Flight of the child

"Mum, I want to fly."

When B said this to me a few days ago, it was like a light had gone on in his head. He truly thought he could and should be able to fly. He had a glint in his eye, he was ready for an adventure. Oh, the innocence of not knowing any better.















I wanted to strap on some wings take him up to the roof and show him how. I felt disappointment in the hard reality of what I said to him. I thought of Leonardo and all those contraptions he invented, I thought of all the boys before him, all wanting the joy and freedom of flight.

I wish I had said something about flying at night in your sleep at dream time. (This is one of my favourite dreams, particularly when you know you are dreaming) I wish I had talked about birds gliding on the wind or even about swimming. With weekly lessons B has learnt this skill, and he could try thinking about flight while swimming underwater. I love swimming underwater, that feeling of weightlessness, surely that is close to the feeling of flying?

Instead though, I told him that he would have to wait till his next plane trip, as that is the only way we humans really fly. I did mention hang-gliding, but that was the story of a someone my parents know who had a terrible accident. His Dad then made the comment that he would never be allowed to hang-glide.

















So all this talk shut down his adventure, closed the door on his dream, wiped out the glint in his eye and taught him to stop imagining. I can see very clearly now that over the course of childhood this happens to all of our imaginations and our creativity. We are forced to loose that childhood wonder, through the harsh reality of "what is". As a parent I have rarely had conversations about "what could be".

I am so sorry B! That is the very last thing I wanted to do.

Leonardo never ever stopped imagining.

Go flying my little boy.
















Images: Flying into Nadi Fiji, Very happy B on Seaplane, One of Leonardo da Vinci's Flying Machines

Where's Baby

Dear Little Miss

Happy 2ND Birthday.

I can hardly believe it has been two years since you were born. Those two years have simply flown by. That time is now a blur of happiness, laughter, tears, extreme tiredness, despair, absolute delight, boobas, nappies and the routine we enforce (with total commitment) of bath, milky, story, bed, songs, cuddles, kisses and finally SLEEP. (and at last you are regularly sleeping through the night)

But where has my baby girl gone?

My 2 year old Little Miss loves to say "No" to me.

"No kisses"
"No sleepy time"

You also love to assert yourself

"I do it" you say to all manner of tasks. Shoes, zips, buttons, hats, getting in and out of the car. Your determination is extraordinary.

I love how much you love your brother. B is the one you want. You follow him around the house. Squabble over whatever he has. Collect treats for him. You unpack his school bag, give him his hat. You are such a helper. And he loves you back calling you his little sweetie.

You like nothing better than playing with your babies. Shaking out their bedsheets, patting and rocking them while you sing. You love to wash them and share your drinks with them. What a great mother you already are. I am so impressed that you like "pack up time" happily tidying away all the toys even B's.

But please don't grow up too fast.

You have been my delight these past two years, my joy and my purpose. As you grow up and I reluctantly let go, know that I love you so much my little daughter.

Love from Mummy XXX

Mum

Dearest Mother,

I just wanted to say some stuff to you that is easier to write down. (and apparently share on the Internet) If I say it to you I will choke up with tears and embarrass as both.

You have heard this before but you should know again that, I love you so much.

I try everyday to be the Mum that you are. You have been totally devoted to your children all your life, you have an unfailing devotion that is totally full of love. A love that is visible in all your actions.

When I think back to the way you mothered me as a child, I feel an overwhelming feeling of love. I hear you singing to me and it bringing me immense comfort.
I know you have worried about us all and will never stop worrying. I understand that worry. It comes from love. A love that you never want interrupted with disappointment, a love that makes us all vulnerable. A love that pulls at your very insides and makes you behave in ways that surprise you. A love that makes you let go when you really want to hold on tight.

Today when you love B and Little Miss, I feel that love for me all over again and it is really very special.
Thanks for being my Mum, the Mum I aspire to be.

Love your daughter forever. xxx

Image from ginnerobot

Sparkly shoes

What does a toddler and Sir Winston Churchill have in common?

























































































Determination

“Never give in, never give in, never; never; never; never - in nothing, great or small, large or petty - never give in except to convictions of honor and good sense.” Winston Churchill

Not a box

Not a box by Antoinette Portis is an awesome kids book we own and love. It captures the simplicity of fun with a cardboard box, coupled with the vividness of a child's imagination. Read a much more detailed review of it here. Available to purchase from Amazon

Out of the wash

You would of thought I had learnt by now to check the pockets of clothes I am putting into the wash...but it seems I have not.

Tissues we all know are problematic and coins are a bonus. There have also been sticks and assorted rocks. Little pom poms were cute and a series of washers had me thinking the machine was falling apart. Today however this find was rather unexpected and for some reason amusing.

It made me think of little people everywhere picking up brightly coloured special finds. They quickly stow away their treasure in those handy pockets, only to forget about the loot in the busy rush and play that is a child's life.

These finds do make the washing slightly less tedious.

Silence is golden

Or is it?

A special moment when all is quiet.


Time to think.


Noisy interruptions have ceased.


I can hear my own thoughts.


Consider my own feelings for a change.


Take a deep breathe and relax, my shoulders drop.


Tension lifts.


Peace.


Calm.


Screaming? Yes screaming, it's B I run. I find him lying on the ground outside. He's next to the cubby house, he is crying. He has fallen off the cubby house roof. He's all intact, no blood, lots of sand though. Sand? Why sand? Then I notice the bucket of sand laying beside him. There is sand on the roof of the cubby. OK? OH NO! Little Miss is inside the cubby also covered in sand. B has been raining sand on her. She has it all over her head, face, down her back. Damn! Is it in her eyes?

Thankfully no.

What was I thinking?

Silence is danger Mum, wake up!!



Image from Atlantic Ave.

BIG Bunny

From the Artists Gelitin, a BIG knitted bunny lays wounded on a mountain side in northern Italy.
Gelitin's press release:
The things one finds wandering in a landscape: familiar things and utterly unknown, like a flower one has never seen before, or, as Columbus discovered, an inexplicable continent; and then, behind a hill, as if knitted by giant grandmothers, lies this vast rabbit, to make you feel as small as a daisy
The toilet-paper-pink creature lies on its back: a rabbit-mountain like Gulliver in Lilliput. Happy you feel as you climb up along its ears, almost falling into its cavernous mouth, to the belly-summit and look out over the pink woollen landscape of the rabbit’s body, a country dropped from the sky; ears and limbs sneaking into the distance; from its side flowing heart, liver and intestines.
Happily in love you step down the decaying corpse, through the wound, now small like a maggot, over woolen kidney and bowel.
Happy you leave like the larva that gets its wings from an innocent carcass at the roadside.
Such is the happiness which made this rabbit.
I love the rabbit the rabbit loves me.

Take a look from google maps

Chicken legs

Dearest B,

Roast chicken has been a firm favourite dinner choice of yours in the past. This makes me happy as not only do I find it fairly stress free to cook, but I have found all of us enjoy it. Little Miss and you are more than happy to clutch a leg each, eat roasted carrot, roast potatoes or as we call them ‘chunky chips’ with tomato sauce and be bribed with a sweet or lolly if you consume some greens too. I come away feeling mildly successful as a parent when this balanced meal is completed.

Admittedly though, you do love the fatty salty very unhealthy skin. Being the mean mother that I am, I wanted to stop this hogging fatty skin habit so I served up roast chicken this week with only a little skin. You were disappointed, but clutched onto your chicken leg happy enough.

After your first mouthful you examined the leg and said “Yes Mum I can see the fat under the skin here” pointing to your chicken leg. You then continued to eat, with a thoughtful look on your face. You then had a really good look at the food in your hand and said, “That’s the bone there with the skin at the end, Mum is this really a chicken leg, did a Chicken walk on this?” Stupidly I answered, “Yes B it’s a chicken leg, but the chicken has had it's life.” Daddy looked across the table and gave me a look that said,”STOP!” But it was too late.

You put down the leg and ate something else. A very wistful look was on your face and when I asked what was wrong you said, “I don’t want to eat a chicken’s leg.” Rather than pushing it, Daddy and I could both see that you had just put two and two together. The hard realisation that this was a chicken, a clucking bird served plucked and roasted on the table to eat. I offered you some breast meat, no skin, bones or fat, and you thankfully continued to eat.
It might be a while before we have a roast chicken again.

Tonight’s dinner raised the question, “What’s this red stuff in the meat?”

I replied, "It's steak, just eat it."

Love you B

Love from Mummy.

XXX