twenty-two | practicing simplicity

Every Wednesday night I go to a yoga class - it's my mid-week reprieve, an opportunity to find space, rediscover patience and gain perspective. To begin my practice I lay with my legs up the wall in viparita karani, my arms wide, my eyes closed. And I let myself soften into the floor. My entire sadhana (spiritual practice) last week was about softening without effort. My teacher's words resonated so strongly:

"...if you had to stay where you were for 10 more breaths, what would you shift so you could be comfortable? What would you change if you had to stay here for 100 more breaths, or a lifetime of breaths?"

She was talking about being in an asana but she subtly hinted at the practice of life, too. What a beautiful question to pose to mothers; the women who live that role for now and forever - for the next 10 breaths and the next million.

What can you shift so you can be more comfortable, so the experience can be more enjoyable? 

Those words have been circling my mind since last Wednesday, coming to the forefront just when things start to get challenging. And I've shifted many things to make space and create opportunities, to quell tantrums and see things for what they are (and not what my emotions make them out to be). My experience as a work-from-home mother has benefited greatly as I've found a new way of integrating work and writing into family life - a very small change that has made a significant impact on my productivity, creativity and happiness. 

So: shift and change things around so you can be more comfortable. 

Take time this week to lie with your legs up the wall, if only for five minutes. Close your eyes, let out a few sighs and be still. It's one of the most rejuvenating practices you can do. This week we all need it more than ever. I hope you find a few minutes of calm amidst the crazy. 

summer : a seasonal series

pom pom Australian natives that match my header / rich, summery prints from bohemian traders

Our visit to Bali slightly threw my seasonal series but I'm happy to say I'm present once again, observing nature's shift outside the window and beside me as I walk. Sunlight comes early and leaves late; there's so many opportunities to be out and and about and yet we always retreat to home come midday - the sun is scorching. The gums that tower at the back of our house are a blessing in summer (a curse in winter) and right now they are shades of grey, tan and green; subtle tones in bright, white sun.

We are eating lots of cucumbers to cool the blood, sipping ice water and making salads to accompany our evening meals. Amidst it all we're preparing for a Christmas that is so different to the ones depicted in most of our books. In comes as no surprise that Che and Poet adore Applesauce and the Christmas Miracle; an adaptation of the birth of Jesus set in the iconic Australian landscape. 

Che has been asking about snow and why we never have it for Christmas. Isn't it a enormous concept to grasp; that one side of the world is at the beach and the other side is huddled around the fire. A good lesson in opposites and a beautiful reminder that our world is, indeed, vast and wondrous.

This weekend, the last before school breaks, we'll be making Christmas cards, choosing, chopping and carting home a tree, decorating with joy and sitting back to admire the inevitable wonkiness of real pine. 

Cheers to a balmy summer!

motherhood : to give you need to receive

theresa and mason (such a beautiful, wise little face) - early mornings at the beach

Thank you for your (often brutal) honesty on my "third baby" post last week. It was interesting to read such varied opinions; some of you found the third baby an easy addition whereas for others it really was/is hard, hard work.  

The most humbling fact of all is that I have no idea what my experience will be. There are so many factors involved; most of which I cannot control. Having a baby is a giant leap of faith - yes, there will be challenges but the rewards are of the greatest and most blessed nature. 

I wholeheartedly believe that my fears are valid, and I know that regardless of if and when I fall pregnant with a third those fears will probably be more profound. Nothing a bit of "letting go" can't fix, though. It's interesting that even in this phase of thinking-about-having-another-baby I come back to the words that I have heard during my first two pregnancies; the words I share three times a week in my yoga classes: the essence of conception, pregnancy and birth is surrender. And the same goes for motherhood. Being a muma is one big lesson in surrender because we really do just keep giving, letting go, and giving some more. It's not always graceful and we often resist but at the end of the day we realise - surrender is the only option.

It's universal law that you need to receive a little in order to give a lot but that equation is never very balanced for mothers. Last week I stayed in Sydney for the night by myself - the first time in four years(!). And it was glorious! I caught the train into the city, found a little table at a cafe in The Strand Arcade and had beautiful coffee and an amazing haloumi salad. Whilst there I people watched, enjoyed Nina Simone playing in the background and marvelled at the fact that I didn't need to help, console or reprimand anyone (or share my food). Then I shopped, had a mani/pani, caught the bus over to Manly and went to my work Christmas party where I danced till 1am (for the first time in about 6 years!). The next day involved breakfast at a cafe, a ferry ride, coffee with my brother, some Christmas shopping and a late afternoon train ride home. 

When I walked in the door I felt like I'd been away for a week. It felt like I had been given a brand new dose of patience (thank goodness for that). Whilst away I promised myself that I wouldn't feel guilty for the indulgence; I deserved the break and I needed it - for my own wellbeing. I realised that I need to, on a regular basis, surrender to the urge to have me time. And if I do, everything else will be a little more balanced and much more possible. It might be a night away or an hour in a cafe, a yoga class or a solo swim in the ocean. Regardless of what it is I know it needs to be a regular occurrence; an opportunity I'll embrace before I travel the road of pregnancy, birth and babyhood again.

Years ago, when I worked in a bookstore, I met a mother of a toddler. For Christmas she had been given a handmade voucher from her husband which said: "Once a month, every month, for the next year, this voucher entitles you to a day by yourself, a lovely lunch out and a new book." So every month I saw her, alone, and watched as she relished her time spent perusing book shelves. An idea, perhaps? 

early mornings

a refreshing sea palette; just what I need right now

I've been talking about working from home a lot lately. People seem interested to know what it's like and I admit, most presume it's easy. In the scheme of things it is the easier option but I would never describe it as 'easy'. It's a bit like motherhood; a constant juggling act where you do, at times, dodge the unpredictables.

For the past week or so I have been rising early to get a few hours in before the kids wake up. It's a productive time and I'm thankful that the words flow easily and I can tick a few stories off the list before breakfast.

This morning was a little different, though. I met Gaby and Theresa at the beach for a photo shoot for the next instalment of The Sling Diaries (it's fun being on the other side of the camera! You can see my diary entries here). Both girls wore their gorgeous babes in silk and linen and we talked about the crawling stage, lack of sleep, travel plans and house prices. It was a beautiful way to spend a morning; socialising, taking photos and soaking in sea air - all before 8am! It got me excited for those days post Christmas when Daniel, the kids and I will head down with our umbrella and beach paraphernalia and while away the holidays. 

For now it's back to work..then school pick up, afternoon tea, dinner, bath, story time, tea, a bit more work, bed - one.step.at.a.time

I can't wait to share photos of our morning....a beautiful muma and her babe, little hands and little toes, a backdrop of ocean and seagrass. 

twenty-one | practicing simplicity

Living a less-distracted life : observe your children at this busy time and respect that Christmas is both magical and overwhelming for them.

My children are usually quite difficult on Christmas Day. And I wholeheartedly get it. The anticipation and excitement in the lead up is huge; they've slept lightly and risen early. They seem to experience the full range of emotions: elation, happiness, delight, disappointment, anger and sadness. 

Early on in this parenting gig, Daniel and I decided that we would only have one celebration on Christmas day. Going from one set of Grandparents to another was just too much with a baby in tow - it made it stressful and exhausting, despite the fact that it was only a ten minute drive between houses. It's one of the best decisions we've made - both for the children and us (and our Christmas sanity). But still, emotions are high and patience is low. 

In retrospect, my expectations of the children have been unrealistic around Christmas time, especially when it comes to gifts. You see, I want to teach them gratitude but I also want them to be honest. There's a part of me that expects them to absolutely love their gifts and be so very grateful for them, regardless of the fact that they get more presents on that one day than they do for the entire year. We keep it simple but still; they are surrounded by new toys and books - they don't know where to turn.

This year, if need be, we'll stop whatever we're doing to make sure our day is enjoyable. Presents have been kept to a minimum to ensure the overwhelm isn't too great and if I sense the onset of a tantrum I'll know it's time to step away from the crowd and seek a bit of quiet and one-on-one time (cue: reading books in bed with full bellies). 

For us, the days after Christmas are always our favourites. We spend easy mornings at the beach, snack on left-overs and schedule a siesta every afternoon. There are no plans and no expectations; always a relief after the height of the busy season.

So: recognise that it's an overwhelming time for your children. If you make it easier for them you make it easier for yourself, too. 

ps. a few readers have asked what presents the children are getting. Are you interested in a post about lovely, simple gifts I've found along the way?

on having a third baby

For the past few months Poet has asked me, almost every day, if there's a baby in my belly*. I always reply: "Not just yet..."

You see, I have a lot of fear surrounding the idea of another pregnancy. It's a new-to-me fear; one that has come as a bit of a surprise, especially considering my love of being pregnant, giving birth and tending to a baby. Just the thought of a first trimester is enough to make me want to wait a good while before planning for another little one. It probably doesn't help that three times a week I'm teaching pregnant women; yes, the beautiful belly and joyous kicks are enticing but the exhaustion, nausea and heat is a constant reminder: pregnancy is hard work and always demanding. 

I talk about fear a lot in my prenatal classes; I come straight out and ask my students what they're scared of. There is always a wide range of answers: fear of pain, tearing, loss of independence, lack of sleep, birthing an unhealthy baby, not being able to breastfeed, not knowing how to tend to a newborn, etc. Once the fears have been recognised we work on letting go of them. Sometimes it takes months.  

For me, there is also fear about the reality of life with three children. Most parents admit that the jump from two to three is a big one - you really notice it because, quite simply, you're outnumbered. I'm also worried about having a newborn and getting Che off to school, the cost of a growing family, how I'll balance work and motherhood and the imminent and everlasting mountain of washing (a frivolous worry but a worry all the same). 

There's a part of me that feels selfish for having these fears, especially considering the amount of women who experience much heartbreak to fall pregnant and carry to full term. Regardless of my worries I'm grateful for the opportunity to wait and accepting of the fact that, at the end of the day, nature decides if and when.  

If you have more than two children, did you find the jump from two to three overwhelming? I've also been thinking about the age gap conundrum - if I leave it much longer will the gaps be too big? Maybe I should just let go of worry and see what happens...

*on discussing another baby with my parents a few weeks ago my Mum was genuinely disappointed that I wasn't already pregnant. "Oh," she said. "I thought you would have been working on that in Bali." 

twenty | practicing simplicity

I'll give Halloween a miss but I wholeheartedly believe that Thanksgiving should have a place on the Australian calendar. A national day to pause and give thanks for our blessings? What an honour that would be.

Gratitude hasn't always come easily to me but I now recognise it as something that enhances my every day. It provides me with perspective; it allows me to see what I have instead of getting caught up with what I don't. Practicing gratitude is an integral part of practicing simplicity.

Today I am grateful for:

happy children who are so excited about "Chri-mas holday"

the trampoline

a delicious roast (and the even-better leftovers)

doting grandparents

the promise of many mornings at the beach

freshly cut roses

health and energy

an understanding partner

a new book

So: share what you are grateful for; it will put everything into perspective. I look forward to reading...

walking with poet

She's a walk three steps, take five back, kind of girl. A mountain of work is waiting at home and I have to constantly remind myself not to utter the words: "hurry up". 

I've started tying her hair in a messy bun and all of a sudden I see the girl and not the toddler. Almost two-and-a-half, she has fire in her belly and a big, generous heart. Her cuddles are tight and her kisses plentiful. And as for her chin mudra; she has obviously inherited the the yogi gene. 

Our seven minute walk took an hour today. 

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I hope your weekend is a good one. I'll be teaching and writing and (hopefully) taking a walk along the beach. See you on Sunday morning with 48/52 (we are so close to the end!).

on naming a baby

a sweet little tag that came with a recent scarf purchase

When teaching pregnant women it's expected that the topic of baby names will arise. Lucky for me it's one of my favourite topics! I'm always delighted when my students start the discussion and even more honoured when they ask my opinion.

During Antonia's photo shoot last week we chatted about their preferred names. Pregnant with a boy after two girls, they only had a few names on their list*. They agreed with most people - boys names are hard!

We took a week to name Che. When I was pregnant we had a name chosen (I won't divulge) and as soon as we looked at his face we knew; he really wasn't that name. And so we ummed and ahhed for a few days, trying out a few different options. "Che" had been floating around on our list since early in the pregnancy and six weeks before he was born I bought Daniel a book called Loving Che. We had talked about a wanting a name that meant growth and life but we ended up choosing Che because it means "friend" in Argentinian, it has a beautiful sound and because it was the name of the cat in my favourite film. But then, when Che was about 18months old, I was reading a book about South America and within its pages was the meaning of "Che" in the ancient Mayan language. "Che" means "tree". We had it right all along.

We pronounce Che with a hard ch. Most people presume it's pronounced shay so when he was younger I would always say: "It's Che like Cha," hence he got his nickname, Che Che. It's definitely stuck, so much so that he often introduces himself by saying: "Hi, my name is Che Che."

As for "Poet", well, we just always loved the sound of it and the fact that it was a 'word' name. We expected much more criticism than we've ever received; most people adore it! We call her Poe for short and Poet Winter (she was born on the full moon in mid-winter) when she's in trouble. And since she's arrived, I've met or come across both boys and girls named Poe, Poet and Poetry.

I think the more children you have the harder the name game becomes. You kind of have to match the name to the baby's siblings and that can get tricky. Tell me, do you love talking about names? What are your children's names and why did you choose them? Do you have a secret list tucked away in case another baby comes along?

*little Archer (beautiful, strong name) arrived late last night. Photos to come!

nineteen | practicing simplicity

hydrangeas in abundance in my neighbours' gardens 

Living a less-distracted life : admit that you're tired and reclaim rest.

I know, I know; motherhood and rest rarely go together. We are a weary bunch, aren't we, running to and fro and round in circles. Despite our exhaustion we just keep going because we have to. 

Perhaps it's more pronounced at this time of year as we take a sharp inhalation and deal with the plethora of to-dos that accompany the festive season. My diary is quickly filling up with deadlines, the end of school term is fast approaching and I am completely disorganised in regards to Christmas. Yes, it's overwhelming and if I'm honest, there's just no time for early nights and afternoon kips right now. 

Che is tired, too. I kept him home from school on Friday for a rest day and he lulled about reading books, watching a movie and building lego. There was a part of me that wished I could do the same thing; ignore all the necessary chores and emails and just lie in bed; rejuvenating and being kind. I know I need it but I can't see it happening anytime soon. And so I started thinking about quick rests; little things I can do that will restore and revive. I mention them in my yoga classes all the time and yet applying them to my every day takes a little more discipline. But you know what, they work, and sometimes they're more beneficial that a deep day sleep (I usually wake up groggy and cranky and that is never good!). 

Next time you're feeling weary, try one of the following:

• drink water. It's usually at around 4:30 that I experience a slump and unfortunately it coincides with dinner prep. So every evening I stand at the kitchen window and drink a big glass of water. Within ten minutes I have the energy to get through the dinner, bath, bed routine.
• get outside. I've taken to lying on the trampoline and purposefully taking a few deep, nourishing breaths. I then let out loud sighs (much to the family's delight). Fresh air - always good.
• lie on your bed with your feet together and your knees out wide. This position is called supta budda konasana or reclining butterfly pose. If you feel that it stretches your groin too much just place a pillow or rolled blanket under your upper thighs. In this position become aware of your breath and focus on your exhalation for a few moments - you'll notice you start to grow heavy and soft and relaxed. Then, count your breath backwards from 27. "I am breathing in 27, I am breathing out 27, I am breathing in 26..." When you get to 0 start to awaken your body by wriggling your fingers and toes. Get up slowly and carry on with your day. This is also a great practice to do with older children. First, choose an item to place on the belly - a feather, a small teddy, a paper boat - and then encourage them to watch and feel the feather/teddy/boat rise and fall with the rhythm of the breath. 
• close your eyes whilst breastfeeding. I understand this isn't always possible if you've got more than one child but when breastfeeding my two I made a point of lying down to feed at least once a day. I'd put my phone away, get really comfortable and close my eyes. Sometimes I would sleep, sometimes five minutes of shut-eye was enough.

So: recognise your exhaustion and take five minutes rest. Consider it self-care. 

eighteen | practicing simplicity

Living a less-distracted life : when things get tough, come back to the simple.

At around this time every year I go through a phase of reflection; thinking about what has happened and how I've changed. It's like I need to evaluate before I move into the season of celebrations and resolutions.

For a number of reasons, 2013 has been a tough one for me. Nothing particularly shocking or sad, just busy, busy life and its challenges. And I don't think I'm alone in my struggle. Perhaps it's mothers the world over who are confronted by lack of time, growing children and pressing situations. In retrospect, this year has been so hard because it's been overwhelming; I've taken a lot on and sometimes it's been too much. There's been moments of regret and sometimes, shame; those not-so-nice things that stem from busyness and rushing and stress.

But in the midst of it all, I've also had the opportunity to stop and realise that it's not how I want to live and it's not how I want to raise my children. So, I'm prioritising myself and choosing to simplify life. That word, simplicity, has been a constant for me this year and I embrace it because it's good for me. It's good for my mind, for my body, for my home and for my family. It's what I come back to when things are getting out of hand. So what does it mean? For me, it's: 

• making boiled eggs and soldiers for dinner even if the kids have had the exact same meal for breakfast 
• leaving the mess of the house and going to the beach for an hour, even if a deadline is looming
• saying 'no' more often and not feeling guilty about it
• accepting that we live in a family home that is both messy and beautiful (and will always be messy and beautiful)
• admitting that the internet is a major distraction and I need to be mindful of how it seeps my time, energy and patience
• going to bed early, regardless of how much work needs to be done

...and the list goes on. 

Overall, being mindful of the present moment is perhaps the biggest factor in simplifying my life. It is the very essence of yoga; not getting caught up in what has been or what's to come, but being in the here and now, aware of how I'm breathing, what I'm thinking and the words I'm using. I don't do it all the time and yes, it's hard to maintain but I wholeheartedly believe it is good for me and subsequently, good for my family.

So: stop, take a deep breath, come to here and now and focus all of your energy and awareness on what you need to do right now. Simplifying is doing one thing with awareness instead of 10 things mindlessly. 

sixteen | practicing simplicity

Living a less-distracted life: look them in the eye when you're talking to them.

I've been getting back to parenting basics for the past few weeks; evaluating my language as I step into yet another phase. 

I have a terrible habit of thinking I'm much busier than I am. It's not a great mindset to have, mainly because it's unrealistic and anxiety-inducing. It also prompts the all-too-common outburst of "I am so busy" which can really grate on those around me. When I am consumed by said busyness I rush from one task to the next with wild abandon and I have very little time or patience for the little people who follow in my footsteps. Why am I surprised that their behaviour mirrors mine? - zero patience and cranky outbursts become the norm.

In the thick of difficulty it's almost impossible to see a way out and yet, when I stop and consider what is happening I know that the answer is actually very simple.

Instead of talking, demanding or making suggestions as I go I have been crouching to their level, looking in their eyes and using simple language to explain and discuss. Sometimes I hold them, too, and I feel all their confusion and frustration dissipate. We are chatting about very simple, everyday matters; school to-dos, computer time, lunch requests and yet they can become so complicated if we're not on the same (literal) level. 

So: stop, look in their eyes, talk to them (there's less arguments if you do).

balance / juggle

white and green blooms, kraft paper, black grosgrain ribbon / a succulent installation / bougainvillaea; hints of pink 

Do you think it's possible for mothers to find balance? I used to think it was but now I'm not so sure.

Whenever I'm in doubt I go back to The Divided Heart and flick through the now dog-eared pages, attempting to find an empathetic voice. It's a relief to join the conversation there, or read it, at least. I think most of us, in the early (naive) stages of motherhood, think that we'll find the perfect balance between work and home, art and mothering. But then as our family grows and the demands increase we realise that in actual fact, juggling is the norm.

I'll admit that I'm not the best juggler. If I was to describe my juggling style it would probably be "uncoordinated". In the past year I've juggled more than I ever have  - two parents working freelance wreaks havoc on a schedule and makes for some interesting last-minute plans. You see, when you do work freelance, particularly in a creative field, you take every bit of work that's offered to you because you know that if you decline, it's unlikely you'll get another opportunity. There's always a fear of drought! Thankfully (and gratefully!) Daniel and I have had some wonderful proposals lately, and we're embracing them. This means that for the next six weeks Daniel will be to-and-fro from the city and I'll be attempting to meet two big deadlines. For the first time since I became a mother I'm searching for babysitters other than family because I need as much work time as I can get. 

I'm surrendering to the fact that the next little while will be a new level of crazy but come mid-September the work will be finished, the deadlines will be met and we'll be furiously packing (the night before, no doubt) for our first overseas holiday as a family. Till then, deep breaths.

flower havan

1008 rose and camellia petals

A havan is a purifying fire ritual originating from India. An ancient practice, it is performed to invoke positive energy into our lives and the ether.

During the havan a mantra is chanted in the ancient Indian language of Sanskrit. Between each round the word swaha is spoken, and either earth, ghee, grains or herbs are thrown into the fire, along with an intention or affirmation. Swaha translates to mean I make this offering of my self. 108 mantras are chanted before the havan closes with a resounding ((((((((((((om))))))))))))))

But fire havans aren't particularly suited to indoors which is when a large glass bowl of water becomes the fire and flower petals become offerings. On Monday morning I walked into the yoga studio to find the remnants of a flower havan performed the night before. I was teaching a prenatal class and so it was apt that we practiced around this floral heart/blossoming womb. Before class began we each took a handful of petals, held them close to the heart and mentally repeated our intention or sankalpa (positive affirmation). We then threw the petals into the bowl, sending our good intention out into the universe; letting go and subsequently experiencing a sense of healing and calm.

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My own yoga practice has taken a backseat in the last few years; a common experience for a mother. Lately I've been thinking about priorities, recognising that nourishing my self is actually nourishing my whole family. My body is a little sore and my mind a little cloudy and I wholeheartedly believe that it's not a result of diet. I know I just need to stretch and bend and flow in a space where I am largely anonymous; where I am Jodi and not Mum - if only for 90minutes. 

I'm wondering, what are your priorities right now?

the wishing well

a wishing well in our neighbour's garden / tree dahlias with their delicate, slightly shaggy mauve petals that fall almost as soon as they bloom

For the next few months I'll precariously juggle the work/parenting role as deadlines overlap and children run circles around my desk. It happens at this time every year and for at least four days a week I'll sit at my computer, a hot water bottle on my lap and a cup of tea nearby; an attempt to keep warm and comfortable as I wade my way through a long list of editorial. 

Right now I'm working on a feature about international flower trends and I've happily discovered a beautiful world of blooms and botanicals. Urban florists are buying farms to grow their own flowers, and greenery, once an afterthought, is now the hero of the bouquet. The bright young things of the floristry world are creating a cacophony of colour and texture with homegrown and seasonal flowers; a balance of style and sustainability in the prettiest of vases (or old jam jars).

It's romanticised, I know, but I've always loved the idea of working with flowers; arranging tissue paper peonies next to baby hydrangeas and muted grey/green leaves. Imagine an odd collection of buckets, jars and jugs, coiled twine and linen ribbon, brown paper wrapping and hand drawn cards. I'm forgetting the early morning market runs, bookkeeping and tight delivery schedule but still, the picture is appealing, no?

Whilst a bunch of hand-picked lavender or supermarket daisies make a pretty vignette, I'm still enamoured with the the idea of learning a little floristry from a professional. I'm wishing and hoping that somewhere soon a little one-day course pops up and I'll happily indulge in a day of flower arranging. 

Do you have any tips for flowers in the home? Or are you happy with a bunch of herbs on the kitchen windowsill? If you had the opportunity, what profession would you indulge in, if only for a day?

getting to know you

 bare toes, salt water / my favourite skirt is made from the most delicate cotton; it's started to tear but I'll wear it till it's threadbare

I've learnt a lot about my self in the past year or so, not because of any drastic change but more as a reflection of every day life. There's moments where I catch myself in the midst of washing dishes or chopping vegetables and I think: "Why didn't I realise that earlier..."

When I became a mum at 23 I was, in retrospect, a very young girl; unsure of so much yet willing to open my arms and my heart to the biggest and most life altering change. Six years on and I feel a little more grounded, a little more confident and yet, I question so much, wonder what will happen next, hold my breath when really, I should be exhaling.

There's been moments in my career where I have considered giving up writing as a profession. I've received emails criticising my work that weren't intended for my viewing, I've been heart-breakingly edited (with red pen), so much so that I questioned my ability and turned from the page, unsure whether I would return. 

Tomorrow I'll stand in front of a group of women and share what I know about words. How to thread them together, how to write with conviction and honesty. But I'll also talk about fear and doubt and the rather scenic route to understanding your intention and placing it, confidently, on the page.

I'll take photos too, and so will they. Because every story needs a picture. 

comfort

Thank you for all your beautiful and honest comments on my last post. It was such a pleasure to read through your stories and learn a little bit more about you and your 'home'. 

Whilst Daniel and I will spend the next few months mulling over our move, I'm mindful of enjoying the present, too. Change is inspiring but there's also a lot to be said for a merino wool cardigan and a steaming bowl of buckweat noodles in chicken stock. Creature comforts are one of life's true joys and I'm indulging in the autumnal kind; wrapping myself in layers, slipping into knitted bed socks, warming my hands around a hot tea cup. 

This weekend will be low-key for us as we prepare for a busy week ahead. Che returns to school on Wednesday, I'm finalising my preparations for The Creatives on Friday and Daniel and I will spend a night in Sydney, sans children (for the first time in, quite literally, years).

What are you up to this weekend?

when nature decides

The past week has reminded me, with such clarity, that we are nature.

When Poet came down with a fever a few weeks ago she fed like a newborn. Day and night she would cuddle in and I, with all my concern and anxiety, obliged every feed. Our sleep was feverish and our days long, but by last Tuesday afternoon she was on the mend and I exhaled. Finally.

The next morning it was my turn and over the following days I shivered and burned, cringed as I swallowed and wished myself better. In the midst of it I accepted that the gradual, controlled weaning process I had planned was not meant to be. 

My body had decided that it just couldn't do it anymore and with a strange mix of relief and grief, I started to say no to Poet's requests. On Sunday night I lay in bed and listened to her pit-pat her way around the house instead of lying next to me. Every time she came into the room she would smile, ask for milk, and sob when I said no. "Milky's gone." Eventually she surrendered and came to lie down, but she wouldn't cuddle in, nor would she share my pillow. 

Instead of feeding her, I sang to her; nursery rhymes with a made-up line every now and then. When we got to twinkle twinkle she stopped crying, cuddled in, and started to fall asleep. Which is when I fumbled my way through the second verse and soaked the crown of her head with my tears.

It was over, just like that. The baby becomes the little girl.

The final breastfeed is such a pivotal "cutting of the cord" moment and this time, whilst I struggled with the fact that I wasn't in control, I found comfort in the natural progression that was occurring. Much like pregnancy and birth, the breastfeeding journey is beautiful, challenging, tiring and joyous. It requires so much from the mama; gratitude, acceptance, patience and, most importantly, the ability to surrender. 

Twinkle Twinkle, Little Star

Twinkle, twinkle, little star,

How I wonder what you are!

Up above the world so high, 

Like a diamond in the sky.

When the blazing sun is gone,

When he nothing shines upon,

Then you show your little light,

Twinkle, twinkle, all the night.

Then the traveller in the dark,

Thanks you for your tiny spark,

He could not see which way to go,

If you did not twinkle so.

photo: breastfeeding poet (13months) on a wild beach in Gerroa, captured by tim. 

slow days, rest days

...get better soon days.

When your baby has a fever, time stands still. Since Wednesday afternoon Poet has been unwell, her eyes heavy and sad. She has had an on-again-off-again fever, general malaise and inconsolable misery. Just when I think she's improving she calls for me again, cuddles in and feeds for comfort and nourishment. 

I've been reading a lot about autumn, the season when our immune system struggles the most. Whilst I worry about the kids when they're sick I'm constantly reminding myself that they need to be unwell, every so often, to strengthen their immune system, to build resilience against the bugs of winter. Over the past few days, in between feeding Poet and writing stories (not the prettiest attempt at life/work balance) I've been jotting down recipes for immune strengthening and respiratory cleansing. I hear it's going to be a bad flu season so I'm preparing myself and hoping for the best.

Right now Poet is sleeping soundly, her belly full of roast chicken, roast garlic, cucumber and capsicum (I was so delighted when she ate dinner!). I'm hoping that tomorrow she wakes a little happier and healthier because there will be croissants to eat and birthday wishes to be made. Tomorrow I turn 29. I'd like autumn sunshine, a nice cup of coffee and no sneezing, please. 

autumn : the ordinary

Outside it's still summer but come inside and you'll notice; the autumn mood has fallen. Our days have been punctuated with sniffles, fevers, weariness and foul moods (mine).

Yes, the lull is here. Last week I moped about feeling completely overwhelmed, this week, so far, is much the same. I think this first term of school is really starting to take its toll. Yesterday I watched the children walk up the stairs and into their classroom with a little less bounce than previous weeks. When I looked around at the mamas I saw the same. We're all counting down the days to a four-day weekend, comforted by the fact that the two-week holidays are just around the corner. 

It's also time for me to start thinking about weaning Poet. Just like with Che, the 20-month mark is when I really start to recognise my tiredness, impatience and need for a little more independence. I have a used-by-date and it's fast approaching. For these next few months I'll take it slowly and talk to Poet about the fact that milky will be finished soon. But last night, when I asked her whether she wanted milk before sleep, she lifted her arms high in the air and yelled: "Yay!" Such joyous enthusiasm is hard to resist.