Tag Archives: The Truth (no one will tell you)

Farts & Photographs: A Snapshot.

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I just had my daughter scoot after me, bare-bottomed on her potty, across the wooden floors.

‘I CAN SEE YOU MAMA! I AM COMING TO GET YOU!’

I try not to laugh so hard that she can still understand me when I say ‘look out for the rug!’

Then, as she sat on my lap, readying herself for the bath, she did an enormous, resonant fart – omitting the type of smell that shouldn’t come from a person so diminutive – and literally laughed so hard she cried. ‘SMELL MY STINKY FART!’ she roars, desperate for breath. ‘SMELL MY FINGER!’…I don’t know where she gets this stuff. Honestly, I think it just comes to her.

Life is made up of moments like these.

I’ve just gotten a new passport – the old one suffering too many beer-soaked nights as my only I.D; all my stamps ripped out and given away with my phone number, over the last 10 ridiculous years attempting to be casually glamorous. Though I am fated to forever look like a German boy in my passport photo. Many a bouncer has sucked in through his teeth, ‘Geeze, girl!’. I know! I know! I was 19 and life was hard, you know? Yellow isn’t a flattering colour for me; I know that now. No one looks good under-lit.

Theo is looking over my new one; it encompasses so much that he enjoys: technology, the idea of travel; rules and regulations.

‘Mama? You look adorable in this photograph in your new passbook.’

Life is made up of moments like these, too, remember.

A Royal Visit: Mae-Mae Style

Posted in ...What did you just say?, Parenting by

Mabel asks:

‘Who is the Queen?’

I explain.

‘What is her name?’

I tell her.

‘Elizabeth! Like your middle name, Mama! What’s her last name?’

I see where this is going.

‘Vagina?’

No.

‘Regina!’

But then

‘…Does the Queen have a fanny or a vagina?’

Which is a good question, really. But I explain, as best as I can, to someone who refuses acknowledge the proper terminology. (‘I JUST HAVE HEAPS OF FANNIES!’ she roars when the subject is anatomically discussed)

‘Yes. I KNOW. But what does the Queen call her one? …I’ll ask her. Where does she live?’

Well…

‘Why doesn’t she live in New Zealand?’

Uh…

‘Can we go to her house?’

Not really…

‘Well I’m going to!’

Dear Mabel Poppy,

When you were 3 years old, you were hell-bent on going to Buckingham Palace to ask Queen Elizabeth how she refers to her bits.
Please, never stop asking the hard questions. Your sense of fearless equality is something this world needs a little more of.

With adoration and allegiance,
Your Mother x

Pre-Party Ritual.

Posted in ...What did you just say?, Parenting by

Mabel: Mama, have you seen my skirt?

Alice: Which skirt, baby?

Mabel: My skirt! The one I like!

Alice: Hmm…what colour is it?

Mabel: Colourful!

Alice: …Colourful?

Mabel: Yes! It’s colourful and it has a top and a bottom!

Alice: Colourful. Has a top and a bottom. Can you tell me anything else about it?

Mabel: It looks like a lily!

Alice: Colourful. Has a top and a bottom. And it looks like a lily? Oh! colourful has a top and a bottom and it looks like a lily!

Mabel: Yes, mama. Why was that so hard for you?

(She doesn’t like photos at the moment – so you’ll have to use your imagination…it’s an old one from Rock Your Baby. They still show up on Ebay sometimes x)

 

 

A love letter to my daughter, when she tripped and fell, and to my son, who cried wolf because of it.

Posted in Heart, Letters, Parenting by

You were running around your room, which we had spent all day tidying. We’d picked up and packed away. We’d reorganised your furniture. You told me what should go where and we moved it together; ‘1, 2, 3 heave!’ your contribution.

You tripped and fell, after spinning in circles on the floor now free for spinning circles. Your pyjama pants half way up your legs, got under foot and down you went with them. Your upper lip, much more made for kisses, took the impact on the frame of your bed.

I knew instantly how badly you had hurt yourself, because of your cry. A blush of purple bruise will tell us tomorrow. Your held your little hand to your face. That feeling of disbelief that something could be so painful; that you were still intact.

I sat cross-legged, where moments before you had been turning, your arms in the air. And I scooped you up and held you to me, your body still fitting in my lap, though these days you spill over the sides. And I said what I say. Sshhhhh. Sshhhhh. You’re okay. I’m here.

I told you I could hear in your voice how much you were hurting.

Your brother, after you had fallen asleep; once you’d calmed down, and I’d turned off the light and sung all our songs; bumped his head on the rail of your bunk beds, and got upset. And I said what I say. Sshhhhh. Sshhhhh. You’re okay. I’m here with you.

And I told him I could hear in his voice that he wasn’t too hurt.

So this is to say, to both of you; as all these letters are, even if they’re are addressed to the other; I have heard all your cries. I have been here. I am here. I am right here with you. And I am listening.

I am always here to listen. No matter what you are feeling; how big or how small. When you can only say one thing, because you mean something else, but the something else won’t come out how, or though, you mean it. Or you haven’t found the words quite yet. Or when, really, all you are looking to hear is that you matter, too, and just as much, and as much as ever. Or because sometimes you can’t believe how painful it is; or that you are still intact.

I will be there. I will be right there with you. I will hear in your voice how much you are hurting, and I will drop everything.

Except you.

I love you,
Mama.

October

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Dear Babies,

It’s been a busy month. Mae’s birthday. My birthday. I’m 29 now. I’d had you both by 25.

I never thought of my self as a particularly young mother. You just came when it was your time to. I had always been the first of my friends to do things; go overseas; have a 9-5; buy a home; start a family. So even though, looking around me, there was no one I knew doing what I was doing, I was used to that. You find your own way. The only thing you are obligated to do, is to find something beautiful in living. To take the chances to find out who you really are. Just do things how they feel best to you. Your Aunty once told me, ‘just find what you can do, and do it how it needs to be done’.  I think that’s good advice.

Your journey is not comparative to anyone else’s, though we all begin and end in the same place. Remember, they say comparison is the thief of joy, because it’s true – nothing will ever feel as good as when you think you’re doing a good job; heading in the right direction; being your best. You have such a talent for happiness. Keep it with you. When you feel sad, which you will, hopefully from time to time and not all the time, though that can happen too, happiness can feel like it takes so much energy. But I have seen you, watched you everyday since you first arrived here, and I can assure you, happiness comes naturally to you.

You’re so good at happiness, I was initially just happy simply by association with you. And though there’s been such cause for sadness, your faces, our time together, your loveliness, your liveliness, has been the light that I have set sail for until I reached the shore. You have made me sure of so much; my self, my decisions, my ability to sustain my own contentment. You personified my happiness, gave it a face and a name and brought it to me everyday. You remind me what happiness is. Now I’d recognise it anywhere.

This month:

You woke me up before dawn:-
Mabel: ‘Happy New Year! You are a dog! Ladies and Gentlemen, please welcome a brand new Otto! This is great! You are so much fun, Mama!’
&
Theo: ‘Mama, why can’t cows walk down stairs?’

I discovered you, both in the butter at the bench; Theo wiping it off Mae’s shirt with a cloth, and Mae thanking him.

I found you arguing; M: You can’t share my birthday, Theo! It’s my choice!

You yelled at me:-
Theo: ‘Did you say QUIET?’
&
Mabel: ‘YOU’RE MY HAPPY PLACE!’

You broke my heart:-
Mabel: ‘I’m sad because I’m not somebody. I’m just me.’

You made me laugh:-
Mabel: ‘My dreams are so much fun! My hot dog is so much fun! I’m so much fun!’

You asked:-
Theo: ‘Is this a home sweet home?’
Theo: ‘Who is Bonnie Prince Billy and did he die?’

You advised me:-
Theo: ‘Just breathe, Mama!’

You made my heart swell:-
Mabel: ‘I look beautiful in the mirror’.
Theo: ‘Mama! I couldn’t wait to tell you! I had a crazy dream about noodles!

Aside from everything you utter, one of my favourite passages came to me, tucked up in bed, always reading. It’s from Camus.

“In the midst of winter, I found there was, within me, an invincible summer.

And that makes me happy. For it says that no matter how hard the world pushes against me, within me, there’s something stronger – something better, pushing right back.”

Remember your invincible summer.
Remember you’re my invincible summer.

L’amor che move il sole e l’altre stele,
Mama xx

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