Categories
Life

Explore

I’m sitting at a table with one kid beside me, and another kid beside the kid beside me. My kids. Precious and two (although given they are six and three years old— it sometimes feels as though there are ten of them. Bless.) 🙂

We’ve just watched the most beautiful, beautiful show thanks to the wonderful program my little boy’s school is remotely running for school. It’s a fish thing. A deep blue sea thing, to be exact, and this week we are learning all about the beauty and majesty of the deep blue sea. I say we are learning because it seems there is quite a lot I don’t know about the ocean. For example, I’ve only just learned that, not only is coral alive, it also gives birth to real-life coral babies! Mind blown.

It just goes to show how sound asleep I’ve been for the majority of my life, sticking to the lanes I already know. The beautiful news is: there is a brighter shine to my perspective now that I’ve opened my eyes. The world seems magical and alive, again, more than ever before.

There is a small problem. There are so many wondrous, exciting, beautiful pathways to explore, and yet there is the lingering truth that finding time (and energy) to explore them remains a challenge. I’m part parent, part human with desires of my own. I’m not sure I’ll ever find the balance it takes to successfully master both at the same time, but I’ll never stop trying.

Let the life within me swell from the excitement of possibility, and let these sweet babes of mine feed off the shine in their hopeful Mum’s eye.

Life is beautiful, and mine I will use to explore as I will.

macro photography of white coral
Photo by Egor Kamelev on Pexels.com
Categories
Poetry

Home

Home is in this house.

The quiet of my love for them.

The dreams of my essence, racing into a fresh new world.

Home, you are my refuge.

Family, you are my home.

Categories
Poetry

Little Sun

Never forget, little Sun.

You are so loved.

Categories
Poetry

Tonight

Tonight

I tear again.

The ache of a mother

remembering her ducklings, sweet.

It’s a long, long road to the deep end of a soul.

And some days ripple and crash

more than other days do.

The rain falls inside.

Tonight.

mother holding her baby
Photo by Kristina Paukshtite on Pexels.com

Categories
The Darling Blog Of May

Darling Day 18. The Little Boy

Darling is the little boy that cannot sleep.

‘I think I need a bandaid, Mum. Mum? I think I need a bandaid.’

They start their tricks young, these beautiful tiny humans, don’t they.

Categories
The Darling Blog Of May

Darling Day Six. Darling Is The Fall

She wobbled along, the little darling on wheels.

Two wheels (which seemed to be the problem.)

Mum balanced her own bike between her legs, guiding her duckling as best she could, until at last:

there was flight.

girl wearing vr box driving bicycle during golden hour
Photo by Sebastian Voortman on Pexels.com

As I strolled along behind the two,

occasionally glancing into the shedding trees,

the Mum within me hoped.

Please let the little duckling balance.

Please let the little duckling fly.

black and brown duckling on concrete floor
Photo by Bryan Underwood on Pexels.com

After a while, the two disappeared and I forgot the darling struggle.

Forgot the invisible cord that attached my empathy to the shake, wobble, roll.

Once again, I was lost.

Within the bliss-filled world of me,

I was lost.

young satisfied woman in headphones with fresh red leaf listening to music with pleasure while lounging in autumn park
Photo by Andrea Piacquadio on Pexels.com

Until I was no longer lost,

but right back where I began.

Face to face

with one

precious

fallen

duckling.

broken heart love sad
Photo by burak kostak on Pexels.com

Everything within me wished to reach for her.

To hold her for a while.

To look into her eyes, and have her understand

that without the fall…

the true beauty of flight

would never be known to her.

cheerful mother and daughter having fun on bed at home
Photo by Andrea Piacquadio on Pexels.com

Darling was the little duckling

that stole my heart on this darling day of May.

Darling was how hard she tried.

And darling was the invisible cord of life

that connected us.

photo of woman teaching her child on how to use bow and arrow
Photo by Rainer Eck on Pexels.com

 

Categories
Motherhood

Winter Is Coming

We’re heading into winter in Australia, and I’m feeling the resistance rising already.

I’ve come to dread winter for the internal obstacles it brings. Sunny days charge my batteries and fill my joy pots to a state of ‘just so’, and yet here comes winter to tear my joy pots apart once more.

The problem lies not only in the darkness that will inevitably replace the beautiful streams of sunlight that flood my lounge room, daily, but also the lack of choice that will come attached to the forthcoming rainy days. So, kids. I guess it’s a stay inside again, kind of day, today. That sort of thing.

My children are three and six years old. And I have been in training to be their Mum my whole life because, essentially, I’ve done it all before, being the much older sibling to my  two brothers and sister (now adults, where does time go? I’ll always be amazed.)

The thing is: winter makes me feel as though I might not be as wonderful at this ‘Mum thing’ as I always dreamed I’d be. Winter melts me into a bit of a tizz, to put it lightly, because the truth is: there are only so many hours of yes in my Mum tank to keep these little ones (and myself) happy in the face of a rainy day.

And so I’m really quite frightened at what’s to come. Especially this winter, now that I don’t have a partner in crime to lighten the load every second week when the children are with me.

The bright side of this admission is this— I am doing an excellent job at being human. I am seeing the reality of my limitations and admit that I just may need a little bit of extra help this time around.

I’m tired. I’m so tired of lying to myself, pretending that the things, situations, people, scenarios that I’m not entirely okay with…are all sunshine and rainbows. They are not. Dark clouds have existed since the beginning of time. They do not disappear simply because I insist upon looking to the sky and telling everyone around me that they are white.

I wish I wasn’t dreading winter. I wish I wasn’t sometimes afraid that I might break my children—the latter is something I am particularly scared of. My Mum was diagnosed with Bi-Polar disorder in my early teenage years, and I am still trying to pick up all the pieces of her broken within me.

I do know I will be okay, and I do know my beautiful babies will be okay, too. I am a beautiful Mother (if I don’t say so myself) and I don’t need a sunny day to tell me the love I bring to my babies’ lives is filling their spirits with all the lovely things.

Winter is the mountain that lay ahead of me. But this awareness is, at least, a good thing because it gives me time to gather my climbing tools and prepare for the climb. Life can be so hard, sometimes, but there has never been a day of it that has not been worth the struggle.

Because I am me, and I am Mum.

How beautiful to be able to hold those titles with such love, and pride, and grace.

photo of mother and child
Photo by Jennifer Murray on Pexels.com

 

Categories
Life

Held

Tonight I miss my childhood.

I miss the way my Nan dipped onto to her knees and told me how precious I was to her. With her entire body, especially her eyes.

I miss the way my Mum held me when I cried. I miss the feeling of our two aches melting into one, and somehow just knowing that was a beautiful, beautiful thing.

I’ve never missed the safe pieces of childhood before—at least not consciously, and I’d imagine it’s because most adults become adults and assume that the word adult means: ‘safe enough’ and ‘responsible enough’.

Well, I’m here to tell you…no.

Actually no.

I believe that adult means: whoever and whatever you are, when you are it.

And what I am right now, is aching for the child I once was, and the beautiful world of love that enveloped her during her younger years.

I ache to be emotionally held. Because that’s how it all began for me.

Of course I miss it.

I’ve learned to meditate and open my heart, and thank-goodness for that because it fills me with all the lovely things, including the beautiful feeling of being held in the way I so often feel I need to be.

Still, I miss the feeling of being emotionally held by another, without judgement.

Without judgement.

I just do, I miss it.

And so I miss my childhood.

I also know it’s okay that I miss my childhood.

That part, I think, might be the beautiful silver lining of this grey story.

woman and little girl in black long sleeve shirt and black pants
Photo by Gustavo Fring on Pexels.com

Categories
Life

Little

When I was little, I was the curly haired girl.

It was a point of fascination, my hair, a reason to love me more than the reasons that already existed inside my little girl heart.

I wonder, now, how many adults looked into my eyes and really saw me there. Looking back, my hair was the perfect ‘surface conversation’ starter.

And then there was me, waiting somewhere inside to be seen.

Yesterday, a beautiful little girl at the pool was in tears. One of the soft ones. Like me. The adults saw her, of course, but they didn’t really see her, I don’t think.

I wished she would look at me.

I wished that she would see that I could see her. And that I thought she was beautiful just the way that she was.

I would have told her that she’d probably always cry a little more than some, but she would also be kindness, and heart, and magic.

I’m pretty sure that would have made her smile.

Categories
Life

Six

There is a little boy in this world who began his life within my body.

He turned six today.

I often think of the way his slippery little body looked as it squiggled into the world at my feet. Those are the times I go to his little mop of hair and whisper: I love you. My goodness, I love you, little man. 

Sometimes I hope that I don’t break him with my jagged edges; my angry moments, my sad moments, my imperfect human moments—the ones I can’t hide no matter how hard I try. And he is six, so I hear all about the moments.

But none of them really matter because: love.

Mine for him, his for me.

My baby.

He is six, today.

My baby blue-eyed boy is six.

close up of girl writing
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