as pure as the driven snow

This conversation took place yesterday as we (more specifically, I) tried to rationalise the glut of Barbie dolls and other plastic paraphernalia that has found its way into our house. In the process, Elsa rediscovered her two Snow White barbies and all seven of the freakish little dwarves, which she mercifully reunited with their clothing.

Elsa: Can you put these undies back on Snow White? The other Snow White already has undies on. Snow White always has to wear undies.
Me: Of course she does.

I figured it was a little too early to start talking reputations with a six-year-old.

no, he wasn't wearing a kilt

I haven't been to the dentist for a very long time. Just how long became apparent today, when I finally fronted for my half hour of torture and realised that some things have actually improved. The place itself was more airport lounge than dental surgery, although that old familiar smell - equal parts fear and fluoride - left me in no doubt I was in the right place. The 'nurse' (actually she used that word, not me) looked roughly 19 years old and seemed a little embarrassed, or maybe just perplexed, at her role in proceedings. I was a tad perplexed myself. How can somebody born in the late 1980s be saying things like: "I'll be your nurse today''. Yes. And technically I could be your mother.
Enter Mr Dentist, who unlike any dentist I've ever encountered, was relatively young (though thankfully from Gen X, not Y), had a dazzling smile, was really quite cute and was Scottish. Tick, tick, tick. Let's just say he had me at hello.
There have been quite a few dentists in my past, through no fault of my own since I just happened to grow sub-standard teeth and far too many of them to fit comfortably in my mouth. Almost all my dental visits were arranged, attended and paid for by my mother, because I was too young to have a say. Thank goodness for mothers.
When it fell to me to arrange my own dental hygiene, brushing twice a day was generally the maximum commitment I was prepared to make. I had the odd check-up here and there, but aside from the general hideousness of all dental surgeries, there were the old, balding dentists with bad breath, the uncomfortable eye contact, the maniacal buzz of the tiny drill ... it is no accident that people hate going to the dentist. When I say people, I mean me.
But today I was in for a treat. Not only did Mr Cute Scottish Dentist wear a surgical mask while he stared into my gaping mouth, thus sparing me any shattered illusions should his breath not smell like 12-year-old single malt, he also issued me (should I say ''the nurse'' issued me) with sunglasses. Apparently for the glare from the overhead light, but I've stared into enough of those babies to know there's not much your eyes have to worry about, it's your teeth that need to be afraid.
My stunning aviator-style black plastic numbers (no, they could not have been less flattering) enabled me to avoid the awkward scenario where you try not to look directly into the eyes of the man who is looking directly into your molars. Let's just say there's not much else you can focus on when their entire head is obscuring your view.
So there I was, shades on, thinking: "This is not so bad''. Even the fluoride treatment, which used to contain a ''flavour'' that instantly induced vomiting, was bearable. Could it be I'm turning into a grown-up? Needless to say, I didn't ask my nurse.

the art of self-preservation

I’m not so much avoiding my children as practising self-preservation. It’s a new thing to me, the whole ‘live in the now’ concept, but I have to say it makes sense. Do not fret about what’s for dinner, what dreadful future emotional suffering you’re putting your kids through by letting them watch four DVDs in a row on a day not unlike that on which the Ark was first considered. Forget about it. Let it rain. Let their eyes go temporarily square. Let your awareness rise above the fact you are wearing a 10-year-old cardigan that’s seen better days, tracksuit pants that are clearly not in any way flattering and may be one size too small and ugh boots (enough said). If you look within yourself, you will see the real thing. This may mean removing yourself, if not physically then at least psychologically, from the room. Even from the building. Do not feel guilty about this. It’s in everyone’s best interests. Find your centre and focus on it for a few minutes. Breathe deeply and concentrate on feeling good about yourself. Not about exterior sensations or kind deeds or even perceived character strengths. This is not about any of that. This is about the blood that’s pumping through your veins. The air in your lungs that keeps your heart beating. The essence of what it means to be alive. You have all of these things and you need to be aware of them, even if it’s only for a fraction of time. As long as it’s enough to get you connected again to that which is truly you. Say hello to your higher self and remember they are always with you. Mentally puff our your chest, put your chin up and resolve to carry on. You are never alone and you are always strong and wise and doing what you’re meant to be doing.

new beginnings

There are very few things that will get me out of bed, with my eyes open, at 3.30am. In fact there are only two I can think of. One is a crying baby that needs to be fed. The other is Barack Obama.

I set my alarm, crawled onto the lounge and watched one man bring 2million people to a freezing city so they might bask in the warmth of his glow. And I'm not ashamed to say I was basking right along with them.

Four years earlier, almost to the minute, I was bringing my new baby girl into the world. I had been waiting a long time to meet her, but it was her patience that had been most tested. When the opportunity came she was here in an instant, and there were moments of fear and chaos before that tiny body was finally mine to hold.

She is still fighting to do things on her terms, and sometimes I can literally see the fear and chaos that the world represents to her. I want to protect her from it all, of course, but ideally I want to teach her that she can handle it. Better than she knows.

Today I received my first lesson in an anthroposophy course. It feels good to be learning again at a time when the whole world seems ready to change and flourish.

It seems to me there is no such thing as false hope. There is only hope.

Happy birthday, my darling Freya.

some days are diamonds

I want to turn the whole thing upside down
I'll find the things they say just can't be found
I'll share this love I find with everyone
We'll sing and dance to Mother Nature's songs
I don't want this feeling to go away

- Jack Johnson

Sometimes it's just background music. Sometimes it's a little bit more than that. And sometimes it just gets you in the pit of your stomach and your whole world stands still. Today I heard someone talking about one of their favourite songs, a small but breathtaking love song. They said they thought it could stop a city. I wish I'd thought of that.

I've been laying low for a while, doubting the value of words in general and mine in particular. But then I hear people talking, singing, and it's like stumbling across the Hope Diamond in the sandpaper aisle at Bunnings. You've just got to seek out the diamonds in the rough.

This feeling that I don't want to go away? At its core it's intense and unshakeable and it defies any kind of logic or mechanical thought you might want to apply to it. It only fades when my awareness of it radiates outward, into the mundane and the world where everybody else is sitting in judgement. I'm clinging to it for dear life, just hoping I can make it real.

have yourself a merry little christmas

Christmas morning. I think it was 1976. I know Mum made our nighties out of flannelette, my sister's had pink pussy cats on it and I still covet it to this day. Clearly I was not a morning person even then, although the promise of all those presents was enough to put a smile on my face. Having posed very patiently for the Kodak instamatic, we probably ripped into those presents unaware that outside Santa had been busy building us a brand new swing set and a pool. The kind with the corrugated tin on the outside and the blue plastic on the inside, with those strange white plastic clips that always reminded me of Cheezels to keep the lining attached to the walls. It was indeed a merry Christmas. The kind of Christmas I find myself craving more every year, as the circus grows and becomes further and further removed from anything good and simple and heartfelt. I remember the simple joy of being a child, feeling quite innocently that the whole world was only as big as your arms would reach. That was a good feeling. And while the world has largely been taken out of my hands these past 32 years, I only hope the simple joy will be alive and well at our house this Christmas morning through the eyes of two little girls. And that my arms are enough to hold their world together for a few years yet.
Merry Christmas.

trash and treasure

Today was very much a nothing kind of day, a tracky-dack, don't-bother-brushing-your-hair kind of day. Until I went out to the wizbin and found this little fellow, just perched there on the most non-descript, mundane item of man-made detritus it could find, looking truly miraculous. And all ''Who me? Don't mind me, I'm just sitting here being the poster boy for nature's incredible design portfolio.'' So it seems that even in the trash, there is treasure.