tantrums, tears and trims

I had my hair cut today. Quite a substantial haircut actually, with an alarming amount on the floor afterwards. Ordinarily this could be cause for panic, or gut-wrenching regret, but I'm okay. Really. Hair is hair. It grows back. Could it be I'm getting old and these things have fallen away? The outward artifice? Probably not, but it's nice to think so. And it's nice to run my hand through my cropped off hair and think how nice, to be comfortable in my own skin.

But today was not all good. It involved crying, by myself and others, and I wish I could say there will be no more. But three is apparently a very bad age to be, because you want to do exactly what you want to do, when you want to do it. And not everybody agrees. Tres frustrating, for all concerned.

But I soon learned, your love burned brighter than the stars in my eyes. Now I know how and when, I know where and why.

So sings Missy Higgins in her beautiful version of the Split Enz song Stuff and Nonsense, one of many on the She Will Have Her Way album that lives permanently in my car's CD player. Such a beautiful song, such a beautiful album. Never ceases to amaze me, the Finn brothers' way with words. A portrait of the lovely Neil, my pin-up boy from way back, won the Packing Room Prize at the Archibalds today. When I saw it I felt like I was 14 again, dancing around the loungeroom to Mean To Me and pledging my eternal love to Finn the Younger. I still would (pledge eternal love that is, and dance around the loungeroom given half a chance).

And that is me

Some days, when you least expect it, you find a quiet strength within yourself that you didn't know you had.
On Monday, I left my three-year-old daughter at preschool for the very first time. She was screaming, crying, inconsolable, and I spent the entire day with my stomach in a knot, wandering around the house like a zombie. I felt like Meryl Streep in Sophie's Choice.
The next day I did it again, and there was no screaming, but lots and lots of tears from both of us.
Today I spoke to friends, a passing acquaintance and some family members who I somehow didn't think would have an opinion, and by telling them how I felt it just crept up on me, that quiet inner strength, the knowledge that what I think is right is actually really right, the only right, the only truth and there can be no other way.
So this Monday, instead of feeling that knot in my stomach grow even tighter, instead of doubting myself and my mothering instincts, I will spend the entire day with a three-year-old girl who will only ever know one mother. And that is me.

At the end of this path

Time marches on. It is weeks into a new year, and thoughts have turned to real change, not just superficial promises. I took the girls and Sunday for a very long walk yesterday, on a path we had never travelled before, and it was lovely. I'm not sure who enjoyed it more, though Sunday was quite delighted to find a duck pond at the end of it. When the girls grew a bit weary and asked 'Mum, where's the duck pond?' all I could answer, quite honestly, was 'At the end of this path'. There was a moment during our walk that I really wanted to keep. I even had the urge to find my mobile phone and take a picture so it would stay with me forever, but then I decided I could write about it, and keep the image inside my head.

I came around the corner then, and saw her standing, watching me from such a distance that she looked quite small. Just a tiny girl, I thought, and then I realised just how small, how precious, how fleeting, was this moment in her life, in our lives. She had never seemed so small, not even when I held her for the very first time, when she was barely as big as my own two hands. She had taken up so much of my world that I had never realised what a tiny soul she really was. And now I watch her, watching me, waiting for me to catch up to her, but I am suddenly aware that soon she will be on her own way, and I will not be able to catch up to her. I want to run to her and hold her and tell her how precious she is, how precious this day is to me. She just smiles up at me, and we walk the rest of the way side by side.

one tiny life

I can't remember the last time I felt so passionately about something, and I really need to write this down. The tragic death of a little girl named Shellay Ward a few weeks ago, and the horrific details that are now emerging about her life, is almost unfathomable. It is tempting to not think about Shellay, to not imagine the filth, the suffering, the despair. But we really must. We really must because we cannot let it happen again. We need to open our eyes to the children around us, love and nurture our own children more, and realise that we as a community can make a difference. I want to stage a day of awareness, a day to embrace the memory of Shellay and tell the world that she will not be forgotten, though it would most definitely be easier to forget, to ignore, her desperate story. I think everyone who wants to shed light on this tiny girl's soul, which saw pretty much only darkness, should gather on a Sunday some time in the near future (maybe January or February) on a beach and bring with them a shell. These shells will form a line, as long as humanly possible, to protect the children who nobody seems able to protect. It will be A LINE IN THE SAND - drawn to say enough is enough. We cannot stand by and let another tiny, sacred life be treated with such appalling contempt. We will nurture and protect all children, and bring back the old philosophy that 'It takes a village to raise a child.' I don't think the day should be about the many negative aspects of Shellay's life, not about blame or punishment because that will come in other arenas. It should be a way of shedding light on her tiny life. She deserves it.
If you can help me with this project in any way, even with ideas, please let me know.

time to breathe

Forgive me for getting all Deepak Chopra, but sometimes, in the middle of the daily chaos, the washing, the renovating, the dust, the toast crusts, you really just need to stop. Sit down. Take a deep breath. Savour everything. And be grateful. Today seems as good a day as any to remind myself of that.

the grass is ris'

And so, here it is, springtime. Freezing as all get-out, but springtime nonetheless. Much has transpired since my last post, naturally, since it was sooo last season. Our extension is up, lined, and looking fabulous. We have a roof, walls, and even plaster as of Monday. Our kitchen arrives on September 17th and with any luck I will be toasting my 35th birthday with a glass of bubbly on my beautiful Caesarstone benchtops from my lovely aluminium bar chairs (thankyou www.mattblatt.com.au)
Today I created a Facebook account, prompted by a friend I have not seen in almost a decade who now lives in Italy. I have been reading about him and his beautiful wife and little boy on their blog, and today he made me one of his 'friends' on Facebook. Which led me to create my own account. Isn't it amazing how small and big the world can be, all at the same time.
A big hug for the Perry family, in memory of the beautiful Leila. May she and Ambrose be lying somewhere sunny, on a bed of clover.

darling girl

Happy birthday to my darling girl number one, Miss Elsa. As I write this, in front of my computer terminal at work, wishing I was at home to wrap her presents in preparation for tomorrow morning, I can't quite believe I have a nearly-five-year-old daughter. How did that happen? One minute she was a tiny, tiny baby who filled up my whole world, and this time tomorrow she'll be five. Old enough to start school. And I hope she knows this, because I tell her often, but if she happens to be reading this in 10, even 20 years time, I am so proud of her, and I love her very much.