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my girl and stella.
sharing popcorn with my baby girl, who loves to share with the pooch and chooks. kaya was trained so well as a pup to not accept food unless she was given a nod of approval. you can see her resisting, politely turning her head away from the little outstretched hand. if i were to walk away it would be a whole other story
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niamh has been waking earlier and earlier. 5:30 starts our day. it is dark and cold out. one can't help but feel that bed and warmth and sleeping eyes are the better option. but 5:30 it is. while niamh seems quite chipper about the whole arrangement, zahra and I stumble around until light floods the house, I have hot black tea in my system and we all have bellies full of sweet, warm oatmeal.
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Good morning...pancakes, sunshine, babes in wondersuits, new hats
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first harvest from our winter vegie patch...it's garlic chickpea soup on the menu tonight
determined to do it yourself
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i remember mother's day as a single parent. it was like the weekends...really noticeable that i was in this gig all by myself. my mum would always send something special and a card reminding me that i was doing a fantastic job. she still does. love you mum. as my little family has grown and changed over the years so too has mother's day. the past few years have brought breakfasts in bed, homemade gifts, and restful days with my peeps. i've loved it all. but this year i needed and asked for a little something extra...a family portrait and something that isn't so frequent in my days right now...time alone. so after the sleep in, till nine!, the breakfast in bed courtesy of zahra, the handmade gifts and cards, knitting in bed and late lunch in the sunshiny garden complete with decorations, i grabbed my gardening gloves, kissed my peeps goodbye and headed out the door. i had been granted my wish in the form of garden time. but not in my garden, in libby's garden. her garden is just like what i imagine the secret garden to be like, the one in Frances Hodgson Burnett's novel. it's hidden behind a high wall and is filled with such rambling goodness. rustling trees, flowers and curious chooks. happy bees, garden sculpure, vegies and birdsong. it's a labour of love, a studio en plein air. stepping through that gate is like wandering through the wardrobe into narnia, time seems to stand still. it was here in this magical place soaked with autumn sunshine that i spent my mothering sunday afternoon. we nattered while libby planted and i dug, but mostly there was quiet. quiet i had been aching for. the physical work clearing my mind. afterwards there was tea and time for a few photos before i closed that gate and headed for home and my peeps, feeling spacious and refreshed. it was a perfect day, thankyou my loves.
happy mother's day to all the mama's out there.
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hanging mother's day decorations in the yard for our late lunch
just cast off a new beanie for niamh. now...all i have to do is keep it on her head. i like my babies to wear hats in cold weather, niamh has other ideas.
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a perfect saturday...rain, knitting, snuggling, all of us together.
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up the hill, past the water tank, into the bush
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i've always loved the cello and now i get to listen to you play. i love it's sound in our home, the way you dove straight in, the way you ask to practice like it's a treat, your seriousness.
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building for the bush fairies
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Unfortunately, your favourite room in the house is the bathroom. We wait for your attention to be elsewhere before opening the door. We hear your quickening steps up the hallway, trying to catch the door open, just like an elevator. Sometimes we forget to close the door.
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Every morning you go out to feed the girls and look for eggs. After you'd slipped out that morning and hadn't returned for a while I went to look for you. There you were my daydreamer, singing under the lemon tree, in dressing gown and boots, with nary an egg in sight. Keep dreaming sweet girl.
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the weather snapped cold this past week. trees suddenly seem bare, the heat has been turned on and the house is littered with drying clothes. the river has dropped, islands of river stones laid bare. we ventured down to the pizza oven and found ourselves riverside late in the afternoon. the cold makes me feel alive. stinging lips, red nose, icy fingers. it clears my head and makes me ready for indoors again. hot drinks, slippers, quilts, soup, woollens.
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chalk and cheese these two.
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you're out the door and waiting down front before i've even put my shoes on. i always let you pick which way. today we head up the hill and round the corner. flowering gums, front yard swings, liquid amber spikes scattering the pavement. kaya runs on ahead. we walk slow. you fossick on the nature strip as we make our way. you're always bringing home treasures. today it was a magic wand and autumn stars.
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she brings me her shoes and pulls at my side, motioning for me to put them on. we sit on the kitchen floor together as she lifts each foot patiently. she takes my hand and leads me to the door. every breathing moment is geared toward this. outside is where it's at. and when she's had enough of pottering or following her sister or sitting by me while I dig or plant or weed, she heads to the door again. in, out, in, out. door open, door closed. practising the step in and out. her work. my busy bee.
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Just watching my girls do this makes my head swim. There are those things that I loved doing as a kid but can no longer stomach. This is one of them. Swinging high on a swing comes a close second. Niamh loves this, giggling as she lifts her arms up, asking again and again to be swung round and round.
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We're past the one hundred mark on the 365 project! A couple of times I've told Will that I'm not going to make it, it's too hard, too time consuming, too all consuming, too challenging, too this, too that, the usual stuff. But he gently reminds me that part of the reason I chose to do this project was because I have trouble completing, sometimes even starting things. They say it's a trait of cesarean babies. So, I'm still here, still pressing that shutter on my growing girls and putting all those unfinished projects to bed.
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Normally I stick to photographing anything that doesn't move really. Anything that will stay put for as long as it takes to get the shot. Clouds don't really count or plants bobbing in the breeze, Miss Kaya who sits on command, the odd food shot. This project is anything but that. Two girls, one camera shy and constantly on the move, the other co-operative or not depending on that nearly nine year old mood. It's challenging me in more ways than I imagined and I'm loving it. Learning how to work with constantly moving, emotional and sometimes camera shy subjects is somedays frustrating beyond measure, but it's pushing my creative thinking, altering the way I use my camera, giving me deeper insight into my girls, extending me beyond my comfort zone. Pushing these boundaries feels good for my brain. I'm nearly a third of the way in!
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little sleep and a long day
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always going somewhere this one
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i love all of her, even those beauty spots she already says she doesn't like. she's eight.
i've been a bit slow getting back in the 365 saddle. a week off turned into two. maybe it's the post holiday come down where i find myself back in the familiar landscape of my everyday, which has of late bordered on the prosaic side. or perhaps it's the energy of autumn that brings a certain slowness to the days. i've been thinking a lot about happiness lately and then i came upon milla's words. they struck a cord. from this i realised i haven't been noticing the small things. those moments of pure contentment where everything is ok, no matter what is going on in my life, where it all just falls away and everything is good and well and ok. i don't know if i just haven't been noticing those small, seemingly inconsquential things in the rush of everyday or if they just haven't been happening at all. so the past few days i've been taking it slow, taking it in, simplifying and noticing. noticing myself mainly, a little self reflection. how i go about my day, the first thing i think when i wake, the last thing i think before going to sleep, how i move, what i say, how i say it, body language, thoughts, dreams. taking stock of where i'm at. the first thing that struck me was how long it's been since i've reeeally stopped and just, you know, sat with myself. it almost feels like a luxury these days. second to that i started compiling a mental list of things that i used to do, that i loved doing, that i haven't been doing recently, for lack of sleep and time and energy. simple things like reading in bed before lights out or first thing in the morning, letting my body wake by itself, listening and dancing to favourite music, journaling and walking in the bush. i long for these things, simple as they are, and i'm making a concerted effort to bring them slowly into my day again. i remember reading once that being a mama to newborns and very little littles it's akin to being cast adrift in a boat. you're far from the shore, just you and your babe. you can see people standing on the shore, your partner, friends family, waving to you. but they're beyond reach, you're beyond reach. essentially it's just you and this little person drifting together until such time as the boat slowly comes to ground, as it will. while you're out there alone with this tiny being you lose part of yourself for a time, because it's all consuming. there's little time or space for the small things that make you who you are, bring joy to your day, fill you up, so you can keep on waving back at your partner and friends with a genuine smile playing on your lips and resentment for losing yourself for a time, playing out far, far away in another land. i then realised how important these small things are, their cumulative effect, their contribution to keeping everything ok. and then i'm wondering why it's taken me ages to realise this. probably because i'm so busy waving and trying to smile. mental note to self: don't dismiss the small things. oh and letting go, letting your sea legs take over, as imperfect as they may be { because there's beauty in imperfection} also helps. i'm so conscious of how hard i find putting my feelings into words. taking them from the feeling realm and translating them into something slightly comprehensible to others. it's something i aim to be better at. and gosh, if it means i have to wear my heart on my sleeve here from time to time i'm going to do it darn it, for the sake of self preservation and that never ending journey of a lovely thing called self development. really all this means is that my sea legs are wobbly, i'm going to pick up a book every other night before my eyes close involuntarily and i'm gonna get my groove on. as for the waking gently with the sun, that will have to wait a little, while my little is sorting out her sleep.
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new red wellies
i took a break from 365 over the past week to unplug and spend some time up north with my family. i kinda felt like i was breaking the rules, but hey, there aren't any rules that say " i must take a photo every day for 365 consecutive days". i'm making this up as i go. sanity and rest, much, much more important than pressing that shutter each and every day methinks.
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teething.
poor baby girl. it's been one of those days. her expression sums it all up really.
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now that niamh is walking more and crawling less, being outdoors in the yard is a completely different experience. she's traversing our sloping yard much easier, which means i can stand back a little and potter in the garden while she goes about being the busy bee that she is. also means i gotta move quicker when she gets too close to the high retaining walls or steps. feels good getting my hands back in the earth after such a long time away from gardening.
zahra headed north today with her meme for a little holiday of her own. the house is so quiet without her. we'll be joining her later in the week, but for now it means there'll be no 365 of her.
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