muppinstuff

the tooth fairy will have to come early

*note to the dentally squeamish, there's picture you might want to avoid down the page.
On Tuesday morning as I was having a cup of tea with a friend, I heard these big hurty wails from outside. Looked out the window and saw Grace was being comforted by her dad, all seemed under control, so I went back to my tea and chat. But the wails kept going. Usually it's big cry, followed by a quiet cuddle and then back to zooming around. Not today. It turned out that Grace and Gerard had been riding the scooter around the concrete paths and come a cropper. There was blood coming from her mouth. I took over cuddle duty and we got blanket and something to wipe up the blood. The front tooth looked damaged but it was hard to tell. Later Grace went frighteningly pale and listless and I ended up phoning nurse on call. We ruled out concussion but the nurse recommended getting her checked out by a dentist. I rang the community dental service but the best they could do was a week away, so I rang the dentist I go to and they said we could go up straight away. Grace started crying the minute we got there and wouldn't let the dentist examine her, even sitting in my lap. He suggested we take her to the doctor for a sedative and then come back on Thursday. Grace perked up after lunch (soft food on her back teeth), and insisted she was well enough to go to playgroup where she told Mary I falled off my stooter.

Anyway on Wednesday, the doctor wouldn't prescibe anything stronger than painstop because as he explained to Gerard, he didn't know whether the dentist was going to use an anaesthetic. So Thursday at the dentist wasn't any better.  Grace and I had talked about going and practised showing the dentist our teeth, but when it came to the crunch, I lay in the chair holding her arms and legs with mine as she screamed in terror. He still couldn't get a good enough look to suggest anything other than coming back if the tooth got infected or broke leaving a jagged edge. I went away feeling not only did we not have a plan, but that we didn't even have enough information to justify a wait and see attitude. He didn't charge us for either visit, but from what I'd seen, it was too bad to leave.

So after lunch, while Grace was napping, I rang the Children's Hospital and asked if they had a dental service we could access. I was put straight through and after talking to the nurse for a few minutes she said, I'll find a dentist for you to talk to. About five minutes later I was talking wth the lovely Amy and we went through everything and she said that she'd like us to bring Grace in for an assesment that afternoon and that if we got there before 4.30pm we wouldn't have to go through emergency. I can't tell you enough how different the approach was or just how impressed I've been with the Children's Hospital over the last two days. To examine Grace's teeth, they had her sit straddling my lap, facing me and then lean back onto the dentist's lap holding my hands. When she screamed, as they said she would, they got a really good look and it was all over very quickly. I was impressed with how they worked with the child's behaviour, there was struggle and it was still terrifying, but much less so than the regular dentist's approach.

Amy said that the tooth needed to be removed under general anaesthetic as the nerve was exposed; causing pain, bleeding into the tooth and leaving the area open to infection. Then there was a bit of waiting around with Grace alternating between saying she just wanted to go home, running up the corridors and playing happily with the books and toys. So surgery was booked for today. I didn't sleep well last night, I tried to be calm with it but all I could think of were the risks, the what if's and worry about my baby. And the dreams, I had all sorts of weird dreams in which some woman chastised me for how I bought up Grace, from what she wore, to what she ate, what she got away with and how we acted as role models. In the dream she told me you should be ashamed of yourself. Hideous. I was pretty glad to wake up.

Once the day got going, it had it's own momentum, even if a bit fraught in places. The wait was fairly long as we were last on the list. Grace didn't want to be weighed or have the hospital bracelet put on, she spat out all her pre-op panadol. And she was tired and hungry from fasting and missing her nap. But finally our turn came, the doctors were firm and friendly like before and I held her hand as she went under. Gosh it's quick. And we were there when she woke up. It's heart wrenching seeing your baby out of it on a hospital trolley with a mask on her little face, but she woke up quite quickly and after a big cuddle was walking around, choosing food from the fridge within half an hour. We were all pretty pleased to get home.

I have the tooth in a jar and Grace has been fascinated by it, but she didn't want it left by her bed for the tooth fairy. Insisting that it went back in mummy's room. I pretty sure the tooth fairy can cope with that. And I'm thinking that a gold coin might be the go for a tooth removed this way. Not that I know the going rate, this tooth fairy bizzo has come a bit early here at chez scruffnut.

more sewing

I'm on a bit of a sewing campaign at the moment. Maybe it's the possibilty of moving house and having to pack up all my material and set up another workspace, or indeed maybe not having even a semi-dedicated workspace for a while. Not that anything has happened yet, we're still at the if and when stage. Still I can see that establishing a new home is going to cut into my sewing time, such that it is. For sure.

So far, I've made two pairs of trousers, neither of which I thought were a great success. However I put them through the wash the other day and was certain that one pair was destined for the opshop, but I wore them today and really they weren't too bad. I think I'll keep them afterall, with some tightening in the back, I think they'll be quite good even. Grace on the other hand has decided that the skirt I made her is for other childrens and has to go in the opshop. Can't even get her to try it on, even with the promise of a biscuit. I realise that perhaps the material was a bit weighty to have that much gather around the waist, but I wouldn't have thought that it would be uncomfortable over a singlet. It has several features I thought she would like; pink, stripes, a ruffle and pockets.  The trousers in the same fabric but with butterfly pockets that she loves, except that they're on pants, have had even less of a look in. Although she did wear the smock (pink with butterfly fabric raglan arms and a pouch pocket) I made her for painting the other day. So I'm told.

Sewing or shopping for Grace is such a minefield. I can't predict what she'll consent to wearing, even when she came to the shop with me and chose it herself. And getting her to wear something she is determined not to wear is extremely difficult. Even with closed choices, ie the red skirt or the pink skirt. So I don't really want to spend too much time or money on her wardrobe, but on the other hand I want her to be warm and comfortable and as much as I hate to say it, look stylish in some way. I wasn't keen on the butterfly fabric, it's a gary pink with badly printed butterflies on it, but Grace loves it. But even that wasn't working. Oh well, maybe in another year we'll be able to work out together what she'd like me to make her.

My next project is a dark green sort of a-line skirt out of some wool crepe I found at the opshop back in the day when the brotherhood had a fantastic fabric table. And a pair of heavy weight black cotton but not denim pants. When those are finished, I have a really fabulous piece of back wool suiting with 5% elasticene for some stretch. For pants. If I get them right, they'll be the mainstay of my winter wardrobe for years to come. You know, the pants you can wear almost anywher, that are warm and comfortable and wash well. And after that some tops for me and Grace. Ambitious, but I guess planning it is half the fun. Truth is, I'd feel pretty happy to get at least half of it actually done.

Have also started knitting at night. Very remedial. I made a short scarf from some wool my mum gave me and I'm pretty impressed that I managed to put a hole in the middle, by design. And that I figured it how to do this. Not so impressed that I couldn't knit in moss stitch which I thought I'd done before. Anyway, we have someone staying tonight, who said she's teach me, so I'd better stop being anti-social (or unwinding from a tough day at playgroup depending on your point of view) and go out there and knit.

Feminist motherhood

We didn't celebrate Mother's day here. Mostly because we're crap at most commercial type celebrations and Grace isn't old enough yet to bring home sweet gifts from school. So as kind of an internal celebration of motherhood, I re-visited the bluemilk's feminist motherhood meme I had in draft form from the draft pile. Gosh, I was pretty up about being a working mother when I first wrote this (just before going crazy), so there's been some re-wording.

1. How would you describe your feminism in one sentence? When did you become a feminist? Was it before or after you became a mother?
The personal is political. Dates me doesn't it?

So I've been a feminist for more than half my life now. Women's lib was around when I was at highschool: I remember my mother and her friends being angry, demanding their husbands do housework and nude sunbathing. There were a rash of divorces and more women started working outside the home, after the children started school. But I didn't have my own lightbulb moment until halfway through my second year at uni when my best friend dragged me along to the women's room for a feminist collective meeting. 1983. It was an exciting time, the birth of a women's magazine at Uni, various protests (including Cockburn Sound Women's peace camp), my history major had a big women's study component. But by the end of it,  I was so over the the judgements women made about other women's politics, the divisions, the pettiness. The post-modernism and post-structuralism. I still believed in the sisterhood and that personal is political, but it all seemed to get lost under layers of other meanings.

2. What has surprised you most about motherhood?
My immediate and intense love for Grace as a baby and a young child, even when she is being bratmonster extraordinaire and I'm turning into a foulmouthed shrew on the inside while trying to be calm and reasonable on the outside. The new layers of love for my partner. How all those loves keep deepening and binding us together in evermore complex ways. Sometimes it feels like a trap, sometimes a liberation. Mostly it's just the way things are now. Oh, and the tiredness. And the responsibility.

I also remember being really surprised when Grace was a newborn that despite how important becoming a mother was supposed to be, I couldn't get a nurse to show me how to change her first nappy and there wasn't a comfortable chair by my bed to sit in while learning to breastfeed her. It became obvious even in my little bubble of baby bliss that the world around really made little space for mothers with young children.

3. How has your feminism changed over time? What is the impact of motherhood on your feminism?
I've become quieter and stronger. Feminism's more an inward assumption now, a core belief. Motherhood has connected me to other mothers, there's always children to talk about. And I think that affects my work quite profoundly. I also like other women (including those without children) more again.  I'm drawn in closer with my own mother and sister, and feel connected to a line of women before us. A rebirth of the sisterhood, if you will.

4. What makes your mothering feminist? How does your approach differ from a non-feminist mother’s? How does feminism impact upon your parenting?
Awareness (and maybe hairy armpits?). I try to let Grace be herself. She's allowed to make messes, bang around outside and get her clothes dirty, even the pretty ones. If we read a book that has men and women doing traditional tasks, we talk and joke about who does these tasks here. She knows that daddy does dishes, vacuuming and looking after Grace. And that sometimes she stays home with daddy while mummy goes work, or vice versa. That intellect or compassion isn't gender based. And we're trying to protect her for as long as we can from the bratz dolls, barbie videos and clothes that say "I'm going to be a skanky ho when I grow up" (of course if that's what she decides, no doubt I'll still love her and have to respect her life choices, etc etc) . We won't be able to do the total prohibition thing forever, if only because at some point, she'll have to be able to come to grips with how different versions of femaleness are presented in this culture. Hopefully though, we can shelter her for long enough that these things don't take her over and she'll find things that are real and wholesome that interest her. I'd love it if there was a strong and doing-good-things female prime minster as she approaches high school. Just so she knows that women can do that. And I'd like for her to have wild places where she can run free. Basically I'm hoping that her world will be one of possibility. I'd want the same for a boy too. And I wouldn't mind being a grandmother before I'm eighty. So I'm trying not to send the message that having kids ruins your life. Even when I'm super tired and shrewish.

5. Do you ever feel compromised as a feminist mother? Do you ever feel you’ve failed as a feminist mother?
Yes and no. Sometimes I think about whether Grace likes pink because most girl clothes are pink and that's what she thinks girls wear. I haven't fought hard against that because it's just a colour, but I worry the rot is starting early. Othertimes I worry that I'm just not there enough, but I can't be and go to work at the same time. And G is just as capable of looking after her as I am. I worry whether I'll be able to guide her through the maze that is female identity. Mostly, I worry I could fail her in the future.

6. Has identifying as a feminist mother ever been difficult? Why?
I tend not to talk about it often. It's now so ingrained in me that I assume people would know that I'm a feminist. Just like any rational woman would be. Nonetheless I enjoy meeting women, especially of about my age who "get" the sort of things I was involved with in the past. And when women say gorgeous things like,  you can't do it all, and you can't have it all, well, not all at the same time anyway.

7. Motherhood involves sacrifice, how do you reconcile that with being a feminist?
I wanted a baby for so long and went through so much before Grace was born, that I don't think of it as sacrifice. Indeed I count myself as supremely lucky. However I don't belive in mothers (or fathers) martyring themselves in the ordinary course of events. This means Grace goes to bed with lights out by eight so she has enough sleep and we have parent time. We also work pretty hard at both having some time to ourselves, some time to do things other than parent, work and keep house.

8. If you have a partner, how does your partner feel about your feminist motherhood? What is the impact of your feminism on your partner?
I'm the main income earner at the moment and although I had a bit over a year off after Grace was born, there are times I would prefer to be a full time stay at home mother. But with equality comes responsibility. And why should he be the one that has to work fulltime all the time?  In my femotopia we would both work part-time in family friendly workplaces, doing interesting useful work that paid really well. As it is, we share housework and parenting, although I do less now because I work outside the home more. G's a bit of a lefty ratbag himself and has always loved strong women, I think he assumes that any sane woman would be a feminist. He's also a dab hand with the vacuum cleaner and lawnmower. While looking after a child. Although I still do the shopping.

But it's about more than who looks after the children and who does what at home. It's about not taking in all those beliefs that one gender or gender role has a lesser or greater intrinsic value. And acting and talking that way. Which is easier said than done. We grew up in the sixties and seventies, there's been a revolution since then, but there are parts of my brain (and his) that missed being re-programmed. Like I said before, sometimes I feel as though I just don't mother enough. As an at home dad, G comes up against a whole other set of challenges.

If you’re an attachment parenting mother, what challenges if any does this pose for your feminism and how have you resolved them?
I'm not, but I would have liked to have co-slept when Grace was little, but G was very uneasy about the idea. I remember talking to my GP about it, he was curious why we didn't as I was having issues moving Grace to her room across the hall. In the end, I thought that family harmony involved taking into account everybody's needs, so it just wasn't an option to push in this direction. In some ways, we're really scheduler or routine type parents anyway. Which seems to suit Grace. Athough we have made choices to have all Grace's care within our extended family for the first three or four years. She's been demanding lately too, especially of mummy cuddles, with blanket. These tend to come when there's stress about or when she's had a big language leap and the world is freaking her out. My inclination is to go with the mummy (and daddy) cuddles for as long as she needs them.

Do you feel feminism has failed mothers and if so how? Personally, what do you think feminism has given mothers?
No, but sometimes I feel very torn by the domestic world and all the other worlds in my life. That work life balance is a cackling joke I share with other mothers in the hallway between the tearoom and the photocopier. Sometimes I feel absent from my work life or that I am trying to run my home life by remote. It feels like women are expected to do more and more in less and less time. And look fabulous while doing it.

As a young feminist, I remember reading books exploring how to have children in other ways, test tubes, utopian childcare, equal parenting; because I knew I wanted kids but I really couldn't see how it would work. Not if I was going to do domething great. As it turned out, I did a lot of things that were fun, but less than great in a career, or any other sense. Not family friendly either. But in twenty years things have already changed. I remember when the idea of a stay at home dad was laughable (now I know of a few), when women had to wear stockings and skirts to work, in work places where sexual harrasssment was just part of the culture, when gay was barely tolerated at all, when it was expected and rarely challenged that women would leave work after having children, not to return until the kids went to school. When we never even had the conversation about a workplace being family friendly. I'm not saying that the revolution is over, far from it. Just that things have changed.

*****

The pictures are of my mother and grandmother, probably taken about 16 years ago, my mother would have been in her late 40s, my nan in her 70s before she started to get really sick. These are the last nice photos I have of them together.

Mothers of the blogosphere, happy belated Mother's day,

three

On Saturday afternoon, after a morning spent baking a luridly coloured cake with Grace and a sticky at an auction in a nearby suburb, I stopped off at the big fruit shop (as opposed to being slack and just getting everything at safeway) where I bumped into a friend from a past life. Her children are a few years older than Grace and I mentioned I was shopping for a lunch to celebrate Grace's third birthday. I bet it's feels like it's gone really quickly, she said.  Yeah, I guess it has, I replied and then went back to running around making last minute changes to the next day's menu and obsessing over whether the grapes were fresh and if the strawberries would taste of anything (yes and double yes). Later that night, as we wrapped presents, G and I talked about when Grace was a baby and how quickly she's growing up. How she comes and says, Mumma (or Daddy), I've got a big idea.... and her increasingly complicated play world. We both became quite sentimental and nostalgic. Although I want her to to grow up and take great joy in the unfolding of her world, there's also part of me that wants to hold onto all that she's been before. To still be able to hold her at my breast as an infant, on my hips as a one year old, to watch her bumshuffle and take her first steps.

Anyway, this is the first year that Grace has had any real sense of birthday consciousness. With anticpation. That it's all about her. She wanted balloons and a cake with ice.

Would you believe safeway ran out of balloons? Never mind, I eventually tracked some down and even if half of them had holes in them, they were a great hit. As was the cake. Especially the decorating of said cake, which we did together in the morning before she had a little nap. It was basically a plain cake with chocolate ripple in the middle for height. Grace hasn't quite got the hang of blowing out the candles, but she had a good go.

It was a lovely lunch, even if I do say myself. Grace really enjoyed the presents, possibbly the biggest hit were some small figurines from Nina and the card with three on it, and raced around afternoon. The happiness and light in her face during the happy birthday song was a joy to behold.  Happy Birthday Grace!

back to busy

Back to work last week. Just two short days. It was OK, but enough. Two full days coming up this week which I think will be OK too. It's kind of weird leaving in the middle of the afternoon, so it will be good to work normal days with proper rhythms. With an hour for lunch (instead of half). Being at home for four weeks has made me realise anew what a difference it makes to have an hour to myself in the middle of the day. Especially important when I come home from another kind of intense day and have to go straight into the bath, dinner and bed routine. Complete with tantrums.

Some of my colleagues thought that I had been on holidays (leadership not being specific about why I was absent due to privacy reasons, which I appreciate) but for some reason, that really bothered me. So, I've started to tell people that I was ill, and if they've asked, I've said that I had a manic attack, that it was pretty serious and that I'm getting better. There have some interesting reactions, one being that I seemed alright at the Christmas party and you wouldn't have known. Which may well be true. I guess my actor continued to present the calm/normal facade for short periods, although she did get a bit tired and haggard there for a while. I really, really need my actor, but sometimes she needs a rest.

Some have said they think being honest is really brave but I doubt I'm ever going to buy the whole bipolar / mood affective disorder / mania / depression / whatever it is I have / as just another health issue that can be managed just like diabetes thing until it's not shrouded in shame and secrecy. I'm sure blogging about it and the supportive response I've had is a big factor in why I feel more or less OK about being upfront. Sure, I do worry about my career (such that it is) and about being labelled and about having a return to work program, but less than I would have thought. Blogging means I'm used to expressing my thoughts, used to making a narrative about what's happened to me. That's given me a confidence I might not have had otherwise. So, once again, thank you all for being here. And for reading.

Last week I also had two(!!) by myself outings at night. Firstly a mother's goup dinner at a local place, which was great. Although I felt a little sunworn and sweaty, as I chose not to go home after my doctor's appointment, but to walk by the river with my camera instead, and then catch a tram to the restaurant. Then the next night, drinks (sadly softies for me) with a woman friend at a nearby pub. It was interesting to walk into a hotel by myself for the first time in about eight or nine years and scan the room for my friend. I noticed a number of men of roughly my age group look back. Not that I would dream of anything untoward, but you know, it's a funny/interesting feeling when you're a forty something, somewhat shrewish mother with a partner and all the responsibilities that go with that life to have a man make eye contact with you. Indeed. And then later walking back to my car (on a main road not far from where I met my friend), I was harrassed by hoons driving past yelling take our photo. When I refused, because I was only interested in the lovely soft rain (oh yes!) and the lights, and because I'm fairly arrogant that way, they said, hey look, she's not a man! Hah. All in all though, it was really great to be out and about. I'm going to do it again. For sure.

in the bath, in my clothes

I took this picture during the weekend G was away in Queensland. In the sun, having a holiday. It wasn't easy holding the camera above the water as I tried to submerge further and further into the bath. Grace was hovering above me, amused by her mother in the bath, in the morning. She was momentarily distracted from the teletubbies video I had put on, hoping for a few moments to indulge my photographic whimsy. Sweet really, that she finds me so hilarious. Anyway, it's a long way from the original image, and uses a gradient meant to mimic being underwater. Quite fitting. I think I may have been influenced by the cover of Drift ,the final of a magical trilogy in which watery themes abound and currently on my bedside table.

The elements theme, as far as self-portrait goes, is one I've been feeling some resistance to. I'm not finding it easy, water being the stuff of feelings and emotions. Sometimes I think I'm too emotional, too ruled by those inner tides and I've spent a great deal of my life working really hard at sweeping all those pesky feelings under the carpet. Only to have them surface again. As they do.  At the moment I'm feeling less than thrilled about my anti-depressants which stop me sleeping and the pills that knock me out. A kind of One pill makes you larger, and one pill makes you small... type of feeling. Which led to a really interesting talk with my doctor last week. She thinks sleepers are still a good idea, and that it's not like before. We ended up having one of those sessions which I think in old school (but post freudian) psychiatry is called a break through. It had to do with my ideas of motherhood, about how I was mothered, about how my ideas of how to be a good mother conflict deeply with how my life is being played out and the choices I have. Issues which lots of women (and men) face. The guts of this are something for a future post, but the awakening of this in an emotional sense is very new for me. Something I've known about rationally for a long, long time. But to realise it in this way is very different. Freeing. Lightening. Something I can work with.

This is leading me to think about depression as an adaptive strategy, as part of the mechanism of social change. Not that anyone decides or chooses to be depressed, but perhaps as way of asking for help when you don't fit in where you expected you would. This theory (scroll down here until you get to the bit about social navigation or niche change theory) suggests that it is not only the depressed person who needs to adapt. That there are a complex set of social interactions going on. Deep interpersonal bargaining. Well, der..  Again, something to think about in a future post.

So that's me in the bath, with my clothes on. Make of it what you will. I'd best go to bed. Work tommorrow. View more people in their elements here.

weekend debrief

Can I start by saying that I breathed an audible sigh of relief as I dropped Grace off at Nana's this morning? That work was EASY compared to four days at home alone with her. Even with huge amounts of family support? I don't know how single parents do it, well not without going absolutely crazy. I guess I would turn into a super-duper-over-organiser-control-freak about some things and Grace would watch even more tv than she already does (finishing breakfast in the lounge room while I have a shower is a new habit). And I would be more tired than I ever believed possible. And some things would slide. Well, they'd have to, because there are only so many hours in the day. But I guess if you have to, for whatever reason, then you just do. 

I've realised a few things this weekend.  Carrying all that responsibilty, even temporarily is huge. I felt it drop on to me the day G went away and then again on Sunday night. Just after I fell on a wet patch of lino. Grace had been doing pouring that I hadn't mopped up well enough (obviously) and on the way out to pick some herbs for the soup, I fell on my back. Carrying scissors which I luckily didn't shove up my nose. I started breathing fast with the shock of it; scared to move, scared that I'd really hurt myself, instantly worried about what would happen if I had. Relieved that I hadn't. Grace was watching teletubbies, oblivious. What else? It's lonely. Not that I didn't have lots of people around, I did. More that I missed being part of a couple. Talking about stuff, the domestic minutae, hanging out, sharing a bed. For so long, I thought marriage like relationships were something other people did. There's probably many reasons for that, but even contemplating a life outside this one makes me feel so incredibly sad. It's so bloody hard sometimes. What with his shit, my shit, our shit. I guess that's what it's like when you've been together for eight, maybe that's the cycle of it. 

There have been other thoughts going through my head about work, about being the main income earner. It occurs to me that when I was a feminist rabble rouser back in the early eighties, despite all the hot words, most women with children still had an expectation of staying home. At least for a while. I certainly don't remember there being many working mothers of young children in any of my workplaces. Where I work now, there are quite a few. Most are ten years younger than me and all work part time, but with the expectation of increasing their hours as their children get older. I'm the only one with a stay at home partner. Some of the men have stay at home partners, but not that many (although it's more likely the more children there are). However, there's still something much more acceptable about a woman staying at home full time caring for a child (and doing most of the housework) than a man doing so. And much more in the way of social opportunities (eg mothers group and chats at the park). It's definitely seen as odd to be living off one wage that's not quite full time. I wonder how much what other people think gets to me? And how much harder it must be for G?

There's part of me that's really proud to have this job and all it means. I'm starting to feel whirled up in the world of work again. There's career possibilities down the track and the work I'm doing now is of resume and reference building type. If I want it and work it, that is. And yet... four days with just me and Grace makes me realise anew what I miss when I go for the biggest part of her waking day. It takes me a while to get back into the rythym of where she's at and what she's trying to say; toddler language not always being something you pick up first listen. I miss the little explorations, the funny conversations, the new things that happen and knowing how to defuse the different types of tantrum. By the end of the weekend, she started saying I floor (as in I'm going to lie on the floor for a bit and carry on for a while if that's OK) before a bit of a tanty. Just so I knew, as I pretended not to notice. I miss us being together, even if it's a relief to have a break. Actually, I miss us all being together.

It's hard staying home. It's hard going out to work. I never expected to feel so pulled between the two  worlds. I guess I have a lot of working out to do. And I was going to write about cooking. Sheesh.

the mouse does play

There's nothing like a bit of absence to make the heart grow fonder. G's been away on a holiday since Tuesday. And I'm missing him terribly. Last night after dinner at Mum's, Grace ran up the path to the font door of our house saying hello, hello, hello as is our habit. The house sat cold and damp, unoccupied all day. No friendly light or face in the study window. Still, even over a few days we've built some little routines. Like running in and turning the lights and heater on. Feeding Tony. Grace does the shake, shake, shake of the dry food and I dole out the raw meat and try and stop her from eating cat crunchy bits (yucky) or pestering him as he eats. Then we cook dinner together(except for last night).

I'm taking the opportunity to cook food that I like and G doesn't. Lots of meat. Regressing to childhood comfort food. Lamb chops, sausages, potatoes; plain cooking served with steamed vegetables. The sort of food that goes well with tomato sauce. I think there's a roast chicken in the offing. And golden syrup dumplings, cheesecake maybe (if someone will come and help me eat it, because I looove cheesecake and I shouldn't have a whole one sitting in the fridge). And if I don't get sick of meat, some form of casserole, or bolognese. Or pea and ham soup. By Wednesday, I think I'll be hankering for bean pasta again.

Grace has been quite delightful overall. She loved staying at Nana's the days I worked. Yesterday I was really anxious about whether I'd be able to get us up, breakfasted, showered, dressed, lunch made and in the car by 5 to 8. Not saying it was easy but, it happened and I was even early for work. Which made me feel like I totally rocked. A feeling which carried through the whole day. Indeed I had a great day, with one particular interaction where I felt I did really good work. Even the customer thought so.

Today was harder. I swapped days so I had my one in four thursdays off, sort of like a built in flex. We caught up on some cleaning; putting away, dusting, vacuuming, grocery shopping et cetera. It's not that G doesn't do it*, but it hasn't been done all at once for quite a while. Grace arked up at one point, wanting to go for a walk down the lane. I said I'd take her to the park on the way to shopping but when we got there she wouldn't get out of the car and went all stiff and cried daddy, daddy, daddy park, daddy walk, daddy home. She's not articulate enough yet to say mummy sucks and I want daddy instead but her meaning was pretty clear.

She perked up once we got to the supermarket but was somewhat difficult in the vegetable section. There are several zuccini with teeth marks in the fridge now as a consequence. Grocery shopping with a toddler has the potential to descend into a particular kind of hell. Unfortunately I'd chosen a trolley without a restraint in the seat. We have a firm rule. Grace is allowed to walk, or stand on the back of the trolley until she starts being a clown. Two strikes and she's strapped in. Otherwise it would take me all bloody day and I'd be (more of a) screaming harridan by the end of it. Luckily a lovely safeway lady on her break helped me procure another trolley and change everything over. I nearly cried with gratitude. It got better after that and I ended by going and buying a $20 red. For the lonely nights. 

Over dinner she had a big long phone call with daddy and it was lovely to see her eyes sparkle when she realised it was him. She's been talking to him twice a day but it's really hard to explain to her that he'll be back in next Teusday. I think she's OK. Most of the time she seems pretty happy, she's eating, sleeping, playing all as normal. And we've got a few good things lined up over the next three days. Including going to an open for inspection with mum. The house is a bit derelict and will probably be more than we can afford but it's a house I've fantasised about numerous times. And it's about time I started having a proper look and getting a feel.

No doubt there will also be cooking and sewing, maybe some gardening and a bit of faffing with the blogs. Perhaps some picture hanging too. These are my garage sale scores from last week on the way back from our walk by the river. I have quite a collection of Australian gum tree scenes. They make me feel peaceful. Hopefully I'll be able to find the hammer and four inch nails, oops, I mean picture hooks.

*Added later; he actually does heaps which I'm going a new appreciation of. It's just that he cares more about the bathroom and the dishes and I care more about clean sheets and a tidyup. Dishes neatly stacked, of course. To be done in one big go instead of through the day.

there was cake

We've got a way to go before I'm completely happy with how we do mother's day around here. It's not that I want to buy into the whole commercial slippers and flowers thing, but now I'm a mother, it's like I want some recognition, some celebration of this big and essential part of my life. G says I'm not his mother so it's not up to him, but as I pointed out, I am the mother of his child, surely that's reason to get involved? Then I got in trouble for claiming my mothers day sleep in (on his day of rest) last week. So I got the days wrong, it's not like I tried to get a sleep in again this Sunday. Not that I've really had a sleep in this Saturday either, what with getting up and going into town to have a crack at some street photography featuring people we don't know, which kind of felt a bit weird. Even so, it was a whole lot easier and more fun than I imagined. But back to mother's day, we're not naturals at celebration and I don't want the day to just slip on by like any other Sunday.

Much to Grace's excitement, we baked a cake that I had an idea for last week. She helped and it all got a bit shouty when she started grabbing the softened butter with her fists and throwing flour in the air and trying to eat the sugar. Which I guess is why cooking with kids is so much fun. Maybe Grace needs playdough and I need an outdoor kitchen. Just thinking about it at the moment makes me tense but I think it's that time of the month and everything is making me tense. Much to my surprise, the cake turned out rather well. Even if I do say so myself. It's was an upside down pear and coconut cake. I was hoping Betty might come to lunch as it's the sort of cake I know she'd like. But she felt like mooching around home and I can't say I blame her. I remember that big, ready, overdue feeling with Grace. Never mind, we sent some over in a tin.

After lunch we had a little photo session, again proving how hard it is to get a group photo where someone's head doesn't looked possessed. Grace was up way past naptime, tired and zooming. Still I don't mind this one; we're talking about ears, nose, mouth, eyes and Nana's glasses. I can hardly remember life before motherhood anymore. I'm starting feel as though I've come back to being the essential me again, yet different. I see everything now through the mother lens. There's a whole lot I wanted to say about this and about learning to appreciate my own mother in new ways, even if she does irritate me sometimes (can you please stop smoking please?). And about how I have a deeper understanding of how much my mum misses her mum. But I'm tired and really should go to bed. So I will. But there was cake and lunch and we hung out together. Really, it was pretty good.

Happy mothers day :)

Craft is good

Life seems to be zooming past at the moment. Already the fabulous weekend away crafting with Sooz, Suse, Di and Sandra seems to be fading into blur. I rushed to get away and I rushed to catch up when I returned, but the in between seems like an oasis of calm. Jumbles of craft supplies, many fantastic projects, the whirr of sewing machines, conversations that went from intense to hilarious and back again, red wine, civilised meal times, not feeling rude bringing my crochet to the table afterwards, walking on the beach, a fantastic view and a gorgeous baby boy.

Despite my compulsive listmaking, I forgot to pack two really crucial items. My pillow with the peaceful cream pillow case and even more importantly, my sewing machine cord and pedal. Doh! Which means that the material I cut out last Thursday is still in a box awaiting transformation into new clothing. And may well remain so for some time. Oh well. Lucky I packed a bag of wool and some crochet hooks at the last minute. I picked and unpicked my project several times but I think I may have rebonded with the crochet hook.

photo courtesy of Di, thanks, I love the blur.

It's a ripple blanket, but of my own devising. Not having access to the internet, patterns or even my mum, meant I had to find my own way. When I returned and checked, I thought, I'm doing it all wrong, but then thought again, this is a style of work I like. It's quick and fun to do in front of telly. And suitable for Australian conditions. The project I started while I was away has been set aside. The finished item I have in mind needs to be much smaller. I won't pull the first one out unless I run out of wool and may well use it to turn my stash of odd bits of wool into a knee rug. Yet, I'm not at all worried about loosing my weekends work.  The new project is sailing along, all the better for concentrated time with a wool and hook.

As I crochet, I've been letting Grace play with a sample and some small balls of wool. On Wednesday I was sneaking in a few rows and saw this.  Isn't it just the best? It thrills me in a way I can't express that she's playing at crochet. How long before I can teach her the real thing? Oh the excitment.

From all reports, Grace was a total delight while I was away. Well, except for the regular throw herself on the ground and kick and scream until she goes red in the face tantrums. Which happen several times a day, no matter who's there. I missed her even more than I thought I would, but it was OK. We talked on the phone each morning and at night and she seemed to understand that I was away and that I would return. I got home later than I anticipated; it was so hard to leave the crafting circle, I'm a slowish driver and we had to cross town. When I crept into her room to gaze upon her sleeping form, she said hello, hello. I picked her up for a cuddle and she said hello again and then, sleep. Little tired girl.

But oh yes, it was good to be away. Just for a while.