Sorrow and Joy, And This Business Of Life.

You know those times when your feet don't touch the ground, when Life is too big and too fast for you to even draw breath, and everything whirls past in a flurry until whatever song it is dancing to finally runs out and you slow down to a gentle sway for a while, and so you can begin to absorb all that has just gone by.

We have been busy, with Splendid Adventures (which I will post about here soon), and crazy weather, and only a week left before we get the key to our new house, so Chaos Reigns.

And in the midst of it all, we lost a little friend. Our little furry friend, India, who was born here not even two years ago. 

Little hearts are broken.

We think it was poison, though we cannot be sure, but an awful end it was. One I am glad the children did not witness, but which I will never forget.  

This image at our bedroom window is a familiar one. I'm sure any pet owners among you know that look: 'Hey, can you let me in....so I can go back out?'
His favourite was to stand on his hind legs and pound the window, at four am, while yowling in a voice that can only be described as akin to Marge Simpson. Honestly, I actually kind of miss that!

He was the best cat. Just sweet and cuddly and friendly and chilled out, and so handsome and so fluffy you just couldn't help but love him.
And even though he drove her mad, and she loved when he went off a-wandering and she had us all to herself, his mama, Sparrow, is a little bit lost without him.

So, we are just coming out of the what if's and maybes phase, of wondering would he still be alive if we had done anything differently. But the truth of it is, sadly, I don't think so.

But let me finish this post with the Joy part of this title.

This week, Our Smallest turned six! And although I find myself looking back at pictures like the one below, of my baby, and my heart squeezes painfully with that Loss, I marvel, too, at how this little flower of ours has taken his time to reveal himself to us, and how enthralled I am by it.

For so very long it seemed as though some part of him stayed, or strayed, in some Other World, some dreamy place that he had come from. A Very New Person. A tender, sweet presence, and one we all cannot help but love, and love to be around. One who cries when trees are felled, and who asks why we are here, and the How of things, and wonders about God and volcanos and love, and dreams of dinosaurs and dragons.

And now, as the first of his baby teeth have fallen, and his feet are more on the ground than ever, I am savouring what is left to me of these days. Days of magic and wonder and yes, mischief. Days of small boys and the joy they bring. Days that, as I look at our eldest, now a young man of almost seventeen, seem to have a number, and I want to hold onto with all my heart.

The only things that you should keep in rowsAre your perfect teeth and the rest you knowIts own sweet way will always go

Add your footsteps to the wearFor a tiny dent in every stairWill let them know that you've been there

And I am put in mind of the above song by Vashti Bunyan, called 'Lately', a song about this very thing, and it is a comfort to know that most of you reading this have known, or will know, this exact feeling. 

The comfort is, that this Business Of Life is just that, and we are all in it together. 

The sorrow and the joy. The loving and the letting go. 

We can reach out a hand, and it will, at once, find another that understands.

One Of Those Days.

Are you like me?
If so, then you know how it is.
You wake up in fine form, but by the time you have nagged, cajoled and hustled everyone to where they need to be you are in decidedly bad form.
What you ate for breakfast you know you shouldn't have, but you were too disorganised, or too busy, over the weekend, to plan better, and you drank too much coffee.
And on top of that it is raining, and the washing that was dry but you never brought in, is now soaked through and lying on the soggy grass.
And the traffic was hell, so you were late for school.

It happens more often than I care to admit.
Usually I do have a tendency to be a bit of a Pollyanna, but this is something I have consciously become, and at one point in one of my rants this morning I found myself telling my children that school, the rain, life, is so much easier if viewed from the perspective of such sages as Billy Connolly, or Reinhold Niebhur,  that there are some things we cannot change, so we might as well accept them, and just get on with it. It makes for a far happier and easier life. Yes, it's raining, so we better bring a raincoat!
Believe me, the irony of my own grumpiness in the midst of this was not lost on me.

But none of this is nothing that a good shoulder stand, followed by a cup of Lady Grey tea cannot sort out, so I take myself off to an hour and a half of yoga, and now I am back to 'normal', enjoying my tea as I look out the window at the rain that blows across the marsh, listening to something soothing. And I know this is just one of those days when the daily grind takes a sneaky little dig at me when I am unprepared. There will be more, some other time, and yes, they tend to follow a period of blissful contentment and happiness, but they truly are just one of the knottier threads in my weave.
They are there and I'll just have to admire the texture they give my days.

What I Found In The Land Of Cinnamon Light.

Once upon a time, I found myself on the other side of the world, in a place of immeasurable beauty, a place that I went to in innocence, and that took hold of me with tender fierceness and made me look into the eyes of humanity with more clarity than I had ever before. A place that got right in under my skin, and swore to never leave my being, and at times I wonder had I carried it with me all along, from some other lifetime? A deep, untold mystery.

Lately, India has been in my ether again.

You know how it is. Something, a memory, seeps into your days unnoticed, like saltwater in the ground beneath your feet that slowly, slowly soaks, unnoticed. At first just the tender soles of your feet, unnoticed, then quietly inching, unnoticed, until one day you awake to find yourself adrift in it.

And then you see them, signs of it everywhere, somehow, inextricably everywhere.
A conversation, a meal, a reminder, a photo album, a meeting, a film, all unconnected and innocent in themselves, but the awakening reveals a bright, shiny, continuous thread that is now spread around me and I am adrift in it.

India.

Why is this coming back to me now, I wonder? After almost two decades of quiet living, most of which was in a dreamy Mother~Land, it has come back to find me. Maybe I am ready to greet it again?

And while that trip is a story to tell, I am arrested with wondering about where these memories fit into my life today, and it has me thinking.
As our older two seem to be racing towards flying the nest and the time to let them go is just beginning to peer over the horizon, I think about how my parents did this, The Letting Go, and how something that seems impossibly huge in the distance surprises you when it arrives all small and humble and perfectly reasonable.
For each of those steps our children take are exquisitely formed, and timed to perfection, if only we have the courage to see it, but often our own fear blinds us and we clutch, without even knowing it.

As our Eldest faces his first serious exams in a couple of months, I find myself in new territory as a mother, and in a way I find myself at a loss. Here now, is something we cannot do for him, or even hold his hand for, (indeed he doesn't want us to), and yet he really is not finding it easy. It brings back shuddering memories of my own school experience, and the reminder is, I have to say, rather uncomfortable.
This child of mine is standing alone, for the first time, and all the silences and deep thinking do not go misunderstood by me and his father. It is frightening. He hasn't got to the exciting bit yet, and it is overwhelming, but he will. And I remind myself of that. How fleeting this time just is!

We get through it anyway, don't we? All of it. And our feet take us onwards, no matter what. And we find ourselves in places that we could never have imagined, hearing stories we can hardly believe, and our young eyes are opened and we begin to truly see the world and understand what we want to both take from it, and give to it.
But only because it is our feet and our eyes. The advice and experience of our parents and teachers have hopefully been stored away as a map, a guide, for when we need it, but ultimately it only comes through our own experience.

So this is a little Note To Self: They'll be okay!

I look at these pictures, almost twenty years old, and faded, some of them, and I think of what this experience meant to me at the time. It meant something very different than what it means to me now.
For now I am on the other side of it and I understand that the true value of these experiences is the fact that we are figuring it out for ourselves. And I will do the Letting Go when the time comes, and it will be easier than I think now. Because it will be the Beginning for him.

The first line I wrote at the beginning of this, now I read back over it, may indeed be read as a corny cliché:

'I found myself'.

At least, I found the beginning of myself, of who I would eventually become. And don't we continue Becoming, for the rest of our lives? I hope so anyway.

Where did you find yourself? That Beginning Of You? Was it somewhere far away, or somewhere unexpectedly familiar, something intense or something surprisingly soft? Did you know at the time, or is it only hindsight and time that allow you to see it?

I truly would love to know.

And now I know my own answer I think I may be ready to go back.

One Of Those Days.

There is a sycamore lined road I take each morning, where, above the neat rows of houses the mountains shadow one another high in the distance, today one basking in sunlight while behind it's sister lay shrouded in rain.
This morning, I saw them, the first bright splashes of red that have begun to appear amongst the leaves as we passed between the trees, wending our way in a shiny metal snake of cars, curving between trees and mountains on our daily chug.
We are truly Back To School now, our days slowly finding their well trodden groove, settling back in with just the smallest of sighs. Yet my mind is still eager to wander, to search for bright places where it can, and so, distracted as I was today by an unexpected row with Our Eldest first thing this morning, I reached into the sunlight for something positive, so in need of some yoga. We spent the last few months traveling south down the coast to our summer yoga quarters, and having missed a couple of classes recently it was with joyful relief I made my way to our local place only to find I was a week early....

And so I took a little walk, and pondered the unexpected bruising of the heart that we Mother's endure, the thoughtless words a child may say in the heat of the moment that we must absorb and somehow find the right way to bring to a positive ending.

And when I left after a while I drove without thinking and found myself back by the sea. The reassuring, ever dependable sea.

And I walked.

And as I sat in the sun, regretting I had not brought my togs, so lovely was the sun and the sea, I took that quiet time alone to pause and breathe and ponder some more, and as I stood to leave I understood that although I may not know the answer yet, going home with a peaceful, open (if bruised) heart was enough, and the answer would be provided in the right time.

And so of course tonight, what did I find when I opened my computer but this most lovely, timely, heartening video of a Dharma talk given to children by Buddhist monk Thich Nhat Hanh, that I now must share with whomever of you would like to watch it.



My heart is eased, my mind returned to my body.
And yes, the first thing he did, this errant boy of mine, upon arriving home, was apologise.

Before They Fly The Nest....

Thoughts of a Mother when she spies her chicks testing their wings.

Has anyone ever noticed how easy it is to blog with small children in your ether? How the tiny, busy hands just beg to be photographed? The little tousled heads bent over a treasure, a wondrous find? Oh, the ease, and the countless magic moments that present themselves each day if we pause and look up for a minute.
It has been on my mind lately how the years are racing by, just a breeze glancing past my ear at times, and suddenly our small ones are not small but big, and we have two teens in the house who, because there are still two more small ones here, often escape my camera and I seldom blog about them any more.

For what do they do but sleep and lounge and eat, with no interests other than friends and music, no concept of a world outside their own, and a social life I am rarely privy to? Oh we are in the midst of someone else's Age Of Unreason. Remember that? Not the unreasonableness of a toddler. That is sweetly endearing. Most of the time.
No, this is the teen version.
I have no doubt many of you reading this are fantastically familiar with this?

And while it is the most natural, gradually evolving process, so subtle for the most part you barely notice it creep into your household, still, one day you find it is there, has swelled to fill hidden corners you never saw, is now like a presence right there with you, these people whose passage out of the green scented bowers of childhood is fast approaching, who are no longer completely immersed, but are treading water, heads glistening, excited faces turned towards the sun, about to strike out for shore, so sure of their way.

And while there are times we disagree with their methods and means, can see how difficult they make it for themselves, still, we have to stand back and let them figure it out, (with the occasional firm guiding hand when inexperience is a danger!) for let's face it, they have yet to realise that their previously held, and now somewhat doubted, belief that we, their parents,  know everything, may not be that simple and straightforward, but is nonetheless still kind of true. 

And do you know what? So far, I have been nothing but heartened. Heartened and reassured. By their choice of friends, and the way they are with one another, by the tales that have come back to me via other parents of their thoughtfulness and, at times, their courage to stand up for their friends, to stick to their principals and say 'Now hang on just a minute!' 
So I am happy to stand back, to let them test their boundaries, test their wings, but in doing so provide a place they can come back to, a place they want to bring their friends, and that their friends want to came to.
For I am not yet ready to let them go.
Not just yet.

What We Did In School One Day.

~*~

Mosaic, murals, marbling, weaving, building, drawing, tie-dying, puppets, pottery, printing, jewellery, 

drumming, turf-mazing, juggling, special effects make-up, sugar paste, felt-making, batik.....

and I just know I'm forgetting many more....

~*~

I'd like to tell you about something. A place, actually. An incredible, unique place. A place where the word community means something. Where you can see, in action, just what it means when something is truly the sum of what is put into it. For all the human frailties and stumbles along the way, when heartfelt love and the best intentions fill something up it will always sail strong and true, even in squally weather. 

This is our school.

A place where our children learn about democracy, and humanity, and equality. Where they learn, through colourful and exciting practical projects, and hands on experience, just what it means to be a part of this wonderful, magical existence that is being human, being part of this world of ours.

These pictures may be of just one, exceptional day that takes place each year, but it is a sparkling example of just how magical a place it is. After ten years of attending Art Day, this year I was suddenly struck by just how unique it is. This event may be the biggest, funnest and most popular of them all, but it really is just one of many throughout the year where our children are shown that it is not just lip service, that we really do believe in the best of them. That they can be the best they can be. Yes they are children, with all the necessary mischief and shenanigans that are part and parcel of being so, but ultimately they are trusted and respected, and here, given an autonomy I have rarely seen elsewhere.

And in return they give it all they've got, throwing themselves into whatever it is they are engaged in, with unselfconscious, joyful abandon. I cannot think of anything more we could want from them, can you?

Here they are forming themselves into the adults they will be, laying the cornerstones of their future selves, discovering how to be. And this here is also why we drive 12km to school every day.

Because here is a place where exceptional people, the staff and parents, have taken what could have been an ordinary national school and, over years, turned it into something extraordinary. And I do know it is not unique. All over the country, all over the world, there are exceptional people who dedicate themselves to giving our children what very few of us had, to giving them something extraordinary to take with them into their future.
A belief in themselves and the possibility of being The Best Person They Can Be.

But I do feel blessed to be part of something that really does do 'what it says on the tin!' Here is a school that has an ethos that truly is part of the fabric of it's daily life, that holds it high and says, of course we can do this, because we can do our very best. And that, after all, is good enough.

And as the year comes to a close, Our Only Girl is preparing to leave this place that has been a very significant part of her life, that has seen her grow from a quiet, thumb-sucking 5 year old, to the confident, amazingly together 13 year old who is sailing forth without qualm.

And although she makes ready, with great excitement, to follow her big brother on to secondary school, it has been heartening, and heartbreaking, to see these children prepare to say goodbye to one another, after eight years together, every day. 

The bond between them, as a group, is unlikely to ever be replicated again in their lives, something they don't realise, but I do believe is so deeply ingrained in them that it is truly a part of them. Some of them are moving on together, but all is about to change, as I saw with Our Eldest two years ago, and life is about to stretch out it's dewy, tender wings.

So this is my own heartfelt thank you, to all you amazing people, past and present, who have made this place what it is today. So although one more of our Dearlings is leaving, we still have one in midflow, and one more, The Smallest, just about to start. My time is not yet done here. And though at times, the driving in particular seems interminable, I cannot think of a better place to be.

We are blessed. My heart is full.

The Sweetest Balm For A Broken Heart.

Meet Sparrow, the loveliest of tiny things that has brought the sparkle back to My Only Girl. You may remember our most heart-rending little tragedy, still regretted today and every day.

She was worried about how she would feel, afraid she would be trying to replace Oz so soon, (she was adamant about no more black cats~that would just be too heartbreaking) but this only girl of ours needs something small and helpless to love. We all need some unconditional love in our lives, and as I know many of you know full well, the love of a pet is wholehearted, unreserved, and unlimited, and a perfect, pure balm to the tribulations of life.

Somethings just go together, and need no explanation, and a girl and her cat are one.

The Cat And His Girl.

How do you console an inconsolable child when her most beloved cat dies?

Our lovely Oz was killed on Monday and My Only Girl is bereft. We all are really. He was the most cuddly , affectionate ridiculous cat who loved being the centre of attention and was happiest in someone's arms.

Ozymandias.

I will miss his little face looming out of the darkness at the window, tripping over him as he lies in the middle of the kitchen floor belly up waiting for you to stop and rub his tummy, that cheeky look on his face that he knows you won't resist. His little tapping footsteps on my bedroom floor in the morning and the gentle weight of him landing on us with a quiet 'hey! C'mon! I'm hungry!'

But most of all, what breaks my heart is how much she misses him. 

Her little friend.

Thoughts On Treasure.

Some days are a painful pinprick,
as though a tender blister bursting,
when my child's tiny hand rests on my knee
and I gaze at it and I remember it is not mine.

I am not the little child,
but the mother.

And those moments I am caught 

and I see through their eyes,

something that was once so familiar,

and I am brought to stillness,

my heart undone.

When my own voice fails me,
and I hear theirs,
lilting, sweet and sure.

Their world certain and simple and yet so wondrous.

And I am filled.

I am filled.

Eldest.

Amidst the busy hours
of running around chasing my tail endless forking out meeting needs hugs and kisses bumped knees shouting laughing toast and jam fireside stories bedtime waking up time bath time homework dinner washing clothes cakes birthdays coffee driving nagging hugging walking breathing dreaming loving loving loving...

Little ones are good at getting their needs met.

Some nights I would go to bed,
and wonder,

Did I have any one to one conversation with him today?

But now we have an hour
in the pre~dawn quiet before the house awakes,
before he leaves for school.

And I am amazed.

Who is this young man?

This young man.

What I Thought As I Lay In The Quiet.

He's gone three morning's now.

And sharing Mama every day.

And he's playing hard.

And I am turning my time and thought's to things other than baby.

And then,

a night like tonight,

when one is too tired to stay awake,

and misses his cuddle time,

And another is too wide awake to sleep,

and tosses and turns and talks and sings,

muttering to himself...

And I wonder am I good enough?

Until at last,

as sleep catches him

a train rumbles out of the quiet night,

past his window,

and from the land of nod

his little hand is raised

in a wave.

He never misses one.

And I think maybe it'll do.

These Early Mornings Are Killing Me...

Why is it so hard to give in and go to bed early some night!

.......zzzzzzzzzzzzzz.........

A Blessing Of A Kind.

I do love when,

every so often, in the day to day blur,

I am reminded, in a moment of clarity,

of just how good life can be.

We may not solve every problem,

or even come close.

We may not get everything right,

or be happy with the choices we have made.

But it is such a blessing to sit around a table,

with familiar faces,

and know that if nothing else we can simply do our best.

And our children will stand testament to our endeavors.

And they will show us that we can be good enough.