Saying it with flowers again

My lovely 6 year old son knows how to brighten my day. Just like he often does, he came in from outside with his hand behind his back. "Mummy, I have something for you and Daddy to share." Thinking I knew what to expect, I turned away from the computer and smiled, ready to receive the usual small, crumpled daisy snatched from our overgrown lawns.

Instead he whipped out these! (mercilessly torn from our flowering bush at the back, but it's the thought that counts.)

It's week 2 of the school holidays. It's a wet school holidays. The boys have cabin fever. I have cabin fever. Tomorrow, more rain is due. My 7 year old's friend is due too. What to do, what to do?....Seriously, what to do? I've no creative energy left. Actually, no energy left. I digress....

I been thinking about my love of birds. Not just their precious nature or beauty, but also how their birdsong can soothe my soul. It's a simple remedy but hard to acquire in times of chaos and incessant rain. I've taken to listening to them online. Desperate measures for desperate times. Let me see if I can link them here:

http://www.kiwi-wildlife.co.nz/Sounds/kokako.mp3

http://www.kiwi-wildlife.co.nz/Sounds/morepork.mp3

http://www.kiwi-wildlife.co.nz/Sounds/bellbird.mp3

Just a few small sounds. I'm gonna look for a CD of them. The Morepork will help me sleep at night...........I feel a little better already.

Hair care

Here's a question: Do you think the way you look on the outside is a true reflection of your personality on the inside? Does the shape of your body, your hairstyle/colour, the way you dress really communicate to others who you really are? For me the answer's no and from what I can remember, it's always been no. I was "blessed" with white blond hair. Starting from my early childhood this got me A LOT of unwanted attention from everyone. Pats on the head and the like from the elderly and well meaning complementors, through to the vulgar advances from foolish boys and jealous taunts from bitchy girls. Mostly, I just felt like a freak. My mother would laugh that she could spot me easily when picking me up from school. I was the glowing light bobbing amongst the mainly dark faces.

There is so much to say on this subject it overwhelms me. Just thinking of what to write here stirs up the waters. Since my teen years I have shaved my hair off, dyed it bright red, orange and other variations, made it stripey like raspberry ripple ice-cream, cut it all off again, made it spike out, grown it back, had dramatic fringes, had blond dreadlocks, dyed my dreadlocks red, cut them off, short hair again, dyed patches black....The list goes on...

Often, I have felt like a redhead trapped in a blonde's body.

This has lead to self sabotage.

I am now on the journey to (re)empowering the real ME.

Blogging this shit maybe part of it.

Always say it with flowers

My son had this behind his back for me...

"She's NOT a lady..."

My 5 year son old pulled a "mental health" day from school last Thurs. He told me he had a sore tummy just as we were about to leave for school...Perfect timing as I was already behind time, anxious that my 7 year old son would miss the bus to his swimming class. "Really?" I asked. Rumours of tummy bugs had been circling. "Mmhmm", he nodded.
"Truly?", knowing he had me, I caved and told him he could stay home...Within 10 mins of returning from the drop off he was miraculously better.

I took him with me to the supermarket. He rode standing, on the front of the trolley, facing me so we could joke and chat as we went around the aisles. The usual weekday shoppers were there...Mum's with toddlers and the elderly. As we slowly negotiated our way past the toothbrushes we had to momentarily pause to wait for a little girl to step back out of our way. "Watch out for the lady." Her grandmother beckoned. As we turned the corner into the next aisle my son cracked up, "She just called you a lady." He was incredulous. He went on, "I was just about to tell her, 'She's NOT a lady!'"
"You don't think I'm a lady?" For one fanciful moment I thought my 5 year old son was about to engage me in modern feminist dialogue. Thinking he was coming to my defence I asked him, "Well if you don't think I'm a lady, what or who do you think I am?"
He looked at me as if that was a crazy question, "You are a MOTHER."

Least I forget.

My mind wanders to my tea cup...

Tea always tastes better when it's from a tea cup. Isn't that what they say? I have just enjoyed my first 2 cups from my new, antique, china cup. Looking at it now has got me wondering. What stories would this tea cup tell if it could? Who had this tea cup before it was sold to the shop? Were they the original owners? How much gossip, heartache and laughter was spilled over this delicate duo? I wonder when it made it's journey from across the other side of the Earth. "Marcissus Bell Fine Bone China England," it has written on the underside....How many total cups of tea has it hosted? All unanswerable questions....The imagination soars.

I came home to find this waiting for me along with a note from my husband. He bought it from an antique store today after reading yesterday's blog. : )

Arrr...I"m sick and tired of feeling sick and tired. My kids seem to know I'm weak and like hyenas they are circling and tormenting me. Nothing is simple. Instructions need to be repeated continuously and often yelling ensues. Regretfully often my own.

I find in times like this I long for a small house in the country with only the sound of birds and the occasional distant farm animal. My house would be clean and ordered and smell like fresh flowers or home cooking. I would sit on my veranda in a big swing chair with a book or a journal to write in, sipping my Earl Grey from a china tea cup. White with delicate pink or light green floral design. I can hear the clink of my cup coming to rest on the saucer.....My happy place. Ha! how mummsy of me.

He arrived...

I was with my friend all Sunday (literally) while she was in labour. I met her and her partner at the hospital around 1:30am. By midday Sunday it was decided that the baby was never going to come out naturally so she went in for a C section. When I saw her all drugged out in her room in the maternity ward after the surgery, I was so overwhelmed with the relief that she and her new son were alive and well. Watching my best friend go through so much pain was horrific...And for so long. She never once complained. I can't believe she remained to calm through it all.

I still can't quite put into words all my thoughts. What an intense experience. The memory of her writhing in pain is all I see now when I see a pregnant woman in the street. Hopefully this memory will fade as did my memories of the births of my sons. Now when I think of my child birth experiences I only think of the joy and relief at the end. I hope the same will be so for her.

Seeing her son on her breast was amazing. He had know idea of all the drama that had surrounded his arrival. He looked so at home and at peace. It was at that point I remembered all those feelings of intimacy and motherhood I had felt too. It's something I hope I will never forget.

But I still hope I never have to go through another labour. I'm glad I've "been there, done that." Just need to make that more permanent now. Because i was at the hospital all night and day I didn't take my "pill". Just need to remember that...Because that would be an irony wouldn't it?