1988. I can hardly believe it was that long ago. How can it be that it was never resurrected until now? But my goodness, what a resurrection.

I am going to admit right now, I am hopeful. So very, very hopeful. That this doesn't go down the chute too quickly. That there are no scandals, that there is no hard time made or had by any of the team or contestants. That people don't unduly bag it without first stopping to realise the gaping hole in wholesome children's entertainment these days.

Because I need this to work!

This show is vital. It is very much needed. Yes, there is a saturation of talent shows but they are so formulaic and rigid and narrow-focused. They smack of greed and almost unhealthy competition and materialism. They are not and will never be YTT.

Like looking into the past... The LGBB sits, riveted by the new show

After the show, they sang "All My Loving". I cried. Like a bit of a baby. In a flash, a warm blanket came over me. I remember being all rugged up in my 'jamies, towel-dried wet hair, fed. With my family, that was so often at war and fractured. Safe for a moment. I would sit there and allow myself to get pulled in to the TV. Tuning out all else except those twinkling studio stars behind them as Johnny Young sat and swayed while he sang my weekly goodnight song. To me.

Tonight, the LGBB was overcome at the very first notes of the song. She bundled up her little dog, Scraps, and jumped off the couch to come and cuddle up to me where I was stretched out on the floor, probably pulling a pose very much like the one I used to 25 years ago. I looked down at her and remembered the happy I used to feel. That childlike, nothing-can-beat-it, innocent Happy. She led me back to it in a split second. Because of that song. She was beaming from ear to ear, hugging me and her little dog so tight I almost had to ask her to tone it down a little. But I daren't, for I never wanted the moment to end.

It did, a few bars into the song. And she turned to me and begged, "Can I PLEEEEASE watch this again? Right now!"

So from me to you, Johnny Young.... You are on a winner. You always were. Genius! I saw the emotion in your face tonight and had to swallow past a sudden lump in my throat watching how happy you were. It was so good to see you. We love the new format. Don't go changin'!

And to you, young Robert. So-called Millsy. You did well, Grasshopper. I was pleasantly impressed and surprised. The Talent is strong in you. Use it wisely, because if you don't there is a legion of mothers out there who grew up on YTT and need you to get it right. For the sake of their littl'uns! We've glimpsed the legacy. Don't you be messying it up, boy-o. Y'hear?

Image credit

"Good night, Australia!"

Remembered into being

Ellanor was borne into being long after she became a thought. I had introduced her to my closest confidantes before I got pregnant. She included herself in our lives before she was born. She touched down here for the most fleeting of days - 31 to be very exact - and then tripped back off again. Leaving me to gather together all the memories she had left me with, so I could lean on them. Desperately at first. Despairingly, longingly. But always fondly. Even the hard memories. And then I got stuck into sharing them, mostly here on this blog (and my old one). The more I did, the more I discovered that she remained vital in not just my life but the lives of others.


Later in 2004, I had not a clue, not a whisper of a dare of a hope that I might ever feel like opening my eyes for one more day on this Earth, let alone wonder if any more children were to be our fate. It's just lucky for us that it was. That I never continued my thought process to my eventual untimely end (and how to do it).


It's a tricky thing.


She had to leave. I had to stay. But I know why now. 

Miss Lolly, a month after she burst my heart open even wider

The most endearing face in my world, 2008

Even when she makes more work for me, she is still my Heaven - 2011

For if she had not, the world would not have been able to welcome the shining light that is Ellanor's little sister. Like revolving doors, the two girls slipped past each other. Never destined to meet in the flesh.


But those memories I hold in my soft mother heart are Lolly's. They are there for her to wade in, explore, develop for herself. Memories that did not bring Ellanor into being but that ensure she has no beginning or end here on Earth, as it is wherever she goes now. She is the one who is free. She is the one who had the vision to come. And to go. How can I ultimately be anything but impressed by that sheer will? I am frankly in awe of her.


As long as we keep remembering. Their existence will continue to flourish.

In dedication to all the babies who are being cradled 

in the memories of their families this festive season. 

Peace be with you all. 

Together, we will never let them fade.

Forget Rorschach - My kid, the visionary

What do you see in this image?

Snowman? Round tummy? Two sticks for arms? Hat and all that?

Yes. Yes, that's what you would see. That's what we all see.

Now, you could go testing yourself online and whatnot to see where you're at psychologically and you'd be closer to understanding any underlying disorders of the mind.

Me? I prefer to take the Bliss Bomb test. It's far more satisfying.

Step 1. Take a small preschooler.
Step 2. Hand her the most obvious-looking shape around at Christmas time.
Step 3. Place it in front of her the right way up (and everything).
Step 4. Provide an assortment of crafting "things".
Step 5. Step back and watch the majesty unfold....


That's no snowman.




Is it a bird?







Is it a plane??









No.











No,


It's a.....

Superhero alien likeness of herself.

Of course. Pssscht. If you didn't see that, then, well...... have you had your head read lately?

Questions! Always with the questions!

Over recent months, I have had all of these levelled at me:

"Does Jake the Peg really have an extra leg, Mum?" (why yes, if the song is to be believed, he does)

"I really, reeeeeeally want a baby brother." (but babies take a long time, darlin', they take ages to grow... and anyway, they have to be ready to join a family before they get in a mummy's tummy)

"Goldilocks and the Three Bears isn't real, is it?" (why do you say that, Lol?) "Because how can the three bowls of porridge be all different? How can one be cold and one be hot and one be just right all at the same time?" (.......... err..... ask your father)


"How does a baby get in your tummy?" (sigh... the Daddy puts it there... *I cringe at the over-basic and technical inaccuracy of my reply*) "Can I watch?" (you most certainly can not. Now keep eating your lunch!)


"How does Jake the Peg do wees if he has a leg in the middle where his giney goes?" (I haven't the foggiest.... anyway, Jake is a boy....*my voice trails off, she's in fits of giggles at the whole concept of a man with an extra leg and how his anatomy can possibly handle it. There's an obvious line, but I don't use it*)


What are some of the most favourite curly or deep-thinking questions you've been asked or heard? I just adore how kids think.

Cracking jokes: How the egg lost its head

The other night, I was asked by the LGBB if she could have a boiled egg for breakfast.

So I boiled some eggs in readiness for the next day. 

As is my penchant, I drew faces on them once they were done because I find this a quick, easy (and let's face it, enjoyable) way to differentiate between boiled and raw eggs when they're all together in the fridge. Yeah, yeah, yeah, you can tell by spinning them on the counter top or by their weight or ... yada-yada-yada. My way isn't scientific but it gives me an amused little kick when I open the fridge and see sights like this:

Completely cooked, as they say...

Now, I didn't realise until I took the egg out of the fridge and placed it in Lolly's egg cup the next morning that I had possibly used the wrong choice of facial expression....

"But... you told me it wouldn't hurt a bit!"

But it was too late. I had already used the other two eggs. This could go either way, I thought to myself as I heard her footsteps running up to the kitchen.

The LGBB was delighted to find an egg in her egg cup. She giggled at the silly face. I started to whack the top of the egg with a knife to open it up for her, wondering if I ought to tell her to avert her eyes, when she started to talk in ... well, an egg voice, and said:

"Oh no! I can't look! Quick.... turn me around," and then proceeded to swivel the egg cup so the egg was now facing away from us. I nearly peed my pants at that point but then she started commentating on my cutting ability, in the same egg voice:

"Ummm.... hairdresser?  You're not a very good hairdresser.... You're cutting my brain!"

I thought, Well, at least she's not mortified, and joined in with a "I just wanted a little off the top and sides..."

By the time her egg looked like this, Lolly was excited that the shocked mouth had turned into a smile.

She thought I was magic.

I hadn't the heart to tell her she was looking at the nose, not a little smile. I had inadvertently been clever with my artistic license.

All's well that ends well.

Shuffling, the Running Man... whatever you call it, she's all grown up now

Yesterday, I stood with the other new prep parents as we waited for the doors to open. It's just lucky for me that I got in a kiss of Lolly's squishy, plump cheek and a hug of her waif-thin frame before the teachers came out to start them on their first day of school transition (a process that will take the remainder of the month) because after that, I was eating her dust.

Whatever sentimental lump-in-throat, emotion-choking moment that might have come was well and truly stamped out by her confident hand-flick wave behind her in my direction - it said "See ya, wouldn't wanna BE yaaaah" - and I was left standing there going, "So..... that was it then?"

My work here is done.

This divine little creature who only yesterday (ok, well, more accurately maybe it was over 3 years ago) was delighting in the post-euphoria of her very first ever plane ride by breaking into dance, barely aged 2:

... and was the most adorable tantrum-throwing twonager:

... and a rocket scientist in the making:

... is now a school kid. Even though she still technically has two months of kinder left for this year. But best not to mention it around these parts, it's a touchy subject.

The LGBB went off to kindy today determined to showcase her latest dance move for the kids and teachers. Today she headed off all full of excitement about the morning spent at her new school which had given her renewed self-confidence to perform and speak up in front of others.

This is it. It's her moment. She is ready to unleash The Running Man on her peers. I hadn't the heart to tell her that *yawn* we've already been there, done that, back in the '80s because she loves Party Rockers just so very much. A little... too much, in fact.

So first, her class. Then... the world. Look out.

Yes. My work here is done.

Love is surrender

I don't care what anyone says, Karen Carpenter is an utter musical legend. And I had to listen to the following song yesterday, no fewer than eight times in a row before even I begged for mercy, after I inadvertently introduced the LGBB to her first living-memory dose of The Carpenters. A band I was raised on as my mother was a huge fan.

There was nothing quite like putting on one of Mum's favourite records for her (I began to learn that it soothed the stressed-out, under-acknowledged side of my mother that if ignored for long enough would eventually turn into the beast - which I now very much appreciate). Once I was entrusted to very, ever so carefully raise and lower that needle onto the record, I took my job as DJ incredibly seriously. I ensured a regular dose of songs from the double The Singles album was served. Daily, if I could help it.

My favourites from this were Masquerade, Love Is Surrender and Sing

I was stirring something at the stove while Lolly made her own fun, hitting the "Back" button so that iTunes would restart her new Favourite Song Of The Day. And something struck me as quite familiar about the situation. Granted, there was no careful blowing of any record before it was set down on the turn-table. No crackle as the needle picked up any remaining hairs and fibres on the record. No need to reset the needle at the start of the track. Just a simple press of a button with her finger.

I appreciate this technology. I admire it and I love it for its convenience. But I am wistful for the days past when there was a certain dexterity and accuracy and, hell, just good "old-fashioned" patience to hear your favourite song.

But there was no denying some things will never change as I saw my daughter skip so joyfully around the island bench with Jazz and telling me with a gleeful smile that "I love this song, this song just makes me so happy, Mummy!" Mostly, I loved that she was listening to it because she was enjoying it. Something undeniable and perhaps unknown was stirring within her, willing her to move so that it became impossible for her not to express it with free abandon. I know that feeling. I respect and want to encourage that feeling in her, when it overtakes her in this way.

No matter where it next takes us, technology will not surpass or outdo the Masters of their craft. Brilliant songs are still exactly that, regardless of whether they're being played on a Nano, through a six-speaker stereo system off a digitally remastered CD, or on a wonky old mono-speaker radiogram with turn-table. I intend to keep this house retro and connected with those greats for as long as I live, with a balanced dose of modern good music, of course. That my appreciation for meaningful lyrics and clever musicians is being passed on to my daughter in this day and age of girating, unimaginative, unintelligent, tuneless commercial "music" makes my heart soar. NB: this is not to deny the countless excellent musicians still out there. Somewhere. Buried under the mainstream mess.

Although, ironically, I realise in a way this is not surrendering. Which is a tad hypocritical of me, given the title of my post. Ah, well. Baby steps.


Can you hear what she hears? Listen.

Talk about love
How it makes life complete
You can talk all you want
Make it sound good and sweet
But the words have an empty ring
And they don't really mean a thing
Without love you are not to be found
Not to be found 

For love is surrender
You must surrender if you care
You must surrender if you care

Shout about love
Then the wars will all end
You can shout "we're all brothers",
And even pretend
But you can't cover up the past
Just pretending will never last
Without love you are nothing at all
Nothing at all 

For love is surrender
You must surrender if you care
You must surrender if you care

p.s. Ummmmm..... but hands up who can see a tiny bit of Dexter in Richard, around about the 1 minute mark. No? Just me then? Ok, as you were.....

Just in time for school: My own (belated) Mothers Day poem

I was cleaning the desk this morning and came across an exercise I have been meaning to complete. It's for the LGBB's kindergarten book her teacher has been compiling all year. It's a page where the mother has to write something to the child, their thoughts about the preschool year. In Lolly's book, there's a gaping page waiting for my contribution that was supposed to be made on/about Mothers Day back in May.

I have been putting it to the side. I think I've been in denial. I didn't want to even GO there. Of course, like so many stay-home parents, on some days I am climbing the walls to get away from the incessant nature of Lolly's grown-to-bursting inquisitiveness and hunger for stimulation and instinctive need to learn "stuff about stuff". Most days I roll with it. Some days I am far from civil about it.

Anyway, today was apparently the day where it all came spilling out of me. It wasn't as hard as I thought it might be. And it came out as a poem... which is weird, because I don't write those.



When I think of all the moments
That stop and make me smile
They always feature you
When you were small for a brief while


If I could pause this time with you
Before you go to school
I'd make the most of it all again
With outings to the pool


And visits to the 'cino shop
Which is where you learned to sit
So quietly with such good manners
While we played "Ladies" for a bit


Sometimes all your friends might come
Again as they used to do
Scrapsy, Bunny, and a teddy or Horace
You've more than quite a few


I'd take you to the park again
Or the library with your bike...
And we can do all these things still
Just after school now if you'd like


You and I have spent so long
Together while you've been home
You have made my life complete
Much more than you could know



So thank you for your happy smile,
Always beaming as you go
The way you find the joy in things
Is a treat to watch, you know



Your little golden head
Belongs to a big girl now
It's your last year home with me
We made it! Let's both take a bow...


You've been such a treasure to mummy
So I would like to say
Thank you to YOU, my lovely girl,
On my happy Mothers Day

A little bit of give

I sat with the LGBB on the couch this morning while she watched one of her latest favourite movies...

Her secret love's no secret....
an-y-moooore

Opposite the couch is a wall where Ella's picture hangs. This one:

I sat gazing at it while the movie played.

Oh the Deadwood Stage is a-rollin' on over the plains

With the curtains flappin' and the driver slappin' the reins

Beautiful sky, a wonderful day

Whip crack-away, Whip crack-away, Whip crack-away!

I got lost in the photos and everything else in the room slipped into the shadows. Even Doris Day. It was just me and my girl. My first girl.

Before the movie was over, the LGBB came back into view. I shelved my precious stolen thoughts out to Ellanor and got back to chores at hand. Lunch was made, chortles were shared (Lolly loves the part where poor old Francis has to dress up like a girl because the hick townsmen were expecting a "real live woman".... if you don't understand, then you've missed out.... it's an old Hollywood musical thing).

Then she laid down again. "I'm tired," she said. She's been saying that all weekend. And just laying down wherever she is. This morning, she woke with a headache and it didn't leave all day. The trooper that she is, though, the LGBB didn't make much of it and didn't complain of it being sore. If I hadn't known any differently, she was just a tiny bit darker around the eyes (something that comes out in her naturally pale complexion whenever she's a bit under the weather) but that was about it.

I held true to my word on the promise of a craft session after lunch. What was going to be a rocket ship turned into the Love Boat. She decided it was a ship and I was commissioned to fit-out the peg passengers.

He's king of the world. He's also largely ignored by the other passengers.

The Party Ship. With the playboy, Cleopatra, a washed-up woman in red and
a ballerina attempting valiantly to keep her remaining thinning locks....

Not sure he should be looking at her like that,
especially when only in his Y-fronts.

But she only just made it to the playing part (she was itching to play with it while we were making it all together). No sooner had I lowered the boat to the floor for her maiden voyage than my girl grabbed a cushion and also lowered herself to the floor.

"I'm too tired, mummy," she said again. It was the first time my brow furrowed and I decided I didn't like something about all this. You know when you just have that moment? She still had her headache and I commanded her to our bed for a rest, where she slept for two hours.

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In the midst of the sleep designed to relax and re-charge her, the LGBB woke screaming, terrified. I raced in, wondering if the pain had gotten worse. "What is it?" I asked calmly, rocking her. She was trembling. And hot. And scream-crying. Staring at the wall behind my head.

I got her out of the room and changed the scenery a bit. In the kitchen, rocking together in a chair, she managed to get out that "a man was dancing me too fast." What the? Her description made it sound like one of those awful dream sequence scenes in the movies where the fish-eye lens camera is being stared into by the maniacally laughing crazy-character as we, the audience/camera, gets spun around. I agreed with my sweaty little poppet that that would be a bit scary. "But it's all over now and it wasn't really real, was it?" No reply from her.

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While all this was happening, I fielded a phone call on my mobile. A number I have seen as a missed call about half a dozen times in as many days. They never leave a message. This time, phone in hand, I was able to answer and solve the mystery.

"Hello there, it's Lou here from Heart Kids..." and Lou proceeded to launch into a typical telemarketing "we need you and your dosh" speech.

Now, this is where I normally huff and puff and wait to say loudly but firmly, "No thank you, we give to our chosen charities already but best of luck... *click*"  But Heart Kids is something close to my heart. Today, especially, when I was already feeling so drawn to Ellanor and with my heightened mama-care reflexes towards Lolly, it seemed fitting that I should receive the call.

Lou - well, Heart Kids - did well for himself. I came away $50 lighter and have a jumbo-sized beach towel coming my way within "seven working days". I find it no strange coincidence that on the preschool fundraiser shopping tour I went to last weekend, I carried around a beach towel for the LGBB (she doesn't have one and we're taking a beach holiday soon) and ended up putting it back on the shelf, not making the purchase. Just this morning, I cursed myself for my decision not to buy the towel. I sighed that I'd have to go to a shop and probably buy one at full price.

Now I know why I didn't buy it. Tricky, clever Universe.

I gave today. It was such a small thing, really. Ultimately, I know that no money in the world is going to help some causes if it is ordained to go "that way" - look at our girl, in the best medical care - but I will always extend my circle of thoughtful care and consideration to those families going through the toughest trial of their lives with precious children with sick hearts. Every time I look at my girl's beach towel.

Do you give to charity? Do you have a blanket "sorry, no" rule for telemarketers? Or does it depend on the day?

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Update: Tonight, the LGBB is much better. After a bath,  a sausage in bread with a good serve of fresh steamed vegies for dinner and a play with her cherished Love Boat with Daddy, she is tucked up happily in bed. But not before storytime. Steve came back and reported that he decided to himself that he would read her something they had not read for a long while. He started looking on the shelves for the book silently and then heard the LGBB in the background say, "Oh, Dad, it's in here." He turned around and Lolly opened up a bedside table drawer and pulled out the very book he had been looking for.

He blames me for passing it on. I say to him once again... no harm, no foul. But it's going to make teenage years interesting I think.