Only Love is my repair

I had my first day of school this year. Well technically mini man started school this year, and it may as well been my first day in Prep all over again. I realise I’m almost two terms late to the party, but it’s taken me awhile to put the feels into the words. 

People say you grow up with your first child. And in this case, I agree with the people. It’s not just the physical growing up, like signs of aging - that apparently speed up with the arrival of children.....eye bags, wrinkles, grey hair and moderately less taught abdominals (yes I just pretended they were super taught before, let me have this one alright). I suppose I can only speak for myself, but I have become a weird mix of more certain of my own mind, more open-hearted, and more vulnerable all at the same time. In my view, that’s on the way to becoming a grown-up. 

Every child is a gift, and each one arrives with a spirit, a voice and something to teach us. My first baby, my big-eyed, big-hearted boy has taught me the transformative power of Love. Or that growing up means learning to Love. Unconditionally and unafraid.

Mini Man graduates kindy, thumbs up while Mum cries

Technically speaking I was a fully-fledged adult when I became a mother. Legally adult. Mortgaged. Married. Employed. Enjoyed red wine, documentaries and pretentious foreign films. Believe it or not, none of that prepared me for the arrival of my son. My grid for the world and my heart exploded at 7:40am on the 11^th of October 2015 - when I saw his face for the first time.  And I think I’ve spent every following day of the last 5.5 years relearning the world with my new grid, growing up in some way.

Learning to still human and be kind in the face of extreme sleep deprivation and no caffeine is a challenge. Tiredness doesn't go away as easily, and regular time and space for self-care routines do. Realising you are the adult in the room and therefore the enormous amounts of vomit and poo that have expelled themselves from a small person, is yours to clean is a sobering moment. Snot crying in the news because you realize that dead person was someone’s kid happens. I'll be honest, I've never been captain black and white, but more shades of grey appeared (50? lolz) because now, my grid for Love was a bigger, more encompassing, and included more people. Everyone you see, whether he's the jerk who cut you off in traffic or not, is someone else's kid. (Granted, a kid not as smart, perfect, good-looking, miraculous, special and talented as mine - said every parent ever). 

Navigating your beliefs on parenting, that likely differ from people you love, and holding your ground requires bravery. It requires trusting yourself, opening yourself to criticism and also allowing yourself to make mistakes. Letting go of what’s most comfortable for me and embracing what’s best for him - because they aren't always the same thing, feels hard sometimes. In other words, I’m learning what love means.  Love is Unconditional. Love always Gives. Love is Brave. Love Releases. Love is Secure. Love is not about me, or what I need from my kid. 

All the heart eyes emojis.

Starting school for him, was like starting new for me too. My heart walked out the door in a giant school uniform, school bag half his size on his back and into an environment where I cannot control everything that comes near him. And so begins the dance of teaching him to manage and care for himself, to look after his own heart, to fight his own battles. To choose Love. 

I'm learning choosing Love means checking my own-self first. What's my motivation here? Is this about me, or my fears, or what my loved-ones or other people think - or is this really about him? And honestly, it goes without saying I am not doing this perfectly. I mean the first time I cut his hair was because I felt pressure from people telling me he looked like a girl, even though we thought he looked awesome. I think Donkey in Shrek is right, we are all onions. And life is onions. Layers people. Layers. 

There will be so many more firsts with with my little guy. Puberty. Driving. Teenage angst. Love. Heart-ache. Leaving school. Moving out.  And I’m sure with each one, I will learn a bit more about myself, about him and about what unconditional love looks like. I’ll do some of it well, I’ll do some of it B.A.D.L.Y. 

I am profoundly aware that this little person arrived, with something to give and work out in the world. And it’s my job to prepare and release him for that. Not my job to make him look good - to make me look good.  Or to be a "good boy" and please other people, or even to live out my best life for him (which is great by the way - and mostly involves staying near his mama forever).  And to have any hope of doing that remotely well, I have to deal with my own self and grow up– in other words Love, in the true sense of the word - and for that gift, I am profoundly grateful. 

I tell all my loved ones expecting a baby that nothing prepares you for the overwhelming steam-roll of unconditional love that comes with your kid. Not just your first, all of them, but the first you are entirely unprepared of how Love like that turns your world upside down. It's like all that is good and right with the world, and a heavenly other worldly love just implodes you. Its the actual best. I was listening to this song, by Sons of the East, and they sing, "Only love is my repair, " - that's what inspired me to write this. It's true. What a treasure you are my big-brown-eyed boy, you've changed my heart forever. *

As the song says, 'Only Love is my repair' - Sons of the East

*I feel compelled to explain that mini me, my wee girl, is by no means excluded from any of the above mushiness and exploding my heart. She has and does every day - with  different nuances for she is a she and has taught me so much about being a woman, and about the way I view myself and my hopes for women in general....that's a whole other post. This one just started with thinking about how he started school and how at each stage, by virtue of being my first go at it, I'm learning with him.

Pictures instead of words

Around the end of 2015, beginning of 2016 I saw a cheesy instagram meme with a TS Eliot quote that actually stuck with me “For last year's words belong to last year's language and next year's words await another voice.”

I had an inkling that 2016 would be one of big change and transition and it did not disappoint.

I didn’t post once in 2016. A lot happened, and happened fast. Writing requires words, profound I know. And words require processing. And to be honest so much happened so fast, I struggled to find words for much of it. So instead, here’s an ever practical bullet point list……and when words fail, some pictures.

We had to put our beloved Moose to sleep. 
We did our first kid free trip (for more than 1 night) to Tassie for Man’s birthday.
We went on a family cruise with Man’s Grandad - where 4 generations of us got to  holiday together and my kids literally we exploding with joy everyday. 
Grandad passed away just days after our cruise docked.
My mama moved to England. 
We prepped and sold our first wee house - settlement was almost 10 years to the day we first moved in.
We moved in with my Dad and Step-Mum and began the roller-coaster of almost buying 3 houses, with contracts falling over, competition high and, being outbid hours before our offer went in.
We bought a new house and did some renos.
We did our first overseas trip with two nuggets.
Little lady broke her arm.
We became an Aunty and Uncle for the first time!

I feel a bit kinder towards myself just looking at that list and not being able to find words.
:-)


 

Brave little girl

Beautiful Bali

Birthday girl

 

To Three, or not to Three.....

To Three, or not to Three, that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler to be content with my two; or to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous newborns
Or to take in my arms a sea of children, 
And although outnumbered, adore them. Oh my- to sleep -
No more. And by sleep I mean to say more than three hours. 
The heartache, and the thousand natural shocks 
That a parent is heir to. 'Tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. Oh my-to sleep. 
To sleep - perchance to dream; ay, there's the rub! *

Ay, there's the rub indeed.We are so blessed with two amazing children. Full of life, healthy and strong. Cuter than I thought possible. And we even have one of each gender. What more could I ask for? And truly, my heart is full and there are days where I pinch myself, and despite the hard moments, I'm living a part of Little Me's dream. A man I love and who inspires me, and who loves me in return, and two beautiful children. It ain't perfect, or always easy, but it is good. A lot of people say 'quit while you're ahead' - one girl, one boy, no middle child, no bigger car, no extra expense. And I hear them....but the heart isn't always so practical, and sometimes, I hope another Mini is on the cards....(and not just because I have a great name up my sleeve and am hoping for a surprise blondie, or surprise ranga).

When we were young and had all the answers, Man and I were definitely having two, possibly three kids.  And after Mini Man, there was always going to be another, and Mini Me followed faster than we planned. When I broach the idea of a third mini with Man, he usually smiles, shakes his head and says, 'Not right now,' which I suspect is his way of letting me down easy, and sometimes,  'Babe, I just can't be this tired for another two years.'

And he's not wrong - we are tired - even though I maintain I am generally more tired, being the one who possesses the feeding apparatus required for newborns, and the one who 90% of the time is being called for in the wee hours. Despite our kids now mostly sleeping sensibly (sickness, toilet training and surprise WAKE-UP nights aside), the demands of two little people can be rather relentless. I find the physical demands of tiny people intense. Cute little people who need help putting on shoes, taking off shoes, finding shoes, getting clean, getting dressed, wiping bums, wiping noses, removing crayons off walls, getting frozen peas out of noses, getting thumbs out of coke bottles and everything else in between, including cleaning poo off curtains (I'll spare you the photo of the #surpriseturd** - it's a game Man and I played when Mini Man was toilet training #goodtimes). As they grow and develop, I  am finding the emotional demands as intense. It's not always easy keeping your love on with two tantrums in full swing, no coffee yet and no time to even wake-up entirely. And working out how to best guide and parent two entirely different personalities keeps my heart on its toes.

Oh my heart, and my ovaries hurt at the thought this will never be repeated.

I am certain that when we are old and grey (ok older and greyer than I am already), when the Minis are grown up and gone, that we will wish we had more and not less. That alone makes me want to have more. Still, I have to actually birth, and we have to actually raise, house and support three kids. And what if we get twins? - it happens people. I struggled with my newborns, particularly with the transition to two... For me, the first 6 months at least, I lose myself a little - well that's what has happened the last two times, so statistically - I'm up for the same. It does make me stop, and wonder if I have what it takes to do it again. Will I break myself? Will I break 'Us'? I'd be lying if I said it has been smooth sailing navigating Man's extremely demanding job which means I am on my own kid-wrangling much of the time, two small kids and their needs, a part-time job, a dog with issues (for realz), housework, laundry, all the feels that come with life transitions - and attempting to maintain a sense of self, sense of humor and romance in an among all that. #nailing it #not. That said, nothing teaches like, well, Life. Ha. I have much changed and grown, and, importantly re-embraced caffeine.

 But on the 'For' team - the newborn snuggles, the tiny hands and feet, little voices that say 'mama' and 'dada' for the first time. Chubby little arms around your neck, big smiles whenever they see your face. Getting to witness what it looks like to live with your heart wide open, unguarded and unafraid, your own heart so full of love, pride and hopes for the future, you might explode. In my book, ain't nothin' like it.
 
Mini Me is two already, Min Man is almost 4, and with their growing independence I'm starting to think beyond making it to lunch-time naps each day and considering possibilities for myself I haven't in awhile, and it is lovely. I've also considered that sooner, rather than later, is probably the way to go if Mini Three is to be... (although last time I checked Man wasn't on board, so this debate is clearly for academic and philosophical purposes. Maybe I feel like if I come to a decision, I can change his. Hahah. That's a whole other post). Do we think about it too much? It feels like my parents generation, didn't really think about it all that much, they just kind of had kids, as many as 'happened' and got on with it. And we all turned out fine...pretty much. :-) 

Do I want a third just because, if two is enough, then it's truly goodbye to a part of my life I looked forward to for so long? Can my child-bearing years really be behind me? Surely I'm not that much of adult? On the other hand, my late-teen neighbor calling me 'That lady' says yes, yes you are Mom Jeans. Maybe I just can't accept that I'll never feel a tiny wee thing kick me from the inside again, to cuddle them in all their squishy, redness. To look into their eyes for the first time and bask in the wonder that is half me and half man, and 100% them, 100% magic. Then again if it is really over, I will never again cluster feed from 4pm till God knows when. I will never know the pain of cracked nipples, or stitches in awkward places again. Praise Jesus my nappy days are almost over...and 4 hour chunks of sleep are a thing of the past (mostly).

But, if it is really over.... *sniff*.......it went way too fast.

   

 * Sincere apologies to William Shakespeare for this heinous bastardization of his Hamlet soliliquoy

**#surpriseturd a whole new take on #findthepoo - a game Man's associates used to play.  It's as bad as it sounds. 

Forewarned is Forearmed - survival tips for #mumflu

This past week I have had a terrible case of #mumflu. It's the real deal people. Awful illness. Truly the symptoms are as severe as man flu, but here's the kicker - no one cares.

My friend and I were exchanging sms'sss'sss (I hate plurals of words that end in 's') and she kindly asked if I was getting any rest. To which I replied, "Yes, of course. If by 'rest' you mean 'business-as-usual', with a little more sitting, and more waking up at night because the nuggets have the flu too. Then yes. I am resting the %^&* out of this."

#mumflu sufferers have the unique challenge of having small children about, widely admired for their insatiable energy, curiosity, tyrannical demands and inability to see their parents as mere humans, who occasionally, want their blanky and a treat too.
 
"Babe, I'm  not feeling very well today. So can we chill out a bit?"

 Cue perplexed looks from small children. 

"Ok shame mommy. I kiss better............Now can I have a sandwich? Can we bounce on the trampoline? ..Oh I know, let's dance. I will be the dinosaur dancer and you be the truck."

Cue perplexed look from parent. Huh? Truck dancer? Thoughts interrupted by, 

"Mom, dance!" while another child calls from the bathroom, "Mooooom, I need a hand in here."

LOLz. It's more fun than it sounds. Mostly.

#mumflu symptoms generally encompass all manner of flu symptoms. This bout for me has been the usual, snot, headaches, the black lung and worst of all for me,  no voice. I really like talking. Like a lot. I mean I might even say I love talking. My Dad says I was putting words together early and in his words, "haven't shut up since".  Meant with love. Except maybe when I was a mouthy 14 year old. Man thinks I could actually talk under wet cement. "Woman, if anyone can do it. It's you." Also meant with love. Except maybe when its 11pm and I'm talking about my feelings.

This week I have learned some things having no voice and discovered some tricks to surviving the #mumflu. Herewith a few lessons and survival tips. You're welcome.

#1. Less is more  
Not being able to speak made me listen more.  I'm so busy talking, I've realised I could listen a lot better. My world is full of interesting people, with much to teach me...... Including my little Man, who one morning quietly dug out an archived breast pump, put it together perfectly, plugged it in, filled it with milk from the fridge, wiped up the ensuing spillage and quietly said, "This is for my baby crocodile (toy). He comes from an egg that hatches, and doesn't have milk, baby sharks do - but I don't have baby shark, and maybe baby crocodile would like some."

I was speechless. And not because I had no voice. How does he remember what a breast pump is for? How did he put it together? (the instruction booklet was laid out on his carpet?!) and how does he remember sharks have milk and crocodiles don't? And how is he so freaking cute?!

Not being able to speak meant I couldn't pick up calls much, have conversations, or even talk to myself. It gave me room to be quiet, alone with my thoughts. It was great.

#2. Non verbal 
Behold the power of "The Look" from a cross Mum. That's right, be afraid.

#3. TV you bloody beauty. 
I feel so guilty about TV and so so many other parenting shortfalls but this week, I could kiss that weird square. Bless you Netflix and a weird little Norweigian rescue boat called Elias. Who, by the way, has a friend called "smacky" who dozes off and drifts into dangerous seas. Whaat?!  I was desperately trying to yell out "SMACK IS NOT YOUR FRIEND" but with no voice, it was impossible and my sign language attempts failed.Speaking of sign language............

#4. Kids don't understand "The Finger."
I'm kidding I didn't give my kids the finger.  It hasn't come to that. Yet.

#5. Coughing fits can replace your regular exercise 
Yes, terrible coughing fits can replace your sit up regime (hahah I know, hilarious. I don't have a sit up regime, clearly). But if I did, coughing would excuse me. I can feel my muscles stronger - and sore, like someone punched me in the ribs. Abs = silver lining.  

#6. Trampoline rest-time.
Take some cold and flu tablets. Get yourself dressed nice and warmly, maybe a beanie, or even a comforting blanket. Maybe roll yourself up in it. Soothing right? Lie on the trampoline, close your eyes and enjoy the soothing rhythm of small people bouncing wildly around you. If you take enough cold and flu tablets, you won't even really notice the body slams and kicks to the head you might inadvertently receive (see aforementioned beanie, this will help avoid injury).

I know, I know. It will take some time to digest such profound insights. But forewarned is forearmed right? And as Bear Grylls says, "The rules of survival never change, whether you're in a desert, or in an arena." (or in my case, at a rock n roll concert with a 'cro-do-dile').

Love feels big and all that matters.

A long time back, there was a winter that broke me. Having left the country of my birth, my little heart knew the sensation of loss and loneliness…but that winter  taught me that loss was a physical sensation. A cavity that opens up your chest and, if you’re like me, you fall in and get lost in for sometime.

That winter my friend went away was so bitterly cold. So cold it hurt. And it was a good thing. It was like the earth knew I couldn’t bare things to be warm without my friend by my side. It was good. It was like an acknowledgement the world was a colder place without him in it. It was good - because it felt right that it hurt to breathe.

Winter always reminds me of my friend, taken so very soon. Winter always gets me thinking about loss. And in the last little while friends of mine have lost beloved parents, lost precious babies, and potentially, Man and I are staring down the barrel of losing someone dear to us.

It’s been 17 years. My friend has been gone as long as he was here. And I love him as much as the day he left. It’s clear after all this time that time can’t measure love or even fade it. It’s clear time is no measure of the impact of a life.

A much-loved friend of mine lost her mum, just before Mothers Day. At the funeral, even in her natural grace and composure, her grief was bending her physical frame. She’s always been wise and beautifully articulate, and just the other day, talking about the loss of her mama, she simply and stunningly said, “Love feels big and all that matters.”

It echoed in my heart and in my thoughts of my friend passed. Indeed. Love feels big and all that matters. I thought of my friend. Gone as long as he was here. 1 hour, 1 day, 100 days, 100 years – the incredible gift of a human being, ‘THEM’, is felt and loved. Felt and acknowledged on some unseen level, outside of time. And it remains, even when THEY don’t.

All this time friend. You are still remembered. You are still missed. You are still loved. I feel like love is our link to that part of us that is outside time. That part of us that feels eternal. Love feels big and all that matters.

I struggle to make sense of the enormous loss that is part of life, and some people experience more than seems right (no loss seems right to me, but somehow it's part of our human experience). The unbearable heartache of losing a child. I crumble at the thought and there are people in my world who have bravely endured it. I know the day will come when I farewell my parents and I wonder, how will I stand under the crushing grief of losing the people who brought me into the world?

I’ve been listening to Phosphorescent. Don’t you love people who can find words for feelings ? Like you don't know exactly what they mean, but you know exactly what they mean? I do. He has this one line…

“you say, oh, you’ll spin this heartache into gold.”….

And that’s gotta be the point right? For all my friends, for any who read this living with loss, for myself..... know that is my steady hope for us all....That Love will somehow, spin the heartache into gold. That, and Love feels big and all that matters. 

♥

ps: Like I said, in Winter, so many thoughts of my friend fill my mind. I love Ed Sheeran (which must make me deeply unoriginal, because so does, um everyone).  But this song has been my winter anthem. 

I was 16, and for ages I carried his photo with me, and even now, I still keep a photo of my friend, from 17 years ago, tucked away in my cupboard, holding him close until our eyes meet. 

Just listen.

For you, M. 

xxC

i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

i carry your heart with me (i carry it in
my heart) i am never without it (anywhere
i go you go, my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing, my darling)
i fear
no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) i want
no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)

-            e.e cummings.

Making sense of all the feels I feel

I wrote this post a few months back, while we were still renovating. But because I clearly watch too much TV, worry too much about laundry and because #life..I didn't post it....

Anyway, as I always say, better late than never...(I actually do always say that..I mean really...when is that not true..When is never, better than late? - obviously excluding terrible things like disease.) But I digress...as usual...Herewith - my post.

This week I inadvertently took a drive down memory lane when I drove across my city to visit my friend. We live on opposite ends of our sprawling Brissie and aside from getting a much needed dose of her, I got a much needed dose of perspective. I packed the minis in the car with a few road snacks (I was never going to let the kids eat in the car. Oh that’s a whole other post –the kind of parent I would ‘never be’….oh how the mighty have fallen.) Where was I? Road snacks, right. Yes, I packed the minis in the car with some road ‘thnacks’ as Mini Man calls them, cranked the tunes, at his request, and off we went.

We left from our home, which would seem obvious, except that at the moment, we are doing some renovations that require some serious structural alterations, which means we’ve had to move out. We were just visiting to see the progress. You see, for the purposes of this story, it’s important that we left from here because I think my house mirrors my little head and heart at the moment. Some areas seem a bit undone and look a bit worse for wear..some of the structures and supports have been removed…..and I feel out of sorts and not in a nice way. I just feel like, given my answers, someone has changed the questions. Probably. I most likely fell asleep or was wiping yoghurt off something when they announced the new questions….that said, I am excited and entirely sure that end of result is something I am going to like (my house and me).

Perhaps it was the music that was so loud it ruled out conversation, or perhaps they have inherited my pensive gene (or my eating gene) – but the minis happily bounced their feet to some tunes, ate their ‘thnacks’ and allowed me to get lost in my thoughts. I realised as I drove the twisty roads of our city that I was driving through my story – and that right now, as odd as I feel some days, is just a chapter. It’s not the whole story.

After our home, I drove through the part of town I grew up in. Well, my teenage years since we emigrated here when I was in Year 9. When we arrived I felt so foreign, so strange, so lonely, friendless, without my extended family – and I never thought it would feel like home. Now, I can barely go anywhere without running into someone I know, my babies have great-grandparents in the same city, I feel Aussie in my veins, I cry during the national anthem and the QANTAS song, and have a city, my city, that tells my story. That first Aussie chapter, albeit it a very difficult one for me, was just the beginning of what has so far, been a beautiful story.

Then I drove past the house our friends E and J lived in when we first met them. They moved a lot in the few years we lived in the same city – but I remember that first roast dinner at that house. We just been married and lived in what could best be described as a slightly large garden shed, fondly dubbed our ‘Shed-hole’. They had just moved from inter-state and had a wee little baby with the best head of hair I have seen to date. We loved them from the first time we met them. Over the next two/three years, we spent so much time at their house eating and sitting around till all hours, talking talking talking. We always felt so welcome, and like we belonged – and despite them having 1 and then 2 little kids (now 4)- they always had time for us. In hindsight, now that I have kids, I wonder how I can be more like them – and how they didn’t kill us or tell us to just leave. In the last few years there have been moments of loneliness and isolation - as life changes for us and others, have brought changes in relationship dynamics which has left my little world shifted and me wondering, for awhile, if I am the only one feeling a bit left out. Anyway, driving past I thought fondly of our good times and remembered feeling entirely the opposite of how I have sometimes felt more recently. It’s just a chapter, it’s not the end of the story.

The chapter where Man had Justin Bieber hair and I had skinny arms

Next down memory lane was the childhood house of the first man-boy-child who made me feel like the only girl at the party. He was handsome, and manly and fun and kind - and the first boy who didn’t just want to be my friend and date my hotter friends (hellloooo highschool). He made me feel beautiful and interesting and gave me confidence I was lacking. And I really fancied him too. To my shame, in my immaturity - I handled it badly and hurt him – but I will forever remember feeling so young and excited and noticed. There have been moments since becoming a mother where I have felt invisible, in so many ways. If by some chance it’s not the enormous eye bags, unkempt hair, no make-up, slightly frazzled expression and fat clothes – a stroller is enough to render you invisible to people who once paid attention to you (except other mum’s – they notice, and mostly smile. Bless you). They only notice when one of your offspring is being vile. Seriously I have had people who used to talk to me at social things, not bother anymore and as far as I am aware, the only thing that has changed is the fact that I have reproduced. Anyway, driving past I remembered fondly a time when I felt like I was the only person noticed. In that chapter (and the one where I fell in with Man) I was the only girl in the room.

Then I drove past a part of town I avoided for years. I had friendship break-up that broke me a little. It’s taken years and years to process because the shock was so great initially that I almost glazed over and pretended it wasn’t happening. I felt sick constantly. Then I snot-cried, I raged, I wrote letters and sent gifts, I did all I could to make it right. It didn’t work. I still avoid a certain dessert because my friend loved it and made it with such passion my eyes fill with tears if I eat it. I know I know. I’ve come to accept that chapter is finished, perhaps for good. But a part of my heart hopes, there’s another one coming, later in the book, where that storyline has a better ending.

Finally I arrived at my friend’s house – and even stopping in her driveway reminded me how so often the discomfort is only the beginning, or part of the story – not the end. When we first met, it was uncomfortable. We met through Man, and both were very fond of him. We’ve not actually spoken about it, lol – but I think we were each a little unsure of the other and their intentions. We need not have worried. It was pretty clear straight up that she was awesome and I understood why Man thought the world of her…not sure what she thought of me, but to her credit she was kind and accepting straight up and I suppose, I stole his bestie. She’s mine now. But gosh, was I intimidated by the thought of her in those early days – and now – she’s like a cup of tea and a bikkie, just the thing to make it all better and make the world seem normal again.

So, I’m going to try and remember, when I feel out of sorts, or lost, or like everything is shifting – that it’s just a chapter. I love love love reading, so will apply the book chapters principles to my own life. Keep reading, don’t try skip bits, shed some tears if you must, laugh out loud and push on. See how it all works out. It’s ok if it doesn’t make sense yet, or it seems a bit weird, or even if I hate it. It’s just a chapter. I’m still figuring out a way to skip to the good bits, or if I can read the last page first and figure out how it all ends (spoiler: At some point I pass away obviously…but you know, maybe I’m famous or taller, or finally skinny – or the best geriatric Irish Dancer you tube has ever scene).

If life is feeling prickly, or disappointing or straight up unbearable - I will try and remind myself it's just a chapter. Even if it seems a never ending one. And if I carry on, try enjoy the journey, be a bit more sympathetic to the main character and trust the story, it will all resolve in the end…………or it’s not the end.

(and once it is the end, it could turn out to be an 3 book epic, that becomes 6 block buster films in which I am played by the love child of Ryan Gosling and Grace Kelly).

The end of the chapter as just two. Days before we found out there were really 3 people in this picture.

Still a mystery....

I was walking through the city on my way home the other day and maybe it was just that magic Friday feeling, or the song I was listening to – but I was suddenly transported back to my Grade 4 classroom. 

Balmy Brisbane faded away and suddenly I could feel the beautiful Joburg February air, a hint of warm from Summer but cooling down nicely for Autumn. I could smell the slightly musty brown carpet and chalk dust in the air. I could see the 4 rows and 3 columns of brown wooden desks, the old ones with ink pot holes and pencil grooves, with a shelf underneath for your books. I could see where Fish and Chips, the class budgies sat on a shelf, in the corner at the back. And I could see my desk - 3 rows from the front and center. And I could still see the card, perched on the top, with my name stenciled on the front……… and a boy, sitting on my desk, grinning.

 

One of these little guys, or maybe just mum?

It was Valentine’s Day and I was 8 years old.  I was a shy kid, and often late (nothing’s changed)– so in I walked to a pretty full classroom and much excitement. I remember attention on me, my cheeks burning. I remember curly haired, brown eyed, loud mouthed and lots of fun yelling, “woooooo, you have a secret admirer”…..And somewhere, in the corner of my mind, is tall, skinny, speedy, blue eyed, gentle soul off to the side, looking a bit bashful. I was completely thrilled and embarrassed all at the same time.

I remember the card clearly. It had a picture of heart on the front and read, “Be my Valentine”. On the inside, my secret admirer had taken an enormous amount of care to remain anonymous and stenciled (remember stencils?!) “Happy Valentines Day, Love your Secret Admirer xo". A man of few words. Maybe that's where my penchant for the strong silent type started.

It’s such a fond memory I still have the card. And still my secret admirer is a secret, 25 years later. Surely someone saw my secret admirer put it on the desk? How did a bunch of 8 year olds keep it a secret? How did no one see or no one tell? And because I was usually late, I have no idea who was even likely to be at school early enough to do so undetected. I have considered it was my mum, who  swears it wasn’t her, plus there is no way she'd be able to keep a card that brief. Plus stencils aren’t her style.

I do have my suspicions. But I’m not sure I want them confirmed. I’m usually someone who has to make sense of things and figure them out. But there are some things that perhaps should remain a mystery, some things that should be left for us to always wonder.

I have my suspicions. But I’m not sure I want them confirmed. Because I remember his house and bikes and vaguely some older brothers. I remember his thin, gentle Mamma. I remember, at even 8, feeling a sense of calm and companionship when we sat quietly eating sandwiches. And I remember feeling like my heart would burst with excitement when 8 year old me thought it was maybe, from him.

(So PS Mum, now is the not the time to confess).

8 years old and loving polka dots apparently