Happy New Year

I have written this before. Many times, actually. In my head whilst out for a run or in the garden or while cooking and a wrote it again on our trip back to Melbourne from holidays in Beechworth. In my head I needn’t “save draft”  and can happily start again whenever a quiet moment comes along. And on holidays, there are many. But, out of my head and onto the page I really did write and  finish a special post just after New Year, the first since 2010, and in my excitement to have finally summoned the courage to publish I deleted the whole thing. Poohf. Gone. It had taken me all day to write and out of practise, I neglected to save it. Without lamenting its loss too much, I did learn a lesson and I also felt very proud of my calm-it’s-ok-this-is-not-a-sign-not-to-write-again handling of the situation. I sat down, took a deep breath and went for a run.  I’ll just have to write it again. So here I am. I’m very pleased to be back. – save draft- Done.

Since posting last, all those months ago, a lot has happened. I have, with my little family, experienced big changes, have shared in loss, much much love, laughter, happy times, difficult moments, excitement and all those bits that make up the everyday. I’ve gone back to work full time (!) and Ramzy is now a very, very happy stay at home dad. We decided to take a big leap and make a necessary change that has proven to be more than worthwhile. We now have lots of time together, I have been able to take on something really exciting at work and Ramzy gets to have that oh so special time that I got to have with M. M is, as usually, a bright, funny, creative, thoughtful and caring little kid who has just turned 3. I can’t believe it. We had a lovely party with all of her friends and our friends, a big green number 3 cake (that looked pretty awesome, I have to admit!), lots of lanterns in the garden and a little game of “high up lucky dip”. M had a blast and so did we. It was nice to have all of friends (new and old) together at our place. It was just really, really fun. After the party, Ramzy and I drank Rose in the garden surrounded by left over fairy bread crusts. M chilled out in her new sandpit and we congratulated our efforts on a birthday party well done. It also felt like a great beginning to 2012 and we resolved to have more get together so that we can spend time with our awesome friends and family more often. Next week, I’ll be heading back to work and starting my new role. Big and exciting (a little terrifying), I’m looking forward to it. I have such brilliant holidays and have loved all this time with M and Ramz, with most of our days spent hanging out in the garden or in Beechworth (more about that in the next post!). M and I have had many happy days out together too – just like old times – going to galleries and seeing friends at the park. Drinking coffee – well I did. Good times. And even though I am working full time now, I know that many more of these days are to come.

So, I have decided to dust of the blog and get writing again. I want to get this book club happening and get back to sharing books and ideas with you again. It was hard for me to write after my last posts.I just didn’t have my writing mojo and needed to focus on other things for a while. But 2012 is a year for taking action. I feel inspired and revved up. Come along with me! Waiting In Gums started as a book club and a space to write about ideas, plans, the day-to-day little things and to keep track as well. Keeping track is hard to do sometimes with life being so busy and is seemingly speeding by it is nice to keep a record or a journal, I suppose, of these special days. I have neglected to keep track of the books that I have read over the last year or so and I actually can’t remember all the books I’ve read. But I have read some great ones and I am thankful to my brother’s partner Brett for putting me onto some great books that have had a big impact on me. So I thought I would end this post and kick of Waiting In Gums 2012 by making a list. A list of the top ten books that I read last year…but not in any particular order. So here goes:

• Freedom, Jonathan Franzen
• To Kill A Mockingbird, Harper Lee (brilliant!!)
• The Shipping News, Annie, Proulx
• The Corrections, Jonathan Franzen
• The Elegance of the Hedgehog, Muriel Barbery
• The Hours, Micheal Cunningham (I LOVED this book – thanks Brett!)
• Flesh and Blood, Micheal Cunningham (again, thanks Brett!)
• By Nightfall, Micheal Cunningham (yes, I really got into his books and went to see him speak. You could say I’m a bit of a fan now.)
• Norwedgian Wood, Haruki Murakami (beautiful)
• When God Was A Rabbit, Sarah Winman

Ok, is that 10? There were other books that I really enjoyed too but these were the first 10 that came to mind. I have also just finished reading Autumn Laing by Alex Miller and and now reading two books plus a lots of blogs (how am I going to manage back at work!). The holidays have given me a lot of space to read and I’ve especially enjoyed the quiet mornings when I am up with my coffee and M and Ramz sleep. I’m the early bird of the family it seems but hopeless at night. I have a few more days left until my new/old routine begins but I’m determined to keep up with the books and with you. I hope you’ll join me.

 

 

 

Quiet Little Cricket

“A Luna moth sailed quietly through the night. And the cricket enjoyed the stillness.”

Those are my favourite sentences in any book that I’ve ever read. It is from Eric Carl’s beautiful children’s book, The Very Quiet Cricket. I often say it to myself when I’m pottering around or need my own moment of stillness. I’m always happy when M chooses this book. It is so simple and poetic and of course the illustrations are so beautiful, so familiar. I love when the new born Cricket tries to speak wanting to respond to his friendly and encouraging insect family. “The little Cricket wanted to answer, so he rubbed his wings together. But nothing happened. Not a sound.” This lovely prose repeated throughout the story becomes such a calming lullaby. I’ve been thinking about it a lot in the last couple of weeks and especially about the luna moth sailing and the Cricket enjoying the stillness. I’ve been learning a lot about slowing down and being still. Being patient and surrendering to the idea, the fact I suppose, that I can’t control everything. I’ve never considered myself a control freak actually, but I guess not many would admit to it, but I’ve always thought of myself as quite laid back. I’m easy going. That’s why I hardly ever do housework and I almost destroy the kitchen even if I’m only making toast (passionate cook). As I’ve said before, I’m not sure that we own an iron and I thought it funny that M called the washing up rubber gloves “Dad’s gloves” the other day. You may say these examples point toward a lazy person, I choose the adjective relaxed. I am fairly easy going or ‘relaxed’ about a lot of things and I’m very patient with people and in waiting rooms but not always with myself. And well…I do have a tendency, as Ramzy points out, to worry about stuff. Anything. I worry about worrying or even crazier I worry sometimes about not worrying. And what I’ve come to realise that that has a lot to do with control and not being able to be still. I’m also over analytical and have a tendency to go over and over things that have already passed too, too much. So I thought a healthy thing to try out to help me through the stress and emotion following my miscarriage would be to give stillness a go. Just to slow right down. Try and think about what is going on right now, in front of me and all of the lovely people that I’m sharing those moments with. Even if that is just me.

I also thought it best if I just let my emotion, whatever that might be just come right out when it needed to – which occasionally it has in surprising times with surprising force. Luckily in one such case, I was in the waiting room at the GP and I could see that everyone was thinking, man, this girl has got something nasty! And at the Osteopath I came completely undone but that was the best thing that I could happen. My Osteo is amazing. I’ve only been to her twice, but she is like somekind of Guru. She did incredible things to me. Wowzaz. I slept so peacefully that night and woke with such a clear head. What a woman, that Osteo. And that emotion spills over in private moments too over little things, like pulling out some massively gigantic underpants that I had been excited to eventually wear again. Funnily enough, I also burst into tears when I first picked up those massive undies, let’s call them mundies. I was shopping with my friend for wedding knickers. They are meant to be the oh-so-sexy-can’t-wait-to-get-em-off kind. But, being 7 months pregnant with M and the size of a removal van but rounder, these mundies were not so sexy rather a practical cover for my ever expanding arse. And they were beige. Nuff said. I took them to the counter and burst into uncontrollable sobs and snot and made frightening sounds only to be repeated when in labor about 2 months later (but without the swearing or pushing of husband). The woman behind the counter cooling slid a box of tissues in front of me and reassured me that this happens all the time. That did make me feel better. I’m pretty sure that under the counter there were tissues labelled as follows:

1. Silky Tissues for tearful, happy, I haven’t eaten for 6 months but I’m so, so happy bride to be
2. Sensible Tissues for the Mother of the bride/ friend/support person of the bride to dab supportive tears
3. Thick, plentiful tissues for pregnant bride who madly thought it was a good idea to get married at 32 weeks.

Anyway, I also cried once loudly and laughingly in class when I was teaching secondary students and we were watching Matilda after studying the book. The ending just got me. The kids thought it endearing and HILARIOUS. We all kacked ourselves.

There have been times when I feel like I haven’t been able to speak at all, like the very quiet cricket rubbing my wings together. Wanting to respond but just stuck for words or all mixed up. As if all my words are collecting in my throat and I need to cough them out. I’ve found this, when I’ve wanted to say a simple thank you. Everyone has been so wonderful. My thank you doesn’t seem big enough. Your thoughts and kindness and sincerity on Waiting In Gums and through emails and Facebook messages and big, warm, engulfing hugs. My aunty sent us a beautiful card with two packets of pea seeds which arrived in a moment that was perfect. A hug via post. We loved it. So thoughtful and loving. People have shared their own painful experiences to help me and I am so, so thankful. These words, the support, the kindness really has helped me and Ramzy and Lil M so much. Impossible to say. Hear my wings rubbing. Thank you. Thankyou. Thankyou.

A gorgeous sunny day in the park

I’ve been feeling better and having some nice moments of being still and lots of special times with my family. A sunny Melbourne weekend works wonders especially when spent at The Botanic Gardens. Up and down, but getting more ups than downs which I believe is due to the huge group hug that I have shared with all of you. Thank you. So next week I’m keen to get the Book Club happening again and I’d like to share about a book that I was surprised, and slightly embarrassed for some reason to LOVE. So Book Club idea are most welcome. Some ideas so far are Monkey Grip by Helen Garner, To Kill A Mockingbird by Harper Lee, Norwegian Wood by Haruki Murakami or maybe something brand new. I’ve been reading a lot and cutting down on tv – not too much – but enough to read and write more. Helps me think about my luna moth. Lovely and still.

Little Bean

This post began a little while ago. A little while ago, filled with energy and light I was determined to write again having spent a few months reading amazing books, sharing lots of time with friends, new and old, and of course, plenty of time with my family. Lil M is growing so much and such a strong personality. She’s caring, clever and funny. She’s compassionate and warm. When we put her to bed at night and say goodnight, all on her own without prompting she says thank you. Thank you for whatever little thing we’ve done during the day or days past. “Thank you mum swimming. Thank you dad swings. Thank you play dough.” And tonight “thank you mum fruit toast. Thank you dad Children’s animals farm.” So sweet and honest; she loves the small bits that make up everyday and most of all she loves us. Us and Yo Gabba Gabba. And Lego.  And digging in the dirt. She makes us laugh and smile and go “awww…” a lot. She makes us enjoy and love those small parts of the days too. The simple bits are so special for her and now for us. She’s one special kid! So I’ve been caught up in her and other things and away from Waiting In Gums but have been ready to come back for a while and preparing what I wanted to write and share. Which books have shaped the last weeks and months for me. There have been some great ones. Friends have recommended books I probably wouldn’t have just picked up myself and I’m trying to be more open about what I read. But more about those later. This post has taken a turn.

Catching up and reading my last entry, I smile thinking of that nesty feeling and all that cooking. Ramzy ended up buying me Manna From Heaven for my birthday. I’m sure the Library will be happy to have their copy back as I’d been abusing the re borrowing system and racking up fines on my card. I still love it and the recipes I now know by heart and are still discovering new ones. I’ve baked biscuits for friends and lil M and I have donned our matching great grandma made aprons and dusted plenty of flour about the kitchen. In early July those nesty feelings hummed and hummed and we excitedly discovered that I was pregnant so the need to bake increased ten fold. Chocolate biscuits were medicinal and eased my overwhelming morning sickness. Lil M followed me about the house making “Bluurrrghh” sounds imitating with much hilarity my vomit poetics.  Then it was granny smith apples so I munched them down and we made apple crumble together. Poached apples became M’s ‘apple pie’ and we had fun watching shiny green apple peel drop all over the floor.  And then I needed sleep. Lots of it. A blanket of exhaustion fell over me and the couch was my sweet, sweet friend. I retreated from the computer and no thoughts of writing or sharing or chatting came to me. The little life inside had taken hold and my body no longer just mine. I happily let it and relished  (most of the time!) in becoming a mum again. My belly began to grow and I took quiet pride n showing it off and digging out my maternity jeans. M kissing my belly and me laughing and the idea of how huge I’ll get not being able to see her below me. Those early weeks are of course tough, with nausea and fatigue and hormonal craziness. But the excitement soon takes over and you begin to imagine the little pea within growing into your lives. They belong. Some early ultrasounds gave us a glimpse and the little heart beating away made us all melt and smile. Our Little Bean coming into being.

This is hard. Sadly, this week, week 13,  after some weeks of concerning complications I had a miscarriage. I never thought that this would happen despite all of the cautionary language we had used “oh it is early days…”, “if all goes well…”. And even though I knew in my heart that something was not quite right the words that we heard after our final ultrasound this week were real, and shocking and although spoken with such warmth and compassion felt hot and sad and lonely and mostly incredibly heartbreaking. “I’m sorry, there is no heartbeat.” We wept together and the rest is just for us but I feel I need to write about this. So many I know have been through this too and I’m still in the early stages of coming to grips with what has happened. That the little person we had been imagining has gone and that nothing could be done or changed and this loss is as natural as conception. The body is incredible and I trust in that. But of course it hurts and the feeling of emptiness is hard to feel. I am still in in a bit of a fog after being in day surgery yesterday which raised memories of M’s emergency cesarean and the raw opposition of that wonderful day this incredibly hard day. Lil M had said to me before I went to hospital “maybe doctor give mum cuddle” and they did. Those at The Royal Women’s Hospital are amazing and I’m so thankful to the staff who helped us. We’re exhausted and sad. But hopeful as well.  Lil M makes us smile and laugh and making and play play dough with her has been great therapy. I feel so lucky to have her. Her recent desire to have a ‘babycino’ in the morning, EVERY morning (my fault!) has her running up the hall to wake up her dad and she passes me coffee and gets us all going. She asked me this morning about “baby in mum’s tummy” and I calmly and tearfully told her that the baby had gone but that we’ll wait for another baby when the time is right. That some babies aren’t ready to come into the world yet. She said “Wait for baby. Wait for baby. Not yet. Waiting.” and gave me a hug and kissed my belly. Awww..!! I smile now through tears thinking about the pregnancy and about Little Bean. My friends and family have been so wonderful and allow us and share with us in our grieving for his tiny life; his nurtured and loved life within me. We got to see his heart beating and although so tiny, too tiny to have developed much beyond 9 weeks, we love him and always will. We have to start imagining something new for the months ahead. But not yet. For now, it is time to rest and heal and reflect. And to cry some more. And to share time with my lovely family. I have a lucky life.

And to garden. M and Ramzy and I have been in the garden quite a bit and the little kernels of apricots have just popped up all over our tree. Overnight they sprung. New life. All green and fresh. We are planning a snow pea garden and M can “dig, dig, dig”. Perhaps broad beans or sugar snaps. I’m not a green thumb and, much like keeping diaries, I often get in there and go at it then step back and get distracted by other things. But I’m getting better and am enjoying spending time pulling out weeds and braving the compost bin; all worming and dark. Our herbs have also come back to life and the garlic M and I planted a while ago are shooting up all over the place. Now we just have to wait for it to be ready to pick. Till the time is right. It will come.

xx

*sorry, I couldn’t flip the image. I hope you don’t get a sore neck!

‘Is all this baking compensating for something?’

Aside from Alex Miller novels, I have also been on a major baking trip lately. Perhaps it’s this cooler weather (finally!) or because the afternoons are getting a bit darker earlier or maybe I’m just hungry, but I have been whipping up this and that, making food for friends and cooking up some new and exciting dishes. Like quiche. Yes. Give it a chance. I’ve baked mini muffins, dark chocolate fudge (we nearly DIED eating it!), chocolate and hazelnuts biscuits (crumbs all over keyboard), curries with chickpeas and even the odd lamb shank.Pause for applause. Thankyou, thankyou!

I’ve always loved to cook and although I often have more misses than hits, I’m not too bad. I love to cook with lil M too and now when I say “let’s do some cooking!” she happily nods big nods and cries out “COOKING!!”. As I also don’t mind a mess (read excuse for not cleaning), I’ll let her puff flour around the kitchen and splatter mixture on the walls as she attempts to “mix,mix,mix”. It’s good fun. I made some sweet pastries on the weekend with frozen puff pastry, brown sugar and butter. They looked pretty good after some failed folding and some awful looking…um…I don’t know, limp things were plonked onto the tray but out of the oven they were puffy and sweet with a hint of saltiness from the butter. Yum! We ate them with cups of tea and made us feel better about having had not a thing to eat for breakfast. When I say we here, I mean my husband and I ate them all and because M is a bit too little yet for sweets (I fear unleashing somekind of sweetfreak demon baby) she didn’t get any, but she did love the polenta muffins that I made with her the next day. She loves peas at the moment…she thinks they are THE BEST. Just imagine when she discovers fudge. Wow. She’ll be truly blown away.

Yesterday, when my husband got home and found a pile of mini muffins, a tray of mini quiches, roasting cauliflower, pasta and biscuits filling up the kitchen he was, well, amazed. Not that all this food was all that impressive, but that I appeared to be in a baking trance. He asked with a bit of a laugh and mouth full of quiche if all this baking was compensating for something. I laughed too, but in the knowledge that he was probably onto something. I am feeling very, ‘nesty’. I am saying ‘awww’ a lot and crying at nappy ads and watching Oprah and forgetting to go back to work. No, I’m not in ‘the family way’ but, well, I reckon I’d be pretty happy if I was. I think it’s just that I’m really enjoying being at home, being a mum. I love it. I love that a large percentage of my week is spent at the playground and that I get to bake and stuff. I’m lucky I guess. But as there hasn’t been much discussion in our house about a return to work for me, perhaps making a bigger family has been on my mind. Just a bit. I really don’t want you to focus on the ‘making’ bit…you probably didn’t until I said that…sorry. I’ll stop now.

With this nesty feeling humming, I have been making the most of a fabulous cookbook that I borrowed from the library which has a very nesty, at home, warm and nourishing quality about it. ‘Manna From Heaven: Cooking for the People you Love’ By Rachel Grisewood is such an inviting book with pages and pages of brilliant recipes to try out on those you love. I love the sketchy illustrations that fill the pages too and its a lovely read. I had come across this book at Readings’ a while ago and its bright pink and orange, flour flecked cover reached out to me. As I flicked through its pages, the recipes made me salivate a little too much in a public place. So when I spotted at the library I grabbed it.

A beautiful, comforting cookbook.

It’s the kind of book that is nice to sit down with at the kitchen table and read each recipe, with a glass of wine or coffee and a pen and paper in the other to write down your shopping list. My first list from the book was quite short: chocolate (dark and milk), condensed milk, hazelnuts and brown sugar. Pause to suck up drool. The thing is, now I NEED THIS BOOK. It has improved my life and helped to manage my ‘nesty’ feelings without having to go on a cleaning bender (hahahahahahahahaha). I love her philosophy to food as well. It should be good and enjoyed. Much like most things I suppose. Time to bake some more now. Then eat.

It’s about time.

Let’s fast forward…no, let’s rewind a couple of months then fast forward really, really quickly. Like high-speed-dubbing fast. That’s what has happened since last we spoke. Time has flown. Babies have been born (not mine!), new shoes purchased (not boots…yet), hours upon hours spent in playgrounds, fudge made, biscuits baked, weekends away enjoyed and a little toddler learns to walk, well almost! Oh yes, and my brother got married in Japan but he and his lovely, lovely wife say it was just for the paper-work and the REAL wedding will still happen here, in Australia. Thank goodness for that. I’m to be a bridesmaid.More on that when the time comes. And books! Lets not forget about the books. I have been in reading overdrive and gulped down some really great novels.

I went on an Alex Miller trip and I still seem to be on that boat. And what a boat! Lovesong, Prochowick’s Dream and now A Matter of Faith, have been such wonderful books to get into. Easy to read without being ‘easy’ if you know what I mean. Beautifully human characters with real flaws and conflict. These are the kind of books that you speed read because you just want that story to take you and you fear putting down. The kind of book that you become so absorbed in you can forget that your toddler is over reading her books and actually comes up to you and says “Book. Pack away.” Ok. I better. The author, Alex Miller is from Castlemaine, so I even started googling real estate there, my logic being that if he can write books like these, and lives there, it must be a freakin’ fantastic place to live. Getting a bit nuts? Yes. I also think that these books and his style of writing has been perfect for me at this time. I needed something to get stuck into and to just enjoy. To turn page after page without feeling as though I’m slogging through.  I actually cried and laughed and sighed and yelled out loud while reading these books. And when I’d finished reading them, I placed them on the coffee table, made another cup, and thought and thought and thought about these people who’d occupied my head for the past weeks.  You know it’s a good book when you’re washing the dishes thinking of them. These days, lil M likes to be rocked to sleep which is getting increasingly more difficult as she grows taller and I seemingly shorter. But while I rock her, I try to zone out so as to be calm and calm her softly into sleep. I think about such a range of things and tasks. Sometimes I count in my head. But during reading Miller’s novels I thought of his characters and about who they were, what they should do, conversations I may have with them. See, these books were IN MY HEAD. It was booklove. On a major scale. I had considered emailing Miller, but I don’t do things like that, not yet anyway.  I just wanted to thank him for writing. Luckily for me, he has quite a list so to the library I go. I promise not to devote all my posts to Mr Miller. That would be strange. I don’t do things like that. Not yet!

These books  have given me a little spark that I needed, too. To get back into the things I enjoy and make a proper go of them. It’s about time. No more time to be self conscious, just get into it. Why the hell not, eh? What would Alex do…

Time away from the books. Quack, quack.

For lovely Isla

This week has been filled up to the brim with happiness. I feel like breaking into song. Hang on. Ok, I did it and my voice sounded fab-u-lous! The days of this week have been relaxed, happy ones with personal triumph (I finished the 14.5km Fun Run in an hour 47 minutes – no walking or stopping!!), the return of friends and the making of new ones, enjoying funny moments with little M as she has been learning to walk and best of all Friday brought the safe arrival of Sarah and Rob’s little baby Isla. A new little sister for Neve too which I hear she is most excited about. It’s times like these that it’s just nice to stop for a bit and enjoy it. I was feeling anxious for Sarah and feeling too far away, but now that she has Isla safe in her arms I’m happy to wait for a bit until I can organise myself enough to make a trip up north to visit. When she’ll have me of course!I’m considering a sewing project in the meantime, inspired by my sister-in-law’s awesome homemade bunny that she sent to Maleki this week from Japan. She made it out of one of my brother’s old shirts and it has an M on its tail. Cute as. So Sarah, be on the look out in the mail for somekind of homespun friend for Isla and Neve…I’ll do my best anyway.

Having been friends with Sarah since year 7, it has been great to share our growing up together and now this  phase too. But it all feels just the same as year 7 when Sarah rescued me from the girls change room that I’d been locked in. I knew then for sure that this was a friendship to last all our days.

Another reason for my feeling so warm and fuzzy, is the completion of a fantastic book that I had not expected I would enjoy so much or that it would be so easy to read. Alex Miller’s Lovesong. The words just peeled off the pages and I soaked up every bit of it. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about the characters or their highs and lows, their motivations and their futures. It was such a pleasure to read. So I sent a copy to Sarah to read in between baby-time. It deals with ideas of motherhood, identity, relationships, humanity. It is very real and honest. It’s just beautiful. Sarah, I hope you enjoy as much as I did.

So for Sarah, Rob, Neve and Isla a big congratulations and much love from all of us xxx

Yes. I’m a Housewife.

“Sorry Love. You’ll have to ask your husband to buy you some new shoes.”

It was this brief yet powerful statement directed at me by my local keys/shoe repair man that has caused me to come completely and undeniably unstuck today. Unstuck. Confused. Vexed. Embarrassed. And, oddly, uplifted all at the same time. Imagine I am a cartoon robot that has been overloaded with data and I’ve suddenly started rambling incoherently, waving my arms wildly with sparks flying out of my eyeballs and then”BANG” my head has exploded. Standing at the counter with my old, broken shoes that I had taken (crazily as I now know) to be repaired, my daughter peering up with her neck so strained to see what was going on past legs and shopping bags, all I could say in an attempt to maintain composure and dignity as he stuck his finger right through the sole of the tattered Camper was “I got these shoes in Madrid. They’re sentimental shoes, that’s all.” Then a few final spluttering sparks shot out as I felt a) like a bit of a knob name dropping trips to Europe as if that’s what I do all the time and b) out of depth as I tried unconvincingly to assert that I’m not too tight or strapped to get new shoes and that my husband does indeed provide for me and our family. Then “BANG”! Another brain explosion if possible without a head. That thought that rushed over me so honestly and intensely comforting, a thought or reality that I have always fought hard to avoid – husband, provides, for, me. After all, I’m my ‘own person’, I can look after myself, I’m independent. But the complexity in that moment hung heavily over me, the acknowledgment, that No. I’m not. I’m not an independent person. And that’s ok. Yet still, I felt unstuck like Billy Pilgrim became unstuck in time in Kurt Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse Five. Except that my time travel has me back in a Women’s Studies lecture theatre learning about how there is no such thing as men and women, that gender is a social construct and that marriage places women in an uneasy, unfair and unequal male dominated paradigm then forward 10 years and I’m happily married, stay at home, mother of one who needs new shoes.  I think it’s the “and that’s ok” that had me so mixed up. But then again, the “ask your husband” bit had me pretty bent out of shape too. So here is my attempt to unravel that moment and to help explain or indeed come to terms with my current state of unstuckness. I’m getting the feeling that this is not a unique state of being. Walk past a couple of pram pushing women and you may see their sparks flying too.

The morning started off as it does most days. Peeling myself out of bed, enjoying the sounds of my husband and daughter chatting and laughing as he gets her out of bed and tells her what a good sleeper she is. “Goooood Sleeeeping!” even if she was awake at times I didn’t know existed before I had a baby. Kisses and waves goodbye, back one more time to say “bye”, door shuts as he reluctantly goes off to work and it’s weet-bix time. Coffee. Sesame Street. Playing. Getting dressed. Much texting between friends, other mums, working out our day and having an early morning laugh. Then ‘pram, pram, go, go, WEEEEEEEEE!’ says lil Maleki and we’re off. No wait. Keys. Where are my keys? Bag? Yes. Bag. “Keeeeys” says Maleki and then we’re off. Today a trip to the local shops, pick up my new pants from the alterations place, shoes to be repaired (finally, how I love them!), coffee at our new and brilliant cafe where mums flock like happy seagulls,  Market then home again. I love being up ‘the street’ chatting with other shoppers and shopkeepers. It feels like home now and Maleki high fives friendly people who chat to her and smiles big smiles making people feel pretty good. We know the names of many now and have many conversations along our way which makes for a great morning. We’ve even made a few friends from going out and about that we now catch up regularly. I love it. One woman said to me yesterday on learning the origin of Maleki’s name “Oh,Lebo! We’re Lebo!!!”. When I told her that my husband is Lebanese she just said “Yeah! Mine too! That makes us Lebo too!”. In these conversations I feel part of a community like I haven’t since living in the country.

I had spoken to the shoe guy the day before and he’d made a joke with the sandwich shop guy across from him about marriage being like a deep freezer where the husband ends up. I joined in and said “has to be big enough for multiple husbands”. I have no idea why I said that but he cracked up as did his mate so i guess I hit the right mark. “Bring in your shoes, Love. We’ll have a look. But boots, I dunno, going to cost you a bit.” At this point I felt on a kind of ‘housewife high’. I had had a very successful day, going to the library and starting an amazing new book (Lovesong by Alex Miller), helping Maleki choose her books, buying some new jeans after a recent revelation that skinny jeans were no longer for me (I have also just done a MASSIVE clean out of clothes that make me feel a bit crap) and sourcing a good and extremely friendly alteration place to get new pants taken up, made an excellent and healthy lentel and vegetable soup early enough so we can ALL eat at THE SAME TIME! Small achievements I know. Definitely not making huge waves in the world, but small satisfying achievements of the day-to-day. These things I’ve decided count too. And without getting too Oprah Winfrey, small things lead to bigger things. At this stage, I’m working on getting things clear to make room for these other, bigger things. It was these things after all that have led me to this moment that I believe has tipped over something quite significant in me and in how I see myself in the world, and how I see how many other women like me may also be feeling this sense of ‘unstuckness’. It is not often that we are able to experience a real trigger that  makes such a deafening “BANG” that the very way we go about things has the potential to change. This is what the shoe repair guys has done for me and although it may not last beyond today, it has happended and today my whole way of seeing has opened right up.

After I got home today, having bumped into a friend who I met when at the cafe a couple of months earlier, I was thinking about what the shoe guy had said about asking my husband to buy me shoes. As I prepared and shared lunch with my daughter I furiously vacuumed the lounge room (highly unusual behaviour) I couldn’t get his words out of my head and especially the tone he had used. He said it in a way that made it seem like I was some poor wife whose husband wouldn’t buy her shoes but at the same time there was a ‘good on him, for not spoiling his wife’ kind of tone. Now, I may be reading WAY too much into it and most likely this is my own tangled up, over analytical thought process that I am imposing on this man who was actually just doing his job in a very friendly and honest way. So please, don’t misunderstand me, it is not him, it’s me. He just pressed the right button at the exact right moment. What I should have been thinking, was more like “Hey, I don’t need to ask my husband for shoes!! I can buy my own damn shoes and I am well aware of the dichotomy that I’ve found myself in and actually I’m enjoying the sense of empowerment that it gives me to be living it, analysing it and then going home to vacuum it all up.” Come to think of it, I’m not even sure I’ve used the term ‘dichotomy’ correctly. But the fact is, at the moment I do need to talk to him about buying shoes and not because I need permission to buy shoes but we are not operating independently of one another. We’re a kind of unit. The three of us I mean. And I’m not the one in ‘paid employment’ so we have to discuss these things. It has taken me ages to come to terms with this as I’ve always worked so always had my on cash. But now it’s not my own, not his own, it’s ours. Maleki’s too. Speaking with other women in the same or similar boat as me they’ve said the same thing, that that was one of the most difficult transitions to make when becoming a ‘stay at home mum’. Feeling as though because you’re not working as such, you are not fully entitled to use the family income in the same way that you would have used your own. That even though their partners have never said they have to, you feel like you need to ask to make purchases for yourself as opposed to your child or family stuff or you just don’t or hide the credit card bill (!)…yeah, I’d never do that… It this shift and in having to do more housework than ever, that a lot of women I’ve spoken to make them feel like a ‘housewife’ in a negative sense or have a loss of independence. The whole Motherhood thing is a whole other set of complex emotions. But what I have just realised from the shoe repair incident of 2010, is that actually, I’m ok with not being SO independent now. I like being in a unit. And the fact that I’m not bringing in shoe money is alright.

I really enjoying being at home with my daughter and helping her grow and learn. I feel really proud. Especially as she says “pack away, pack away” when putting her blocks in the box and when she says “wah, wah” when she sees that someone is hurt or sad or when she does her excellent horse impersonation or when she does her sign for ‘more’ when she wants to read another book. I’m teaching her and making our house a happy place and I have time to write, to run and to read, read, read. I have also met some amazing women and hilarious kids. I still feel a bit unstuck and I’m really interested how other people feel about this. About being a housewife. Too much time to think about it? Probably. The biggest problem I’m having  is fitting the pram into cafes. Hmmm..not really a problem. But it is ok to think about the life you live and how you wanna live it. Just no so much that you don’t. Live it. Gotta stop Maleki from eating onions off the floor now and enjoy the unstuckness and the this new housewife glow. Might bake a cake before adding new shoes to cart…better ask, no, discuss first.

Sunday Reeding.

Sorry about the pun, but it was impossible to resist. My family has a long history of pun loving and enjoy nothing more than a pun-off. The puns usually become more and more of a ridiculous stretch until we’ve embarrassed ourselves stupid. My eldest brother is probably the pun-champion. He reigns supreme in grammatical worldy pursuits. Wow. we sound really dorky. But come on, who doesn’t love a pun??! [insert pun related pun here]. I’m trying to think of another but can’t so, please, feel free to find your own. Anyway, back to Sunday.

The weekend before last we went The Heidi Museum of Modern Art. Such a fantastic place. I love the gardens and the sounds of trees whispering to each other. It really gives you a sense of what life would have been like for young artists musing around the grounds, no doubt drinking themselves silly and fornicating under gums. I love the kitchen garden too and its haphazard little pathways. Lil M loved crawling about on the grass, around sculptures as we lazed about in the shade. We went to the exhibition too, Cubism & Australian Art which I found more interesting than I had expected. I have often had a completely unfounded, uneducated and uneasy dislike for Australian art at times. Dislike is probably a bit strong and I enjoy and support contemporary Australian art and Indigenous at  but that period of Europeanish “I’ve been to France and now I’m a cubist artist” a bit…hmph…boring. I’m WAY out of my depth here and as I said highly uneducated on all things  Art History related both in Australia and in terms of International art as well. I enjoy art. I want to know more about it. I want to understand it. This is an area, like literature sometimes, that it is hard to talk about if you’re not in the know. You feel like you don’t have a right to an opinion about art or your opinion doesn’t count. It’s easy to feel like an outsider even if you go to galleries or flick through arty mags or take in a bit a graffiti on your way home from work. It’s bullocks of course, that you should feel this way, but you can either A) feel like a dick if you want to talk about art or B)Look like a dick if you pretend that you know what you’re taking about when talking about art or worse still brings us to C) Never say anything because you worry that you will be in category A) and/or B). And that is why I realised that I thought art in Australia, say before 1985 was none of my business. I felt I needed to be in the know to enjoy it. Do you have to understand to enjoy it? I dunno. I once went to an exhibition at The NGV International with a friend who is definitely in the know about art. She is an artist. She teaches art. She lives it. Walking about the exhibition gave me a different kind of enjoyment of the art. She told me about each piece and about its artist and about its relationship to other works in other periods and what was going on at the time that may have influenced those artists. It was fantastic. I didn’t feel stupid for not knowing in the first place but it did help me look at the art differently.

When we were traveling a couple of years back, I found the most interesting thing about going to galleries and museums and seeing ‘great’ works of art like The Mona Lisa but most impressively for me, Guernica, was finding out about the artists themselves. Their travels, their drunken days living together in Montmarte in Paris, Picasso’s digs in Barcelona. To think of these people living a passionate life. If that was the case at all. That’s what I loved. I began to look at the art and think of their hands hovering over the canvas like ghosts. At Heidi, I started to think about the artists living in Australia and feeling passionate about art, experiencing something so big overseas but being isolated in such a different landscape. Still, like I said, I know nothing about these people but after seeing their art and reading the little blurbs stuck next to each piece I decided that I want to find out. In the museum gift shop (I’m a major sucker for gallery/museum gift shops) I picked up a biography about Sunday Reed, The Heart Garden: Sunday Reed and Heidi by Janine Burke. Sunday, who with her husband John Reed purchased the property which became Heide, home to many prominent modernists artists in the 30s, 40s and 50s. I thought she might be a good one to start with. I know NOTHING about her apart from what I’ve read on wikipedia (which wasn’t very much). I’m hoping that it might help put me a bit more in the know (despite my rant that this doesn’t matter when it comes to enjoying art) but that it might help me see other Australian artists of this period differently too. Not just try-hard rich kids. So this will be the next book I get into or it may be an along-side-other-readings-book. I’ll begin it on Sunday. Just for the pun of it.

The Challenge – day threeish…

As I said in my comments in the previous post, I did begin The Challenge. A day late, yes, but for good reason. Outrageous cold, rain, early little waker and cinnamon scrolls. Instead of lacing up the runners and squeezing into my too tight pants, I snuggled up in bed with lil Maleki and she slept so soundly that I couldn’t be budged. It was just too nice. The rain kept falling and when we did finally get up, I couldn’t believe how cold it was and even put the heater on. Crazy weather times we are having. I decided that although The Challenge was not starting in the best way, it was all out of my control so that’s ok. Instead I made some yummy cinnamon scrolls after craving them since the weekend (I’d made my brother a batch as a house warming present) and also decided on steak, The Wednesday Chef’s potato and cauliflower gratin and a crisp salad for dinner. So, pretty much the complete opposite of a morning run, I cooked and planned more cooking for the day ahead. We managed to find a window of sunshine and got all the stuff needed for the gratin. Mmmm…so much cheese, leek, creme fraiche…bread crumbs. Perfect for a wintry day in summer.

The scrolls turned out a treat as did the gratin (which I made an absolute mountain of!). We also cracked open a nice bottle of red that night to go with our steaks. No running, but a top day and I figured it was fuel for the next days of running. My run yesterday with Maleki in the pram was great. I feel good that I’ve dumped that as an excuse (that I can’t run with Maleki in the pram – too embarrassed. Why?? Don’t know). This also fits in with another resolution that I’m going to worry less and not let others opinions (ie. pram haters) interfere with my enjoyment of things. Hooray. A good day. And here is the bread recipe I use for making scrolls, pizza bases and other breadly delights just in case you feel a need to knead. Sorry. Oh, and I’m no recipe writer, so hope this makes sense and apologies for any bread related failures.

2 1/2 cups of plain or “00″ flour

2 Tbs of olive oil

1 tbs of salt (for savoury or just a pinch for sweet breads plus 1 tbs of sugar)

300mls aprox of lukewarm water

Mix all the dry ingredients then form a well. Add the oil. Gradually add the water and stir to form a dough. Knead for a couple of minutes or until it springs back to the touch then place back into the oiled bowl. Cover and leave in a warm spot to let double in size. Knead again and roll out as shape as you like. Bake in a pre-heated oven – about 190 c.

*For scrolls, roll out the dough into a large rectangle shape. Spread softend butter over the surface then sprinkle with sugar (brown or cast or Castor) and cinnamon. Roll up starting with the edge closest to you, then slice up to make the scrolls. Place them swirl side up on a baking tray and dust with a little more sugar if you like. Bake for about 15 minutes depending on your oven.

The Challenge

The week before last I set myself a challenge of a run a day for five days (Monday to Friday). The idea is that I will get up and go in the morning before Maleki wakes up. That way, I’ve had my run so the rest of the day I can fluff about if I like and I also have no excuse for not going because I have A) no time, B) I can’t possibly run with the pram and Maleki in it and C) It’s getting late and I’m hungry and nearly bedtime and I want to watch something-a-rather on tv. The reason why I want to go EVERYDAY Monday to Friday is because I know that I need a chunk of runs in a row to keep me going, otherwise I’ll go once and think that gives me license to put away my runners for another month or so. And now that I write it down, just a run a day for five days sounds rather, well, slack. Not really a ‘challenge’ but more of a harder-than-usual-activity-plan. I have chosen just five days as opposed to say a month because I actually want to achieve this and I know that if I set too big a goal it just won’t happen. Let’s be honest. I am also hoping that I’ll trick myself into somekind of daily routine and won’t want to stop so wil keep going without the pressure of a proper big ongoing challenge. I’m feeling really excited about it. I’ve got all my running gear in the wash, picked out my best running socks and ipod is charged with footpath thumping tunes. I plan to have all my stuff waiting beside the bed so in the morning I don’t have to creep over the worlds loudest floorboards past Maleki’s room and I can just get up, dressed and out the door. Be back before I know it. My track is about 6kms all up but last week when I ran it I could only do 5 because of somekind of building collapse. Oh well. It’s a good run and fairly continuous although not at all picturesque like my old track when I lived in Clifton Hill. But it’s fine and has some good markers to help me stay focused. Just have to watch out for the odd dead mouse and collapsed structure. Oh, and the occasional shopping trolley and/or discarded mattress blocking your path. Apart from that, it’s an enjoyable run.

I love to run. I started running about 9 years ago with my eldest brother. We’d start by going a couple of meters then I’d stop and try to find my lungs then we’d go to the next tree, then I’d yell “stitch!! I’ve got a stitch!” and he’d yell, “ok, ok. Let’s walk a bit then a bit more of a run.” It didn’t take that long for us to improve and eventually we could almost run around Princes Park without stopping (without stopping is my main aim in a run). There was this damn drink fountain that I could never get past though. It killed me. Every time I’d see it it was like my legs and brain had a secret deal and took control over my whole body. “That’s it. drink fountain. STOP!!!!”. That fountain became my nemesis. But I beat it recently. Then again. Now I laugh at you drink fountain. Ha! You’re dead to me. When I moved from Brunswick to Clifton Hill, we kept up our runs and found a beautiful track with lots of hills and dirt and a river to run by. My brothers partner joined us as she was amazing. Like a swift gazelle speeding off into the distance. Those long legs. Sigh. She became a great running partner too and I missed those early mornings puffing around the Merri Creek. Running helps to clear my head and be in the moment without any concerns about anything else. Just one foot in front of the other. Working this through. Finding lost ideas. Listening to music that is otherwise unacceptable. Wearing pants that are otherwise unacceptable. Since having a baby, I’ve been on a few good runs and a fun run but not consistently. So this plan, or ‘challenge’ is to get me back on the track. Back on track. Can’t wait.

An excellent book that my brother lent me (2nd eldest brother now training for Marathons, damn him!) is ,by one of my favourite authors Haruki Murakami, “What I Talk about when I Talk about Running”. He writes about the link between his running and his writing and about how one informs the other. In this memoir, Murakami is in training for The New York Marathon. He beautifully describes his approach to this training and the Marathon as a metaphor for living his life. The book had quite an impact on me, and I’m sure I’ve spoken about it before. Even if you’re not into running it is worth a read (and it’s short too!). You never know, might get you lacing up.

So here I go. A challlenge ahead. I have others planned and resolutions to fulfill but this is a really important one that helps everything else slot into place. I’ll let you know how it goes.