down in the woods

I was making dinner the other night when Che asked if he could go for a walk. Daniel promptly grabbed his camera and they went exploring down a well-known trail in the woods near our house.  

Since that afternoon walk in autumn so much has changed. Che is now four years and four months, a big brother and a little boy. No more baby face! He's a gentle creature; curious and fearful in equal measure. 

yesterday

...we wandered up to the local school where, miraculously, Che transformed into a sweet little skeleton and Daniel stole the bike. Poet watched happily from her little red caboose and I noticed autumn creeping in on the trees. 

We got home just before the storm broke and just in time for Che to get his boardies on and dance in the sky water. 

newness

I feel like I'm only just now coming out of the babymoon cave, just like all those blooms that have blossomed 'round here. It's nice to venture out and see the colour, spot the freesias, magnolias and daisies that are decorating the gardens.

Regardless of the fact that Poet sleeps really well at night, I'm still tired. If I do go out for a few hours I feel extra weary that night. It still astounds me that we live in a world where mumas are expected to get up and go, every day. I'm so thankful that I didn't feel the need to do that, wasn't inclined to race out of the house when she was oh so small. I'm still taking each day as it comes, still going with the flow. During the day she feeds, and feeds, and has a little more milk just in case. I forgot how much a newborn feeds. But gosh it feels good to know her chubby cheeks and little thigh rolls are made from the best food she'll ever have. Hooray for breastfeeding and all that milky goodness (and precious, oh-so-special bonding time).

With this warm spring sunshine that has all-of-a-sudden arrived there's the thought of mornings at the beach, lazy afternoons in the hammock and mango smoothies.

I'm tired, but I'm happy.

And, Daniel took these photos. I haven't quite worked out how to hold a camera while wearing Poet in the sling.

remember this photo...

"Next to letterbox number 33 on my wet wintry street. The branches of the cherry blossom are growing moss like bundles."

Daniel has entered it in the Air New Zealand Winter Pix for Tix competition. Basically, if we get enough votes, we'll be flying to snow-laden New Zealand for a winter holiday. Daniel will be up and down the mountain, I'll be sipping hot chocolate from the warm lodge - because on skis I do a pretty good interpretation of Bambi on ice.

Please don't feel obliged but if you are on facebook, you can visit here and click the "Vote For It" button. Thank You!

wintry

Four years ago on the Queen's birthday long weekend our seaside suburb was lashed by torrential rain and the wildest of winds. Daniel and I had just moved into this house, I was six months pregnant with Che and we didn't own a heater. Not that the heater would have made much difference because we were without power for three days. I remember sitting on the couch, watching the fifty-year-old gums sway and bend, wishing I could make myself a big bowl of pasta.

This weekend hasn't been quite so bad. We still have power, we have the warmth of a heater and a well-stocked fridge and pantry. But the rain has been persistent, keeping us indoors and rugged up. Our street is the perfect representation of our winter; wet, mossy, gradually becoming more bare. And I wish I could venture out into it, but the thought of getting soaked and coming home with muddy shoes (if I owned a pair of Hunters it would be a different story) isn't so appealing.

So while the wind howls and the clouds loom I'll watch from the window and hope that soon the sun will return.

Ps. Hello to new readers who have ventured here from far and wide...it's lovely to meet you.

"c'mon" he says

While I rested, they walked. "Exploring," they call it. Che in his very new Mama-knitted vest. Daniel with his new fancy lens and Glidecam. Beautiful autumn bokeh.

bump: autumn dreaming

As hard as I tried I just couldn't find a leaf as big as the belly. This week baby grew beyond expectations. When I was growing Che my belly was chubby and squishy. This belly right now is the exact opposite: a hard, round, heavy ball with rather persistent whole-body stretches from the little one inside. I regularly feel a foot pressing onto me and I tickle it back. 32 weeks now.

I woke with a sore throat this morning so tomorrow will include a sleep in, vegie soup, nettle tea, lemon water and lots of rest. We as a family are feeling so grateful for our health and wellbeing this weekend. Daniel's mum was driving Che around this morning when all-of-a-sudden the breaks failed on her car. Thankfully, oh so thankfully, she was going slow and no-one was hurt. Tonight I held him a little tighter and said a few extra 'i love yous' while lying next to him as he fell to sleep.

I just cannot articulate how precious my children are to me. All you mothers understand, I know you do. x

new local

Perhaps many of my wishes have come true in the form of a new cafe at the end of the road.
A cafe/book exchange with good coffee and wholesome food.
Beautifully decorated.
Jam, teapots and organic bread for sale.
I continue to create excuses as to why I need to go for another walk.
But that's the beauty of it right?
I walk to the cafe. And therefore I deserve the cappuccino.
Free babychinnos too. Wonderful.

rhythm

Saturday night. Cooking dinner for friends. Wearing my Nana's apron for the first time. I found it in my Mum's wardrobe and brought it home with me. She was the best cook, my Nana. Perhaps that is why I always think of baking when I think of New Zealand. Shortbread, pikelets and ginger gems. Tins and tins full of buttery, sugary treats. I'm hoping her secrets are stitched into the apron. A nice thought.

I've been wanting to bake lately, so desperately feeling the urge to knead some dough and bake some sweet treats. But an inquisitive, curious 13-month-old and baking don't mix well. He's at one of those in-between stages and I am really aware of staying present with him and not wishing for him to reach that next phase. But in doing so I'm finding it a little difficult to create a rhythm in our days. Or to even notice a rhythm. And because I'm one of those ether types I tend to float along all day until I realise that it's almost dinnertime. I work better with routine, with rhythm.

So I'm going to spend the next few days creating some routine. Writing it down. Being a bit more aware, more grounded.

And just as I have been pondering all these thoughts I find out that my street is in fact blessed. There are four churches so you could call it holy land. But apart from that it seems to continually offer me things I ask for. Cherry blossoms - tick. Roadside blooms - tick. A footpath - tick. Village markets - tick.

A Steiner playgroup - tick. Today I discover that the house at the end of the street does in fact hold a Steiner playgroup every Friday morning. With bread baking, story time and lots of like-minded mumas and their little ones. Oh my goodness gracious me I am a lucky girl.

peach blossoms

Peach blossoms carry a strong peachy scent...like a tease for the ripe fruit that will arrive in summer. They are ephemeral blooms, only lasting a little while before wilting in a vase.

I found these delights in the garden of an Italian man called Manfred who lives at the end of the street. It turns out he has macadamia, mango, orange and lemon trees as well. He said I can visit anytime to collect the in-season fruit. Yes, please.

cherry blossom

So I ventured across the road to the old farmhouse, the oldest house on this street.

Before I reached the gate I saw an elderly woman sitting on the verandah, looking dreamy and contemplative. I asked her if I could come in and she beckoned.

I met a gem. Her name is Ruth and she tells me that she often spends her afternoons sitting quietly, admiring her magnolia tree.


She is an 80-something-year-old woman who loves her garden. Sadly, because of the drought and our subsequent water restrictions, she can't water her beloved blooms like she once could. So she relies on the rain to feed them and she just sits back and hopes for the best.

I asked her kindly if I could please have a branch of her cherry blossom tree. "You can't have just one," she says. She grabs her gardening tools and waddles in front of me, guiding me around hedges and ducking under stray branches. She sends me home with 5 cherry blossom branches and I promise her I'll visit again soon.

I found my beloved cherry blossoms and I met a new friend.

tea

Tea cannisters found at a garage sale down the street. The perfect accompaniment to my teacups and teapots. Yes, I love tea. Picked up an Indian kaftan too. It smells like chai.

procrastination can be a wonderful thing

My lovely round dining table sits in the small space between the kitchen and the lounge room. And this is the view I gaze at while I eat breakfast, enjoy a cup of tea, play on the computer. Yes, I am lucky. And you would think that this view would be the best kind of view to accompany a writer while she writes. I tend to get a little lost in the leaves and the height and the birds and quickly forget about the words on the screen in front of me. I think I need a desk like the one that belongs to this creative woman. So begins the search for the perfect little table, chair, pencil holder, inspiration board, pictures for the board. Yes, you get the idea. But really, I should be content with this stunning view, shouldn't I? In between procrastinating today I found this gorgeous room in the latest issue of Country Style magazine...the bedroom of the daughters of Paperwings sigh sigh. Beautiful indeed.


I received an email from Lise, editor of My Child and she has accepted my story for the summer issue...so great to be paid for my research and words and to officially arise from the pregnancy/birth/new baby fog. And then baby boy awoke from his slumber and in the sling he went ready for a stroll outside. We tilted our heads back to watch the sky and caught glimpses of the first pink magnolias of the season;



Bright yellow daisies and pockets of sunshine too;


We could have walked over the hill and far away but the kookaburras began laughing and we knew that meant rain so we headed home to warm soup and bread.


And here I am writing about my procrastination which, when you think about it, is actually just another form of procrastination. So be it. I feel inspired by my dreaming, my wandering, my gazing. Another story due...deadline is Sunday. No worries.