Ready for School?

Lil was not keen on going to kinder this morning.  'It's boring' she said in her dismissive way.  'All we do is play and draw pictures and make up stories about the Yarra.'

Entrepeneurs

It might not appear so from this blog, but I'm a fairly harsh critic of my children. It's something I would like to change, I'd like to let go of my fear that if I don't constantly point out their shortcomings they'll somehow be ruined. I showcase their creations, which give me endless pleasure, here on this blog and I don't use this space to explore the darker side of their personalities, but darker sides exist, of course, and sometimes it can feel like I focus a lot on what they don't do, what they do badly, or the ways in which they could improve, rather than looking at the lovely people they mostly are. So it does give me special pleasure when I see them all work together, totally self-initiated and without any adult involvement at all. On this occasion they didn't even ask me if it was okay to set up a stall to sell the finger puppets they'd made, but they've done this sort of thing a few times so I guess they were on pretty safe ground. I especially like the packing tape they used and left on display on the pretty table cloth.

Thank Goodness for Blogs

How else would I ever remember that tonight, while reading the final chapter of 'The Wolves of Willoughby Chase' to Ruby and Nina, they were so excited when Sir Willoughby returned after being shipwrecked that they got up and started jumping on their beds for joy. And after we'd finished they re-told other especially wonderful bits - when Miss Slighcarp pretends that she was only joking about locking Bonnie and Sylvia in the dungeon but Mrs Brisket gives the game away by mentioning that two children are already locked up, when James sees them again, how Simon is going to be a painter. Isn't a great book a truly marvellous thing?

Posy

On Tuesday, as Lil and I walked the short distance home from kinder, we picked a little posy from the flowers poking out of people's front gardens. This is something I did endlessly with the older girls, but the rhythm and traditions of their early years are, I often feel, lost to me now. There was a certain cycle of work I was in - off work for a year with a baby, back to work for a year, off work for a year with the next baby - and so on for eight years. In my 'back to work' year, I worked part time, and even when work was at its most absorbing, I was either breastfeeding or pregnant, physically anchored in the world of early childhood. I'd cycle in to work and gear up intellectually for the day, and cycle home and wind down, ready to be reabsorbed into the countless daily tasks and minutiae of mothering small children.

Lil is still a very small child, not even four yet. And I still work part time and have two days a week home with just her. But our days together are not the same as my days with the other kids. When Ruby was four I had a two year old and a newborn. I think I gave myself over much more fully to the requirements of the job. I didn't expect to get anything done, other than to look after the kids; baking and visiting friends and making playdough and going to the library was the stuff of our days. With Lil, though, it can feel as though our lives have already moved onto the next stage and she has to keep up. She stays up later and watches movies the others would never have seen at her age. I don't put on funny voices or read stories at dinner time anymore to entice her to have another mouthful and I can hardly believe I ever did that with the others. My days standing at the swings and endlessly pushing small children are over. I can't do it anymore. I'm not interested in making the connections with other mothers that I once eagerly sought. I know enough mothers now. My cycle home from work no longer clears my mind and leaves me prepared to step back into family life. Work encroaches on my thoughts and emotions. It's like a magnet, or a vacuum, drawing me toward it and requiring energy to withstand its dark attraction.

Picking this little posy with Lil took me powerfully back to those early days, and left me a little melancholy for all that she has missed out on, from me. I assuage my guilt by assuring myself that she gets plenty of zoo and library and parks with Kim. Guilt is a useless emotion, anyhow, and I don't really feel guilt so much as wistfulness for that time that has now gone, and the knowledge that I can't go back to it, or back to the person I was and the mother I was then, even if I tried.

Little Sheoak

We went for a walk this weekend, to the top of the ridgeline.

This was the view:

If I were a spiritual person, I would have something profound to say about this place. We made a campfire to toast marshmellows. Craig was enticed away by the surf and the girls and I spent the next few hours alone up on the ridge, watching the weather roll in, wondering if the spots of rain would become something more.  Craig took the car so we would have been stranded which added a slight air of excitement to our adventure.

Lily entertained herself by taking photos on my phone. It is about the only time a photo of me gets taken so I quite like it, though it also involves deleting a billion snaps of legs, floors and blurry toys.

I love the colours of the bush. We were hoping to spot a koala, which we know are in the area.


But contented ourselves with this fellow who was entirely unphased by us.

Check out the size of this fungus (toadstool? mushroom? I'm never clear on the distinction)

And right next to it, this tiny delicacy:

The girls played an elaborate game for nearly two hours: they were Clara, Jenna, Susie and Lucy, ages 13, 10, 6 and 4, taken in 'off the streets' by a wicked 'manager' who made them spend all day burning sticks which he would then use in some unspecified way in his charcoal business.  They were forced to sleep together with only one blanket between them and were woken at 4am to start work.  'Lucy' (Lily) contracted a fever and was given some dispensations from work.

The main point of the game seemed to be an excuse to burn sticks in the fire, but the plot became quite elaborate, with visits from 'matron', the slightly kinder wife of the manager, his sweet daughter, Michelle, and periodic inspections from the mayor, to whom they were forced to lie about the conditions of their employment. Transgressions were punishable by removal of supper and more hours of work ("15 without a break"). The manager didn't know their names but called them all 'rats', though when they performed well for the mayor, who was happy to let this sweatshop continue, he rewarded them by cutting 5 hours off their working day.  (Have Craig and I been modelling a good work/life balance?  Hmm)

The game was rather Dickensian, even a bit sinister, but as always I was intrigued by the way children play.  It really is a skill that completely disappears at some point (I'm not sure when.  I remember playing these sorts of games as a kid but cannot remember when I stopped).  The way that games evolve organically, the way that children can slip in and out of various characters without explanation or question, how compromises are reached, how plot suggestions are made, accepted or rejected are all quite mysterious to me now.  Of course this does not always, or necessarily, happen seamlessly but on this day it did.  I wandered around, collecting bits of wood, taking a few snaps, absorbing the view.

What Happens When I Have a Lie In on a Sunday Morning....

I like: Ruby's crazy morning hair, Grace's delight in discovery PhotoBooth on, the special effect that makes our house look hand drawn, and the snapshot of a weekend morning that one day I will have forgotten.

I am reliably informed that no one was actually hurt and both Ruby and Nina think it is hilarious (and they also both consider it evidence that they were the innocent party....)

Oodles of Poodles

You never thought I'd sink so low did you?  Making all my girls wear matching skirts! But really, who could resist this hilariously adorable vintage poodle fabric, a gift from the lovely Kim?

These were very simple and the styles largely dictated by the amount of fabric.  I  put zips in the older girls skirts (that is quite a big deal for me, I'm not much of a seamstress).  I think they are fun and was surprised that even Ruby was happy to wear hers to school.  I thought she'd think the matchy matchy thing was way too daggy.  She was less thrilled about the morning photo session but we weren't late so...
Lily can look forward to six years of poodle-skirt wearing.  Poor kid.

Paula, if you read this, do you recognise Lily's cardigan?

ANZAC

On Anzac day the girls kindly let us have a lie in while they baked Anzac biscuits for us. Something was not quite right; slightly burned on the outside, somewhat raw on the inside - the oven had been set to 'grill'.

I don't think that grilled Anzacs will become a tradition, though they do embody something of the Anzac story - a lot of well-intentioned effort on behalf of a paternal authority for a disastrous result...

I am moved by these words of Kemal Ataturk. Can you imagine any leader today, of any nation, saying this about an invading force?

Those heroes that shed their blood
And lost their lives.
You are now lying in the soil of a friendly country.
Therefore rest in peace.
There is no difference between the Johnnies
And the Mehmets to us where they lie side by side
Here in this country of ours.
You, the mothers,
Who sent their sons from far away countries
Wipe away your tears,
Your sons are now lying in our bosom
And are in peace
After having lost their lives on this land they have
Become our sons as well.

Chevron

After a morning at kinder and some hard play with the Sylvanians, it's easy to fall asleep in a patch of autumn sunlight on your big sister's new beanbag.

Ten

Did you ever play this party game?

When you are ten, you are growing ridiculously tall and beautiful.
When you are ten your friends are the people that you want to spend most of your time with.
When you are ten, your tolerance for siblings is variable; you can take the greatest delight in their cute and amusing ways, but they can also irritate you beyond measure.
When you are ten you are living more and more in the external world but you'll still spend hours on your scooter making up stories.
When you are ten you are busy and tired and easily bored.
When you are ten you love your cousins and grandparents and family folk lore.
When you are ten you make up plays with friends and siblings and perform them for a not-always-appreciative audience (me mostly).
When you are ten you think your parents are unbelievably unfair quite often.
When you are ten it sometimes feels like your mother is not listening, even when she says she is.
When you are ten it is very frustrating having to wait for and explain things to your little sisters when you just want to get on with it. But it is also very satisfying teaching them new things and reading them stories.
When you are ten you are writing and drawing so beautifully and you still want to be a writer and illustrator when you grow up. You have a way to capture a scene with a few words that is enviable.
When you are ten your mother is feeling very pleased that nine is behind us. We're embarking on our second decade together, my darling darling girl. Happy Birthday Ru.

Election

Crazy, ridiculous

Crazy ridiculous things in my life right now;

• the size of this zucchini and the girl holding it. (We sort of ignored it and it kept growing. I suppose it's inedible now. The zucchini that is.)

• this weather (Come on autumn, we are waiting. I am not interested in any 'record number of consecutive days over 30', or 'hottest March on record' prizes.)

• the mozzies around this place (That burst of rain a while back was just what you needed. You are loving my kids.)

• next week (Craig has to go to Brisbane for a day and then go up again the next day for two days and I have to go to Sydney for a day and Grace turns six and we have invited fifteen kids to a party that we have not planned and it will be over 30 all week. And I want to make this for Grace's birthday. Plus normal life, school, work, kinder, piano, chess, netball et al)

So Much Depends

upon a red wheelbarrow



glazed with rain water

beside the white chickens.




Nik, because I know you sometimes read this blog, this is for you, with apologies to William Carlos Williams.

At the Bottom of the Garden

Lily was invited to her friend Yvette's third birthday party.  Yvette is also the youngest of four, though in her case her older siblings are all boys.  Her mother and I were once neighbours, when we were both young and inexperienced in the parenting game.  We still catch up once a week whilst our elder children have piano lessons and our younger children wreak minor havoc and play in the street like kids did thirty years ago.

She asked my elder girls to be fairy helpers at the party, which they were pretty chuffed about, even though it meant wearing costumes which, when you are heading toward ten, has the potential to be a bit embarrassing.  I whipped up three very quick tutus with some fabric from the bargain table at GJ's. At $2 a metre I couldn't go wrong and all three took me about an hour (Grace's tutu I made a while back).    The girls decided they were (in order of height); the garden fairy; the sunrise fairy; the bird of paradise fairy and the rosebud loveheart fairy.

Almost against my better judgement I felt a little pang at the sight of them all dressed up.  There will not be too many more occasions, I suppose, when I find four fairies at the bottom of the garden.

Little Women

I've never read 'Little Women'. Being one of four girls and having four girls I really should I suppose. I made these little women for Lily's third birthday. The dolls are vaguely inspired by this one from Sooz, and the bedding is vaguely inspired by a similar bed from here. The ribbons I bought in Hong Kong and online from Rose Pomar and the lining is from Heather Ross's 'Far Far Away Ch 2'.

I stitched them over the course of a week watching the Seven Up series that was recently repeated here. Did you watch it? Why we are so interested in the largely mundane lives of a group of strangers I don't know, and yet there is something deeply touching about seeing these people grow up.

Of course I'm watching my girls grow up right in front of me. Sometimes, though, I think it is only when I look back that I can see who they really are.