my family and me 3/52

first time ferry ride.

so much excitement and a breezy summer day.

not a great family shot but the memories of the day are definitely ones to keep.

my family and me 2/52

a wonderful day in the city with people we love

christmas windows

yum cha deliciousness

ice cream

laughter

you get to choose the extra special people who become part of your family

my family and me 1/52

new year's day car selfie

we do some of our best family chats in the car

some of the best blues too.

lunch on a friday

beautiful gardens

warm day

new friend

shared values

acknowledged realities

no bullshit

chicken sandwich

water bottle

mutual respect

and in the end, that's all there is.

a christmas miracle

Prologue: This post is published on both of my blogs – on The I Love You Song and here on Segovia. I would not normally do that but this post is a special one to me, part of our family “archive” and I really wanted to share it as widely as I can. As I write this post on Saturday December 15, I am all too aware that on the other side of the world, in Newtown, Connecticut, there are many families experiencing unimaginable loss in the wake of the school shooting tragedy. My heart and my sorrow is with them. 


The Batsman has never really liked Santa. Terrified is probably a better word to use. We have one poor quality photo of Santa and the Batsman together taken when our boy was just a baby. Even in that photo he looks frightened.

The Batsman’s autism diagnosis brought with it a greater understanding for me of where so much of his terror was coming from. It was then and still is now, about change to routine, feeling overwhelmed, strong sensory responses to noise, crowds and chaos and a very big fear of new or unknown things. We have tried a few times in the past to have a Santa photo taken but each time it ended in great stress, tears and meltdowns. While I would have loved a Santa photo, especially once little brother Bowler came along, there was no way I wanted to cause the Batsman distress to get it.

In the grand scheme of things, a Santa photo is probably a small thing to hanker after, but it was one of those things I felt like was a bit of a childhood rite of passage, a memory to look back upon and smile at. My little flame of longing for a photo of my boys together with Santa kept flickering but I had largely given up hope of ever getting there.

A few weeks ago our local shopping centre advertised a new initiative – “Sensitive Santa” – special booked sessions with Santa for kids on the autism spectrum. I decided that we would have one more try at it through this program and the flame burned a tiny bit brighter. As part of “Sensitive Santa” we would have a 20 minute private session with Santa in the early morning before the Christmas chaos of the shopping centre began at 9am. The shopping centre customer service team were exceptional, ringing beforehand to confirm our time and “find out a bit more about the Batsman so they could brief Santa”.

We did a little bit of preparation with the Batsman (but not so much as to overwhelm him) – we read some stories, we practised some things he might say to Santa and we watched some YouTube videos of other kids meeting Santa. The morning arrived and off we went at 8am for our “Sensitive Santa” timeslot. I could write on and on here about what happened but the pictures tell the story much better than I could.

The Batsman took his time to get used to his (quiet and calm) surroundings, he chatted to Santa and showed him his shoes with the flashing lights, he told him what he wanted for Christmas and when we said goodbye, he HUGGED him.

I cried a lot. Tears of so much happiness leaked continually from my eyes that day. And they still are. The long wished for miracle of a photo of both boys with Santa came our way along with the very grateful reflection on just how far our Batsman has come in the last three years.

In the bigger picture, I was incredibly moved by the thought and care that Highpoint Shopping Centre put into this initiative. There was sensitivity and respect and a very real commitment to putting one of those “childhood rites of passage” within reach of families who love someone on the spectrum.

Happy Christmas from my family to you and yours.

Disclaimer: This post is my own description and opinion of our “Sensitive Santa” experience at Highpoint Shopping Centre. They did not ask me to write this post. It’s just written by a happy mum.

new neighbours

They're new neighbours but they have been in the neighbourhood for a while and anyway, it feels like we have known them forever.

There is an ease in the ebb and flow of life living next door to this beautiful little family of three.

The side gate is open and a precious two year old tinkerbell tiptoes in to our backyard now and again to steal a jump on the trampoline or five minutes playing trains with our boys.

A big black dog has been well and truly adopted and hours are spent patting.

The spoils of cooking and produce are shared and containers of deliciousness are passed across the fence and back again.

The difficult hours of dinner, bath and bedtime are easier when you can call out to someone else facing the same trials next door.

Having new neighbours, might seem like a relatively small thing in the grand scheme.
Small or not, it feels like I have won the lottery.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Dear Friends

Dear Beautiful Friends,

Thank you for opening your home to us on Melbourne Cup Day.

Thank you for the beautiful food and the opportunity to contribute to an amazing feast for all of us.

Thank you for your generous and gracious hospitality which extended through not one but two meals. Seven whole hours of a house full of people.

Thank you for loaning the Bowler some trains to play with and sustain him on the journey home. His day ended peacefully and perfectly.

Thank you for always creating a space that welcomes the Batsman and encourages him to be himself. He had the time of his life.

Thank you for being the friends you are to all of us. We are beyond lucky to have you in our lives. It makes us so happy to watch our boys play together.


Love,

Us
xoxo

Treasuring the moment

We had one of those cosy days here today. It's very cold and the day was just right for me and the boys to snuggle and watch ABC for Kids on the couch in between the Batsman's therapy sessions. We ate toasted cheese sandwiches, yoghurt, grapes and ANZAC biscuits. While we munched, I watched them.  I watched them in that misty, sentimental way that comes when I slow down enough to recognise it. Love, love, love my boys.

This was one of those moments. A moment to treasure.

Next year the Batsman will go to school. Our routine, our lunchtimes together will shift significantly. It will be the Bowler and me having lunch some days. And on the days the Bowler heads to kinder or child care, it will be just me.

I know this change is going to take some adjustment. Like the plan ahead girl I am, I'm preparing myself early.

But for now, on this cold day that is bringing us closer to winter with each raindrop, all I am doing is treasuring the moment.

Image via We Heart It

Happy 5th Birthday Batsman

February 8, 2007

February 8, 2008

February 8, 2009

February 8, 2010

February 8, 2011

February 8, 2012

I am emotional and filled with nostalgia. 

I am in disbelief that I am the mum of a 5 year old.

Especially one as gorgeous as this.

This time 5 years ago, I had just given birth to a tiny but beautiful baby boy.

What a great joy and privilege the last 5 years have been with you my son.

You have already taught me more than I could ever hope to teach you in a lifetime.

Brave, determined, quirky, loving, pure of heart.

Happy 5th Birthday, our precious Batsman.

You completely rock my world.

We love you so much xoxo

While I wasn't here

I haven't really been here. Well, I have a little. I haven't much felt like writing and I wanted to take a step back and reflect on what this blogging caper is all about...for me at least. I have not come up with anything definitive on that yet but I will let you know when I do.

I have read lots of amazing blogs over the summer break. There really is some fabulous writing and thinking going on out there and I feel very fortunate to be able to read it.

While I wasn't here we have...

played

cooked

lazed

                                                                                                                                                                        

eaten

ridden like the wind

well....almost like the wind

and we harvested, oh my how we harvested.

Our summer living and loving has been just gorgeous.

I hope it's been just as lovely for you and yours too.

The last meal* (reality)

It has been a few weeks.
Since she was lost.
The house is more often quiet now.

The buzz of endless visitors, all searching for the right words.
Like there are any that can be said. There are none.
Deliveries of flowers, pots of tea, the sound of quiet sobbing.
The silence has settled in now, both welcome and terrifying.

They have eaten, a little, since that day.
Food has flowed like a river to their door.
From the kitchens of those who love them, those who loved her.
Desperate to offer some tiny morsel of comfort. There is none.

It's quiet now.
Casserole dishes scrubbed clean and returned.
It's the human way, it seems.
The busyness of death and in the after, the quiet, the solitude.

She was a cook. Oh my she was a cook.
Their lives full of the delights she cooked for them.
Her way of nurturing, of loving, of being.

He opens the freezer.
Already knowing what's inside.
The plastic container, frosted over.
It's like it stares back at him, unblinking.

The pain of this, for him, is almost unbearable.
He heats the food and it comes to life.
Spice and love all mixed together.
It's the last one. The last meal she will ever cook for him.
Forever.

The sound of quiet sobbing.

*This post is inspired and imagined by recent events in the life of someone I know well. Remembering you always D.

The Captain and me

The Captain is the broad shoulders that sometimes carry all four of us.

The Captain is the one who always says "it's ok, it's gonna be ok".

The Captain is so very often the calm in the storm, the one who is happy to wrestle on the floor till there are giggles all round, the one who puts out the rubbish without complaint and empties the constantly overflowing dishwasher.

The Captain always reads my blog and tells me what he thinks. He reads your comments too and even though he is not a big blog reader or commenter, he is getting to know bits and pieces about this blogging community of ours.

Big things and some small things but all of it keeps everything chugging in our little home.

Sometimes when the "two of us" becomes the "three of us" and then the "four of us", the "two of us" can get a little bit lost in the traffic jam. We don't mean for that to happen, it just does. We have planned a little one night getaway in a couple of months time, just so we don't forget the "two of us".

So I just wanted to share a pic of my beautiful man and me (bad res pic - sorry!)

He's been having a bit of a tough week so send a bit of blog love to the Captain will you?

Gone fishing

The Captain's father died this morning.
Suddenly.
He had been on a little holiday. He had done a spot of fishing in a beautiful coastal spot.
He got on a bus to travel toward home. He fell asleep. And then he died. Just like that.
All the other passengers got off the bus and then someone noticed that he was still sitting in his seat. Gone fishing.


The Batsman went to kinder this morning. We had only known about Pa for half an hour. The "how do you explain death to a child"question still hanging heavy.
The Batsman headed straight for the drawing table, his usual first starter.
I watched him. A quick drawing and he was off. Scuttling over to a game he had seen in a corner of the kinder.
A fishing game. With a couple of little fishing rods with a string and magnet on the end. Fish swam in a "pond" with paper clips stuck to their backs ready to be caught.
And the Batsman, he caught fish. Just like that.
The grandchild generation. Gone fishing.
                                           --------------------------------------------


He was a gentle man, the Captain's dad. He was one of those people about whom others say 'he doesn't have a mean bone in his body'. And he didn't.
He had his problems. The grog wreaked havoc on mind and body over the years. The pokies took their toll too. He wasn't a well man.
But he was gentle and kind. He was quiet but always had a little joke to tell or a trick to show the kids.


This Christmas just gone, he did something special and unexpected for the Batsman and the Bowler. He made their Christmas gifts. A truck and a cement roller, made out of wood, crafted with his hands and tools. They came emblazoned with the boy's names and decorated with stickers from the two dollar shop. It would have taken his shaky hands hours to make them.
They are beautiful and will be treasured across lifetimes.


Farewell Pa.
We will miss you.

Weekend grateful - cricket team

This weekend I am grateful, ever so grateful for my life and my loves.

Image

Yesterday I went to the funeral of a 22 year old young man who took his own life. I taught him at kindergarten eighteen years ago. I can still picture his cheeky little 4 year old face. So great was his anguish and mental health distress in recent months and years that he just couldn't stay. One can't help but be struck by the great irony of a funeral with almost 1000 people there who loved and admired this young man, yet he couldn't find a way to stay. The images that will remain with me from the saddest of afternoons...a family torn apart but managing a group embrace that will keep them together to weather this awful storm and rows and rows of twenty something young men, weeping and sobbing as they farewelled their mate. Utter tragedy. Such a fragile existence we all live.

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So, I'm grateful this weekend, for my life and my three great loves, The Captain, The Batsman and The Bowler. My little cricket team.

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PS: This is the first time I have joined in the Weekend grateful from Maxabella - I'm grateful for that too.

Mother's love - for Lori

There are no words that seem right today. No eloquence, no poetry. Just a woman, a mummy who is saying goodbye to her husband, her children's daddy. Wrong, so wrong on so many levels.
A dear friend gave me this rose a couple of days ago. It's called a Mother's Love rose.

It's the only thing I can give to Lori today. From one mother to another. Love.

Grace

 

My heart and mind is with Lori and her family tonight as they mourn the loss of Tony. Like so many others I have watched this tragedy unfold from afar with my breath held tightly, hoping and hoping for a miracle. It is heartbreaking this is not to be. I am so sorry for this family’s enormous loss.
Since this situation began for Lori, I have watched the extraordinary response of hundreds in the blogging and twitter community who have rallied, donated, tweeted and blogged to convey their love and support for Lori and Tony. It has been a privilege to bear witness to this and gives me a new faith in the good and great that is among us. I found this quote tonight. It says something to me about these communities and the love and support they have given so willingly. You are all amazing.
“If a man be gracious and courteous to strangers, it shows he is a citizen of the world, and that his heart is no island cut off from other lands, but a continent that joins to them.” Francis Bacon Sr, 1561-1626


There is another, smaller, group of people, Lori’s friends, who have been ever present over the last few days. I don’t know all of them but those I do are here and here and here. They have rallied everyone, set up a donation facility, sent updates, organised meal cooking and no doubt provided much support directly to Lori. I am sure that only a small portion of what they have done is visible, the rest behind the scenes. From my tiny humble little blog, I just thought they should be acknowledged.


This quote, is for them. They have been grace.


"Grace was in all her steps, Heav'n in her Eye, In every gesture dignity and love” John Milton, 1608-1674

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Powerful love

I don't know Lori. I have read her blog quite a few times and loved it, I follow her on Twitter but I don't know her. Right now she is facing an unimaginable family crisis as her husband fights for his life in hospital. She has two small children. The internet and in particular the blogging and Twitter communities are amazing at times like this. So many people are praying, sending love, giving what they can and so I guess one small thing is that Lori knows that there are literally hundreds, if not thousands of people who are holding her close. That's some pretty powerful love don't you think? I'm adding my love and hope into this amazing group of people generating powerful love for Lori and her family.


If you can donate visit here