A Warm Welcome

IMG_20180127_104139_736Today is the day I release my blog. By that, I mean, share it with my friends, loved ones and acquaintances both here in Australia and also around the world. Where would we be without FB? The phenomenon that allows us to delight in the lives of others. Or cringe with shame at tagged pictures of the past. Or discover a new musician, recipe, way to gain one-upmanship on an unsuspecting work colleague. Although I have been writing and publishing for nearly the whole of January now, the pieces have only gained a relatively small following through the blogging community. I feel that now I have written a good small collection of posts, had wonderful support in preparing my site and encouraging feedback from the few who have read what I have written, I can now start to share and promote.

How do I feel now that my new venture is going public, so to speak? Well of course, nervous. When anyone creates something, and then puts it on display, they are going to generate a response. You know there will be positive and supportive reactions, but our natural precondition to expect the worst, thanks to our amygdala, will be preparing us for fight or flight. We unfortunately are living at a time when people are hijacking the ease with which we can share and obtain information, and are using it as a platform to harass, bully and persecute those they don’t know. Fear and lack of self-confidence along with jealousy lead many to abuse people who share  ideas through social media. It is a sad state of affairs, and one that I am aware I am putting myself up for in writing on-line. When people used to read a book or newspaper article, and disagree, they would write a well articulated, well-edited, formal “right to reply” to an editor or publicist. Those days have unfortunately gone. But this shall not deter me.

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We are all Teachers of Resilience

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As the last public holiday in January creeps up on us and we wonder where on earth did the month go, spare a thought to those teachers you know. Just as all the parents out there are excitedly packing the book list and celebrating the fact that they have “survived” 6 weeks with their children, these educators are nervously checking their class lists and wondering how they will make it through til Easter. Actually, I feel very fortunate to be in profession that affords me such great holidays – I work for them through – as well as being something I am so fiercely passionate about. But still, every teacher gets a sense of dread at this time of year. Will my classes be alright? In the context of Secondary School, I always try to get people to imagine putting 30 people together in a closed room, who don’t want to be there and, at times, can barely tolerate each other, then get them to be productive. You wouldn’t find it in any other work environment. Yes, it is a challenge, but it’s one truly dedicated teachers take up with gusto.

But I can also imagine the nervousness with which any parent send their beloved ones off to school, whether it be into pre-primary, the first year of Secondary School or the first year of external examinations. The pressure, due to an often too demanding curriculum along with the (anti) social structures brought on by mixing groups of people with a growing sense of self and incomplete brain development, is enormous. We must never underestimate how tough going to, and being at, school is for these young people. It isn’t a normal social construct. It calls for such discipline of mind and emotions, and then we add to this the duress to do well consistently. And not just well, but also better than others. When we think about it in these terms, we might be less demanding and more considerate of our young people within the education system.

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The best laid plans

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As I was heading to bed last night, it suddenly struck me that tomorrow would be the last day in which I’d have any time to myself, until July. It was a horrifying realisation. It would be the last day that I had no work, no toddler and no Uni until the middle of Winter. I adore my baby, my job is great and I love studying, but I really cherish my ‘just me’ time. And I don’t get it often enough. So here I was, heading to bed, planning all the things I would do, for me, in that last precious 8am to 3pm slot I had coming up. Of course I had to tick off the Exercise, Rest, Create activities, my life savers that keep me well. A gym visit, some writing and the last episode of Broadchurch on I-view. Then there was the important process of maintaining relationships, so lunch with a friend I’ve been meaning to see since before Christmas. Retail therapy,  something new to wear for the first day back at work. House work, some cleaning and food prep to make next week flow a bit smoother. School work, prepping for the start of the new academic year. The day seemed to be busting at the seams already. But I could make it work. I had to. It was my last chance to do all of this. The list was complete, I said a quick prayer for some sleep (the usual fruitless plea – “please let her sleep through”) and I lay down.

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In giving, we receive

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One of the things that has stunned me having a little one is the amount of stuff you accumulate. I’ve worked out that in a mere 27 months, Little M. has gone through seven clothes sizes. Seven! That has been two drawers, full of clothes, seven times. It’s incredible. The sheer amount of waste is beyond belief. In the short time she has been a particular size, a matter of months, she hasn’t “ruined” any of them. Yes, a bit of pear discolouration or similar, but in general all these clothes are still in pretty good nick. Of course you pass things on to friends who are expecting, but that isn’t always needed. I wanted to find families that I could give these things to. When I had my first two drawer clear out of sizes 00000 and 0000, I phoned around numerous women refuges and also refugee settlement agencies. Yes, there were countless families in need, but as with everywhere, space was at a premium and there was no storage facilities at any of these places. Fortunately, I stumbled across the Perth based charity, Little Things for Tiny Tots . It is a volunteer-run charity which collects items and assembles boxes to assist in the first few months of a baby’s life. These boxes contain clothing, toys, nappies etc. and are then given to agencies such as hospitals, DCP and safe houses.

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Remember when…?

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Last weekend, before the tail end of the tropical cyclone doused Perth and the South West with unseasonable rains, we experienced a unique family situation. It had been a beautiful, hot day in the Geographe region, approximately 34 degrees, and we were now sweltering and fidgeting, trying to get to sleep in the mezzanine of a tin beach shelter with no air conditioning. Little M. had three-quarters of a double bed, I had a quarter and hubby had a single mattress on the floor, which he had previously lugged up the stairs from the bunk bed arrangement in the second bedroom. The double was pressed up against the wall, so the little one was safe and I clung to the edge of the bed with one hand. The other draped over the side to grasp hubby’s hand. We giggled at the ridiculousness of the situation. “Thanks for a lovely day”, he whispered, trying not to wake M. even though we both knew she’d be awake anyway in about an hour’s time.

This was our first break away, just the three of us, since Little M. arrived on the scene. A much appreciated Christmas gift from my parents. It was actually hubby’s first week’s holiday in nearly a year. It is difficult for him to get time off, but also holiday pay never includes all the over time hours. Another one of those things that isn’t really spoken about, or truly prepared for, prior to having a bub. The impact of another mouth, be it a small one, and the reduction from two wages to one and a bit is tangible. But this break was much-needed, not only to enable hubby to recuperate after nearly a year of work, but also to give us the time to reconnect. There are no issues in our relationship, but we have had no time to just be together since having M. We have chosen to live far from family and so must live with the difficulties that this can sometimes bring. This time together was precious and longed for.

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It’s a Purple Dragon!

Hard rubbish collection in January may well make the pavements very difficult to traverse with an inquisitive (read- nosy) two-year old, but what a brilliant idea for the start of the year. If there is one thing that really helps the flow of good chi through your home, it’s getting rid of all that stuff that is past its best, broken or outgrown. I actually love getting rid of stuff, much to hubby’s dismay. I have a fear of clutter and collections. Bric-a-brac and ‘keep just in case’ make me nauseous . We have been holding on to Little M’s high chair since she refused to get back in it over six months ago. It’s been kept, just in case, we can persuade her to sit in it again. It is in some vain hope that we will be able to strap her down to eat, instead of this random roaming approach to meal times she has recently developed. It is, however,  strange how excited she gets when we are out in cafe’s and she sees a high chair. She can’t wait to try it for size. But with hard rubbish collection this week, I bit the bullet and put out the high chair. Continue reading “It’s a Purple Dragon!”

King Park Yike

If anyone has made a visit to Kings Park Botanical gardens at the weekend before, they will know that the spill out from the overflow car park can ruin a perfectly planned picnic. So imagine my delight on pulling up and being able to window shop at Aspects from the driver’s seat. It is, however, 8 am. Approximately 35 women, of all ages and walks of life are gathering together, yoga mats on backs, sturdy walking shoes double bowed on feet and the fresh shimmer of sunscreen on their brows. Pleasantries are swapped, but these women do not necessarily know each other – I know no-one. Except Diana from Dia -Yoga. Diana, the organiser of this gathering, is brimming with vitality and genuine kindness, as she greets everyone individually. These women have left their cosy beds on a non-work day. They have left children, babies, partners, dogs. They have set their alarms and travelled, some from Rockingham and Yanchep. They had forgone the late night out, the extra glass of wine or three or the into the night chat with friends, to be here on time, with an extra spring in their step.

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