And so we begin!

I have learnt several things already on this trip.

1. A Kia Rio can fit an awful lot of stuff, but overstuffing in the front passenger seat leads to very cramped legs if one actually expects a real human passenger to be part of that overstuffing.

2. Don't buy a 2 year old and an 8 year old hot chocolates and smartie biscuits in Campbell Town and then expect the next two hours in an overstuffed Kia Rio to be pretty.

3. It is never advisable to make a 2 year old and 8 year old share a bedroom.

4. Our accommodation, a fully renovated beach house overlooking the centre of Burnie, is truly and utterly gorgeous, and makes up for 1, 2 and 3.

5. Old habits die hard.

The house is so funky it has a popcorn machine. How could we resist making popcorn as soon as we arrived?

 

In all seriousness, we've really begun this adventure. We left Kingston just as the St Clement's bells were tolling. We managed to fit four striped bags, one huge sports bag, an acoustic guitar, a bag of guitar pedals and 'things', two laptops, two pillow pets, assorted bedding, and a huge crate of other miscellaneous stuff in a Kia Rio sedan. After a long five hours in the car, we're now in Burnie, where we will spend two weeks before leaving Tasmania.After arriving we checked out our amazing house for the next two weeks. It's awesome. It's clean. It's funky. It's tidy. And I don't have to ensure that it is particularly clean and tidy once we leave. Bliss. And to add to the bliss, the kids are (I think!) asleep in bed, after the requisite 'I'm thirsty!' 'I can't sleep!' complaints.

So, that's 1, 2, 3 and 4 covered. But what of point number five, I hear you demand?

Ah yes. Old habits. A while ago, I had a word from God to homeschool Wooja. I have never received a word from God. To say I was skeptical is an understatement. But we've pressed ahead in faith. I believe I am being called to be a more present and intentional mother to my children (and a more present and intentional wife, too). This trip is giving me that opportunity. I am so looking forward to spending time with my children.

But back to the old habits ... standing in Burnie Coles, arguing with Wooja over why she can't have yet another Tinkerbell toy ... the same old irritation, the same old lack of graciousness, that familiar feeling of anger. And I was struck by the thought: I haven't been praying about this. My role as stay at home parent is paramount to this trip. And I am going to need bucketloads of patience, of grace, of kindness and courage. And I need prayer.

Please pray for me, friends. I'm so excited by this opportunity, and am stepping out in faith that God will be sufficient for my needs.

PS St Clement's folk - miss you!

It won't last forever

Don't look a gift horse in the mouth. As I sit here in the weak Tasmanian sunshine trying to assemble my thoughts into some semblance of order, I am reminded of that naff saying. You see, this morning I was woken at 4.30. There wasn't even a crack of light peeking through the curtains. I was woken by two little voices calling for.their mama. "Sleep with us, mama!" urged Wooja. 

"Sleep" would prove to be a misnomer. More like, lie with us, mama dear, while we stroke your hair and squirm around so that our bodies squish you like peanut butter in a sandwich. As I lay there, one arm wrapped around Boysie and the other wedged firmly under Wooja's back, I was struck by an unexpected thought. It doesn't get better than this. Yes, it was early. Too bloody early! But in between dozing, my little ones started to chat, to play, to share. "I cannot wait for our.big adventure, mum" confided Wooja. "We can read and play all day." "My teddy has a cough" shared Boysie. "Cough, cough. See?" 

There is always something that I should be doing. I should be hanging out washing, getting dinner ready, marking essays, returning a phone call. But at 4.30 in the morning there is nothing I should be doing (save for the obvious!). To lie in bed with two babies, to listen to them giggle as we tell silly stories and jokes, is a gift.

Anticipatory grieving

I am currently teaching a class on Grief and Loss. I am entirely out of my depth, being a mere historian and not a psychologist or counsellor by any stretch of the imagination but, by golly, it is interesting.

Anticipatory grief. Complicated grief. Prolonged grief. All these hitherto unknown words.

Big J and I are no strangers to grief. Our first little baby, a son, was stillborn nine years ago this Friday. We'd been married but three months when he died. I was six months pregnant, only 23. It was a shock to be thrust into the world of grief. But we survived. And, thankfully, blessedly, had more children.

For whom I am grieving already. Anticipatory grief, although not in the textbook definition. Every time I close my children's bedroom doors after our bedtime routine is complete, I feel a small pang of sadness that their childhood is running out.

Call me crazy. My babes are still children - nearly 8 and nearly 3, but oh, I am already anticipating the grief that will come when they no longer fit in my lap, when they no longer lie in their beds quietly singing 'mama, ma-ma, I want my ma-ma!' When my little son, that chunky, soft, blonde haired elf, no longer rubs his head on my chest and purrs 'I am da baby cat. And you are da mama cat.' My 8 year old, that long legged golden haired mischievous sprite, used to throw her arms around us and say 'You have my heart!' I know she still feels that way but here's the rub. She doesn't say it anymore.

Oh, I do love my babies being small. I am clucky as anything, but I know it's not for another baby ... it's for the babies I already have. My beautiful little daughter, born only 13 months after her first brother was stillborn. The baby who was pronounced 'a perfect baby' by the paediatrician - music to the ears of parents who had fresh, vivid memories of a baby who was most emphatically not beautiful - beautiful to us, his parents, but to the outside world, not at all. The little baby girl with a rosebud mouth who suckled so greedily at my breast, whose big blue eyes were so alert (we later realised that most babies are not that alert! Sign of times to come!). Who would lie in her cot blowing raspberries before bursting into fits of giggles. And then, five years later, the baby I thought I would never have the courage to have ... another perfect baby, fat and round and pink and with a glorious head of streaked golden hair, who protested the minute his mother put him down so consequently spent every waking minute, and most of his sleeping minutes, nestled next to her chest (still a favourite spot, as this picture taken a few weeks ago shows!)


I understand that they have to grow up. I do. I understand that my daughter is now starting to share her heart with others, and that this is a normal part of child development. I delight in seeing my little son's face light up when he sees his beloved family day carer. But still. To no longer have small arms entwined around my neck, to no longer be able to piggy back a small, shrieking-giggling little body ... it's too sad to contemplate, yet I do.


And yet, I will always have this one baby who will never, ever grow up. I will always have this one phantom child who will always remain a baby born still, the size of a loaf of bread, long limbs and bald little head, who lay so still and cool in my arms.

For Friday, happy birthday to my boy.

It can't have been nearly a year...

since I last wrote a blog entry, can it??

Time waits for no man. We now live in a house which overlooks the ocean, instead of a house which overlooks a stinky noisy industrial estate. We have guinea pigs in our backyard. We still struggle with things like not owning our own house, or not living near to extended family.

But the greatest of changes is this. I don't want to be working anymore. GASP! Did I just write that?!

What a change of heart I have had these past few months. God is good. Now, don't hear me saying that mothers shouldn't work. Au contraire, working can be fantastic. Even the simple act of putting on clothes that don't have vegemite stains on them can be fantastic - and having them remain un-Vegemited for a whole day, even better. Having a desk which hasn't been artfully decorated by crayons. But for me, at this point in my life, it is no good.

For much of my adult life I have defined myself through an attachment to work, or to speak in Marxist terms, through my contribution to the economy (yes, I do appreciate the irony of an Arts specialist writing that!) Firstly as a student, then progressing to a PhD student, then to an historian. Don't get me wrong, I am glad - mostly - that I did finish the PhD. I think it would have caused problems down the track had I not finished it. Resentment, bitterness, all that delightful stuff. But I have worked, in some form or another, since my girl was 2 months old. I even told my sister-in-law that I would be taking into hospital drafts of a book to rewrite when I had Boysie-Boy (to which she gently replied 'it might be good to have a rest').

(This photo makes me laugh. Clearly I was a little excitable that evening. My supervisor, the one to my left, not quite as excited.)

So, I've come to the conclusion that I'm not doing anything very well at the moment. I'm missing out on lots of important things. I go to bed most nights thinking I didn't do a good job today.

Before this epiphany, I would think that I wasn't doing such a good job because of myriad variables: my child was too naughty/work was too hard/my husband wasn't supportive enough. None of which, in retrospect, were true in the slightest. It is time to focus on the things which matter to me. And those things are two little human beings who still, astonishingly, want me around, and one big human being who seems to like me still. 

Awesome.

I am so glad for second chances!

Well, what do we do now?

Well, here we are. A long time ago, I had started a blog about life with Big J and Wooja - but for some reason I can't edit or add new posts. So, for posterity, here it is:

www.wooja-wooja.blogspot.com

Three years have passed since my last post on that blog, and I've never added a post to this blog - and now the title is irrelevant! It was once called The Perfect Three, but we are now no longer the Perfect Three, having added the beautiful Boysie to our family. So we're the Perfect Four.

Boysie is a beautiful little boy, turning 2 in a couple of months; he is energetic, a great mimic, a cuddly, soft, adorable chunk of love who is clinging firmly to his babyhood by still enjoying his 'mama' - his breastfeeds - whilst learning to explore the world on his own two little sturdy legs.

Apart from welcoming him to our family, there have been other big changes. The beautiful Wooja is now nearly 7. SEVEN! How did that happen? She is still irrepressible, quirky, spunky, and lively. She still makes us tear our hair out one minute and the next, fall about laughing at some antic. She can read, and finds words just as irresistible as I do. She is a wonderful big sister who adores her little brother. We are very thankful.

We have also moved away from the land of perpetual sunshine, across the country to a place where it is cold, wet, and gorgeous. The kids are thriving; Wooja is loving her school and has made friends and has a best friend; they call themselves the Twinny-winnys.

Boysie loves romping in the backyard, watching at the door for his Daddy, and testing his new vocabulary (which is still rather limited, and includes Mummy, Daddy, Diddy, bear, baby, dog, ball, and twuck.)

Big J is now ensconced in his career of choice, and is doing rather well.

Me, I'm finding it all a little harder. I didn't realise that life would change so drastically. I was very accustomed to Big J being around so much, and I miss him. The kids miss him. He misses the kids, too, to complete the trifecta of sad people who miss each other. But we manage.


So, here is to many more blog posts ... I hope!