rebirth of blog

Friday morning sky from my rear porch.

Last year I spent a great deal of time at home being a new Mum to my new son. Whilst consumed by the minutiae and day to day of this strange new world of motherhood I was aware too of my home in entirely new ways. I was not at work each day, but instead seeing the seasonal changes slanting their light upon known places and objects in different ways. I was walking my streets with a stroller and with the literal capacity to stop and smell the roses, and the daphne, and the lilac and magnolias.
I love homes, and am a shameless voyeur into the ways in which people live with the things and colours dear to them.
Stay tuned as my blog becomes reborn into an expose of life in a lopsided but dear old weatherboard in Spotswood. There’ll be some tales strange and true of renovating on a shoestring, you’ll meet my Dad (also known as Grandpa Bang-Bang), some of the wild and woolly characters I meet on my rounds with the stroller and hopefully learn how not to make mistakes with stud-finders, hammer drills and power outlets that back onto leaking water lines.
The house was built in 1939 and is a side-entry three-bedroom dwelling that was extended at the rear to incorporate what is now a large lounge-room. Being old and loved by many before me she is full of character, foibles and capriciousness. In other words she came with baggage, and not all of it pretty…



'Grandpa Bang-Bang stripped out the old bathroom and found electrical wiring wrapped around the shower plumbing...



I love creating little altars (piles of things? collections?) and don't believe in clear surfaces. My husband says that's OK, they believe in me. This ode to old fashioned pretty is on a windowsill in my bathroom. The powder compact was my Mum's from the early fifties, and the tiny gold box is a sewing kit that belonged to my Grandmother when she was a young housewife.



I love this blurry image of another little altar. At christmas my parents gave me a tiny faux-art-deco record player that also plays CDs and radio. The sound quality isn't great but it looks so shiny-red and cute with its glowing lights and twiddly nobs. I use it to play just one thing really, my 12 album set ofswing and jazz. It sits in 'my' room along with a wall of bookshelves, a soft leather couch, and my rattan rocking chair.



When the hailstorm hit Melbourne last weekend my little family bunkered down in this room with mugs of tea, baby toys and the record player. I danced cheek to cheek with my baby while my man flopped out on the couch.
My home nourishes me enourmously, as does a good trife...

A day in the life

Finn:
You start the day with a rumble, then a growl followed by a yowl. The red light on the baby monitor flashes its alert “Get up!”
I go to you and open the venetions singing an aubade from the ‘Hair’ soundtrack as I unpack you. ‘Good morning starshine, the earth says hello, you twinkle above us, we twinkle below.’
Dad has already fed you some hour or two earlier so you’re content to start the day with our little song. Giggle, rub eyes, the swag gets unzipped and you stretch out for bear. Tickles, kisses then up for bed-cuddles where you grasp at our hair and poke twiddly little fingers into our mouths (such interesting caves of treasures: tongue and teeth!).
Uppity up, rolls on the floor, weeties and banana or pear in your highchair then kiss Dad bye-bye, pull on his hat and tie and we begin our long and languorous day.

Little bug, one day you may learn all about science and maybe even quantum physics, but for now just now this. We trick time every day by keeping our world very small in space and distance covered. Before your morning nap it’s off in the stroller up and down and round and round the local streets, stopping in the village for my coffee and your flirty little smiles at strangers and local folks alike. Michael the Lebanese pizza man pulls faces and says he’ll steal you. The ladies in the newsagent grin and coo and sometimes can’t resist tugging one of your perfect little fingers. On our way home I give you a flower or leaf and point out the cats. I sing as I walk, completely unabashed in my wailing of blues or showtunes, and people behind fences are benign when they hear us pass with our song.
In the lounge again you roll or commando crawl, and Whiskey-cat eggs you on with her teasy little half-skips away: ‘come and catch me, yes you can’.

Back to bed for you Mr Finn, Finn-bo, Finn-de-do. Sometimes you resist and I have to sing “All aboard the sleepy-train, all aboard the sleepy train, all aboard the sleepy train, we’re going to Sleepy Ville’. While you snooze I potter about doing housework, perhaps whipping up your favourite mashed peas or fish stew meals to freeze. Its only 10.30 and we’ve already tricked time, so much day still ahead. There is your ‘wake-up poo’ that I sing to: ‘Let’s have a look at your bum chum, let’s have a look t your nappy, Pappy, cause your bum might glum chum, and we want it to be happy, happy happy, happy-happy!’

After your lunch we often take train trips: To Yarraville for faces and shops, or to Altona Beach for vast sea views and the smell of the pines. You love being out on the pier, the rumble of planks under the stroller wheels massages you into doziness and your eyelids soften against the glare of silver water and sky.

We spend a lot of time on th floor together as you learn to first grasp, then grab, then sit, roll, spin and finally do a high speed tummy crawl around the place. Cuddles and tickles and books are had. You love ‘Maisy’ and ‘Does a cat wear glasses’ but you hate ‘the Very Hungry Caterpillar’ and cry when you see the butterfly. You cry from tooth-pain too, and some days we just get by together cause your mouth is sore and you feel miserable. That’s when you get rusks and cold watermelon and your gums rubbed with Bonjella. On those days I get tired and sad that I can’t help and I’m grateful when your Dad gets home.
There’s another nap or two (lucky you) and each time you wake up happy and I am happy with you as I breathe in the gorgeous sweet smell your baby-breath has filled the room with. So the days roll on, small in the physical world we traverse, enormous in the learning and feeling and wonder. Time stretches out like a seemingly endless ball of string.

But there is an end, and this particular ball is at its.
Tomorrow I return to work part-time and hand you over into the loving hands of your Dad each day. With him you’ll play in new ways and learn new things.
And though I’m sad as I say farewell to this beautiful time spent with you I know we’ll always have had it, I will always be here to touch and tangle limbs with.
I am your touchstone, the giver of leaves and flowers, the maker of songs of games.
You will grow away and be fierce in your independence, but I will always be your singer of morning starshine, your Mum.

teething bub

A very quick post with plenty of tags! Hopefully some needy parents will find this and perhaps find it useful.
Our baby boy at eight months seems to have been about to cut a tooth forever.
His symptoms are:
flushed cheeks, a scaly rash under his chin from drooling, a lot of drooling, lethargy (some days) irritability (other days) occasional cold symptoms (without a temperature)chomping on everything and 'gluey' poos. Do always check your baby's temp is normal and there are no rashes, as teething symptoms can be unfortunately close to those of more serious illnesses.
Things we find that help are 'Bonjella' ointment rubbed on his gums, lots of extra sleeping opportunities, rusks to chew, a little liquid baby panadol at night and very cold food good for sucking. In Coles in Australia you can buy a little gadget that is a small mesh bag with plastic lid attached to a ring. They are in the baby-food section. Very cold soft fruit and veg shoved into this works really well- he can suck and chew on the treat in the bag, top up his hydration and the mesh fabric seems to rub his gums and alleviate the pain. We find cold watermelon to be a winner, but also cold soft-boiled veg or other fruit work too.
Good luck!