Marching independant

Yes - two weeks is survivable, provided one's emotions are gagged and bound. The missing doesn't go, but its heartsong gets lost in the drumbeat of our marching routine. Each day held the promise of ending with another night - and although we didn't conciously countdown til the very end, the time passed rapidly. There were poignant moments caught in the stream of life but following the clock's dicating I kept the rythym going and the girls relaxed in the predicability of the ordinary. Bedtimes were still bedtimes and vegetables still had to be eaten, washing still had to be folded and put away and no excuses were made for grumpiness. March march march. I marched in my sleep. If I woke up to feed the baby, the drums started in earnest and it was literally hours before I was able to fall asleep again. The tiredness has made my arms feel like lead and my brain unable to follow fairly straightforward direction. I reversed the car into another one parked behind me. Fortunately the tow-bar was fixed on and so I just said a firm hello the licence plate, which was easily bent back. Can't explain why I didn't register there was a vehicle parked behind me, but was rushing home to a grizzly baby after getting my hair done. So silly. But today is warm and liquid gold is pouring around me and despite the house having to be spotless and vacated for buyers, we have delighted in drinking it in after so many wet grey days. One more sleep and then into the rush and complexity of sharing life again and the sheer relief of not having to be the only human responsible for these three treasures. Welcome home Big Guy.


Pearly Whites



Another day slides past. After a night of 2/3 of my offspring away for the night, a 5am feed for the third left behind and getting the house tickled up for an open home, i was feeling a crumb of productivity and independence and was intending to go to church AND get there on time. But a call to say the girls were both sick bought me back abruptly and for some reason things closed in on me with a bang. I am ashamed to admit that i let it get to me way more than it should have. I experiemented on the success of vacuuming the carpet and crying at the same time. At mopping the floors and my tears simultaneously. The house was spotless and polished, baby fed and dressed, everything in its right, clean place except for me - I was in a stupor. I left the house and went to sit with my sick girls at my parent's house, church ambitions punched away by responsibility, privacy blown away by prospective buyers and on the verge of more convulsive tears. The good news is that I held it together, came home and the rest of the day passed without hiccup. I have administered panadol, tucked the pale, complaining small people up (in my room of course) and although tired, am unwilling to share the space with them while they are still concious so am going to lose my sense of reality in NCIS in a few minutes. But. Before I go, i read this tonight:
"Why shouldn't we experience heartbreak?
Through those doorways God is opening up ways of fellowship with His Son.
Most of us collapse at the first grip of pain.
We sit down at the door of God's purpose and enter a slow death through self-pity.
And all the so-called Christian sympathy of others helps us to our deathbed.
But God will not.
He comes with the grip of the pierced hand of His Son, as if to say Enter into fellowship with me, Arise and Shine.
If God can accomplish His purposes in this world through a broken heart, then why not thank Him for breaking yours?"
Oswald Chambers

Hmm. I am digesting this profound concept.


I know the beauty is there...

...but my eyes are closed flatlining to the point where i would value an adrenalin rush in order to feel something other than blank humour broken dislocated sense of self painful weariness but no rest unclear mind guilt in not connecting with girls pillow holds puddles of predicament restoration beyond comprehension in this reality

zeph 3.17 great delight quiet me with love rejoice over with singing

why is my huddled clump not able to rise above and take refuge in truth i know is there but can't feel?


Window into my day

A few of these
4 huge baskets of this
had to chop my own as none in shops

someone's discovered how to open the warming drawer and pop in surprises
and the pièce de résistance...

i needed a bit of this



Me: You feeling ok? after she hangs up after talking to Daddy and looks a little blue

K: hmmmm...kinda. Its just that talking to Daddy on the phone makes my heart feel damp. But it's okay because after that it feels quite light.

And earlier -
K: I don't really like that christmas cd because the songs are mostly written by old men who have little beards and are all droopy.

And then later she informed me that she had climbed out of the car, in a huff...a happy huff.



Maddy: Mummy, what does munted mean?

Me: Hmmm, broken probably (internally wondering if munted is a semi-swear word - it sounds so boorish)

Maddy: Did you know my heart is munted?

Me: Silence

Maddy: It has a big crack (she demonstrates by waving a giant zig zag in the air) because I miss Daddy so much.

Me: More silence - i mean what do you say? Mine is too?

She skips away brightly.


"Look Daddy"

See my fat little feet? Well, I learned to do something else with them today that makes me feel clever!
Yes - she is pulling herself up to standing. I find it a sheer marvel that the chubby curve of those feet have learned how to flatten onto the floor. And nothing is safe. Not one thing. The open dishwasher is at a perfect height for this new trick and tonight I found her busily inspecting the contents of the cutlery basket, one sharp knife at a time. I think my hair became a few shades greyer today.

And while we are on the subject of new sweet things, she has also begun to do her own version of 'round and round the garden' on herself. It is delicious, and very funny because she gets lost when it comes to the "one step two step" bit and just goes round and round and round all while chanting a little warbling sound that is really just her tongue going from side to side.

Her second upper tooth must be threatening, as her cheeks have been fiery today, she has refused all food on a spoon, dribbles like a waterfall and is grinding her gums together. This is making for interesting breastfeeding. The nerves in my corresponding leg tingle all the way down to my toes when she does this and you don't even want to hear about the bite marks that I bear after she's done feeding. I told you I was getting more grey hair.

The other girls are doing well - I kissed Maddy's sticky cheeks tonight at lights out time; she seemed to have swum in her icecream cone, it is even in her hair. She smells divine - all milky caramel. I should have bathed them after dinner. Kenzie went off to sleep yawning widely - snuggled in on her dad's pillow (they are enjoying this vacation from their own bedroom) and I am sitting in front of the fire editing the shots from the photo shoot I did this afternoon. Here are a couple of my favourites - bearing my client's privacy in mind.


The Missing

Two weeks is not very long is it? Then why does it feel like forever? Why when things are easy and cruisey and fun does a fortnight pass in a blink? And why when my man is gone, do the days slow to treacle and the days ahead seem to stretch into an unbelievable chasm?
When he is not here i miss coming through in the mornings to the lingering scent of his aftershave in the bathroom, his warm coffee mug on the bench and when he is home - that uniquely familiar feel of his arms that are always open to me. I miss the laughs we have, the rolled eyes behind the kid's backs, his nightly habit of tidying the kitchen; i miss him bringing in the wood from the shed, breathing life into the fire and bathing the tiddler; i miss his humorous turn of phrase, his blackberry flashing at him and just the sense that we are sharing something GREAT. That this thing we do, this life, it is for each other and with each other and together it has such relevance and meaning. When he travels alot, and is out of sync with our timezones and is in his own consuming world of newness, our family purpose seems to be frozen into a snapshot.
I sit here in a quiet house listening to a dripping tap - numb and threadbare for want of a better word, unable to find the real rythym or hear the heartbeat that usually thumps away as we mess about in family routine. It's the stitching of scraps together to form some sort of covering while he is gone that preoccupies my mind; the grasping at little truths and tiny joys that can be joined to each other to give enough warmth to find comfort in the lonely places. The fatigue is boulder-sized. I am pushing the urge to cry away as it feels like if i started doing silly things like that, it would require too much effort to drag my outlook up from. The crazy thing? I've been here many times. I tell myself it is exquisite to find that i care so much for the guy i first went out with over seventeen years ago - that it is truly a blessing to hate being apart. That the days I spend without him make the days i spend with him, of the sweetest quality.
But in reality that only dawns on me when he is home. Right now, it is the head down, sludge-wading tour - the fortnight of being the only grown-up in this camp. And I will plod on - one night down, only 13 to go...


11 months

While I popped out for a few minutes this morning, my super talented sister took some shots of the baby girl. This child has me gripped in a ridiculously tight lasso of love. Her eyes astonish and transfix me and being her parent is a delight that transcends the various deprivations of this season. And those hand dimples render me putty.


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