Baby Hazel

When I discovered I was expecting baby #5, to say I was startled would be the understatement of the century. But it's not like Daryl and I didn't have a TV, or four other children, come on really? " You sure you're not just trying for a boy? Yeh, that it's...and we're going to keep on trying until we get it right. Seriously, people say the stupidist things to pregnant women.

But now she is 10 and has left for her first two night camp, she packed her bag all by herself three days early. That makes me happy. What makes me a bit unhappy however, is the the ticking time bomb until she is 14...no offense Tobie. The endless hours of drawing and watching Adventure Time will be replaced by Snapchat and a closed bedroom door. You promised me Hazel that you will never do that and I'm holding you to it. There is such a knot in my stomach when I think of high school, Hazel walking out that back gate with her sisters instead of riding off up the hill on her bike. They are little and then suddenly they have grown out of clothes and there's no one to pass favorite things to and so you buy another plastic storage container for more pilled old handknits. 

Hazel still sleeps with about 15 teddies. She rotates them so nobody gets left out. Sometimes I even find her pink Sherrin under the covers. Her converstions are constant and cute and inquisitive. I still seem to know a lot of stuff. Despite her newly pierced ears, she still prefers tracksuit pants and a flanette shirt. She wears a dragon necklace because she loves them. She runs like the wind and will spend hours in the ocean on a cold Autumn day. She has a little boiled egg with soldiers for breakfast most days after the other girls have gone to school. She loves watching " Call the Midwife" with her mum, confidently suggesting when she thinks a woman needs to get up off that bed and move around. A doula's daughter. 

Hazel takes everything in her stride and gives 200% but never shows disappointment when things don't go her way. She loves spending time at the farm with her Dad. She loves her family. She eats pretty much everything.

There is a tree on our front nature strip that Daryl planted nearly 25 yers ago. It's a beautiful wattle that if you drive by on a certain day in Spring, you would gasp at it's show. It's Hazel's climbing tree, perfect branches for hanging upside down or sitting in waiting for the ladybugs to come. 

Hazel knows it is old for a wattle, there is a big split that has started to make us nervous, she says she is ready to replace it with fruit trees. It's time. 

Her body is changing, tall and lanky, the features of her face finer. She's in her Spring and still in my arms and I'm holding on tight. 

Would Mother like a chair?

It has taken me several goes at logging into my blog. And now, rather than feeling all sweet and reflective I'm annoyed and worried about my brain "functionality". That's a word, I hear it a lot, I know it has something to do with computers. And my brain.

So 51 is just around the corner and while the 30 something artists and crafters out there are posting gorgeous photos of their new bundles of babies and hand knits, I can't even log on!!
Ok. Some context. I ran my own business for 10 years. I was a maker of things, mainly jewellery having completed a degree in Gold and Silversmithing. I was legit. I had a little shop in Kensington and a loyal following as well as selling to boutiques in Australia and New Zealand. Kylie Minogue had worn my jewellery. Once. I was proud of my "brand" but making hand made things in a fashion accessory market was tough. And then the babies came, and I wasn't making any money, and I was frustrated by my inability to balance my creative life with Motherhood so… well, I began to knit and be a mother. Happily.

Then a few years ago my dear friend Denise gave me a book, The Divided Heart, Art and Motherhood, by Rachel Power. I put it aside for a while, tucked away with reminders of a my past life as an artist. At the time I was working as a doula. My passion for birth and motherhood had lead me down that path but this book, oh dear, everything just fell away and there I was, that girl who loved to draw, who was  happiest when she was  making something. It was time. So I did a painting and it made me happy and I liked it and couldn't understand where this big painting of the Australian bush had come from. I had written in my high school year book that I wanted to be a painter and live in Warrandyte.  I have always loved  the Australian bush, muted and familiar. From somewhere in the depths of my creative self, it had waited patiently, timing it's return for a moment in my life when my girls are of an age that they are moving into new places and maybe I was becoming a little sad about this.   And so I will paint, and I will care for this part of me and welcome it's return whole heardedly,  I will call myself an artist with confidence and conviction. Again. I'll blog a little bit about it and other things.  And I will put things on Instagram and see where it takes me.

But I'm still about to turn 51, and I feel like I'm starting this new phase a bit late and recently while shopping with my 15 year old in some shop called Glug, or Glum or something, as I flicked through hangers of inappropriate tops (for anyone),while maybe humming a show tune, a friendly young lass approached me as my daughter went to try things on and motioned to a large leather wingback in the corner. " Would Mother Like a Chair? I think I went a little pale, or maybe a little flushed. Probably flushed. I wanted to remind her that I am a customer, not just a credit card and that maybe just maybe I was about to try something on? But the truth was, I was hot and tired and the sugar high from my Muffin Break had worn off and to be perfectly honest,  Mother would bloody love a chair. Thank you. 

Bad Mother

I don't enjoy the school productions. No offense to my amazingly talented nephew, he is always the star in my eyes. But I have a very bad habit of sitting there in the audience of beaming parents trying to imagine what it must feel like to watch YOUR child on stage. Envy. Always gets me into trouble. Then I turn nasty, standing alone during intermission, arms crossed, refusing food and a cup of tea like an over tired toddler. I am revolting. I am like the terrifying stage mother...but my kid doesn't have an agent. I'm worse.

"It's not my thing", I hear them chime at which point I start to question money well spent? Or not. At this point I've passed revolting, I'm just mean. And then the other day as I stood chatting to a teacher while waiting for Tobie to finish her orientation ( more money wasted I was probably thinking... I wasn't but we know I'm capable), when suddenly his words reddened my face and swelled my heart all at the same time. He was talking about happy, well balanced "great" girls. My girls. 

At 6.30 every week day morning when I walk into the kitchen and turn the kettle on theres a smile and a "Hi Mum". Their lives are becoming increasingly complex as they navigate their physical world, their emotional world and their cyber world. But they remain happy kids and really, it's all I have ever wanted. I just need a slap every now and then.

And so the other night as I sat and watched William perform in A Midsummer Nights Dream, I laughed and clapped and ate chocolate and looked across at Lucinda as she smiled and enjoyed her cousin's performance. 

JULY

July is dreary. I tell people I love winter, "I'm a winter person" I declare. But the truth is, somewhere near the end of the school holidays, I just get a bit dreary. It's silly because many many great things happen at this time of the year, not the least being a special wedding anniversay next week (yes, love winter so much got married right in the middle of it), but almost equally thrilling is that this weekend is the Bendigo Wool and Sheep Show.  More about that later.

Yes July is dreary and shuffling around Highpoint hasn't helped. When I came home I remembered I hadn't picked up after the dog for a few days, that will be nice considering all the rain...and the corn. But then a miracle. The sun came out, just for a twinkle, helping me to discern between old brown autumn leaves and well.... Thanks Sun. And then something else. Buds. Buds on my Magnolia and natives flowering and if by magic I felt that dreariness lift. And can I say, I'm very lucky that "dreary" to me is just a bit of a flat feeling, for a couple of days somewhere in July. But there it was, that something I needed. And then a lovely friend sent me a photo she had found, and the sun was back out.

Sorry July, I don't know what gets into me.

GRATEFUL

The past few weeks have certainly dampened the Collective Christmas Spirit. Such sadness and tragedy, children losing parents, parents losing their children. I found myself slumped on the couch last week, having sheilded the younger ones from the news but knowing Ailee and Lucinda had sat glued to the rolling coverage of the Sydney seige while I was out shopping. We were all feeling the effects of something so frightening and so close to home but unable to articulate it so instead at 9 pm we all sat on the couch watching a re run of Modern Family but I know my mind was elsewhere. Finally I mustered the energy to send everyone to bed, but no reading, no lovely rituals, just a tired mother not in the mood.

An hour later I walked past Hazel's bedroom and noticed she was busy with paper and scizzors, working away in the dark. I flew into her room "It's bloody 10 o'clock Hazel go to sleep!!! And I bundled the mass of craft into my arms and threw it onto the table. " Don't break it" she bawled.

The next morning I opened the curtain in her room. I glanced at the pile of paper I had thrown on the table the night before, hoping secretly I hadn't damaged it, oh the regrets a mother faces in the light of a new day. I picked it up by a corner and could not believe what she had made in the darkness of her little bunk bed, she was like Edward Scizzor Hands! I was a tiny bit freaked out and a little scared of her for a split second. How did she do this? "Oh Haze, this is so beautiful, you are amazing". And all of a sudden all was forgiven and I knew it was time to just be grateful. And so I am more than ever.

The house is so quiet right now. Daryl has taken Ailee, Lucinda and Hazel to Lorne to set up for the summer ahead, Tobes is snuggled upstairs with Russell and a hot chocolate. Phemie is somewhere in the Amazon jungle (no seriously she really is), and I am sitting here listening to the coo of the doves outside, and feeling particularly happy that it's almost Christmas. The past few days have truly been filled with good cheer, family, friends and a little Christmas miracle in the form of a  bird who hit our window yesterday and after a few moments of convulsing on the lawn was held by Tobie and Ailee and soothed and petted and whispered to in gentle voices then finally it flew up to the tree and back to it's family.

FULLNESS

On another blog I love to follow from day to day, and often whine that whilst I am quite addicted to and inspired by this blog, it does makes me feel a little pale and useless, I happened upon a word I rather fancied. Fullness. It's not a word I would naturally use to describe this time of year, other words come to mind, um, chaotic, stressful, stupidly stressful ( two words), but I have decided to focus on the word " Fullness", because despite the mountain of stress induced coldsores that are making small children scream in horror AND the fact that my GP would like me to wear a 24 hour heart monitor ( don't worry Mum, he's just humouring me, I'm as healthy as a ox), I think the word fullness reflects gratitude for all we have going on at this time of year.  New take I know but I'm giving it a shot.

This time of year is full of birthday celebrations. I plonk one vanilla cake after another on the table, decorated half heartedly with never the right amount of candles. But this year I stirred and smiled and thought about the gathering of our neighbourhood family and more about the birth that the day celebrated, and although the dog ate half of Daryl's cake, Phemie cut it into the shape of a "D" and it was funny and Hazel and her dear friend Ambrose did a beautiful job of decorating it.

And then there are the concerts. Who ever would have thought I would have so many performers? But here we are with a line up of evenings of song, dance and amazing feats on parallel bars, my head is about to explode.......with the fullness of watching my children being braver than I could ever be.

But the coldsores and heart pulpatations this year I suspect are for a completely different fullness. This time next week Phemie will on her way to Ecuador.The child who wouldn't stand up in assembly to receive and award, or walk into a party if there were already other kids there, or dance alone at Mangala, always forcing me to leap around with her holding that tiny little hand. She has worked for most of the year to save, and now the time is here and she is excited and calm. I can't quite pinpoint my feelings but the thought of waiting for her at Arrivals on January 11th really does make my heart swell a little. Fullness.

Sixteen

On birthdays I love to remember the day my girls were born. Funny little details come flooding back to me, I indulge myself in those wonderful memories, not in a sad way but in a reflective and grateful way. Phemie was such a happy baby, surrounded by a family that love her, especially my parents who for them she was their first grandchild.

She is growing up to be such a beautiful person, so at peace with herself, riding the waves of adolecence with grace, maturity and a wisdom beyond her years. She is her father's daughter when it comes to calmness and kindness.

She will never let me give a speech so I guess this is where I can say how remarkable I think you are Pheme, and how wonderful it is to watch you grow into your life. Initially you were cautious making soft little impressions with every footstep, to now being someone who takes on life's opportuniies with courage and joy. But most of all you never like to waste a sunny day and that my love is a wonderful thing. Happy Birthday.xx

Back to Blogging

As I drove home from school pick up this morning I realised I was grinding my jaw as I thought about the list of things I had to do today. Nothing major, just the sort of things I personally feel the need to do before I go on holidays. Let me think of some examples...ah yes, clean out my 15 year old daughter's cupboard (sort of urgent and necessary because she is away and this gives me the perfect opportunity to chuck ugly clothes out without her knowledge), wash the dog, fold the giant mountain of washing and put it all away which probably also requires a clean out of everyone elses cupboards, get the dinner on, compost my veggie patch and get the beetroot seedlings in, oh, tomatoe seeds, probably left that too late? It goes on and on, full of weird little tasks that my personality requires me to do before I can allow myself to enjoy the 10 days in Bali we have coming up.

So I made a coffee and decided it was time to blog. It's been a while and I miss it as writing and reflecting always gives me such a sense of accomplishment, far more than any pedantic little chore that in the end just gets undone and then I get cross and blame my family for actually having the nerve to exist in this home and maybe muss it up just a bit. So I'm going to sit and write and think about the self imposed deadlines that I met, and the phone calls to publishers I was too scared to make but did (and now my book submission sits somewhere out there and I may never know if someone else thinks it was lovely but just not quite good enough. I think it's lovely, I'm actually really proud of it but we'll see). I think about those two families who brought babies into the world with a little extra support form the Knitting Doula, and blankets that Lee and I have made for two very special babies born in Mexico. I think about my daughters who are for most of the time pretty happy and kind, and my Daryl who works like a dog but rarely complains, in fact never really and is always the person I just want to be with forever.

And so this contemplation puts the guilt I feel about skirting around the outside of family life, wiping and folding, of not needle felting or reading enough Little House On the Priairie with Hazel ( who let's be honest would probably rather be drawing with nasty gell pens in front of Good Luck Charlie!) But it's OK to stop and reassess every now and then. Life does feel too busy and the family so disconnected at times but then we will spend and sunny day at the farm all of us out in the field checking irrigation jets, the blue sky above us, and that's what I need to breath in and remember and write about. Feels good to be back.

Happy Birthday Dad

Looking at this cheeky little toothless grin, I see so many other faces wash over, my Hazel this morning, smiling as she sang in assembly, or my nephew Jordan, his sweet gentle little face, a mad Carlton supporter like his Buppa. But most of all I still see my Dad, a bit older certainly, but still with that joy for life he had as a wee lad back then. Those eyes look toward the future, of migration and new beginnings, of hard work and lots of soccer, of a young woman he would fall in love with, of a family he would raise and success in business he would have, of more travel and adventures, of goals set and reached. A man more tolerant and compassionate of the struggles of others than many, a supportive Dad to his two daughters no matter where he really thought our dreams would lead.

But most of all I look at that cheeky little face and think of the boy who grew up to become the man who every night of the 18 years I lived at home, came to my bedroom door and told me that he loved me.

Happy Birthday Dad.
I love you too.

Christmas

Twenty eight days ago I signed up to do an on line challenge called Harmonious Home, how to make your holiday period more meaningful, less rushed, less stressfull...or something like that. I got my little diary out on day one and followed the instructions which were to journal briefly how you would like to see the next 28 days, the smells and sounds, the "feel". I wrote stuff like : calm, family, love, warmth, conversation...wish I could put my finger on that damn diary so I could recall. One day slipped away and then the next and the next and finally yesterday I guiltily thought I might have a glance at the final challenge which is today: Play hide and seek with your children. Right. Lady my children will be glued to inappropriate televison for the next 8 hours while I prepare for a calm, loving, warm, spice smelling bloody Christmas! I have a turkey to pop a festive coat on (riduculously complicated recipe that has been my 'traditition' for the past 15 years), people coming for drinks tonight so the front of the house needs at least a hose down! Get my TV watching children to help, to be involved and take photos of us all laughing and dancing around the kitchen and then blog that? Not going to happen, although maybe passing on that turkey to first born isn't a bad idea and Lucinda did say she would like to make bread.

Every year my needle felted, Advent candle lighting Christmas never quite meets my vision. I really must steer clear of those blogs where everything is handmade and candle lit and snow covers the pine trees that are just visable through the handmade curtains of some beautifully restored farm house. We have a semi-naked Miley Cyrus swinging from a bauble on our tree (handmade just the same), and I have to admit when I found her hanging there I laughed my head off and sent photos to friends, boasting about my hilarious clever child.

I do however, like cling to Christmas traditions no matter how lame they may seem. The Myer Christmas windows being one of my favourites despite the fact that the windows are really just a quick stop over on our way to the Mac counter at Myer and dumplings and a glass of chardonay in Little Bourke st. The Kensington Carols was at it's absolute best with Ange and I fumbling our way around but then at 9pm all huddled under shelter, candles flickering I actually looked around and thought, this is really lovely. I have missed driving to see the lights this year but then some traditions can be replaced with a night on the couch knitting and watching Modern Family can't they?

Hazel woke up this morning and announced it was Christmas Eve, she is as excited and happy as any child could be despite the fact that she probably knows at some point today Mum's head will blow off and we'll all be made to "Tidy your disgusting rooms for God's sake!!!! Daryl and Phemie have gone to Lorne to "set up", which is a tradition he loves as it's time with his big girl, Tobie loves Christmas Eve because it means a bit of a concert with cousins and neighbors popping over for a drink, and as for Ailee and Lucinda, I feel things shifting. Their high school uniforms hang in the cupboard and they now have phones (which were confiscated last night " I'm sick of those bloody phones, I'm trying to have family time!!! Or Modern Family time as the case may be.) But they haven't quite transformed into distant teenagers. The Hunger Games, as has in fact provided a brilliant outside activity for my bigger girls as they pretend to be slaughtering each other in all sorts of foul ways. Ailee asked the other weekend at the farm if she could try killing a rabbit with her archery set. Um, no. I'll hold on tight to them this summer as come the end of holidays they will set out across town and I'll feel them slip just a little away from me.

My heart is starting to pulpitate just a little as I think of the jobs ahead. But I knew that sitting and writing before the day got started was going to set a better tone, and although I may not find a moment to play hide and seek, I will now perhaps suggest that the TV goes off, I'm sure washing the house with some soap and a broom could be fun for someone else, and that turkey definately has Phemie's name on it. She of course will have other plans like the traditional  Christmas movie marathon with the big kids of neighborhood.

Tomorrow we will wake up and the girls will rush to the tree and I'll put the kettle on and Daryl and I will sit amongst our girls as they open their presents and then I'll start to panic because the turkey always takes so much longer and this year I've also promised a side dish I've never made and lunch is slightly earlier and oh God I'm having a head rush and if I didn't it just wouldn't be Christmas.

I love winter, as the cooler months blow in I truly couldn't be happier. However, today was one of those days when there is a little taste of Spring and my mind wanders to the warmer months of beach holidays and the girls playing outside until bedtime, and so, in order to give the chillier seasons a fair send off, I have decided on a new daily ritual to make the most of what is left of the cold and that is, fire side knitting at 5pm. It's not a great time in this house but dinner is usually/hopefully in the oven and what's a cup of tea and a couple of rows really going to do? If I look too far past my stitches, I may noice Hazel mopping up red paint with toilet paper, or the dog having a really good lick of his goolies on the couch, or hear the distant ping ping of some stupid Barbie dress-up game as one of my girls sits in front of the computer losing all sence of what it means to be a healthy weight and shape, or maybe I can faintly smell burning pastry but you know what, I deserve this cup of tea and this ten minutes of relaxing garter stitch! I may also occasionally glance across at my phone as I wait on that call to let me know a baby is on the way.

But just for a short while, I am enjoying the stiches, one after the other, being just here, by the fire, the constant lap lap sound coming form my disgusting dog, one more sip of tea, just one more row and then I'll get up.

Christmas 2012

As Christmas Day comes to a weary end, I can hear Tobie and Hazel laughing in the bath and the smell of new nailpolish wafts upstairs from Phemie's room. I plan to settle in front of National Lampoons Christmas Vacation with a little Bailys Irish Cream and some Christmas cake and take a big sigh, hang on, before we get too syrupy sweet, Hazel just tolds Tobie to shut up and now I've lost my train of lovely thoughts as those two start bickering from down below. Ok, so, as I was saying, big sigh, it's been a busy one but wonderful I must say. As things started to rev up a few weeks ago, handmade decortaions under way, carols in the park organizing committee gearing up, holiday plans, school breakups, piano concerts, school plays, school picnics, parents thankyou morning teas, my cert 4 looming over me like a black cloud, Christmas traditions galore that I absolutely will not let go of, amongst all of this I just happened to pull over one day to answer my phone and it was indeed a call that would change the next two weeks in the most amazing way. A birth, a client, due in a matter of weeks but deciding on a doula at the last minute. So amongst it all I threw myself into this, this intimate experience of an absolutley gorgeous couple and as I hugged them good bye the other day when they dropped in a gift, I realised that in fact everything else had got done and done with an added joy that came with seeing their beautiful baby born. It has made all the Christmas madness, which I love but do get stressed over and usually end up having some sort of screaming turn (refer to blogs of Christmas past), seem just the more brighter and I will forever be grateful to them for giving me this little Christmas miracle of a doula job!

But of course, there are wonderful friends that gather in the park even though the day is scorching, hand made decorations that were hung with a little more pride this year, Christmas cakes that taste decent (why has nobody ever mentioned how discusting my peach ones have been in the past), kitch decrations that we love hanging on our tree year after year that remind us of places we have loved, watching my girls put up our tree all by themselves, impromptu carols with a slightly smaller but no less enthusiastic group of dear friends after for only the second time in nearly ten years I think, we were officially a wash out on the allocated night, family and friends gathered around today, grandparents particularily enjoying the day, Daryl still wearing the hat I stayed up very very late to secretly make him, watching Hazel chase butterflies with her new net, and not so little girls looking so beautiful and grown up in high heels that only Santa would ever agree to! But the voice of Clark Griswald calls me to the couch and tomorrow we head to the beach for a whole month and I'll knit and read and just be with my family and friends and all that is becoming more familiar there year after year. I feel extemely grateful at this very moment for the huge year of change that I have had but have surprisingly embraced with only the occasional tear for my last little one going off to school. Merry Christmas. It really has been a good one.

Backtracking to Bendigo

What is it about the smell of fleece straight from the sheep's back, the sight of a beautifully spun skein of alpaca or  the prospect of getting into one's pyjamas at 8pm and bunking down for an evening of knitting, crocheting and general crafting, that can turn four 40 something women into a gang of giddy school girls? Well it's the Bendigo Sheep and Wool Show of course!

It was our second pilgrimage to the fair but last year we went for only a day and took our children with us. This resulted in a day of time "wasted" in the petting zoo and money that could have been spent on wool instead being spent (I'm thinking wasted), on sustenance for those said children. Sorry kids, next year, this is going to be a "mother's only, all weekend event".

And so aboard the V Line bus we climbed, knitting projects stuffed into an array of bags, the evening a loose end of craft, PJ's, wine and chatter! Whoohoo! My husband at this point is wondering if he has in fact married someone perhaps 30 years his senior, don't worry honey, we got wild!

The Bendigo Sheep and Wool show is an amazing union of the industry, from the breeders of the Western District in their mole skin pants, crisp white shirts and polar fleece vests, to the shearers, their children gathered around to watch their father's compete in the time old tradition of shearing with speed and accuracy. Then of course there are the "crafters", of which I proudly put myself along side. Those eccentric dears in their felted bunny ears and capes. Oh how I look forward to my own transformation one day as senility, eccentricty and wool come together.

And so it is a weekend of planning projects(and knitting), eating scones ( and knitting), sitting in the sun watching the sheep dog trials (and knitting). There are many conversations with all sorts of people from the shearing judges as they tuck into their midday Sunday roasts in the cantine, to the breeders who have come to nervously display their yarn and products from their land. It is an absolutely marvelous weekend but so much more special shared with friends whose lives came together because of our children, then turned to our mutual love of all things crafty to being women I will probably grow old with so treasured and forever. Looking forward to many more weekends in Bendigo.

Tobie

Never have I had a child so excited about going to camp. She has been a toothy grin for days leading up to her big departure, packing her own bag, completely foused on just how much fun she was going to have. I asked her what she was most excited about to which she replied "Just camp!!!

She will return this afternoon, probably exhausted and a bit deflated now that camp is over. But her dinner request of pie floater and apple crisp awaits to soften the blow. Missed you my wee Tobes, you have a love of life that is inspirational!

WINTER DAYS AT LORNE - Out for a walk, home for a nap!

Back Home

I need to acknowlege that it has been a really big six months for me. And at the end of that six months I saw a baby born. So whilst the study continues (Cert 1V), I do however, really feel the need to go back to making Tobie's blanket, planting some veggies, finishing Lucinda's quilt, folding some washing. It's OK to just be here, at home, and I really feel that I need to come back into it. During the past month particularly, I have felt like I have lived in a bubble, waiting for the baby, finishing my course, leaving the college that I have really grown to love. But with this thing that has just been mine, has for some reason, come a need for privacy and time and quiet. But now, today, I am home alone again and I realise I miss the noise, and the chatter and the  being the centre of the wheel that as mothers we just are. I love that vision of family spinnng around the one central core, the mother who stands in themiddle and lets it whirl around and around her.

Trust the Process

I find myself in very unfamiliar territory. I am home alone. Not like when I'm home during school hours and I'm rushing to get a million things done, nor the sort of home alone like when Daryl is away and I'm home alone with five kids. No, this is actually home alone. By myself, not even the dog. Just me. For a few days. But no I'm not lounging in bed with a glass of wine eating Pringles, nor am I spring cleaning which has always been a dream of mine if I ever found myself in this situaltion. Kaye Allan you know what I'm talkin' bout. No, instead I am writing, and eating a pear. You see, I am waiting. Waiting for a baby to be born. Am I am learning a very important lesson about babies and birth and that is to Trust the Process.

You see for the last six months I have been training to be a doula. What's a doula you may ask? A doula is a person who gives a woman and her family support before, during and after the birth of their baby. It has been something I have wanted to do for a very very long time and I knew that when Hazel started school, the time was finally right. And how right it has been in terms of the amazing women I have found myself amongst, and how right this very moment feels as I sit here typing,  all the other bits and pieces I have done whilst my girls have been growing, has bought me to this very place, this place where I sit and I wait. And sometime in the next week, I will be called to go and support this couple as they bring their child into the world. It feels like such a privledge to be a part of that incredibly intimate space, and I won't kid myself, I am pretty bloody nervous. I have been "on call" now for a month, an incredibly nerve wracking month of checking my phone every 5 minutes, no drinking (at all, yes that's right, not a drop), and feeling like I am on an absolute rollercoaster, one minute just dreading that phone call which will inevitably result in me seeing a baby come out of someone's vagina, to feeling complete an utter excitement as I wait to enter into this sacred realm of birth. To be honest, the first emotion has been the prominent.

There is a mantra in the Doula world, Trust the Process. I thought I did by the end of week twenty. But in the last few days I have realised that I am with a couple who truly believe their baby will come when he is ready. I am with a couple who believe that birth really is the most natural and safe process. This woman knows that right now her baby is well and safe, and that he should be given more time. She comes away from her hospital appointments feeling unsupported and judged. And of course, if a time should come where her baby is no longer safe and well, then her decision will be different. But at this very moment she feels he deserves the time he needs, no induction, no time constraints, he is not ready to be born.

So now I wait. Daryl and the girls are on their way to the farm, stopping at Nagambi for a meal at the pub. It's quiet, and I so appreciate the fact that I can be alone with these thoughts and when the time comes it will just be me and my doula bag walking out the front door, no calls to make or kids to sort.
"Role with it Stace", were Daryl's words to me. It's funny though, he says he couldn't stand this job but actually, my gorgeous calm rock of a husband, you would make an excellent Doula, in fact, you proved that four times!

I'll just keep crocheting the little blanket I decided to make for my first client ( won't make a habit of that), I'll have another cup of tea and an omlette for dinner. Climb into bed early because you never know what little bundle the night may bring....or not.

SUNDAY

It's cold outside, Daryl has gone to the farm until Monday, I have five kids. I'm tired. We had a lovely night last night at Ange and John's eating all things North American. Shel's six layer dip was a sensation! But today I'm tired, and cranky, and although I've had thoughts about taking the girls our for a drive to the country side, I actually know that's not going to happen. And so I stupidly, like I don't know myself at all, suggest we all do some sewing!!!AM I INSANE?  Let me give you some background. I'm a control freak, AND I'm tired. But what the heck, let's throw caution to the wind and dust off the Janome.

The picture above of dear little Hazel doing something to a piece of hesian, is by far only a snippet of what is really going on. In the background I am asking ( read screaming) at Ailee "Have you read the instruction manual? The bobbin has jammed, there is cotton bunching. Those two words together make my blood pressure rise..bobbin and bunching!!! I have a friend who always reminds me that the reason sewing machines are so heavy is so that you can't hurl them across the room, but I reacon I could give a fair go. And so, swearing under my breath ( yeh right, they heard), as I dig away to recover the tangled mess from the guts of this horrific creature, I stop for a moment only to realise that Ailee is standing behind me, tears running down her face. Oh dear. Memories of similar horrid sewing moments from my own childhood (my mother standing behind me weeping as I have a total meltdown), come flooding back. The warning signs were there, I AM TIRED, and under no circumstances should I be allowed near that sewing machine, particularily when it involves one of my children! At least I had the good sense to stop. Pack the damn thing up, apologise, and suggest that perhaps it would be lovely to book into a little sewing class at the sewing shop at Highpoint (look out Gwen, I'm coming back!), and learn to sew...together. Ailee agreed and is now happily sitting on the couch hand sewing her bunting and watching some crap on the Disney Channel, which is in fact what she wanted to do from the start but oh no, I was determined....will I ever learn.

Tobie and I made some lovely bread for lunch which everyone smothered in avocado, cheese and tomatoes, yum. But then I had to go an wreck it with bloody craft! I love craft but I just do not have the patience to teach my own children. It's so frustrating but when there are five of them all needing assistance, well I just can't do it. I think I need to make a rule, one at a time, give each of them patience and time. And so Ailee and I will head up to Highpoint for our sewing lesson, I'll sit with Lucinda and work out her crochet pattern, I will search for that calico that Tobie needs for her project and I'll sit with Hazel while she learns to hand sew, giving her the time and focus she deserves. But right now, I'm going to hop into bed with my own knitting and watch a movie. And that's OK. Fortunately for Phemie, she's not that into craft, or maybe she's just so scarred from me teaching her to knit! She is actually in the kitchen baking some lovely chocolate tarte, she is completely confident in the baking department and I haven't really taught her a thing...hmm...there is probably something to that.

AUTUMN

Another Autumn has come. It is my favorite season, holding all that I love, I never want it to end. It's Harvest time, the girls are camping at the farm, picking the fruit, hunting for eggs, celebrating a birthday,  sunny and crisp in the morning as I carry my coffee to the porch ( only to be driven back inside by the stench of rotting rabbits under the house), wood piles up by the back door ready for the first real need for warmth, the sound of the footy in the background.

I really love those things about Autumn I know I can rely on each year. The leaves will fall, the walnuts will go to market, another birthday for my girls, the sound of laughter from the trampoline, cleaning the dust from every surface after the harvest has finished, the endless cups of tea and cake, concerts in the shearing shed at the end of the day. But I also know that things will change. As I watched the kids frantically search for eggs in the grass, I wondered if next year might just be a little bit different. I remember so vividly one of Phemie's first easter egg hunts. It was in our backyard in Kensington. She was two. Ailee and Lucinda was still in special care, at the Women's Hospital,  it would be the last time that our eyes and time was just for her.

I hope the farm is somewhere she will always feel like she can be that child. Open skies, her family around, no pressures, just her, in her PJ's collecting Easter eggs.